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Percival Keene

 

BY,
CAPTAIN MARRYAT

AUTHOR OF ‘‘ JAPHE! IN SEARCH OF A FATHER” ‘* PACHA OF MANY TALES”
ETC. ETC

A NEW EATON.

EONDON
Skew ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
% THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE

\

+ YORE ; 416, BROOME STREET

}LONDON:

PRINTED BY J. OGDEN AND CO,

172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C.PoBR GEVOA

  

Tee Wh cleat AN Ee

 

CHAPTER 1

A FEW miles from the town of Southampton
there is an old mansion-house, which has
been for centuries known as Madeline Hall,
in the possession of the De Versely family.
It isa handsome building, surrounded by
a finely-timbered park of some extent, and,
what is more important, by about x2000
-acres of land, which also appertain to it,
At the period in which I commence this
history there resided in this mansion an
elderly spinster of rank, named the Honour-
able Miss Delmar, sister of the late Lord de
Versely and aunt to the present earl, and an
Honourable Captain Delmar, who was the
second son of the deceased nobleman. This
property belonged to the Honourable Miss
Delmar, and was at her entire disposal upon
her decease.

The Honourable Captain Delmar, at the
time Iam speaking of, commanded a frigate
employed upon what was designated Chan-
nel service, which in those days implied that
the captain held a seat in the House of
Commons, and that he voted with the
ministry ; and further, that his vote might,
when required, be forthcoming, the frigate
was never sea-going except during the
recess. It must beadmitted that H.M. ship
Paragon did occasionally get under weigh,
and remain cruizing in sight of land for two
or three days until the steward reported
that the milk provided for the captain's
table was turning sour; upon which im-
portant information the helm was imme-
diately put up, and the frigate in a case of
such extreme distress would drop her anchor
at the nearest port under her lee. Now as
the Paragon was constantly at Spithead,
Captain Delmar was very attentive in visit-
ing his aunt, who lived at Madeline Hall ;
ill-natured people asserted because she had
so fine an estate in her own gift. Certain
it is that he would remain there for weeks,
which gave great satisfaction to the old lady,
who, liked her nephew, liked attention, and
was even so peculiar as to like sailors. But
it must be observed that there was another
person at the mansion who also liked the
captain, liked attention, and liked sailors ;
this was Miss Arabella Mason, a very pretty
young woman of eighteen years of age, who
constantly looked in the glass merely to

 

ascertain if she had ever seen a face which
she preferred to her own, and who never
read any novel without discovering that
there was a remarkable likeness between the
heroine and her pretty self.

Miss Arabella Mason was the eldest
daughter of the steward of the old Lord de
Versely, brother to the Honourable Miss
Delmar, and was much respected by his
lordship for his fidelity and his knowledge
of business, in the transaction of which he
fell, for he was felling trees, and a tree fell
upon him. He left a widow and two
daughters: it was said that at his death
Mrs. Mason was not badly off, as her hus-
band had been very careful of his earnings,
Mrs. Mason, however, did not corroborate
this statement; on the contrary, she in-
variably pleaded poverty ; and the Honour-
able Miss Delmar, after Jord de Versely’s
death—which happened soon after that of
his steward—sent both the daughters to be
educated at a country school, where, as
everything that is taught is second-rate,
young ladies, of course, receive a second-
rate education. Mrs. Mason was often
invited by the Honourable Miss Delmar to
spend a month at Madeline Hall, and used
to bring her eldest daughter, who had left
schocl, with her. Latterly, however, the
daughter remained as a fixture, and Mrs.
Mason received but an occasional invitation.
It may be inquired in what capacity Miss
Arabella Mason remained at the Hall; she
was not a servant, for her position in life
was above that of a menial; neither was
she received altogether in the saloon, as she
was of too humble a grade to mix with
gentry and nobility; she was, therefore,
betwixt and between, a sort of humble com-
panion in the drawing-room, a cut above
the housekeeper in the still-room, a fetcher
and carrier of the honourable spinster’s
wishes, a sort of link between the aristo-
cratic old dame and her male attendants,
towards whom she had a sort of old maidish
aversion. However this position might be
found useful to her mistress, it must be
admitted that it was a most unfortunate
position for a young, thoughtless, and very
pretty girl, moreover, who was naturally
very lively, very smart in repartee, and very
fond of being admired.

As the Honourable Captain Delmar was4 PERCIVAL KEENE.

very constant in his visits to his aunt, it was
but natural that he should pay some litte
attention to her humble companion.. By
degrees the intimacy increased, and at last
there were reports in the servants’ hall that
the captain and Miss Bella Mason had been
seen together in the evergreen walk ; and as
the captain's visits were continually repeated
during the space of two years, so did the
scandal increase, and people became more
ill-natured. It was now seen that Miss
Bella had been very often found in tears,
and the old butler and the older housekeeper
shook their heads at each other like respon-
sive] mandarins ; the only person who was
ignorant of the scandal afloat was the old
lady spinster herself.

I must now introduce another personage.
The Honourable Captain Delmar did not,
of course, travel without his valet, and this
important personage had been selected out
of the marine corps which had been drafted
into the frigate. Benjamin Keene, for such
was his name, was certainly endowed with
several qualities which were indispensable in
a valet; he was very clean in his person,
very respectful in his deportment, and, after
the sovereign of Great Britain, looked upon
the Honourable Captain Delmar as the
greatest person in the world. Moreover,
Benjamin Keene, although only a private
marine, was, without exception, one of the
handsomest men that ever was seen, and,
being equally as well made and well drilled
as he was handsome in pergon, he was the
admiration of all the young women. But
Nature, who delights in a drawback, had
contrived to leave him almost without
brains ; and further he was wholly unedu-
cated—for he was too stupid to learn—his
faculties were just sufficient to enable him
by constant drilling to be perfect in the
manual exercise, and mechanically to per-
form his duties as a valet.

Ben always accompanied his master to the
hall, where the former was at one and the
same time the admiration and laughter of
all the servants. It hardly need be observed
that the clever and sprightly Miss Arabella
Mason considered Ben as one much beneath
her, that is, she said so on his first arrival
at Madeline Hall; but strange to say that,
two years afterwards, just at the time that
reports had been raised that she had been
frequently discovered in tears, there was a
change in her manner towards him ; indeed,
some people insinuated that she was setting
her cap at the handsomg marine: this idea,

it 1s true, was ridiculed by the majority ;
but still the intimacy appeared rapidly to
increase. It was afterwards asserted by
those who find out everything after it has
taken place that Ben would never have
ventured to look up to such an unequal

  
  

match had he not been prompted to it by
mis master, who actually proposed that he
should marry the girl. That such was the
fact is undoubted, although they knew it
not ; and Ben, who considered the wish of
his captain as tantamount to an order, as
soon as he could comprehend what his
captain required of him, stood up erect, and
raised his hand with a flourish to his head
in token of his obedience. Shortly after-
wards Captain Delmar again came over to
Madeline Hall, accompanied, as usual, by
Ben, and the second day after their arrival it
was made known to all whom it might con-
cern, that Miss Arabella Mason had actually
contracted a secret marriage with the hand-
some Benjamin Keene.

Of course, the last person made acquainted
with this interesting intelligence was the
Honourable Miss Delmar, and her nephew
took upon himself to make the communica-
tion. At first the honourable spinster
bridled up with indignation, wondered at
the girl's indelicacy, and much more at her
demeaning herself by marrying a private
marine. Captain Delmar replied that it was
true that Ben was only a private, but that
every common soldier was a gentleman by
profession. It was true that Bella Mason
might have done better ; but she was his
auat’s servant, and Keene was his valet, so
that the disparity was not so very great. He
then intimated that he had long perceived
the growing attachment; talked of .the
danger of young people being left so much
together; hinted about opportunity, and
descanted upon morals and propriety. ‘The
Honourable Miss Delmar was softened down
by the dexterous reasoning of her nephew ;
she was delighted to find so much virtue
extant in a sailor ; and, after an hour’s con-
versation, the married couple were sent for,
graciously pardoned, and Mrs. Keene, after
receiving a very tedious lecture, received a
very handsome present. But if her mistress
was appeased, Mrs. Keene’s mother was not.
As soon as the intelligence was received old
Mrs. Mason set off for Madeline Hall. She
first had a closeted interview with her daugh-
ter, and then with Captain Delmar, and as
soon as the latter was over she immediately
took her departure without paying her re-
spects to the mistress of the hall, or
exchanging one word with any of the ser-
vants ; this conduct gave occasion for more
inuendoes— some indeed, ascribed her
conduct to mortification at her daughter's
having made so imprudent a match, but
others exchanged very significant glances.

Three weeks after the marriage, the Par-
liament having been prorogued, the admiral
of the port considered that he was justified
in ordering the frigate outon a cruise. Ben
Keene, of course,. accompanied his’ master,and it WaS fot until three nionths had passed
away that the frigate returned into port. As
usual, the Honourable Captain Delmar, as
soon as he had paid his respects to the
admiral, set off to visit his aunt, accom-
panied by his benedict marine. On his
arrival he found that everything appeared
to be in great confusion ; indeed, an event
was occurring which had astonished the
whole household; the butler made a pro-
found bow to the captain; the footmen
forgot their usual smirk when he alighted.
Captain Delmar was ushered in solemn
silence into the drawing-room, and his aunt,
who had notice of his arrival, received
him with a stiff, prim air of unwonted
frigidity, with her arms crossed before her
on her white muslin apron.

‘“My dear aunt,’ said Captain Delmar,
as she coldly took his proffered hand, ‘‘ what
is thejmatter?”’

“The matter is this, nephew,” replied the
old lady; ‘‘ that marriage of your marine and
Bella Mason should have taken place six
months sooner than it did. This is a
wicked world, nephew; and sailors, I’m
afraid, are —— ”

““Marines, you should say, in this in-
stance, my dear aunt,’’ replied Captain
‘Delmar, insinuatingly. ‘‘I must confess
that neither sailors nor marines are quite so
strict as they ought to be ; however, Ben has
married her.’ Come, my dear aunt, allow
me to plead for them, although I am very
much distressed that such an event should
take place in your house. I think,” added
he, after a pause, ‘‘I shall give Mr. Keene
seven dozen at the gangway, for his pre-
sumption, as soon as I return on board.”’

“That won't mend the matter, nephew,”
replied Miss Delmar. ‘‘I’ll turn her out of
the house as soon as she can be moved.”

‘And I'll flog him as soon as I get him
on board,” rejoined the captain. ‘‘I will
not have your feelings shocked, and your
mind harassed in this way, by any impro-
priety on the part of my followers—most
infamous—shameful—abominable— unpar-
donable,” interjected the captain, walking
the quarter-deck up and-down the room.

‘Lhe Honourable Miss Delmar continued
to talk, and the honourable captain to agree
with her in all she said, for an hour at' least.
When people are allowed to give vent'to
their indignation without the smallest oppo-
sition, they soon talk it away ; such was the
case with the Honourable Miss Delmar.
When it was first announced that Bella
Keene was safely in bed with a fine boy, the
offended spinster turned away from the com-
munication with horror: when her own
maid ventured to remark that it was a lovely
baby, she was ordered to hold her tongue ;
she would not see the suffering mother, and

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 

>

the horrid marine was commanded to stay
in the kitchen, lest she should be contami-
nated by meeting him on the stairs; but
every day softened down her indignation,
and before a fortnight was over the Honour-
able Miss Delmar had not only seen but
admired the baby ; and at last decided upon
paying a visit to the mother, who was now
sufficiently recovered to undergo a lecture
of about two hours’ length, in which the
honourable spinster commented upon her
zzdecency, zzdiscretion, 2zconsiderateness,
zzcorrectness, zzdecorum, zzcontinence,
and zwdelicacy ; pointing out that her con-
duct was most zzexcusable, zziquitous, and
most zzfamous. The Honourable Miss
Delmar having had such a long zznings
then gave it up, because she was out ot
breath. Bella, who waited patiently to make
her response, and who was a very clever
girl, then declared with many tears, that
she was aware that her conduct was 7vex-
cusable, her faults had been zzvoluntary,
and her sorrow was zzexpressible; her 7y-
experience and her zzfatuation her only
apology ; that her z7felicity at her mistress’s
displeasure would zzevitably increase her
sufferings ; assured her that she was not z7-
corrigible, and that if her mistress would
only zzdulge her with forgiveness, as she
hoped to zzherit heaven she would nevet
zzcur her anger by committing the same
fault again. Satisfied with this assurance,
the Honourable Miss Delmarsoftened down,
and not only forgave, but actually took the
child into her lap, that Bella might read
the Bible which she had presented her with.
Reader, the child who had this great honour
conferred upon him, who actuaily laid in
the immaculate lap, on the apron of imma-
culate snowy whiteness of the immaculate
Honourable Miss Delmar, was no other
person than the narrator of this history—
or, if you please it, the Hero of this Tale.
That my mother had so far smoothed
things pretty well must be acknowledged ;
but it was to be presumed that her husband
might not be pleased at so unusual an oc-
currence, and already the sneers and inuen-
does of the servants’ hall were not wanting.
It appeared, however, that an interview had
taken place between Ben and Captain
Delmar shortly after my making my appear-
ance: what occurred did not transpire, but
this is certain that, upon the marine’s return
to the kitchen, one of the grooms, who
ventured to banter him, received such a
ound thrashing from Ben that it put an end
to all further joking. As Ben had taken up
the affair so seriously, it was to be presumed
that if there had been anticipation of the
hymeneal rites he was himself the party who
had been hasty; and that now he was
married, he was resolved to resent any im-6

pertinent remarks upon his conduct. At all
events, the question now became one of
less interest, as the scandal was of less im-
portance; and as Ben had made known his
determination to resent any remarks upon
the subject, not a word more was Said, at
all events when he was present,

In due time I was christened, and so
completely was my mother reinstalled in the
good graces of her mistress, that as Captain
Delmar had volunteered ,to stand my spon-
sor, the Honourable Miss Delmar gave the
necessary female security; at the particular
request of my mother, the captain consented
that I should bear his own Christian name,
and I was duly registered in the church
books as Percival Keene.

 

CHAPTER II.

THERE is no security in this world. A
dissolution of Parliament took place, and
on the following election the Honourable
Captain Delmar’s constituents, not being
exactly pleased at the total indifference
which he had shown to their interests, took
upon themselves to elect another member
in his stead, who, as Captain Delmar had
previously done, promised everything, and
in all probability would follow the honour-
able captain's example by performing no-
thing. The loss of his election was followed
up by the loss of his ship, Nis majesty’s
government not considering it necessary that
Captain Delmar (now that he had leisure to
attend to his professional duties). should re-
tain his command. ‘The frigate, therefore,
was paid off, and recommissioned by another
captain who had friends in Parliament.

As Ben Keene belonged to the marine
corps, he could not, of course remain as
valet to Captain Delmar, but was ordered,
with the rest of the detachment, to the
barracks at Chatham; my mother, although
she was determined that she would not live
at barracks, was not sorry to leave the Hall,
where she could not fail to perceive that she
was, from her imprudent conduct, no longer
treated with the respect or cordiality to which
she had been previously accustomed. She
Was most anxious to quit a place in which
her disgrace was so well known; and Cap-
tain Delmar having given her his. advice,
which coincided with her own ideas, and
also a very munificent present to enable her
to set up house-keeping, took his departure
from the Hall. My mother returned to her
room as the wheels of his carriage rattled
over the gravel of the drive, and many were
the bitter tears which she shed over her un-
conscious boy. ;

The following day the Honourable Miss
Delmar sent for-her; as usual, commenced

PER CIV AL A LENE |!

    

with a tedious lectuye, which, as before, was
wound up at parting with a handsome pre-
sent. The day after, my mother packed up
her trunks, and with me in her arms set off
to.Chatham, where we arrived safely, and
immediately went into furnished lodgings.
My mother was a clever, active woman, and
the presents which she had at different times
received amounted to a considerable sum of
money, over which her husband had never
ventured to assert any claim.

Indeed, I must do Ben Keene the justice
to say that he had the virtue of humility.
He felt that his wife was in every way his
superior, and that it was only under peculiar
circumstances that he could have aspired to
her. He was, therefore, submissive to her
in everything, consenting to every proposal
that was made by her, and guided by her
opinion. When, therefore, on her arrival
at Chatham, she pointed out how impossible
it would be for one brought up as she had
been to associate with the women in the
barracks, and that she considered it ad-
visable that she should set up some business
by which she might gain a respectable liveli-
hood, Ben, although he felt that this would
bea virtual separation, a@ mensa et thoro,
named no objections. Having thus ob-
tained the consent of her husband, who
considered her so much his superior as to
be infallible, my mother, after much cogita-
tion, resolved that she would embark her
capital ina circulating library and stationer’s
shop; for she argued that selling paper,
pens, and sealing-wax was a commerce
which would secure to her customers of the
better class. Accordingly, she hired a house
close to the barracks, with a very good-sized
shop below, painting and papering it very
smartly; there was much taste in all her
arrangements, and although the expences
of the outlay and the first year’s rent had
swallowed up a considerable portion of the
money she had laid by, it soon proved that
she had calculated well, and her shop be-
came a sort of lounge for the officers, who
amused themselves with her smartness and
vivacity, the more so as she had a talent for
repartee, which men like to find in a very
pretty woman,

In a short time my mother beame quite
the rage, and it was a mystery how so pretty
and elegant a person could have become the
wife of a private marine. It was, however,
ascribed to her haying been captivated with
the very handsome person and figure of her
husband, and having yielded to her feelings
in a moment of infatuation. The ladies
patronised her circulating library; the
officers-and gentlemen purchased her. sta-
tionery... My mother then added gloves,
perfumery, canes, and lastly cigars, to her
previous assortment; and. before shes-hadbeen a year 1n business, found that she was
making money very fast, and increasing her
customers every day. My mother had a
great deal of tact; with the other sex she
was full of merriment and fond of joking,
consequently a great favourite; towards her
own sex her conduct was quite the reverse ;
she assumed a respectful, prudish air,
blended with a familiarity which was never
offensive; she was, therefore, equally popu-
lar with her own sex, and prospered in every
sense of the word. Had her husband been
the least inclined to have asserted his rights,
the position which she had gained was
sufficient to her reducing him to a State of
subjection. She had raised herself, unaided,
far above him; he saw her continually
chatting and laughing with his own officers,
to whom he was compelled to make a re-
spectful salute whenever they passed by
him; he could not venture to address her,
or even to come into the shop, when his
officers were there, or it would have been
considered disrespectful towards them; and
as he could not sleep out of barracks, all
his intercourse with her was to occasionally
slink down by the area, to find something
better to eat than he could have in his own
mess, or obtain from her an occasional
shilling to spend in beer. Ben, the marine,
found at last, that, somehow or another, his
wife had slipped out of his hands; that he
was nothing more than a pensioner on her
bounty, a slave to her wishes, and a fetcher
and carrier at her command, and he resigned
himself quietly to his fate, as better men
have done before.

CHAPTER LIT.

I THINK that the reader will agree with
me that my mother showed in her con-
duct great strength of character. She
had been compelled to marry a man whom
she despised, and to whom she felt her-
self superior in every respect ; she had
done ‘so to save her reputaion. That
she had been in error is true, but situation
and opportunity had conspired against
her; and when she found out the pride
and selfishness of the man to whom
she was devoted, and for whom she had
sacrificed so much—when her ears were
wounded by proposals from his lips that she
should take such a step to avoid the scandal
arising from their intimacy—-when at the
moment that he made such a proposition,
and the veil fell down and revealed the heart
of man in its selfishness, it is not to be won-
dered that, with bitter tears, arising from
wounded love, anger, and despair at her
hopeless position, she consented. After
having lost all she valued. what did she

PERCIVAL KEENE.

7

care for the future? It was but one sacri-
fice more to make one more proof of her
devotion and obedience. But there are few
women who, like my mother, would have
recovered her position to the extent that she
did. Had she not shown such determina-
tion, had she consented to have accompanied
her husband to the barracks, and have mixed
up with the other wives of the men, she
would have gradually sunk down to their
level; to this she could not consent. Hay-
ing once freed herself from her thraldom,
he immediately sunk down to his level, as
she rose up to a position in which, if she
could not ensure more than civility and
protection, she was at all events secure from
insult and ill-treatment.

Such was the state of affairs when I had
arrived at the important age of six years, a
comic-looking, laughing urchin, petted by
the officers, and as full of mischief as a tree
full of monkeys. My mother’s business had
so much increased, that about a year pre-
vious to this date, she had found it necessary
to have some one to assist her, and had
decided upon sending for her sister Amelia
to live with her. It was, however, necessary
to obtain her mother’s consent. My grand-
mother had never seen my mother since the
interview which she had had with her at
Madeline Hall shortly after her marriage
with Ben the marine. Latterly, however,
they had corresponded; for my mother, who
was too independent to seek her mother
when she was merely the wife of a private
marine, now that she was in flourishing
circumstances had first tendered the olive
branch, which had been accepted, as soon
as my grandmother found that she was
virtually separated from her husband. As
my grandmother found it rather lonely at
the isolated house in which she resided, and
Amelia declared herself bored to death, it
was at last agreed that my grandmother
and my aunt Amelia should both come and
take up their residence with my mother, and
in due time they arrived. Milly, as my aun
was called, was three years younger than my
mother, very pretty, and as smart as her
sister, perhaps a little more demure in her
look, but with more mischief in her dis-
position. My grandmother was a cross,
spiteful old woman; she was very large in
her person, but very respectable in her
appearance. I need not say‘ that Miss
Amelia did not lessen the attraction at the
circulating library, which after her arrival
was even more frequented by the officers
than before.

My aunt Milly was very soon as fond of
me as I was of mischief ; indeed it is not to
be wondered at, for I was a type of the
latter. I soon loved her better than my
mother, for she encouraged me in all my8 PERCIVAL KEENE.

ricks. My mother looked grave, and
occasionally scolded me; my grandmother
slapped me hard and rated me continually ;
but reproof or correction from the two latter
were of no avail; and the former, when she
wished to play any trick which she dared
not do herself, employed me as her agent ;
so that I obtained the whole credit for what
were her inventions, and I may safely add,
underwent the whole blame and punish-
ment; but that I cared nothing for; her
caresses, cakes, and sugar-plums, added to
my natural propensity, more than repaid
me for the occasional severe rebukes of my
mother, and the vindictive blows I received
from the long fingers of my worthy grand-
mother. Moreover, the officers took much
notice of me, and it must be admitted, that,
although I positively refused to learn my
letters, I was a very forward child. My
great patron was a Captain Bridgeman, a
very thin, elegantlywmade man, who was
continually performing feats of address and
activity ; occasionally I would escape with
him and go down to the mess, remain at
dinner, drink toasts, and standing on the
mess-table, sing two or three comic songs
which he had taught me. I sometimes re-
turned a little merry with the bumpers,
which made my mother very angry, my old
grandmother to hold up her hands, and
look at the ceiling through her spectacles,
and my aunt Milly as merry as myself.
Before I was eight years old, I had become
so notorious, that any prank played in the
town, any trick undiscovered, was invariably
laid to my account; and many were the
applications made to my mother for in-
demnification for broken windows and other
damage done, too often, I grant, with good
reason, but very often when I had been
perfectly innocent of the misdemeanour.
At last I was voted a common nuisance,
and every one, except my mother and my
aunt Milly, declared that it was high time
that I went to school.

One evening the whole of the family were
seated at tea in the back parlour. I was
sitting very quietly and demurely in a
corner, a sure sign that I was in mischief,
and so indeed I was (for I was putting a
little gunpowder into my grandmother's
snuff-box, which I had purloined, just
that she might ‘‘smell powder,” as they
say at sea, without danger of life or
limb), when the old woman addressed my
mother —

‘“ Bella, is that boy never going to school?
it will be the ruin of him.”

‘* What will be the ruin of him, mother ?”
rejoined my aunt Milly ; ‘‘ going to
school?"

‘Hold your nonsense, child: you are as
bad as the boy himself,” replied granny.

   

“ Boys are never ruined by education ; girls
sometimes are.”

Whether my mother thought that this
was an innuendo reflecting upon any por-
tion of her own life, I cannot tell ; but she
replied very tartly :—

‘“You're none the worse for my educa-
tion, mother, or you would not be sitting
ieTer as

‘« Very true, child,’ replied granny; ‘‘but
recollect, neither would you have married
a marine—a private marine, Bella, while
your sister looks up to the officers. Ay,”
continued the old woman, leaving off her
knitting and looking at her daughter, ‘‘and
is likely to get one, too, if she plays her
cards well—that Lieutenant Flat can’t keep
out of the shop.” (My granny having at
this moment given me an opportunity to
replace her snuff-box, I did not fail to profit
by it; and as I perceived her knitting-pin
had dropped on the floor, I stuck it into
the skirt of her gown behind, so that when-
ever she looked for it, it was certain ever to
be behind her.)

‘“Mr, Flat is of a very respectable family,
I hear say,” continued my grandmother.

“jAnd a great fool, interrupted my
mother. ‘‘I hope Milly won’t listen to him.”

‘« He's an officer,’ replied my granny,
‘not a private.”

‘« Well, mother, I prefer my private ma-
rine, for I can make him do as I please;
if he’s a private, I’m commanding officer,
and intend so to be as long as [ live.”’

‘‘ Well, well, Bella, let us say no more
on the old score; but that boy must go to
school. Deary me, I have dropped my
needle.”

My grandmother rose, and turned round
and round, looking for her needle, which,
strange to say, she could not find; she
opened her snuff-box, and took a pinch to
clear her optics. ‘‘ Deary me, why, what’s
the matter with my snuff? and where can
that needle be? Child, come and look for
the needle ; don’t be sticking there in that
Comer.

I thought proper to obey the order, and
pretended to be: very diligent in my search.
Catching aunt Milly’s eye, I pointed to the
knitting-needle| sticking in the hind skirts
of my grandmotther's gown, and then was
down on my knees jagain, while my aunt
held her handkerchief to her mouth to check
her laughter.

A minute afterwards, Ben the marine
first tapped gently, and then opened the
door and came in; for at that late hour the
officers were all at dinner, and the shop
empty.

‘“There are three parcels of books for
you to take,” said my mother; ‘‘ but you've
plenty of time, so take down the tea-thingsand get your tea in the kitchen before you

xO.

**You haven't got a shilling, Bella, about
you? I want some ‘bacey,” said Ben, in
his quiet way.

“Yes, here's a shilling, Ben; but don’t
drink too much beer,” replied my mother.

‘‘Deary me, what can have become of
my needle?” exclaimed my grandmother
turning round.

‘“‘ Here it is ma’am,” said Ben, who per-
ceived it sticking in her skirt. ‘‘That’s
Percival’s work, I'll answer for it.”’

My granny received the needle from Ben,
and then turned to me: ‘‘ You good-for-
nothing boy ; so you put the needle there,
did you? pretending to look for it all the
while ; you shall go to school, sir, that you
shall.” :

“You said a needle, granny; I was look-
ing for a needle: you didn't say your
knitting-pin; I could have told you where
that was.”

“Yes, yes, those who hide can find; to
school you go, or I'll not stay in the house.”

Ben took the tea-tray out of the room.
He had been well drilled in and out of the
barracks.

‘Tl go down in the kitchen to father,”
cried I, for I was tired of sitting still.

‘«No, you won't, sir,’”’ said my mother,
“‘you naughty boy; the kitchen is not the
place for you, and if ever I hear of you
smoking a pipe again Z

‘‘Captain Bridgeman smokes,” replied I.

‘Yes, sir, he smokes cigars; but a child
like you must not smoke a pipe.”

‘“And now come here, sir,” said my
granny, who had the lid of her snuff-box
off, and held it open in her hand ; “ what
have you been doing with my snuff?”

“Why, granny, have I had your snuff-
box the whole day ?”

‘* How should I know ?—a boy like you,
with every finger a fish-hook; I do believe
you have ; I only wish I could find you out.
I had fresh snuff this morning.”

‘“Perhaps they made a mistake at the
shop, mother,’’ said aunt Milly ; ‘‘ they are
very careless,’

““Well, I can’t tell: I must have some
more; I can't take this.”

‘“Throw it in the fire. granny,” said I ;
*‘and I'll run with the box and get it full
again.”

“Well, I suppose it's the best thing I can
do,” replied the old woman, who went to
the grate, and leaning over, poured the snuff
out on the live coals. The result was a loud
explosion and a volume of smoke, which
burst out of the grate into her face—the
pinner and lappets singed, her spectacles
lifted from her nose, and her face as black as
a sweeps. ‘The old woman screamed, and

 

  

PERCIVAL KEENE,

 

threw herself back; in so doing, she fell
over the chair upon which she had been
sitting, and, somehow or another, tripped
me up, and lay with all her weight upon me.
I had been just attempting to make my
escape during the confusion—for my mother
and Milly were equally frightened—when |
found myself completely smothered by the
weight of my now almost senseless granny,
and, as I have before mentioned, she was a
very corpulent woman. Had I been in any
other position I should not have suffered so
much ; but I had unfortunately fallen flat on
my back, and was now lying with my face
upwards, pressed upon by the broadest part
of the old woman's body; my nose was
flattened, and my breath completely stopped.
How lohg my granny might have remained
there groaning I cannot tell; probably, as I
was somewhat a spoiled child before this, it
might have ended in her completely finishing
me; but she was roused up from her state of
half syncope by a vigorous attack from my
teeth, which, in the agony of suffocation, I
used with preternatural force of jaw from
one so young. I bit right through every-
thing she had on, and as my senses were fast
departing, my teeth actually met with my
convulsive efforts. My granny, roused by
the extreme pain, rolled over on her side,
and then it was that my mother and aunt,
who supposed that I had made my escape
from the room, discovered me liféless, and
black in the face. They ran to me, but I
still held on with my teeth, nor could I be
separated from my now screaming relative,
until the admission of fresh air, and a
plentiful sprinkling of cold water brought
me to my senses, when I was laid on the
sofa utterly exhausted. It certainly was a
narrow escape, and it may be said that the
‘‘biter was nearly bit.’” As for my granny,
she recovered her fright and her legs, but
she did not recover her temper; she could
not sit down without a pillow on the chair
for many days, and although little was said
to me in consequence of the danger I had
incurred, yet there was an evident abhor-
rence of me on the part of the old woman,
a quiet manner about my mother, and a
want of her usual hilarity on the part of my
aunt, which were to be a foreboding of
something unpleasant. A few days brought
to light what was the result of various
whisperings and consultations. It wasona
fine Monday morning, that Ben made his
appearance at an unusually early hour; my
cap was put on my head, my cloak over my
shoulders; Ben took me by the hand,

having a covered basket in the other, and I
was led away like a lamb to the butcher.
As I went out there was a tear in the eyes
of my aunt Milly, a melancholy over the
countenance of my mother, and a twinklingPERCIVAL

expression of satisfaction in my grand-
mother’s eyes, which even her spectacles
could not conceal from me: the fact was,
my grandmother had triumphed, and I was
going to school.

 

CHAP PER DV.

AS soon as I was clear of the door, I looked
up into Ben’s face and said, ‘‘ Father, where
are we going?”

“Well,” replied he, ‘‘I am going to take
you to school.”

‘‘School! What am I going to school
fores) ceplied 1.

‘‘For biting your grandmother, I expect,
in the first place, and to get a little learning,
and a good deal of flogging, if what they
say istrue! I never was at school myself.”

“What do you learn, and why are you
flogged?”

‘‘You learn to read and to write and to
count; I can’t do either—more’s the pity;
and you are flogged, because without
flogging, little boys can’t learn anything.”

‘This was not a very satisfactory explana-
tion. I made no further inquiries, and we
continued our way in silence until we arrived
at the school door; there was a terrible
buz inside. Ben tapped, the door opened,
and a volume of hot air burst forth, all the

fresh air having been consumed in repeating
the fresh lessons for the day. Ben walked
up between the forms, and introduced me
to the schoolmaster, whose name was Mr.
‘Thadeus O’Gallagher, a poor scholar from
Ireland, who had set up an establishment at
half-a-guinea a quarter for day scholars ; he
was reckoned a very severe master,vand the
children were kept in better order in his
school than in any other establishment ot
the kind in the town; and I presume that
my granny had made inquiries to that effect,
as there were one or two schools of the same
kind much nearer to my mother’s house.
Ben, who probably had a great respect for
learning, in consequence of his having none
himself, gave a military salute to Mz.
O’Gallagher, saying, with his hand still to
his hat, ‘‘A new boy, sir, come to school.”

‘““Oh, by the powers! don't I know him?”
cried Mr. O’Gallagher; ‘‘its the young
gentleman who bit a hole in his grand-
mother; Master Keene, as they call him,
Keene teeth at all events. Lave him with
me; and that’s his dinner in the basket I
presume; lave that too. He'll soon be a
good boy, or it will end ina blow-up.”

Ben put down the basket, turned on his
heel, and left the schoolroom, and me stand-

ing by the throne of my future pedagogue—
I say throne, because he had not a desk, as
schoolmasters generally have, but a sort of

  

KEENE.

square dais, about eighteen inches high, on
which was placed another oblong superstruc-
ture of the same height, serving him for a
seat; both parts were covered with some
patched and torn old drugget, and upon
subsequent examination I found them to
consist of three old claret cases without
covers, which he had probably picked up
very cheap; two of them turned upside
down, so as to form the lower square, and
the third placed in the same way upside
down upon the two lower. Mr. O’Gallagher
sat in great dignity upon the upper one,
with his feet on the lower, being thus suffi-
ciently raised upon an eminence to command
a view of the. whole of his pupils in every
part of the school. He was not a tall man,
but very square built, with carroty hair and
very bushy red whiskers ; to me he appeared
a most formidable person, especially when
he opened his large mouth and displayed
his teeth, when I was reminded of the sign
of the Red Lion close to my mother's
house. I certainly never had been before
so much awed during my short existence as
I was with the appearance of my pedagogue,
who sat before me somewhat in the fashion
of a Roman tribune, holding in his hand a
short round ruler, as if it were his truncheon
of authority. I had not been a minute in
the school before I observed him to raise
his arm; away went the ruler whizzing
through the air, until it hit the skull of the
lad for whom it was intended at the other
end of the schoolroom. ‘The boy who had
been talking to his neighbour, rubbed his
poll, and whined.

‘“Why don’t you bring back my ruler,
you spalpeen?” said Mr. O’Gallagher. “Be
quick, Johnny Target, or it will end in a
blow-up.”

The boy, who was not a little confused
with the blow, sufficiently recovered his
senses to obey the order, and whimpering
as he came up, returned the ruler to the
hands of Mr. O’Gallagher.

‘“That tongue of yours will get you into
more trouble than it will business, I expect,
Johnny Target : it’s an unruly member, and
requires a constant ruler over it.”” Johnny
‘Target rubbed his head and said nothing.

““Master Keene,” said he, after a short
pause. ‘‘ did you see what a tundering tump
on the head that boy got just now, and do
you know what it was for?”’

* No,%; replied: I,

‘“ Where's your manners, you animal?
‘No!’—If you plase, for the future, you
must not forget to say, ‘ No, sir,’ or, ‘ No,
Mr. O'Gallagher.’ D’ye mind me—now say
yes—what?”

*“ Yes, what !.”’

“Yes, what! you little ignoramus ; say
‘yes, Mr. Q’Gallagher,’ and recollect, astheparish clerk says, ‘this is the last time of
asking.” ”’

“Yes, Mr. O’Gallagher.”

‘*Ah! now you see, there’s nothing like
coming to school—you've learn’t manners
already ; and now, to go back again, as to
why Johnny Target had the rap on the head,
which brought tears into his eyes? I'll just
tell you, it was for talking ; you see, the
first thing for a boy to learn, is to hold his
tongue, and that shall be your lesson for the
day ; you'll just sit down there, and if you
Say one word during the whole time you are
in the school, it will end ina blow-up ; that
means, on the present occasion, that I'll skin
you alive as they do the eels, which, being
rather keen work, will just suit your consti-
tution.’ I had wit enough to feel assured
that Mr. O’Gallagher was not to be trifled
with, so I took my seat, and amused myself
with listening to the various lessons which
the boys came up to say, and the divers
punishments inflicted—few escaped. At last,
the hour of recreation and dinner arrived,
the boys were dismissed, each seized his
basket, containing his provisions, or. ran
home to get his meal with his parents; I
found myself sitting in the school-room
tete-d-tete with Mr. O'Gallagher, and feeling
very well inclined for my dinner, I cast a
wistful eye at my basket, but I said nothing ;
Mr. O’Gallagher, who appeared to have
been ia thought, at last said—

‘‘Mr. Keene, you may now go out of
school, and scream till you're hoarse, just to
make up for lost time.”

“May I take my dinner, sir?” inquired I.

“Is it your dinner you mane ?—to be sure
you may ; but, first, I'll just look into the
basket and its contents ; for you see, Mr.
Keene, there’s some victuals that don’t
agree with larning ; and if you eat them,
you'll not be fit for your work when your
play-hours are over. What's easy of diges-
tion will do; but what's bad for little boys’
stomachs may get you into a scrape, and
then it will end in a blow-up ; that is, you'll
have a taste of the ferrule or the rod—two
assistants of mine, to whom I’venot yet had
the pleasure of introducing you—all in good
time if what I’ve heard of you be true, you
and they will bebetteracquainted aforelong.”’

Mr. O’Gallagher then examined the con-
tents of my basket; my aunt Milly had
taken care that I should be well provided:
there was a large paper of beef sandwiches,
a piece of bread and cheese, and three or
four slices of seed-cake. Mr, O'Gallagher

opened all the packages, and, after a pause,
said, —

‘“Now, Master Keene, d’ye think you
would ever guess how I came by all my
larning, and what I fed upon when it was
pumped into me? Then I'll tell you; it

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

II

was dry bread, with a

little bit of cheese
when I could get it

, énd that wasn’t often.
Bread and cheese is the food to make a
scholar of ye; and mayhap one slice of the
cake mayn't much interfere, so take them,
and run away to the play-ground as fast as
you can ; and, d’ye hear me, Master Keene?
recollect your grace befare meat— For
what we have received, the Lord make us
truly thankful.’ Now, off wid you. The
rest of the contents are confiscated for my
sole use, and your particular benefit.”

Mr. O'Gallagher grinned as he finis
his oration ; and he looked sO much like a
wild beast, that I was glad to be off as fast
as I could. I turned round as I went out of
the door, and perceived that the Ssanawiches
were disappearing with wonderful rapidity ;
but I caught his eye: it was like that of a
tiger’s at his meal, and I was off at te.
doubled speed.

hed

 

CHAPTER  V.

As soon as I gained the play-ground, which
was, in fact, nothing more than a small
piece of waste land, to which we had no
more claim than any other people, I sat
down by a post, and commenced my dinner
off what Mr. O’Gallagher had thought
proper to leave me. I was afraid of him, it
is true, for his severity to the other boys
convinced me that he would have little
mercy upon me, if I dared to thwart him :
but indignation soon began to obtain the
mastery over my fears, and I began to con-
sider if I could not be even with him for his
barefaced robbery of my dinner; and then
I reflected whether it would not be better to
allow him to take my food, if I found out
that by so doing he treated me well; and I
resolved, at all events, to delay a little. The
hour of play was now over, and a bell
summoned us all to school; I went in with
the others, and took my seat where Mr.
O'Gallagher had before desired me,

As soon as all was silent, my pedagogue
beckoned me to him.

‘“Now, Mr. Keene,” said he, ‘you'll be
so good as to lend me your ears—that is, to
listen while I talk to you a little bit. D’ye
know how many roads there are to larning ?
Hold your tongue. I ask you because I
know you don’t know, and because I am
going to tell you. There are exactly three
roads : the first is the eye, my jewel; and if
a lad has a sharp eye like yours, its a great
deal that will get into his head by that road ;
youll know a thing when you see it again,
although you mayn’t know your own father
—that's a secret only known to your mother,
The second road to larning, you spalpeen,
is the ear; and if you mind all people say,12

and hear all you can, you'llj/'gain a great
many truths, and just ten times as much
more in the shape of lies. You see the
wheat and the chaff will come together, and
you must pick the latter out of the former
at any seasonable future opportunity. Now
we come to the third road to larning, which
is quite a different sort of road; because,
you see, the two first give us little trouble,
and we trot along almost whether we will or
not: the third and grand roadis the head
itself, which requires the eye and the ear to
help it ; and two other assistants, which we
call memory and application ; so you see
we have the visual, then the aural, and then
the mental roads—three hard words which
you don’t understand, and which I shan't
take the trouble to explain to such an
animal as you are ; for I never throw away
pearls to swine, as the saying is. Now,
then, Mr. Keene, we must come to another
part of our history. As there are three
roads to larning, so there are three manes
or implements by which boys are stimulated
to larn: the first is the ruler, which you
saw me shy at the thick skull of Johnny
Target, and you see’d what a rap it gave
him ; well, then, the second is the ferrule—
a thing you never heard of, perhaps ; but
I'll show it you; here it is,” continued
Mr. O’Gallagher, producing a sort of flat
wooden ladle with a hole in the centre of
it. ‘‘ The ruler is for the head, as you have
seen ; the ferrule is for the hand. You have
seen me use the ruler; now I'll show you
what I do with the ferrule.”

‘“You Tommy Goskin, come here, sir.”

Tommy Goskin put down his book,
and came up to his master with a good
deal of doubt in his countenance.

‘Tommy Goskin, you didn’t say your
lesson well to-day.”

‘“‘Yes I did, Mr. O’Gallagher,” replied
Tommy, ‘‘ you said I did yourself.”

‘(Well then, sir, you didn’t say it well
yesterday,’ continued Mr. O’Gallagher.

«Ves. 1, did, sir, replied. the boy,
whimpering.

‘And is it you who dares to contradict
me?” cried Mr. O’Gallagher; ‘‘at all events,
you won't say it well to-morrow, so hold out
your right hand.”

Poor Tommy held it out, and roared
lustily at the first blow, wringing his
fingers with the smart.

‘‘Now your left hand, sir; fair play isa
jewel ; always carry the dish even.”

Tommy received a blow on his left hand,
which was followed up with similar demon-
strations of suffering.

‘There, sir, you may go now,” said Mr.
O'Gallagher, ‘‘and mind you don’t do it
again, or else there'll be a blow-up. And

now, Master Keene, we come to the third

PERCIVAL KEENE,

    

   

and last, which is the birch for the tail—
here it is—have you ever had a taste?”

“No, sit, replied 1.

“Well, then, you have that pleasure to
come, and come it will, I don’t doubt, if
you and I are a few days longer acquainted.
Let me see *

Here Mr. O’Gallagher looked round the
school, as ifto find a culprit ; but the boys,
aware of what was going on, kept their eyes
so attentively to their books, that he couid
not discover one; at last he singled out a fat,
chubby lad.

‘© Walter Puddock, come here, sir.”

Walter Puddock came accordingly ; evi-
dently he gave himself up for lost.

““ Walter Puddock, I just have been telling
Master Keene that you are the best Latin
scholar in the whole school. Now, sir, don't
make me out to bea liar—do me credit, —
or, by the blood of the O’Gallaghers, I'll
flog yetill you're as thin as a herring. What's
the Latin for a cocked hat, as the Roman
gentlemen wore with their zogeys ?”

Walter Puddock hesitated a few seconds,
and then, without venturing a word of re-,
monstrance, let down his trousers.

‘See now the guilty tief, he knows what's
coming. Shame upon you, Walter Puddock,
to disgrace your preceptor so, and make him
tellalie to young Master Keene. Where's Phil
Mooney ? Come along, sir, and:hoist Walter
Puddock: it’s no larning that I can, drive
into you, Phil, but it’s sartain sure that by
your manes I drive a little into the other
boys.”

Walter Puddock, as soon as he was on
the back of Phil Mooney, received a dozen
cuts with the rod, well laid on. He bore it
withcut flinching, although the tears rolled
down his cheeks.

‘« There, Walter Puddock, I told you it
would end in a blow-up ; go to your dic-
tionary, you dirty blackguard, and do more
credit to your education and superior instruc-
tion from a certain person who shall be
nameless.”

Mr. O’Gallagher laid the rod on one side,
and then continued,— :

‘‘Now, Master Keene, I’ve just shown
you the three roads to larning, and aiso the
three implements to persuade little boys to
larn ; if you don't travel very fast by the
three first, why you will be followed up very
smartly by the three last—a nod’s as good
as a wink to a blind horse, any day - and
one thing more, you little spalpeen, mind
that there’s more mustard to the sandwiches
to-morrow, or else it will end in a blow-up.
Now you've got the whole theory of the art
of tuition, Master Keene ; please the pigs
we ll commence with the practice to-
morrow.

My worthy pedagogue did nat address meany more during that day; the school broke
up at five, and I made haste home, thinking
over all that had passed in the school-room.

My granny and mother were both anxious
to know what had passed; the first hoped
that I had been flogged, the second that I
had not, but I refused to communicate. I
resumed a haughty, indifferent air, for I was
angry with my mother, and as for my grand-
mother, I hated her. Aunt Milly, however,
when we were alone, did not question me in
vain. I told her all that had passed ; she
bade me beof good heart, and that I should
not be ill-treated if she could help it.

I replied, that if I were ill-treated, I would
have my revenge somehow or another. I
then went down to the barracks, to the
rooms of Captain Bridgeman, and told him
what had occurred. He advised me to
laugh at the ruler, the ferrule, and the rod.
He pointed out to me the necessity of my
going to school and learning to read and
write, at the same time was very indignant
at the conduct of Mr. O’Gallagher, and told
me to resist in every way any injustice or
tyranny, and that I should be sure of his
support and assistance, provided that I did
pay attention to my studies.

Fortified by the advice and protection of
my two great friends, I made up my mind
that I would learn as fast as I could, but if
treated ill, that I would die a martyr, rather
than yield te oppression; at all events, I
would, if possible, play Mr. O’Gallagher a
trick for every flogging or punishment I re-
ceived ; and with this laudable resolution I
was soon fast asleep, to fast even too dream.

CHAPTER VI.

WHEN my aunt Milly called me in the
morning, that I might be up and have my
breakfast in time for school, I felt as if two
years had passed over my head during the
last twenty-four hours. I had never wit-
nessed tyranny until the day before, and my
blood was heated with indignation: I felt
myself capable of anything and everything.

My anger was about as great towards my
mother and grandmother for having sent me
to such a place, as it was against Mr. O’Gal-
lagher. Instead of going up and kissing my
mother, I paid no attention to either her or
my grandmother, much to the mortification
of the former and surprise of the latter, who
said, ina very cross manner, “ Where's your
manners, child? why don’t you say good
morning ?”’

‘‘ Because I have not been long enough at
school to learn manners, granny.’

““Come and kiss me before you go, my
child,” said my mother,

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   

13

‘*No, mother; you have sent me to
school to be beat, and I never will kiss you
again.

‘“‘ Naughty, good-for-nothing boy!” ex-
claimed my granny; “ what a bad heart you
must have.”

“No, that he has not,” cried my Aunt’
Milly. ‘‘Sister should have inquired what’
sort of a school it was before she sent him.”

“I made every inquiry,” replied my
granny ; “‘he can’t play tricks there.”

* Wont [ee eried: I. but Lewills and
not only there but here. I'll be even with
you all; yes, I'll be even with you, granny,
if I die for it.” :

“Why, you audacious wretch, I’ve a great
mind to m

‘IT dare say you have, but recollect I can
bite ; you'd better be quiet, granny, or, as
the master says, ‘it will end in a blow-up.’”

‘‘Only hear the little wretch,” said my
granny, lifting up her hands; ‘‘I shall see
you hanged yet, you ungrateful child.”

‘I’m not ungrateful,” replied I, throwing
my arms round Milly’s neck, and kissing
her with fervour; ‘‘I can love those who
love me.”

“Then you don't love me?” said my
mother reproachfully.

“‘I did yesterday, but I don’t now; but
it’s time for me to go, aunt; is my basket
ready? Idon’t want father to take me to
school, I can .do without him, and when I
don't: choose to go any more, I won't; recol-
lect that, mother :’’ so saying, I seized my
basket and quitted the room. There was a
long consultation, I found, after my depart-
ture: my mother, when my aunt had in-
formed her of Mr. O’Gallagher’s conduct,
wished to remove me instantly ; my grand-
mother insisted upon it that there was not
a word of truth in what I had said, and
threatened that if I did not remain at that
very school, she would leave Chatham, and
take my aunt with her. As my mother could
not part with Aunt Milly, the consequence
was that my grandmother gained the day.

I arrived in good time, and took my seat
near my master. I preferred doing this, as
I had a long conversation with Captain
Bridgeman, who told me that although Mr.
O’Gallagher had put the ruler down as
punishment No. 1, the ferrule No. 2, and
the birch as No. 3, and of course they were
considered to be worse as the number rose,
that he considered it to be the very contrary,

 

as he had had them all well applied when‘
he was at school ; he ordered me, therefore,

never to hold out my hand to the ferrule, by
which refusal I should of course bé flogged;
but he assured me that the birch, especially
when it is given often, was a mere nothing.
Now I considered that the surest way to

avoid the ruler was to sit close to my master,”who could then have no pretence for sending
it at my head; the fact was, I had _deter-
mined to save the more noble portions of
my body, and leave Mr, O’Gallagher to do
what he pleased with the other: to do him
justice he lost no time.

‘“Come “here, ‘Mr. “Keene,” said - he,
where’s your manners? why don't you say
good morning to your preceptor? Can you
read at all?”

ST INI@, Sites”

‘“« D'ye know your letters?”

** Some of them—lI think I do, sir.’

‘* Some of them—I suppose about two out
of six-and-tweniy. It’s particular attention
that’s been paid to your education, I per-
ceive ; you've nothing to unlearn anyhow,
that's something. Now, sir, do you think
that a classical scholar and a gentleman born
like me, is to demane myself by hearing you
puzzle at the alphabet? You're quite mis-
taken, Mr. Keene, you must gain your first
elements second-hand ; so where’s Timothy
Ruddell ? You, Timothy Ruddel, you'll just
teach this young Master Keene his whole
alphabet, and take care, at the same time,
that you know your own lessons, or it will
end in a blow-up ; and you, Master Keene,
if you have not larnt your whole alphabet
perfect by dinner time, why you'll have a
small taste of No. 2, just as a hint of what’s
coming next. Go along, you little ignorant
blackguard; and you, Timothy Ruddel,
look out for a taste of No. 3, if you don’t
larn him and yourself all at once, and at the
same time.”

I was very well pleased with this arrange-
ment; I had resolved to learn, and I was
doubly stimulated to learn now, to save
poor Timothy Ruddel from an unjust punish-
ment.

In the three hours I was quite perfect,
and Timothy Ruddel, who was called up
before me, was also able to say his lesson
without a blunder, very much to the dis-
appointment of Mr. O'’Gallagher, who
observed, ‘‘So you've slipped through my
fingers, have you, this time, Master Timothy ?
Never mind, I'll have you yet; and, more-
over, there's Master Keene to go through
the fiery furnace.” Just before dinner time
I was called up ; with my memory of many
of the letters, and the assistance I had
received from Timothy Ruddel, I felt very
confident.

i Via. letters “that, sir?
O'Gallagher,

Pea DO Ds he

“You little blackguard, I’ll dodge you ;
you think to escape, do you ?”’

aN ee, CEOs)?

- Much to Mr. O’Gallagher’s surprise, I
said them all without onemistake. Instead
of comuandation I received abuse. “ By

said Mr,

PERCLIVAL KLEHNE,

  

all the powers,’ exclaimed my pedagogue,
‘« but everything seems to go wrong to-day ;
my hand has been completely idle ; this will
never do: didn’t you tell me, Mr. Keene,
that you didn’t know your letters?”

‘«T said I knew some of them, sir.”

‘If my memory is correct, Mr. Keene,
you told me that you knew two out of
twenty-six.”

‘“ No, sir, you said that.”

“That's just as much as to tell me, your
preceptor, a classical scholar, and a Milesian
gentleman to boot, that I lie, for which I
intend to have satisfaction, Mr. Keene, I
assure you. You're guilty in two counts, as
they say at the Old Bailey, where you'll be
cailed up to some of these days, as suré as
you stand there; one count isin telling mea
lie, in saylng you did not know your alpha-
bet, when it’s quite clear that you did ; and,
secondly,*in giving me the lie, by stating
that I said what you said. You thought to
escape re, but you're mistaken, Mr. Keene;
so now, if you please, we will just have a
taste of No. 2. Hould out your hand, Mr.
Keene: d’ye hear me, sir? hould out your
hand.”

But this I positively refused to do. ‘‘ You
won't, won’t you? Well, then, we must
increase the punishment for your contempt
of court, and at once commence with No.
3, which I had intended to reserve till to-
morrow. Comealong, Phil Mooney, there’s
fresh mate for you to carry, and come out
No. 3, here’s fresh ground for you to travel
OVeles

Phil Mooney and the birch soon made
their appearance: I was hoisted by the one
and scourged by the other.

The first taste of the birch is anything but
agreeable : I could only compare it to the
dropping of molten lead. I tried all I could
to prevent crying out, but it was impossible,
and at last I roared like a mad bull; and I
was as madas a bull, and as dangerous.
Could I have picked up any weapon at the
moment that I was dropped from the
shoulders of Phil Mooney, it would have
gone hard with Mr, O’Gallagher. My rage
was greater than my agony. I stood when
I had been landed, my chest heaving, my
teeth set fast, and my apparel still in dis-
order. The school was dismissed, and I
was left alone with the savage pedagogue,
who immediately took up my basket, and
began to rummage the contents,

“Make yourself dacent, Mr. Keene, and
don’t be shocking my modesty, and taking
away my appetite. Did you mention the
mustard, as I desired you? Upon my faith,
but you're a nice boy, and do justice to the
representations of your grandmother, and
when you see her you may tell her that I did
not forget the promise she exacted from me,You forgot all about the mustard, you little
blackguard. If Phil Mooney was here I
would give you another taste to freshen
your memory for to-morrow ; however, to-
morrow will do as well, if the mistake’s not
corrected. lere, take your victuals, and
good appetite to you, you little monster of
iniquity.”

Mr. O’Gallagher tossed me some bread,
but this time reserved the cheese for his own
eating. I had adjusted my dress, and I
therefore left the schoolroom. I could not
sit down without pain, sol leant against a
post: the bread remained in my hand un-
touched ; had it been the greatest delicacy
in the world I could not have tasted a
morsel ; I was giddy from excess of feeling,
my thoughts were rapidly chasing each
other, when I heard a voice close to me; I
looked round, it was Walter Puddock, who
had been flogged the day before.

‘“Never mind, Keene,” said he, kindly ;
“it hurts at first, but the more you get it
the less you care for it; I don’t mind it a
bit now; I cries, because he goes on flog-
ging till you do, and it’s no use having more
than you can help.”

‘«T didn’t deserve it,’ replied I.

‘That's not necessary ; you'll get it, as
we all do, whether you deserve it or not.”’

“ Well, I'll try to deserve it in future,”
replied I, clenching my fist; ‘‘ I'll be even
with him.”

‘‘ Why, what can you do?”

‘« Wait a little, and you'll see,” said I,
walking away, for an idea had come into
my head which I wished to follow up.

Soon afterwards the bell rang, and we
returned to the schoolroom. I was put
under the tuition of another boy, and took
care to learn my lesson. Whether it was
that he was tired with the exercise, for he
flogged and ferruled a dozen during that
afternoon, or that he thought that my morn-
ing dose had been sufficient, I received no
more punishnient on that day.

 

CHAPTER Vil.

As soon as school was dismissed, I went
straight to the rooms of Captain Bridgeman,
and told him how I had been treated. As
soon as he heard it, he exclaimed, ‘‘ This
is really too bad ; I will go with you, and I
will consult with your Aunt Amelia.”

It so happened that Aunt Milly was alone
in the shop when we arrived, and after a
detail of what had passed, she told Captain
Bridgeman that my grandmother had put
me to that school out of feelings of ill-will
for the tricks I had played, and had threat-
ened that if I were removed she would leave
Chatham and take her away with her. My

  

PERCIVAL KEENE.

mother required assistance in the shop, and
was afraid to affront my grandmother, who
was a very dictatorial, positive old woman,
and would certainly keep her resolution ;
but that rather than I should be treated in
such a barbarous manner. she would insist
upon my mother taking me away, or would
herself leave the place.

‘Tt would never do for you to leave us,
Miss Amelia,”’ replied Captain Bridgeman,
‘there are but few attractions in this place,
and we cannot spare you; the whole corps
would go into deep mourning.”

‘‘T don't want to leave the school,’”’ in-
terrupted I; ‘‘I would not leave it till lam
revenged, for all the world. Now, I'll tell
you what I want to do—and do it I will, if
he cuts me to pieces. He eats my sand-
wiches, and tells me if there's not more
mustard to-morrow, he'll flog me. He shall
have plenty of mustard, but he shall have
something else. What can I put into the
sandwiches, so as to half kill him ?”’

‘‘Not a bad idea, my little Percival,”
said Captain Bridgeman; ‘‘I'll just ask
the doctor how much calomel a man may
take without a coroner's inquest being
required.’

‘‘Yes, that will do nicely,” said my aunt ;
“I'll take care he shall have mustard
enough not to perceive it.”

_“ Well, T'll go to the barracks and be back
directly,’’ said Captain Bridgeman.

‘‘ And I'm ready for the flogging as soon
as the sandwiches are down his throat,”
replied I, laughing, ‘‘I don’t care a fig forit.”

Captain Bridgeman soon returned with
forty grains of calomel, which he delivered
into Aunt Milly's hands. ‘‘That is as
much as we dare give the strongest man
without running great danger ; we'll try the
effect of that upon him, and if he don’t im-
prove, I think I shall go up to the school
myself and threaten him.”

“As for that,’ replied Aunt Milly, ‘I’m
sure that sister, if she hears what's going
on, as she cannot take Percival away, will
order her husband, Ben, to go up and
thrash him.”

‘‘ Not a bad idea, Miss Amelia, we'll try
that if we find it necessary ; at all events,
we'll see who can persecute’ most.”

‘‘Granny has told him to treat me ale
said I, ‘‘that’s very clear, from what he
said ; never mind, I'll make her sorry for it

feta?!

ve Oh Percival! you must not do anything
to granny,’ said Aunt Milly, looking very
archly ; ‘‘I must not hear anything of the
kind.”

The next morning I set off with a full
conviction that I should be flogged before
night, and notwithstanding that, as full of
joy as if I was going to the ‘fair.The morning passed as usual; I said my
Jesson, but not very well; I was thinking
so much of my anticipated revenge, that |
could not pay attention to my teacher, who
was, as usual, one of the boys.

‘Master Keene,” said Mr. O’Gallagher,
‘«we'll let the account stand over till the
evening, and then I'll give you a receipt in
full ; I may have one or two lines to add to
it before the sun goes down; you'll not
escape me this time, anyhow.”

The boys went out at the dinner hour,
leaving me, as before, to wait for my basket,
after the tyrant had helped himself. I stood
by him in silence while he was rummaging
its contents,

‘Now, Mr. Keene, I'll see.if you've
remembered my particular injunction rela-
tive to the mustard.”

**I told my aunt to put more mustard,
sir,” replied 1, humbly ; ‘‘it’s she that cuts
the sandwiches.”

“Well, then, if your aunt has not com-
plied with your request, see if I don’t flay
you alive, you little imp of abomination.”

The sandwiches were pulled out of the
paper and tasted. ‘‘ Down on your knees,
Mr. Keene, and thank all the blessed saints
that your aunt has saved you from at least
_ one-half of what I intended to administer to
you this blessed afternoon, for she has
doubled the mustard, you tief,” said Mr.
O’Gallagher speaking with his mouth as
full as it could hold. Down went sandwich
after sandwich, until they had all dis-
appeared, Oh! what joy was mine! I
could have tossed up my cap and leapt in
the air. Having received the bread and
cheese, for he permitted me to have the
latter on this occasion, I went out and
enjoyed my meal, delighted with Mr.
O’Gallagher’s having fallen into the trap I
had laid for him.

The bell summoned us in, and all went
on as usual for the first two hours, when I
thought Mr. O’Gallagher changed coun-
tenance and looked very pale. He con-
tinued, however, to hear the lessons, until
at last I perceived him pass his hand up and
down and across his stomach, as if he had
had a twinge ; a few minutes afterwards, he
compressed his thick lips, and then put his
hands to his abdomen.

‘‘Ah ! he begins to feel it now,’ thought
I; and sure enough he did; for the pain
increased so rapidly that he lost all patience,
and vented his feelings by beating with his
ruler, on the head, the whole class of boys
standing up before him, till one or two
dropped down, stunned with the blows. At
last he dropped the ruler, and, pressing
both hands to his stomach, he rolled himself
backwards and forwards, and then twisted
and distorted his legs till he could bear the
pain no longer; and he gave vent to a

PERCIVALS KEENE,

  

tremendous Irish howl—grinning and grind-
ing his teeth fora few seconds, and then
howling again, writhing and twisting in
evident agony—while the perspiration ran
off his forehead.

‘““Och! murder! I’m poisoned sure.
Lord save my sinful soul! Oh—oh—oh!
eh—eh—eh ! mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy,
mercy! Oh, holy St. Patrick! Tm? kilt
entirely :’’—and so subdued was he at last
by the pain, that he burst out into a flood
of tears, crying and roaring like a child.

Again the paroxysms came on—‘‘ Mur-
der, murder, murder!’ shrieked the wretch
at the highest pitch of his voice, so that he
was heard at some distance, and some of
the neighbours came in to inquire what was
the matter.

Mr. O’Gallagher was now in a fainting
state, and leaning against the table, he
could merely say in a low voice, ‘‘ A doctor
—quick—a doctor.”

The neighbours perceiving how ill he
was, led him out of the schoolroom into
his own apartment, one going for a doctor,
and the others telling the boys they might
all go home, a notice of which they gladly
availed themselves.

I need hardly say, that I made all the
haste I could to communicate the successful
result of my trick to Milly and Captain
Bridgeman. The medical man who was
summoned, gave Mr. O’Gallagher some
very active medicine, which assisted to rid
him of the calomel; of his having taken
which, of course, the medical man was
ignorant. The violence of the dose was,
however, so great, and left him in such a
state, that Mr. O’Gallagher could not leave
his room for three days, nor resume his seat
in the school until a week had elapsed,
during which, I remained at home plotting
still further mischief,

Mr, O’Gallagher resumed his occupations,
and I was again sent off to school. When
I entered the schoolroom I found him
looking very pale and cadaverous ; as soon
as he saw me his lips were drawn apart, and
he showed his large white teeth, reminding
ine of the grinning of a hyzena ; he did not,
however, say anything tome. My studies
were resumed ; I said my lesson perfectly,
but was fully prepared for punishment. I
was, however, agreeably disappointed; he
did not punish either me or any of the other
boys.

I afterwards found out the reason was,
that, although necessity compelled him to
re-open his school as soon as he could, he
was too weak to undergo the fatigue of
following up his favourite diversion.

When the dinner-hour arrived, and the
boys were dismissed, I waited paitently to
see what he would do with my _ basket,
which stood beside him. - ‘Take yourbasket, and eat your dinner, Master
Keene,’’ said he, walking out of the school-
room into his own apartments. I could not
help saying, ‘‘ Won't you have, the sand-
wiches, sir?”

He turned round and gave me a look so
penetrating and so diabolical, that I felt
sure that he knew to whom he had been in-
debted for his late severe illness.

From this day forward Mr. O’G. never
interfered with the contents of my basket,
and I had my dinner all to myself. ‘The
shock which had been given to his constitu-
tion was so great, that for three or four
months he may be said to have crawled to
his schoolroom, and I really began to think
that the affair would turn out more serious
than was intended ; but gradually he re-
gained his strength, and as he recovered his
vigour, so did he resume his severity.

But I was a great gainer during the three
or four months of quiet which reigned during
Mr. O’Gallagher’s convalescence. Since I
have been grown up, I have often thought,
and am indeed confirmed in my opinion,

“that we lose rather than gain by being

educated at too early an age. Commence
with one child at three years, and with
another at seven years old, and in ten years,
the one whose brain was left fallow even till
seven years old, will be quite as far, if not
further advanced, than the child whose
intellect was prematurely forced at the
earlier age ; this is a fact which I have since
seen proved in many instances, and it
certainly was corroborated in mine.

In six months I could read and write very
fairly, and had commenced arithmetic;
true, I was stimulated on by the advice ot
Captain Bridgeman, the love I bore my Aunt
Milly, and the hatred which I had for my
master, which made me resolve that I would
not deserve punishment on that score.

It was in May that I administered the
dose to Mr. O’Gallagher ; in September he
was quite well again, and the ruler, the
ferrule, and the rod, were triumphantly at
work. It is useless to say how often I was
punished, for it was every day; always once,
sometimes twice; I became completely
callous to it, nay, laughed at it; but my
mind was ever at work upon some mischief,
in the way of retaliation.

I put little pancakes of cobblers’ wax on
Mr. O’Gallagher's throne, and he had the
pleasure of finding himself stuck fast by the
breeches when he rose up to punish. I
anointed the handle of the ferrule and rod
with bird-lime; put dead cats under the
claret cases, which composed his seat of
authority, so that the smell would drive him
distracted before he found it out. I drew
up with a squirt all the ink which was 1n
the inkstands fixed in the writing-desks, so

PERCIVAL

    

TEENA

17

as not to be taken out of the sockets, and
mad. good the deficiency with water, which
put him to no little expense.

I once made him almost frantic, by rub-
bing his handkerchief, which always laid by
his side, and with which he was accustomed
to wipe his face every five minutes (for he
was profuse in his perspiration), with what
is called cow-itch: not being aware of what
was the cause, he wiped his face more and
more, until he was as red as a peony, and
the itching became intolerable. :

On such occasions he never inquired who
was the party, but called me and Phil
Mooney. JI, on the other hand, never said
a word in way of expostulation. I took my
flogging, which was as severe as he could
give it, as a matter of course, quite satisfied
with the exchange.

As Walter Puddock had told me, and, as
I have no doubt, the Eton boys will con-
firm, aftera certain quantity of flagellations,
the skin becomes so hard as to make the
punishment almost a matter of indifference,
and so I found it. So passed the time
until the month of November, when I was
fully enabled to pay off my worthy peda-
gogue for all that I was indebted to him,

CHARTER VIE

THE boys had been saving up all their
money to purchase fireworks for the cele-
brated 5th of November—a day on which it
was said that certain persons, finding it im-
possible to reform the Lords and Commons,
had determined to get rid of them at once:
why they have not been in similar danger
every year since the first attempt was made,
I know not ; certain it is, that it is the only
reform measure that can ever be effectual.
Guy Fawkes and his confederates, whether
Popish or Protestant, from the disregard of
human life, certainly proved themselves the
founders of a party,- still existing, whose
motto is, ‘‘ Measures and not Men.”

But to proceed: Mr. O’Gallagher had
never before attempted to interfere with the
vested rights of urchins on that day ; being,
however, in a most particular irascible
humour, instead of a whole, he made it
known that there would only be a half holi-
day, and we were consequently all called in
for morning lessons, instead of carrying
about, as we had intended, the effigy of the
only true reformer that ever existed in this
country.

This made us all very sulky and discon-
tented in the first place, and our anxiety to
get out of school was so great, that the
lessons were not very perfect in the second.
The ferrule and rod were called out and
liberally administered ; but what was ourhorror and dismay when Mr. O’Gallagher,
about an hour before dinner, announced to
us that all the squibs and crackers, with
which our pockets were crammed, were to
be given up immediately ; and that, as we
had not said our lessons well, there would
be no half-holiday ; the whole school were
in mute despair.

One by one were the boys suuimoned up
to the throne of Mr. O’Gallagher, and their
pockets searched by Phil Mooney, who
emptied them of their pyrotechnical con-
tents, all of which were deposited on the
dais of Mr. O’Gallagher's throne, which, I
have before observed, was composed of two
empty claret cases turned upside down,
surmounted by another, on which Mr.
O’Gallagher sat, all three covered with old
green baize.

By the time that the whole school had
been rifled, the heap of fireworks was very
considerable, and Mr. O’Gallagher, to pre-
vent any of them being recovered by the
boys, lifted up the claret case on which he
sat, and which was on the top of the other
two, and desired Phil Mooney to put them

all underneath it. This was done; Mr.
O'Gallagher resumed his seat, and the
lessons continued till the dinner hour

arrived, but, alas! not the half-holiday or
the fireworks.

The boys went out; some mournful,
some angry, some sulky, some frightened ;
a few, a very few, declaiming against such
injustice,

I was in a rage; my blood boiled; at last
my invention came to my aid, and without
considering the consequences, I determined
how to act.

As it was an hour and a half before school
would commence, I hastened home, and,
having spent all my money, begged Aunt
Milly to give me some; she gave me a
shilling, and with that I bought as much
gunpowder as I could procure—more than a
quarter of a pound.

J then returned to the school, looked into
the schoolroom, and found it empty; I
quickly raised up the claret case, under
which the fireworks had been placed, put
the powder under it, leaving only sufficient
for a very small train, which would not be
perceived in the green baize covering ; hay-
ing so done, I left the school-room immedi-
ately, and rejoined my companions. I had
a piece of touch-wood, as all the boys had,
to let off their fireworks with, and this I
lighted and left in a corner until the bell
should summons us into school.

Oh! how my heart beat when I heard
the sound, so full was I of anxiety lest my
project should fail.

Once more we were all assembled. Mr.
O’Gallagher surveying, with the smile of a

 

VERCIVAL KEENE.

  

demon, the unhappy and _ disappointed
faces of the boys, was again perched upon
his throne, the rod on one side, the ferrule
on the other, and the ruler, that dreaded
truncheon of command, clenched in his
broad fist,

I had the touchwood lighted and con-
cealed in my hand; gradually I moved
downwards, until at last, unperceived by
Mr. O’Gallagher, I was behind him, and
close to my train of gunpowder. I gave
one look to ascertain if he had observed me ;
his eye was roving over the school for some
delinquent to throw his ruler at ; fearful that
he might turn round to me, I no longer
hesitated, and the touchwood was applied
to the train.

Ignorant as I was of the force of gun-
powder, it was with astonishment, mingled
with horror, that I beheld, in a second, the
claret case rise up as if it had wings, and
Mr. O’Gallagher thrown up to the ceiling
enveloped in a cloud of smoke, the crackers
and squibs fizzing and banging, while the
boys in the school uttered a yell of conster-
nation and fear as they rushed back from
the explosion, and afterwards, tumbling
over one another, made their escape from
the schoolroom,

The windows had all been blown out
with a terrible crash, and the whole school-
room was now covered by the smoke.
There I stood in silent dismay at the mis-
chief which I had done. The squibs and
crackers had not, however, all finished
popping, before I heard the howling of Mr.
O’Gallagher, who had fallen-down upon
the centre school-room table.

I was still in the schoolroom half-suffo-
cated, yet not moving away from where I
stood, when the neighbours, who had been
alarmed by the explosion and the cries of
the boys, rushed in, and perceiving only me
and Mr. O’Gallagher, who still howled, they
caught hold of us both, and bore us out in
their arms. It was high time, for the school-
room was now on fire, and in a few minutes
more the flames burst out of the windows,
while volumes of smoke forced through the
door and soon afterwards the roof.

The engines were sent for, but before
they could arrive, or water be procured, the
whole tenement was so enveloped in flames
that it could not be savea. In an hour,
the Zocale of our misery was reduced to
ashes. ‘They had put me on my legs as
soon as we got clear of the schoolroom, to
ascertain whether J was hurt, and finding
that I was not, they left me.

I never shall forget what my sensations
were, when I beheld the flames and volumes
of smoke bursting out; the hurry, and
bustle, and confusion outside ; the working
of the engines, the troops marched up fromPERCIVAL

the barracks, the crowd of people assembled,
and the ceaseless mingling of tongues from
every quarter; and all this is my doing,
thought I—mine—all mine.

I felt delighted that I had no partner or
confederate ; I could, at all events, keep
my own secret. I did, however, feel some
anxiety 4s to Mr. O’Gallagher, for, much as
I detested him, I certainly had no intention
to kill him; so, after a time, I made in-
quiries, and found that he was alive, and in
no danger, although very much bruised and
somewhat burnt.

No one could explain how the catastrophe
occurred, further than that Mr. O’Gallagher
had collected all the squibs and crackers
from the boys, and that they had exploded
somehow or another; most people said that
it served him right. My grandmother shook
her head and said, ‘‘ Yes, yes, gunpowder
will go off, but—’’ and she looked at me—
‘‘it requires a match to be put to it.” I
looked up very innocently, but made no
reply.

Mr. O’Gallagher’s favourite expression,
to wit, ‘‘ that it would end in a, blow-up,”’
proved, as far as his school was concerned,
literally true. He had not the means: of
procuring another suitable tenement in
Chatham, and, as soon ashe had recovered
from the injuries he had received, he quitted
the town.

It was not until he had left, that I ven-
tured to make known to Captain Bridge-
man, and my aunt Milly, the trifling share
I had in the transaction: and they, perceiv-
ing the prudence of keeping my secret,
desired me on no account to let it be known
to any one else.

 

 

CHAPTER “1X.

As soon as it was ascertained that Mr.
O’Gallagher was gone, my grandmother in-
sisted upon my being sent to another school,
and on this occasion my mother made the
inquiries herself ; and I was despatched. to
one much nearer home, and, being treated
well, not only played fewer tricks but
advanced rapidly in my education: so
rapidly, indeed, that my grandmother began
to think that I was not so bad a boy as I
used to be.

As she treated me more kindly, I felt less
inclined to teaze her, although the spirit of
mischief was as undiminished as ever, and
was shown in various ways.

I may as well here observe that, out of
the many admirers of my aunt Milly, there
were only two who appeared to be at all
constant in their attention. One was Lieu-
tenant Flat, who was positively smitten and
would have laid his pay and person at her

  

  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
   

KEENE. 19
feet, had he received anything like en-
couragement; but my aunt disliked him in
the first place, and, moreover, had a very
strong feeling towards Captain Bridgeman.

Mr. Flat was certainly a very fine-looking
s-.dier, being tall, erect, and well-made,
but he was at the same time not over-
brilliant ; he was, as an officer, the very
sort of person my father Ben was as a
private.

But the other party, Captain Bridgeman,
did not come forward: he appeared to be
in doubt, and not at all able to make up his
mind,

The fact was, that my mother being
married to a private made any match with
the sister objectionable to the whole corps,
as it would be derogatory that one sister
should be the wife of a private and the other
of an officer. Ben would have been able to
say, ‘‘ My brother-in-law, the captain of my
division,’’ which would never have done;
and this Captain Bridgeman felt, and there-
fore resisted, as well as he could, the inroads
which my aunt's beauty and mirth had
made into his heart. My aunt was exactly
a person to suit Captain Bridgeman as a
helpmate, had it not been for this unfortu-
nate alliance of my mother’s.

Lieutenant Flat was too stupid and in-
different to the opinion of the other officers,
to care anything about what they thought ;
he would have married. Milly long before,
but my aunt, who had made up her mind to
marry an officer, did not yet despair of
obtaining the captain; and although she
would not positively dismiss Lieutenant Flat,
she merely kept him as a sort of reserve, to
fall back upon when every other chance was

gone.

I should like, if I possibly could, to.give the
reader some idea of mymother’s circulating-
library and sort of universal commodity
shop : it was a low-windowed building, one
story high, but running a long way back,
where it was joined to a small parlour, in
which we generally sat during the day, as it
was convenient in case of company or
customers; the little parlour having a glass
door, which permitted us to look into the
shop.

In the front windows, on one side, were
all the varieties of papers, sealing-wax, ink-
stands, and every kind of stationery, backed
by children’s books, leather writing-cases,
prints, caricatures, and Tonbridge ware.
In the other windows were ribbons, caps,
gloves, scarfs, needles, and other little
articles in demand by ladies and which they
required, independent of their milliners.

At the entrance wete sticks and canes ;
on the counter a case of gold and more
moderate-priced trinkets. On the shelves of
the millinery side were boxes of gloves,20 PHRCLVAL

ribbons, buttons, &c. On the opposite side,
perfumes, cigars, tooth-brushes, combs,
scented soaps, and other requisites for the
toilet.

About ten feet on each side of the shop
was occupied with the above articles; tpe
remainder of the shelves were reserved ior
the circulating-library.

At the back of the shop were some seats
round a small table, on which was laid the
newspaper of the day; and on each side of
the parlour-door were hoops, bats, balls,
traps, skittles, and a variety of toys for
children,

My mother usually attended to the milli-
nery, and my aunt Milly to what might be
termed the gentlemen’s side of the shop ;
the remainder of the goods and circulating-
library were in the hands of both.

There were few hours of the day in which
the chairs at the counter and round the table
were not taken possession of by some one or
another, either reading the paper or a book,
or talking, to pass away the time. In fact,
it was a sort of rendezvous, where all who
met knew each other, and where the idle of
our Own sex used to repair to get rid of their
time. Captain Bridgeman and Mr. Flat
were certainly the two most constantly to be
found there, although few of the marine
officers were a day without paying us a
visit.

Such was the Zocale; to describe the com-
pany will be more difficult, but I will
attempt it.

My mother, remarkably nicely dressed, is
busy Opening a parcel of new books just
arrived. - My aunt Milly behind the counter,
on the gentlemen’s side, pretending to be
working upon a piece of muslin about. five
inches square. Mr. Flat sitting near the
table, fallen back in his chair, apparently
watching the flies on the ceiling. Captain
Bridgeman, a very good-looking man, very
slight, but extremely active, is sitting at the
counter, opposite to where my aunt is stand-
ing; a small black cane, with a silver head
to it, in his hand, and his gloves peculiarly
clean and well-fitting. He has an eye as
sharp as an eagle's, a slight hook to his
nose, thin lips, and very white teeth; his
countenance as full of energy and fireas that
of Lieutenant Flat is heavy and unmeaning.

** Miss Amelia, if I may take the liberty,”
said Captain Bridgeman, pointing with his
cane to the bit of muslin she is employed
upon; ‘‘what are you making? it's too
small for any part of a lady’s dress.”

“Tt is quite large enough for a cuff,”
Captain Bridgeman.

““A cuff; then you are making a cuff, I
presume?”

‘‘ Indeed she is not, Captain Bridgeman,”
replies my mother; ‘‘it is only to keep

   

KEENE,

herself out of mischief. She spoils a bit
like that every week, and that’s why it is
so small, Captain Bridgeman ; it would bea
pity to spoil a larger piece.”

‘‘T really was not aware that such a mere
trifle would keep you out of mischief,” said
the captain.

“You know,” replied Aunt Milly, ‘‘that
idieness is the root of all evil, Captain
Bridgeman.”

‘‘Flat, do you hear that?” says Captain
Bridgeman.

‘“What?” replies Flat.

“That idleness is the root of all evil;
what an evil-disposed person you must be.”

“I was thinking,” replied Flat.

‘TI suspect it’s only lately you’ve taken to
that. Who or what were you thinking
about ?”

“Well, I believe I was thinking how long
it would be before dinner was ready.”

‘That's very rude, Mr. Flat ; you might
have said that you were thinking about me,”’
replied my aunt.

‘‘Well, so I was at first, and then I began
to think of dinner-time.”’

‘Don't be offended, Miss Amelia; Flat
pays you a great compliment in dividing his
attentions ; but I really wish to know why
ladies will spoil muslin in such a predeter-
mined manner. Will you explain that,
Mis, eene 2m

“Yes, Captain Bridgeman: a piece of
work is very valuable toa woman, especially
when she finds herself in company with
gentlemen like you. It saves her from
looking down, or looking at you, when you
are talking nonsense; it prevents your read-
ing in her eyes what is passing in her mind,
or discovering what effect your words may
have upon her; it saves much awkwardness,
and very often a blush; sometimes a woman
hardly knows which way to look; sometimes
she may look any way but the right. Now,
a bit of muslin with a needle is a remedy for
all that, for she can look down at her work,
and not look up till she thinks it advisable.”

“TY thank you for your explanation,
madam ; I shall always take it as a great
compliment if I see a lady very busy at work
when I’m conversing with her.”

‘‘But you may flatter yourself, Captain
Bridgeman,” replied my mother; ‘the
attention to her work may arise from per-
fect indifference, or from positive annoy-
ance. It saves the trouble of making an
effort to be polite.”

“And pray, may I inquire, Miss Amelia,
what feeling may cause your particular
attention to your work at this present mo-
ment ?”

“Perhaps in either case to preserve my
self-possession,”’ replied Amelia; ‘‘or per-
haps, Captain Bridgeman, I may preferlooking at a piece of muslin to looking at a
marine officer.”

“That's not very flattering,”’ replied the
captain; ‘‘if you spoil the muslin, you're
determined not to spoil me.”

‘““The muslin is of little value,” said
Amelia, softly, walking to the other side of
the shop, and turning over the books.

“Mr. Flat,’’ said my mother, ‘‘ your sub-
scription to the library is out last month ; I
presume I can put your name down again?”

‘“Well, I don't know; I never read a
book,” replied Mr. Flat, yawning.

“’That’s not at all necessary, Mr. Flat,”
said my mother ;, ‘‘in most businesses there
are sleeping partners ; besides, if you don’t
read, you come here to talk, which is a
greater enjoyment still, and luxuries must
be paid for.”’

“Well, I'll try another quarter,’’ replied
Mr. Flat, ‘‘and then—"

‘‘And then what?” said my aunt Milly,
smiling.

‘‘ Well, I don’t know,” says Flat.“ Is
that clock of yours right, Mrs. Keene ?”’

“Tt is; but I am fearful that your
thoughts run faster than the clock, Mr.
Flat; you are thinking of the dress-bugle
for dinner.”’

‘‘No, I was not.”

“Then you were thinking of yourself?”

‘©No, I wasn't, Mrs. Keene,’ said Flat,
rising, and walking out of the shop.

‘‘T'll tell you,” said he, turning round as
he went out, ‘‘ what I was thinking of, Mrs.
Keene; not of myself,—I was thinking of
my bull pup.”

My mother burst out a laughing as the
lieutenant disappeared. ‘‘I was not far
wrong when I said he was thinking of him-
self,” said she, ‘‘ for a calf is a sort of dulZ

”

”

“up.

i i this sally Captain Bridgeman laughed,
and danced about the shop; at last he said,
‘‘ Poor Flat ! Miss Amelia, he’s desperately
in love with you.”

‘That's more than I am with him,” said
Amelia, calmly.

Here two ladies came in.

Captain Bridgeman made a most pclite
bow. ‘‘I trust Mrs. Handbell is quite well,
and Miss Handbell,—I hardly need ask the
question with the charming colour you
have?”

‘‘Captain Bridgeman, you appear to live
in this library ; I wonder Mrs. Keene don’t
take you into partnership.

‘Tf I were not honoured with, the custom
of Mrs. Handbell and other ladies, I fear
that my shop would have little attraction
for gentlemen,’’ replied my mother, with a
courtesy. :

“Mrs. Keene is quite correct in her sur-
mise, Miss Handbell,” said Captain Bridge-

PERCIVAL ‘KEENE.

    
   
 
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  

21

man ; now that I have seen you, I shall not
think my morning thrown away.”

“Tf report says true, Captain Bridge-
man,’ replied Mrs. Handbell, ‘‘ you would
be quite as often here, even if no ladies were
to be customers of Mrs. Keene. Mrs.
Keene, have you any of that narrow French
ribbon left?”

_“T think I have, madam ; it was off this
piece, was it not?”

‘Yes; but I really don’t know exactly
how much I require; perhaps you will
ee it, and allow me to return what is
eters

‘*Certainly, madam ; will you take it with
you, orshall I send it ?”

‘JT wish for it directly ; will you be very
long in measuring it, for I ought to be home
now?”

‘Perhaps you'll have the kindness to
measure what you take off yourself, madam,”
replied my mother, ‘‘and then you need not
wait.”

‘‘You put confidence in me, I observe,
Mrs. Keene,” replied Mrs. Handbell; ‘‘ well,
I will do you justice.”

My mother smiled most graciously, put
the piece of ribbon in paper, and handed it
to Mrs. Handbell, who, bowing to Captain
Bridgeman, quitted the shop.

‘*T wonder whether you would trust me
in that way?” said Captain Bridgeman to
my mother.

‘«T don’t think I should; Amelia says you
will help yourself to cigars, and that she is
sure you cheat when you count them.”

‘«Toes she really say that? Well, I did
think that if there was any one who would
have upheld my character, it would have
been Miss Amelia.”’

‘‘Perhaps, Captain Bridgeman, she is
getting tired of so doing.”

‘‘Or tired of me, Mrs. Keene, which
would be worse still. Here comes a fair
young lady—Miss Evans, if I mistake not ;
I believe she is a good customer to your
library ?”’

‘She reads a great deal, and is therefore
only a customer to the library.”

‘Ladies who are fond of reading are
seldom fond of working.”

‘‘Good morning, Miss Evans,” said Cap-
tain Bridgeman; ‘‘ you come for more food
for the mind, I presume?” (Miss Evans
gave a bob, and turned to my mother.)

‘‘Have you anything new, Mrs. Keene?
I have brought back the three volumes of
Godolphin. ”’

‘Yes, miss, I have some books down to-

While Miss Evans was selecting from the
new books, enter Mr. Jones, Mr. Smith,
and Mr. Claville of the marine corps, for
cigars. Amelia comes out to attend them—they purchase a few articles and are talk-
ing very loud, when three more ladies enter
the shop, all for books.

It being now about three o’clock, the
customers and loungers come in fast. Cap-
tain Bridgeman saunters away in company
with his brother officers; other parties enter,
who are succeeded by fresh claimants for
books or the other articles to be procured
in the repository.

This demand continues till about five
o'clock, when the library becomes empty ;
I come home from school, my father slinks
in from barracks, and my mother and sister
return to the back parlour, where they find
my grandmother, as usual, very busy with
her knitting,

Such is a fair sample of what took place
at our shop every succeeding day. My
mother made few bad debts, and rapidly
added to her savings. My aunt Milly still
balancing between the certainty of Lieu-
tenant Flat and the chance of Captain
Bridgeman, and I dividing my time and
talents between learning and contriving
mischief.

 

CHAPTER :X.

ABOUT six months after I had blown up the
school of Mr. O'Gallagher, the company to
which my father Ben belonged was ordered
afloat again, and shortly afterwards sailed
for the East Indies, in the Redoubtadle, 74.
That my mother was very much pleased at
his departure, I do not scruple to assert ;
but whether she ever analysed her feelings,
I cannot pretend to say; I rather think that
all she wished was, that the chapter of acci-
dents would prevent Ben's reappearance, as
she was ashamed of him as a husband, and
felt that he was an obstacle to her sister’s
advancement.

So one fine day Ben wished us all good-
bye; my mother was very generous to him,
as she could well afford to be. I rather
think that Ben himself was not sorry to go,
for, stupid as he was, he must have felt
what a cypher he had become; being treated,
not only by my mother, but by everybody
else, even by me, as a Sort of upper servant.

It so happened, that about a month after
Ben’s departure, Captain Delmar had,
through the interest of his uncle, Lord de
Versely, been appointed to a ship which
was lying in the Medway, and he came
down to Chatham to join her. He had no

idea that my mother was there, for he had
lost sight of her altogether, and had it not
been for me, might very probably have left
the town without having made the dis-
covery.

Among other amusements, I had a great

 

PERCILAL KEENE.

partiality for a certain bull pup, mentioned
by Lieutenant Flat in the former chapter,
and which he had made me a present of ;
he pup was now grown up, and I had
taught it many tricks; but the one which
afforded me most amusement (of course, at
other people’s expense) was, that I had made
cut of oakum a sham pigtail, about a foot
and a half long, very strong and thick, with
an iron hook at the upper end of it.

The sham tail I could easily hook on to
the collar of anyone’s coat from behind,
without their perceiving it; and Bob had
been instructed by me, whenever I told him
to fetch it (and not before), to jump up at
the tail wherever it might be; and hang on
to it with all the tenacity of the race.

As it may be supposed, this was a great
source of mirth in the barracks; it was con-
sidered a good joke, and was much ap-
plauded by Captain Bridgeman ; but it was
not considered a good joke out of the bar-
racks; and many an old woman had I
already frightened almost out of her senses,
by affixing the tail to any portion of the
back part of her dress.

It so happened, that one afternoon, as I
was cruising about with Bob at my heels, I
perceived the newly-arrived Captain Del-
mar, in all the pomp of pride of full uniform,
parading down the street with a little middy
at his heels; and I thought to myself,
“Law ! how I should like to hang my tail
to his fine coat, if I only dared ;”’ the im-
pulse had become so strong, that I actually
had pulled up my pianafore and disengaged
the tail ready for any opportunity, but I was
afraid that the middy would see me.

Captain Delmar had passed close to me,
the middy at his heels was passing, and I
thought all chance was gone, when, sudden-
ly, Captain Delmar turned short round and
addressed the little officer, asking him
whether he had brought the order-book with
him? The middy touched his hat, and
said, ‘‘No;” upon which Captain Delmar
began to inflict a most serious lecture upon
the lad for forgetting what he had forgotten
himself, and I again passed by.

This was an opportunity I could not
resist ; while the captain and middy were so
well employed giving and receiving, I fixed
my oakum tail to the collar of the captain’s
gold-laced coat, and then walked over to
the other side of the street with Bob at my
heels. :

The middy being duly admonished, Cap-
tain Delmar turned round again and resumed
his way; upon which I called Bob, who was
quite as ready for the fun as I was, and,
pointing to the captain, said, “' Fetch ‘it,
Bob.” My companion cleared the street in
three or four bounds, and in a few seconds
afterwards made a spring up the back ofCaptain Delmar,-and, seizing the tail, hung
by it with his teeth, shaking it with all his
might as he hung in the air.

Captain Delmar was, to use a sailor’s
term, completely taken aback; indeed he
was nearly capsized by the unexpected
assault. For a short time he could not dis-
cover what it was; at last, by turning his
head over his shoulder and putting his hand
behind him, he discovered who his assailant
was.

Just, at that time, I called out ‘‘Mad
dog! mad dog!’ and Captain Delmar,
hearing those alarming words, became
dreadfully frightened ; his cocked hat drop-
ped from his head, and he took to his heels
as fast as he could, running down the street,
with Bob clinging behind him.

The first open door he perceived was that
of my mother’s library ; he burst in, nearly
upsetting Captain Bridgeman, who was

seated at the counter, talking to Aunt
Milly, crying out ‘‘Help! help!” As he

turned round, his sword became entangled
between his legs, tripped him up, and he
fell on the floor. This unhooked the tail,
and Bob galloped out of the shop, bearing
his prize to me, who, with the little middy,
remained in the street convulsed with laugh-
ter. Bob delivered up the tail, which I again
concealed under my pinafore, and then with
a demure face ventured to walk towards my
mother’s house, and, going in at the back
door, put Master Bob in the wash-house out
of the way; the little middy, who had
picked up the captain’s hat, giving me a
wink as I passed him, as much as to say, I
won't inform against you.

In the meantime Captain Delmar had
been assisted to his legs by Captain Bridge-
man, who well knew who had played the
trick, and who, as wellas Aunt Milly, had
great difficulty in controlling his mirth.

‘¢ Merciful heaven! what was it? Was
the animal mad? Has it bitten me?” ex-
claimed Captain Delmar, falling back in his
chair, in which he had,..been seated by
Captain Bridgeman.

‘‘T really do not know,” replied Captain
Bridgeman ; ‘‘but you are not hurt, sir,
apparently, nor indeed is your coat torn.”

“What dog—whose dog can it be?—it
must be shot immediately—I shall give
orders—I shall report the case to the
admiral. May I ask for a glass of water?
Oh, Mr. Dott! you're there, sir ; how came
you to allow that dog to fasten himself on
my back in that way?’

‘Tf you please,” said the middy, present-
ing his cocked hat to the captain, “I did
draw my dirk to kill him, but you ran away
so fast that I couldn't catch you.”’

‘Very well, sir, you may go down to the
boat and wait fororders,” replied the captain.

 

  

PERCIVAL KEENE.

At this moment my mother, who had
been dressing herself, madeher first appear-
ance, coming out of the back parlour with
a glass of water, which aunt Milly had gone
in for. Perceiving a gold-laced captain,
she advanced, all smiles and courtesies, until
she looked in his face, and then she gave a
scream, and dropped the tumbler on the
floor, much to the surprise of Captain
Bridgeman, and also of aunt Milly, who,
not having been at the Hall, was not
acquainted with the person of Captain
Delmar.

Just at this moment in came I, looking as
demure as if, as the saying is, ‘‘ butter
would not melt inmy mouth,” and certainly
as much astonished as the rest at my
mother’s embarrassment; but she soon
recovered herself, and asked Captain Del-
mar if he would condescend to repose him-
self a little in the back parlour. When my
mother let the tumbler fall, the captain had
looked her full in the face and recognised
her, and, in a low voice said, ‘‘ Excessively
strange,—so very unexpected!’’ He then
rose up from the chair and followed my
mother into the back room.

‘‘Who can it be?” said Aunt Milly to
Captain Bridgeman, in a low tone.

‘‘T suppose it must be the new. captain
appointed to the Calliope. I read hisname
in the papers,—the Honourable. Captain
Delmar.”

“Tt must be him,” replied Milly; ‘‘ for
my sister was brought up by his aunt, Mrs.
Delmar ; no wonder she was surprised at
meeting him so suddenly. Percival, you
naughty boy,” continued Milly, shaking her
finger at me, ‘‘ it was all your doing.”

““Oh, Aunt Milly! you should have seen
him run,” replied I, . laughing at the
thought.

‘‘T’d recommend you not to play with
post captains,” said Captain Bridgeman,
‘‘or you may get worse than you give.
Mercy on us!” exclaimed he, looking at
me full in the face.

‘« What's the matter ?” «said aunt Milly.

Captain Bridgeman leant over the counter,
and I heard him whisper, ‘‘ Did you ever
see such a likeness as between the lad and
Captain Delmar?”

Milly blushed a little, nodded her head,
and smiled, as she turned away. Captain
Bridgeman appeared to be afterwards in a
brown study; he tapped his boot with his
cane, and did not speak.

About a quarter of an hour passed, during
which Captain Delmar remained with my
mother in the parlour, when she opened the
door, and beckoned me to come in. I did
so, not without some degree of anxiety, for
I was afraid that I had been discovered: but
this doubt was soon removed; CaptainDelmar did me the honour to shake hands
with me, and then patted my head, saying
he hoped I was a good boy, which, being
compelled to be my own trumpeter, I very
modestly declared that I was. My mother,
who was standing up behind, lifted up her
eyes at my barefaced assertion. Captain
Delmar then shook hands with my mother,
intimating his intention of paying her
another visit very soon, and again patting
me on the head, quitted the parlour, and
went away through the shop.

As soon as Captain Delmar was gone, my
mother turned round, and said, ‘‘ You
naughty, mischievous boy, to play such
pranks. I'll have that dog killed, without
you promise me never to do so again.”

‘‘Do what again, mother?”

‘‘ None of your pretended innocence with
me. I've been told of the pigtail that Bob
pulls at. That's all very well at the barracks
with the marines, sir, but do you know who
it is that you haye been playing that trick
tor?

‘“No, mother, I don’t. Who is he?”

‘Who is he, you undutiful child ? why,
he’s—he’s the Honourable Captain Delmar.”

“Well, what of that?” replied I. ‘‘ He's
a naval captain, ain’t he?”

“Yes ; but he’s the nephew of the lady
who brought me up and educated me. It
was he that made the match between mé and
your father: so if it had not been for him,
child, you never would have been born.”

POhole thats: at;’replied .3.-..Well,
mother, if it had not been for me, he’d never
have come into the shop, and found you.”

“But, my child, we must be serious ; you
must be very respectful to Captain Delmar,
and play no tricks with him ; for you may
see him very often, and, perhaps, he will
take a fancy to you ; and ifhe does, he may
do you a great deal of good, and bring you
forward in the world ; so promise me.”

‘Well, mother, I'll promise you I'll leave
him alone if you wish it. Law, mother,
youshould have seen how the middy laughed
at him ; it was real fun to make a gallant
captain run in the way he did.”

‘“Go along, you mischievous animal, and
recollect your promise to me,” said my
mother, as she went into the shop, where
she found that Captain Bridgeman, to whom
she intended to explain how it was that she
had dropped the tumbler of water, had gone
away.

There was a great deal of consultation
between my grandmother and my mother
on that evening ; my aunt and I were sent
out to take a walk, that we might not over-
hear what passed, and when we returned we
found them still in close conversation.

 

PERCIVAL

  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
    
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
   
   
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
    
   
    
  
  
    
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 

KEENE.
CHAPTER XI.

THE Honourable Captain Delmar was now
a frequent visitor to my mother, and a good
customer to the library. He did, however,
generally contrive that his visit should be
paid late in the afternoon, just after the
marine officers had retired to dress for
dinner; for he was a very haughty person-
age, and did not think it proper for any
officers of an inferior grade to come ‘“‘be-
tween the wind and his nobility.”

I cannot say that I was partial to him ;
indeed, his pomposity, as I considered it,
was to me a source of ridicule and dislike.
He took more notice of me than he did of
anybody else ; but he appeared to consider
that his condescending patronage was all
that was necessary ; whereas, had he occa-
sionally given me a half-crown I should
have cherished better feelings towards him:
not that I wanted money, for my mother
Supplied me very liberally, considering my
age ; but although you may coax and flatter
a girl into loving you, you cannot a boy,
who requires more substantial proofs of your
good will.

There were a great many remarks not
very flattering to my mother, made behind
her back, as to her former intimacy with
Captain Delnrar; for, somehow or another,
there always is somebody who knows some-
thing, wherever doubts or surmises arise,
and so it was in this case; but if people
indulged in ill-natured remarks when she
was not there, they did not in her presence ;
on the contrary, the friendship of so great a
man as the Honourable Captain Delmar
appeared rather to make my mother a person
of more consequence.

She was continually pointing out to me the
propriety of securing the good will of this
great personage, and the more she did so
the more I felt inclined to do the reverse ;
indeed, I should have broke out into open
mutiny ifit had not been for Captain Bridge-
man, who sided with my mother; and when
I went to him to propose playing another
trick upon the noble captain, not only re-
fused to aid me, but told me, if I everthought
of such a thing, he would never allow me to
come to his rooms again.

Why, what good can he do to me?”
inquired I.

‘“ He may advance you properly in life—
who knows?—he may put you on the quarter-
deck, and get you promoted in the service.”

““What, make a middy of me?”

‘Yes, and from a midshipman you may
rise to be a post-captain, or admiral, —a
much greater rank than I shall ever obtain,”
said Captain Bridgeman; ‘‘so take my
advice, and do as your mother Wishes; be
very civil and respectful to Captain Delmar,
and he may be as good asa father to you.”PERCIVAL

“That's not saying much,” replied I,
thinking of my father Ben; ‘‘I’d rather
have two mothers than two fathers.”’ And
here the conversation ended.

I had contracted a great alliance with
Mr. Dott, the midshipman, who followed
Captain Delmar about just as Bob used to
follow me, and generally remained in the
shop or outside with me, when his captain
called upon my mother. He was a little
wag, as full of mischief as myself, and even
his awe of his captain, which, as a youngster
in the service was excessive, would not
prevent him from occasionally breaking out.
My mother took great notice of him, and
when he could obtain leave (which, indeed,
she often asked for him), invited him to come
to our house, when he became my com-
panion during his stay ; we would sally out
together, and vie with each other in pro-
ducing confusion and mirth at other people’s
expense; we became the abhorrence of every
old fruit-woman and beggar in the vicinity.

Captain Delmar heard occasionally of my
pranks, and looked very majestic and severe ;
but as I was not a middy, I cared little for
his frowns. At last an opportunity offered
which I could not resist; and, not daring
to make known my scheme either to Captain

3ridgeman or Aunt Milly, I confided it to
Tommy Dott, the little middy, who, regard-
less of the consequences, joined me in it
heart and soul.

The theatre had been opened at Chatham,
and had met with indifferent success. I
went there once with my aunt Milly, and
twice with Mr. Dott ; I, therefore, knew my
locale well. It appeared that one of the
female performers, whose benefit was shortly
to take place, was very anxious to obtain the
patronage of Captain Delmar, and, with the
usual tact of women, had applied to my
mother in the most obsequious manner,
requesting her to espouse her cause with the
gallant captain.

My mother, pleased with the idea of be-
coming, as it were, a patroness under the
rose, did so effectually exert her influence
over the captain, that, in a day or two after-
wards, play-bills were posted all over the
town, announcing that the play of The
Stranger, with the farce of Razsing the
Wind, would be performed on Friday
evening, for the benefit of Miss Mortimer,
under the patronage of the Honourable
Captain Delmar, and the officers of his
Majesty's ship Calliope. Of course the
grateful young lady sent my mother some
tickets of admission, and two of them I re-
served for Tomy Dott and myself.

Captain Delmar had made a large party
of ladies, and of course all the officers of the
ship attended: the house was as full as it
could hold. My mother and aunt were there

  

   
   
  
  
 
   
  
 
    
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
   
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
   
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 

KEENE. 25
in a retired part of the boxes ; Tommy Dott
and I entered the theatre with them, and
afterwards had gone up to what is, at the
theatres at seaports, usually denominated
the slips, that is, the sides of the theatre on
the same range as the gallery. There was
Captain Delmar with all his ladies and all
his officers, occupying nearly the whole of the
Side of the dress circle below us, we having
taken our position above him, so that we
might not be observed.

The performance commenced. Miss Mor-
timer, as Wrs. Haller, was very effective:
and in the last scene was compelling the eyes
of the company to water, when we thought
we would produce a still greater effect.

We had purchased a pound of the finest
Scotch snuff, which we had enclosed in two
pasteboard cases, similar in form to those of
squibs, only about six times the size, and
holding half a pound of snuff each. Our
object was, in doing this, that, by jerking it
all out with a heave, we might at once throw
it right into the centre of the theatre above,
so that in its descent it might be fairly dis-
tributed among all parties.

There was no one in the slips with us,
except midshipmen, and a description of
people who would consider it a good joke,
and never would peach if they perceived we
were the culprits.

Ata signal between us, just as 177s. Haller
was giving a paper to her husband, did we
give our shower of snuff to the audience,
jerking it right across the theatre. Ina few
minutes the effect was prodigious ; Captain
Delmar’s party being right beneath us pro-
bably received a greater share, for they
commenced sneezing fast, then the boxes on
the other side, the pit followed, and at last
Mr. and Mrs. Haller and the Stranger
were taken with such a fit of sneezing that
they could no longer talk to each other.

‘The children were brought out to their
parents to effect their reconciliation, but they
did nothing but sneeze, poor things; and
at last the uproar was tremendous, and the
curtain was dropped, not to loud plaudits,
but to loud sneezings from every part of the
theatre.

Never was there anything so ludicrous ;
the manager sent officers up to discover the
offenders, but no one could tell who had
played the trick; he then came before the
curtain to make a speech upon the occasion,
but having sneezed seven or eight times, he
was obliged to retire with his handkerchief
to his nose; and the audience, finding it
impossible to check the titillation of the
olfactory nerves, abandoned the theatre as
fast as they could, leaving the farce of
Raising the Wind to be performed to
empty benches.

‘Uhardly need say, that as soon as we had26

thrown the snuff, Mr. Dott and I had gone
down and taken our places very demurely in
the box by the side of my mother, and
appeared just as astonished, and indeed
added as much as possible to the company
of sneezers.

Captain Delmar was very furious at this
want of respect of certain parties unknown,
and had we been discovered, whatever might
have been my fate, it would have gone hard
with Tommy Dott; but we kept our own
counsel, and escaped.

That I was suspected by Aunt Milly and
Captain Bridgeman is certain, and my aunt
taxed me with it, but I would not confess ;
my mother also had her suspicions, but as
Captain Delmar had none, that was of no
consequence.

The success of this trick was a great
temptation to try another or two upon the
noble captain. He was, however, saved by
the simple fact of H.M. ship Cad/zoge being
reported manned and ready for sea ; orders
were sent down for his going: round to
Portsmouth to await the commands of the
Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty,
and Captain Delmar came to pay his fare-
well visit.

The report from the schoolmaster had
been very favourable, and Captain Delmar

' then asked me, for the first time, if I would

like to be a sailor. As Captain Bridgeman
had advised me not to reject any good offer
on the part of the honourable captain, I
answered in the affirmative; whereupon the
captain replied, that, if I paid attention to
my learning, in a year’s time he would take
me with him on board of his frigate.

He then patted my head, forgot to give
me half a crown, and shaking hands with
my mother and aunt, quitted the house, fol-
lowed by Tommy Dott, who, as he went
away, turned and laughed his adieu.

I have not mentioned my grandmother
lately. The fact is, that when Captain
Delmar made his appearance, for some
cause or another which I could not com-
prehend, she deciared her intention of going
away and paying avisit to her old acquaint-
ances at the Hall. Shedidso. As I after-
wards found out from what I overheard, she
had .a very great aversion to the noble
captain: but the cause of her aversion was
never communicated to me. Soon after
the sailing of the Ca//iope, she again made
her appearance, took her old seat in the
easy-chair, and resumed her eternal knitting
as before.

 

ClENP BERS.

ANOTHER year of my existence passed
rapidly away; I was nearly thirteen years

PERCIVAL KEENE,

old, a sturdy, bold boy, well fitted for the
naval profession, which I now considered
decided upon, and began to be impatient to
leave school, and wondered that we heard
nothing of Captain Delmar, when news was
received from another quarter.

One morning, Captain Bridgeman came
much earlier than usual, and with a-very
grave face put on especially for the occasion.
I had not set off for school, and ran up to
him; but he checked me, and said, ‘“‘I must
see your mother directly, I have very im-
portant news for her.”

I went in to tell my mother, who requested
Captain Bridgeman to come into the par-
lour, and not being aware of the nature of
the communication, ordered Aunt Milly and
me into the shop; we waited for some
minutes, and then Captain Bridgeman made
his appearance.

“What is the matter?’! said Milly.

‘*Read this newspaper,” said he; ‘‘ there
is a despatch from India, it will tell you all
about it, and you can show it to your sister
when she is more composed.”’

Curious to know what the matter could
be, I quitted the shop, and went into the
parlour, where I saw my mother with her
face buried in the sofa pillow, and appa-
rently in great distress.

““What’s the matter, mother ?” said I.

‘‘Oh! my child, my child!’’ replied my
mother, wringing her hands, ‘“‘you are an
orphan, and I am a lonely widow.”

‘‘ How's that?” said I.

‘‘How’'s that?’’ said my grandmother,
‘‘why, are you such a fool, as not to under-
stand that your father is dead?”

‘“‘Father’s dead, ishe?” replied I, ‘‘ Il
go and tell aunt Milly ;’ and away I went
out of the parlour to Milly, whom I found
reading the newspaper.

‘‘ Aunt,” said I, ‘‘ father’s dead, only to
think! I wonder how he died ! ”

‘“‘He was killed in action, dear,” said
my aunt; ‘‘look here, here is the aecount,
and the list of killed and wounded. D’ye
see your father’s name—Benjamin Keene,
marine?”

‘‘Tet me read all about it, Aunt Milly,”
replied I, taking the paper from her; and I
was soon very busy with the account of the
action.

My readers must not suppose: that I had
no feeling, because I showed none at my
father’s death; if they call to mind the
humble position in. which I had always seen
my father, who dared not even intrude upon
the presence of those with whom my mother
and I were on familiar terms, and that he
was ordered about just like a servant by my
mother, who set me no example of fear or
love for him, they will easily imagine: that I
felt less for his death than I should have forthat of Captain Bridgeman, or many others
with whom I was on intimate terms.

What did puzzle me was, that my mother
should show so much feeling on the occa-
sion. I did not know the world then, and
that decency required a certain display of
grief. Aunt Milly appeared to be very un-
concerned about it, although, occasionally,
she was in.deep thought. I put down the
paper as soon as | had read the despatch,
and said to her, ‘‘ Well, I suppose I must
goto school now, aunt?”

"Oh no, dear, . replied she, “{yeurcant
go to school for a few days now—it wouldn’t
be proper; you must remain at home and
wait till you have put on mourning.”

‘“T’'m glad. of that, at all events,” replied
I; ‘‘I wonder where Captain Delmar is,
and why he don’t send for me; I begin to
hate school.”

‘I dare say it won't be long before you
hear from.him, dear,’ replied my aunt ;
‘“stay hererand mind the shop, while I go
in to your mother.”

If the truth was told, I am afraid that the
death of Ben was a source of congratulation
to all parties who were then in the parlour.
As for me, I was very glad to have a few
days’ holiday, being perfectly indifferent as
to whether he was dead or alive.

When I went in:I found them in consul-
tation as to the mourning : my mother did
not, in the first place, wish to make any
parade about a husband of whom she was
ashamed; in the second, she did not like
widow's weeds, and the unbecoming cap.
So it was decided, as Ben had been dead
six months, and if they had known it before
they would have been in: mourning for him
all that time, that half-mourning was all
that was requisite for them; and that, as
for me, there was no reason for my going
into mourning at all.

Three days after the intelligence, my
mother re-appeared in the shop; the reason
why she did not appear before was, that her
dress was not ready; she looked very pretty
indeed in half-mourning, so did my Aunt
Milly; and the attentions of the marine
corps, especially Captain Bridgeman and
Lieutenant Fiat, were more unremitting
than ever.

It appeared that, as the death of Ben had
removed the great difficulty to my aunts
being married to an officer, my grandmother
had resolved to ascertain the intentions of
Captain Bridgeman, and if she found that
he cried off, to persuade Milly to consent to
become Mrs. Flat. Whether she consulted
my mother or my aunt on this occasion, I
cannot positively say, but I rather think
not.

My mother and my aunt sere walking
out one evening, when Captain Bridgeman

  

PERCIVAL KEENE,

came in, and my grandmother, who re-
mained in the shop whenever my mother
and Milly went out together, which was
very seldom, requested him to walk into
the back parlour, desiring me to remain in
the shop, and let her know if she was
wanted.

Now when they went into the parlour,
the door was left ajar, and as I remained at
the back part of the shop, I could not help
over-hearing every word which was said ;
for my grandmother being very deaf, as
most deaf people do, talked quite as loud
as Captain Bridgeman was compelled to do,
to make her hear him.

‘«T wish, Captain Bridgeman, asa friend,
to ask your advice relative to my daughter
Amelia,’ said the old lady. ‘‘ Please to take
a chair.”

‘Tf there is any opinion that I can offer
on the subject, madam, I shall be most
happy to give it,’’ replied the captain, sitting
down as requested.

‘“You see my daughter Amelia has been
well brought up, and carefully educated, as
was, indeed, my daughter, Arabella, through
the kindness of my old patron, Mrs. Del-
mar, the aunt of the Honourable Captain
Delmar, whom you have often met here,
and who is heir to the title of De Versely ;
that is to say, his eldest brother has no
children. I have been nearly fifty years in
the family as.a confidential, Captain Bridge-
man; the old lord was very fond of my
husband, who was his steward, but he died,
poor man, a long while ago; I am sure it
would have broken his heart, if, in his life-
time, my daughter Arabella had made the
foolish match which she did with a private
marine; however, what’s done can't be
helped, as the saying is—that’s all over
now.”

‘‘Tt was certainly a great pity that Mrs.
Keene should have been so foolish,’ replied
Captain Bridgeman, ‘‘but, as you say, that
is all over now.”

‘‘Yes; God's will beée.done, Captain
Bridgeman ; now you see, sir, that this
marriage of Bella’s has done no good to the
prospects of her sister Amelia, who, never-
theless, is a good and pretty girl, though I
say it, who am her mother; and, moreover,
she will bring a pretty penny to her hus-
band, whoever he may be; for you see,
Captain Bridgeman, my husband was not
idle during the time that he was in the
family of the Delmars, and as her sister is
so well to do, why little Amelia will come
into a greater share than she otherwise
would—that is, if she marries well, and ac-
cording to the wishes of her mother.”

At this interesting part of the conversation
Captain Bridgeman leant more earnestly
towards my grandmother, ~~28

 

‘“‘A prétty penny, madam, you said; I
never heard the expression before; what
may a pretty penny mean?”

“It means, first and last, £4,000, Cap-
tain Bridgeman ; part down, and the other
when I die.”

“Indeed,” replied Captain Bridgeman ;
I certainly never thought that Miss Amelia
would ever have any fortune; indeed, she’s
too pretty and accomplished to require
any.

‘Now, sir,” continued my grandmother,
“‘the point on which I wish to consult you
is this: you know that Lieutenant Flat is
very often here, and’ for a long while has
been very attentive to my daughter: he has,
I believe, almost as much as proposed—
that is, in his sort of way : but my daughter
does not seem to care for him. Now, Cap-
tain Bridgeman, Mr. Flat may not be very
clever, but I believe him to bea very worthy
young man: still one must be cautious, and
what I wish to know before I interfere and
persuade my daughter to marry him is,
whether you think that Mr. Flat is of a dis-
position which would make the marriage
state a happy one; for you see, Captain
Bridgeman, love before marriage is very
apt to fly away, but love that comes after
marriage will last out your life.”’

“Well, madam,” replied the captain, ‘I
will be candid with you; I do not think
that a clever girl like Miss Amelia is likely
to be happy as the wife of my good friend,
Mr. Flat, still there is nothing against his
character, madam ; I believe him harmless
—very harmless.”’

‘‘He’s a very fine-looking young man,
Captain Bridgeman.”

‘“Yes; nothing to be found fault with in
his appearance.”’

‘* Very good-natured.”’

“Yes ; he’s not very quick in temper, or
anything else; he’s what we call a slow-
coach,”

“‘T hear he's a very correct officer, Cap-
tain Bridgeman.”

“Yes; [am not aware that he has ever
been under an arrest.”’

“Well, we cannot expect everything in
this world ; he is handsome, good-tempered,
and a good officer; I cannot see why Amelia
does not like him, particularly as her affec-
tions are not otherwise engaged. I am
Satisfied with the answer you have given,
Captain Bridgeman, and now I shall point
out to Amelia that I expect she will make
up her mind to accept Mr. Flat.”

Here Captain Bridgeman hesitated.

‘‘Indeed, madam, if her affections are
not otherwise engaged—I say—are not en-
gaged, madam, I do not think she could do
better. Would you like me to sound Miss
Amelia on the subject 2?”

PERCIVAL KEENE,

 

   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 

‘Really, Captain Bridgeman, it is véty
kind of you; you may, perhaps, persuade
her to listen to your friend Mr. Flat.”

‘*T will, at all events, ascertain her real
sentiments, madam,” said the captain,
rising, ‘‘and, if you please, I will say fare-
well for the present.”

As my grandmother anticipated, the
scale, which had been so long balanced by
Captain Bridgeman, was weighed down in
favour of marriage by the death of my
father Ben, and the unexpected fortune of
£,4,000.

The next day the captain proposed and
was accepted, and six weeks from that date
my Aunt Milly became his wife.

The wedding was very gay: some people
did sneer at the match, but where was
there ever a match without a sneer? ‘There
are always and everywhere people to be
found who will envy the happiness of others.
Some talked about the private marine, this
attack was met with the £4,000 (or rather
#,8,000 per annum, for rumour, as usual,
had doubled the sum): others talked of the
shop aszzfra dig., the set-off against which
was, the education and beauty of the bride.
One or two subs’ wives declared that they
would not visit Mrs, Bridgeman, but when
the colonel and his lady called to congratu-
late the new-married couple, and invited a
large party in their own house to meet
them, then the subs’ wives left their cards as
soon as they could.

In a few weeks all was right again: my
mother would not give up her shop—it was
too lucrative, but she was on more intimate
terms with her customers, and when people
found that, although her sister was a cap-
tain’s lady, my mother had too much sense
to be ashamed of her position, why they
liked her the better. Indeed, as she was
still very handsome; one or two of the
marine officers, now that she wasa widow,
paid her very assiduous court, but my
mother had no intention of entering again
into the holy state—she preferred STATE zn
quo. She had no one to care for but me,
and for me she continued her shop and
library, although I believe, she could have
retired upon a comfortable independence,
had she chosen so to do.

My mother, whatever she might have
been when a girl, was now astrong-minded,
clever woman. It must have been a painful
thing for her to have made up her mind to
allow me to go tosea: I was her only child,
her only care: I believe she loved me dearly,
although she was not so lavish of her ca-
resses as my Aunt Milly, but she perceived
that it would be for my advantage that I
should ensure the patronage and protection
of Captain Delmar, and she sacrificed self
to my interestCHAPTER XIII.

ABOUT a month after my aunt's marriage,
a letter was received from Captain Delmar,
who had arrived at Spithead, requesting my
mother to send me to Portsmouth as soon
as she could, and not go to the trouble or
expense of fitting me out, as he would take
that upon himself.

This was but short notice to give a fond
mother, but there was no help for it; she
returned an answer, that in three days from
the date of the letter I should be there.

Iwas immediately summoned from school,
that she might see as much of meas possible
before I went; and although she did not
attempt to detain me, I perceived, very
often, the tears run down her cheeks.

My grandmother thought proper to make
me very long speeches every three or four
hours, the substance of which may be com-
prehended in a very few words—to wit, that
{ had been a very bad boy, and that I was
little better now; that I had been spoiled
by over-indulgence, and that it was lucky
my Aunt Milly was not so much with me;
that on board a man-of-war I dare not play
tricks, and that I would find it very different
from being at home with my mother; that
Captain Delmar was a very great man, and
that I must be very respectful to him ; that
some day I should thank her very much for
her being so kind te me; that she hoped I
would behave well, and that if I did not,
she hoped that I would get a good beating.

Such was the burden of her song, till at
last I got very tired of it, and on the third
evening I broke away from her, saying,
‘‘Law, granny, how you do twaddle!”
upon which she called me a good-for-nothing
young blackguard, and felt positively sure
that I should be hanged. The consequence

was, that granny and I did not part good
friends, and I sincerely hoped that when I
had come back again, I should not find her
above ground.

The next morning I bade farewell to my
dear Aunt Milly and Captain Bridgeman,
received a very ungracious salute from
granny, who appeared to think, as she kissed
me, that her lips were touching something
poisonous, and set off with my mother in
the coach to Portsmouth.

We arrived safe at Portsmouth, and my
mother immediately took lodgings on the
Common Hard at Portsea. The next day,
having dressed herself with great care, with
a very thick veil on her bonnet, my mother
walked with me to the George Hotel, where
Captain Delmar had taken up his quar-
ters. ;

On my mother sending up her card, we
were immediately ushered upstairs, and, on
entering the room, found the Honourable
Captain Delmar sitting down in full uniforra

 

PERCIVAL KEENE,

29
—his sword, and hat, and nuniefotis papers
lying on the table before him. On one side
of the table stood a lieutenant, hat in hand .
on the other, the captain's clerk, with papers
for him to sign. My friend Tommy Dott
was standing at the window, chasing a
blue-bottle fly, for want of something better
to do; and the steward was waiting for
orders behind the captain’s chair,

My mother, who had pulled down her
veil, so that her face was not visible, made
a slight courtesy to Captain Delmar, who
rosé up and advanced to receive her very
graciously, requesting that she would be
seated for a minute or two, till he had time
to speak to her.

I have thought since, that my honourable
captain had a mind to impress upon my
mother the state and dignity of a captain in
his Majesty's service, when in commission.
He took no notice whatever of me, Tommy
Dott gave me a wink of his eye from the
window, and I returned the compliment by
putting my tongue into my cheek; but the
other parties were too much occupied with
the captain to perceive our friendly recogni-
tion. Captain Delmar continued to give
various orders, and after a time the officers
attending were dismissed.

As soon as we were alone, my mother was
addressed in, I thought, rather a pompous
way, and very much in contrast with his
previous politeness before others. Captain
Delmar informed her that he should take
me immediately under his protection, pay
all my expenses, and, if I behaved well,
advance me in the service.

At this announcement, my mother ex-
pressed a great deal of gratitude, and shed-
ding a few tears, said, that the boy would
in future look up to him as a parent. To
this speech Captain Delmar made no reply ;
but, changing the conversation, told her
that he expected to sail in about three or
four days, and that no time must be lost in
fitting me out; that, all things considered,
he thought it advisable that she should
return at once to Chatham, and leave the
boy with him, as she could not know what
was requisite for me, and would therefore
be of no use,

At the idea of parting with me, my mother
cried bitterly. Captain Delmar did then
rise off his chair, and taking my mother by
the hand, speak to her a few words of con-
solation. My mother removed her hand-
kerchief from her eyes and sighed deeply,
saying to Captain Delmar, withan appealing

look, ‘‘Oh! Captain Delmar, remember
that for you I have indeed made great
sacrifices; do not forget them, when you
look at that boy, who is very dear to me.”’

** I will do him justice,” replied the cap-
tain, somewhat affected, ‘‘ but I must in
upon inviolable secrecy on your part; youmust promise me that under any circum-
stances——”’
‘‘ I have obeyed you for thirteen years,”

replied my mother; ‘‘I am not likely to.

forget my promise now ; it is hard to part
with him, but I leave him in the hands of

‘You forget the boy is there,” interrupted
Captain Delmar; ‘‘take him away now;
to-morrow morning I willsend my coxswain
for him, and you must go back to Chatham.”’

‘‘ God bless you, sir,’ replied my mother,
weeping, as Captain Delmar shook. her
hand, and then we left the room. As we
were walking back to our lodging, Linquired
of my mother—‘‘ What's the secret between
you and Captain Delmar, mother?”

““The secret, child! Oh, something
which took place at the time I was living
with his aunt, and which he does not wish
to have known ; so ask me no more ques-
tions about it.”

After our return, my mother gave me a
great deal of advice. She told me that, as
I had lost my father Ben, I must now look
upon Captain Delmar as a father to me;
that Ben had been a faithful servant to the
captain, and that she had been the same to
Mrs. Delmar, his aunt; and that was the
reason why Captain Delmar was interested
about me, and had promised to do so much
for me ; begging me to treat him with great
respect, and never venture to play him any
tricks, or otherwise he would be highly
offended, and send me home again; and
then I should never rise to be an officer in
his Majesty’s service,

I cannot say the advice received the
attention it deserved, for I felt more in-
clined to play tricks to my honourable
captain than any person I ever met with ;
however, I appeared to consent, and, in
return begged my mother to take care of
my dog Bob, which she promised to do.

My mother cried a great deal during’ the
night ; the next morning she gave me five
guineas as pocket-money, recommending
me to be careful of it, and telling me I
must look to Captain Delmar for my future
supply. She tied up the little linen I had
brought with me in a handkerchief; and
shortly after the coxswain knocked at the
door, and came upstairs to claim me for his
Majesty's service.

“I'm come. for the youngster, if you
please, marm,” said the coxswain, a fine,
tall seaman, remarkably clean and neat in
his dress,

My mother put her arms round me, and
burst into tears.

“I beg your pardon, marm,” said the
coxswain, after standing silent about a
minute, ‘‘ but could not you do the piping
after the youngster's gone? If I stay here

PERCIVAL KEENE.

long I shall be blowed up by the skipper,
as sure aS my name's Bob Cross.”’

‘*T will detain you but a few seconds
longer,” replied my mother ; ‘‘ I may never
see him again.”

“‘ Well, that’s a fact; my poor mother
never did me,” replied the coxswain.

This observation did not raise my
mother’s spirits. Another pause ensued,
during which I was bedewed with her tears,
when the coxswain approached again—

“Tax your pardon, marm; but if you
know anything of Captain Delmar, you
must know he’s not a man to be played
with, and you would not wish to get me
into trouble. It’s a hard thing to part with
a child, I’m told: but it wouldn’t help me
if I said anything about your tears. If the
captain were to go to the boat, and find me
not there, he’d just say, ‘What were my
orders, sir?’ and after that, you know,
marm, there is not a word for me to say.”

‘“Take him, then, my good man,” replied
my mother, pressing me convulsively to her
heart—‘‘ take him ; Heaven bless you, my
dear child.”

““Thanky, marm ; that’s kind of you,”
replied the coxswain. ‘‘Come, my little
fellow, we'll soon make a man of you.”

I once more pressed my lips to my
poor mother’s, and she resigned me to the
coxswain, at the same time taking some
silver off the table and putting it into his
hand.

““Thanky, marm ; that’s kinder still, to
think of another when you're in distress
yourself; I shan’t forget it. I'll look after
the lad a bit for you, as sure as my name's
Bob Cross.”’

My mother sank down on the sofa, with
her handkerchief to her eyes.

Bob Cross caught up the bundle, and led
me away. I was very melancholy, for I
loved my mother, and could not bear to see
her so distressed, and for some time we
walked on without speaking.

The coxswain first broke the silence :—
‘What's your name, my little Trojan?”
said he.

** Percival Keene.”

‘“Well, I’m blessed if I didn’t think that
you were one of the Delmar breed, by the
cut of your jib; howsomever, it’s a wise
child that knows its own father.”

‘‘Father’s dead,” replied I.

‘*Dead! Well, fathers do die sometimes :
you must get on how you can without one.
I don’t think fathers are of much use, for,
you see, mothers take care of you till you're
old enough to go to sea. My father did
nothing for me, except to help mother to
lick me, when I was obstropolous.”’

The reader, from what he has already
been informed about Ben the marine, mayeasily conceive that I was very much of Bob
Cross's opinion.

‘*T suppose you don't know anybody on
board—do you ?”’

“Yes, LT know Tommy Dott—I knew him
when the ship was at Chatham.”

“Oh! Mr. Tommy Dott, I dare say
you're just like him, for you look full of
mischief. He's a very nice young man for
a small party, as the saying is; there is
more devil in his little carcase than in two
women’s, and that’s not a trifle; you'll
hunt in couples, I dare say, and get well
flogged at the same gun, if you don't take
care. Now, here we are, and I must report
my arrival with you under convoy.”’

Bob Cross sent a waiter for the captain’s
steward, who went up to Captain Delmar.
I was ordered to go upstairs, and again
found myself in the presence of the noble
captain, and a very stout elderly man with
a flaxen wig.

‘This is the lad,” said Captain Delmar,
when I came into the room and walked up
to him ;° ‘‘you know exactly what he re-
quires; oblige me by seeing him properly
fitted out, and the bill sent in to me.”

‘Your orders shall be strictly obeyed,
Captain Delmar,” said the old gentleman,
with a profound bow.

‘““You had better not order too many
things, as he is growing fast; it will be easy
to make good any deficiencies as they may
be required.”

‘Your orders shall be most strictly obeyed,
Captain Delmar,” replied the old gentle-
man, with another bow.

‘*T hardly know what to do with him for
to-day and to-morrow, until his uniforms
are made,” continued the captain: ‘‘I sup-
pose he must go on board.”

‘If you have no objection, Captain Del-
mar,’ said the old gentleman, with another
low bow, ‘‘I am sure that Mrs. Culpepper
will be most proud to take charge of any
protégé of yours; we have a spare bed, and
the young gentleman can remain with us
until he is ready to embark in the uniform
of his rank.”

“Be it so, Mr. Culpepper; let your wife
take care of him until all is complete, and
his chest is ready. You'll oblige me by
arranging about his mess.” é

‘“VYour wishes shall be most strictly at-
tended to, Captain Delmar,” replied Mr,
Culpepper, with another profound inclina-
tion, which made me feel very much inclined
to laugh. :

‘Tf you have no further orders, Captain
Delmar, I will now take the young gentle-
man with me.”

‘‘Nothing more, Mr. Culpepper—good
morning,” replied Captain Delmar, who
neither said how d’ye do to me when I came

PERCIVAE KEENE. 31

 
     
   
   
  
  
   
     
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
  
  
   
 
  
     

3

in, or good bye when I went away in com-
pany with Mr. Culpepper. I had yet to
learn what a thing of no consequence was
a ‘‘sucking Nelson.”’

I followed Mr. Culpepper down stairs,
who desired’ me to remain with the cox-
swain, who was, standing under the arch-
way, while he. spoke to the captain’s
steward,

‘« Well,” said Bob Cross, ‘ what's the
tic ot youngster,—are you to go abroad with
me:

‘‘No,” said 1; “‘Iam to stay on shore
with that old chap, who does nothing but
bob his head up and down. Who is. he?”

‘That's our nipcheese,”’

‘“ Nipcheese !”’

‘“Yes ; nipcheese means purser of the
ship—you'll find all that out by-and-by ;
you've got lots to larn, and, by way of a
hint, make him your friend if you can, for
he earwigs the captain in fine style.”

Perceiving that I did not understand him,
Bob Cross continued: ‘I mean that our
captain’s very fond of the officers: paying
him great respect, and he likes all that bow-
ing and scraping; he don’t like officers or
men to touch their hats, but to take them
right off their heads when they speak to
him. You see, he’s a sprig of nobility, as
they call it, and, what’s more, he’s also a
post-captain, and thinks no small beer of
himself ; so don’t forget what I say—here
comes the purser.”’

Mr. Culpepper now came out, and, taking
my hand, led me away to his own house,
which was at Southsea. He did not speak
a word during the walk, but appeared to
be in deep cogitation: at last we arrived at
his door.

CHAPTER XIV:

Wy is it that I detain the reader with Mr.
Culpepper andvhis family? I don’t know,
but I certainly have an inclination to linger
over every little detail of events which oc-
curred upun my first plunging into the sea
of life, just as naked boys on the New River
side stand shivering awhile before they can
make up their minds to dash into the un-
natural element; for men are not ducks,
although they do show some affinity to
eeese by their venturing upon the treacher-
ous fluid.

The door was opened, and I found myself
in the presence of ,Mrs. Culpepper and ‘her
daughter,—the heiress, as I afterwards dis-
covered, to all Mr. Culpepper’s savings,
which were asserted to be something con-
siderable, after thirty years’ employment as
purser of various vessels belonging to his
Majesty.32

Mrs. Culpepper was in person enormous —
she looked like a feather-bed standing on
end ; her cheeks were as large as a dinner-
plate, eyes almost as imperceptible as a
mole’s, nose just visible, mouth like a round
O. It was said that she was once a great
Devonshire beauty. Time, who has been
denominated Adax rerum, certainly had as
yet left her untouched, preserving her for a
bonne bouche on some future occasion.

She satin a very large arm-chair—in-
deed, no common-sized chair could have
received her capacious person. She did not
get up when I entered; indeed, as I dis-
covered, she made but two attempts to stand
during the twenty-four hours: one was to
come out of her bedroom, which was on the
same floor as the parlour, and the other to
go in again.

Miss Culpepper was somewhat of her
mother’s build. She might have been twenty
years old, and was, for a girl of her age,
exuberantly fat; yet, as her skin and com-
plexion were not coarse, many thought her
handsome; but she promised to be as large
as her mother, and certainly was not at all
suited for a wife to a subaltern of a march-
ing regiment.

‘“Who have we here?” said Mrs. Cul-
pepper to her husband, in a sort of low
croak; for she was so smothered with fat
that she could not get her voice out.

‘‘Well, I hardly know,” replied the
gentleman, wiping his forehead; ‘‘ but I’ve
my Own opinion.”

‘‘Mercy on me, how very like!” ex-
claimed Miss Culpepper, looking at me,
and then at her father. ‘‘ Would not you
like to go into the garden, little boy ?”’ con-
tinued she: ‘‘there, through the passage,
out of the door,—you can’t miss it.”

As this was almost a command, I did not
refuse to go; but as soon as I was in the
garden, which was a small patch of ground
behind the house, as the window to the
parlour was open, and my curiosity was ex-
cited by their evidently wishing to say
something which they did not wish me to

hear, I stopped under the window and
listened.

‘« The very picture of him,’’ continued the
young lady.

“Yes, yes; very like indeed,”’ croaked the
old one.

‘All I know is,” said Mr. Culpepper,
“Captain Delmar has desired me to fit him
out, and that he pays all the expenses.”

‘‘ Well, that’s another. proof,’ said the
young lady; ‘‘he wouldn't pay for other
people's children.”

‘He was brought down here by a very
respectable-looking, I may say interesting,
and rather pretty woman,—I should think
about thirty,”

 

  
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
    
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

TEROIVAL LENE,

‘“Then she must have been handsome
when this boy was born,’’ replied the young
lady: ‘‘I consider that another proof.
Where is she?”

‘“Went away this morning by the day-
coach, leaving the boy with the captain,
who sent his coxswain for him.”

‘«There’s mystery about that,’”’ rejoined
the daughter, ‘‘and therefore I consider it
another proof.”

f Yes,’ ‘said. Mr, Culpepper, “and. a
strong onetoo. Captain Delmar is so high
and mighty, that he would not have it
thought that he could ever condescend to
have an intrigue with one beneath him in
rank and station, and he has sent her away
on that account, depend upon it.”’

‘‘Just so; and if that boy is not a son of
Captain Delmar, I’m not a woman.”

‘IT am of that opinion,” replied the
father, ‘‘and therefore I offered to take
charge of him, as the captain did not know
what to do with him till his uniform was
ready.”

‘“ Well,” replied Miss Culpepper, ‘‘ I'll
soon find out more. I'll pump everything
that he knows out of him before he leaves
us ; I know how to put that and that to-
gether.”

‘“Yes,"’ croaked the fat mother; ‘‘ Medea
knows how to put that and that together,
as well as any one.”

““You must be very civil and very kind to
him,” said Mr. Culpepper; ‘‘ for, depend
upon it, the very circumstance of the cap-
tain’s being compelled to keep the boy at a
pce will make him feel more fond of

im.

‘‘T’ve no patience with the men in that
respect,” observed the young lady: ‘‘ how
nobility can so demean themselves I can’t
think ; no wonder they are ashamed of what
they have done, and will not acknowledge
their own offspring.”

‘No, indeed,” croaked the old lady.

*“ Tf a woman has the misfortune to yield
to her inclinations, they don’t let her off so
easily,’’ exclaimed Miss Medea.

‘No, indeed,’”’ croaked the mamma again,

‘‘Men make the laws and break them,”
continued Miss Culpepper. ‘‘ Mere brute
strength, even in the most civilised society.
If all women had only the spirit that I have,
there would be a little alteration, and more
justice.”

“IT can't pretend to argue with you,
Medea,” replied Mr. Culpepper; ‘“‘I take
the world as I find it, and make the best. of
it. I must go now,—my steward is waiting
for me at the victualling office. Just brush
my hat a little, Medea, the wind has raised
the nap, and then I'll be off.”

_I walked very softly from the window; a
new light had burst upon me. Young as IPERCIVAL KEENE,

~ was, I also could put that and that together. was determined to tl
I called to mind the conduct of my mother opposition.
towards her husband Ben; the dislike of my ‘“ You were sorry to leave your mamma,
grandmother to Captain Delmar; the oc- weren't you, Master Keene?”
casional conversations I had overheard ; the ** Yes ; very sorry, miss.”
question of my mother checked before it was ‘“Where's your papa, dearest ? He's a
finished —‘‘ If I knew who it was that I had very pretty boy, Mamma, ain’t he?” con-
been playing the trick to;” the visits my tinued the young lady, putting her fingures
mother received from Captain Delmar, who through my chesnut curls,
was so haughty and distant to everybody ; ‘Yes ; handsome boy,” croaked the old
his promise to provide for me, and my lady.
mother’s injunctions to me to be obedient, “‘ Papa's dead.”’
and look up to him as a father ; and the “Dead! I thought so,” observed Miss
remarks of the coxswain, Bob Cross,—‘‘ If Medea, winking at her mother.
I were not of the Delmar breed :”’ all this, ‘* Did you ever see your papa, dearest?’’
added to what I had just overheard, satisfied ‘“‘Oh, yes ; he went to sea about eighteen
me that they were not wrong in their con- months ago, and he was killed in action.”
jectures, and that I really was the son of After this came on a series of questions
the honourable captain. and cross-questions; I replied to her so as
My mother had gone; I would have given to make it appear that Ben was my father,
worlds to have gained this information be- and nobody else, althoughI had then a very
fore, that I might have questioned her, and_ different opinion. The fact was, I was
obtained the truth from her; but that was determined that I would not be pumped,
now impossible, and I felt convinced that and I puzzled them, for I stated that my
writing was of no use. I recollected the Aunt Milly was married to Captain Bridge-
conversation between her and the captain, man, of the marines; and not till then did
in which she promised to keep the secret, Miss Medea ask me what my father was.
and the answer she gave me when I My reply was, that he had also been in the
questioned her ; nothing, then, but my tears marines, and they consequently put him
and entreaties could have any effect, and down as a marine officer, as well as Captain
those I knew were powerful over her; Bridgeman.
neither would it be of any use to ask Aunt This added so much to the respectability
Milly, for she would not tell her sister's of my family, that they were quite mystified,
secrets, so I resolved to say nothing about it and found that it was not quite so easy to
for the present ; and I did not forget that put that and that together as they had
Mr. Culpepper had said that Captain Delmar thought.
would be annoyed if it was supposed that I As soon as they were tired of questioning,
was his son; I resolved, therefore, that I they asked me if I would not like to take
would not let him imagine that I knew any- another turn in the garden, to which I con-
thing about it, or had any idea of it. sented; and, placing myself under the
I remained more than an hour in deep window as before, I heard Miss Medea say
thought, and it was strange what a tumult to her mother—
there was in my young heart at this dis- ‘‘Father's always finding out some mare’s
covery. I hardly comprehended the nature nest or another ; and because there is some
of my position, yet I felt pleased on the likeness to the captain, he has, in his great
whole ; I felt as if I were of more import- wit, madean important discovery. It's quite
ance; nay, that I was more capable of evident that he’s wrong, as he generally is.
thinking and acting than I was twenty-four It’s not very likely that Captain Delmarshould
hours before. have had an intriguewith the wifeof a marine
My reveries were, however, disturbed by officer, and her sister married also into the
Miss Medea, who came to the back-door, corps. The widow. has brought him down
and asked me if I was not tired of walking, herself, it is true, but that proves nothing ;
and if I would not like to come in. who else was to bring him down, if it was
“Are you not hungry, Master Keene? not his mother? and the very circumstance
Would you like to have a nice piece of cake of her going away so soon proves that she
and a glass of current wine before dinner? felt it improper that she should remain ;
We shall not dine till three o'clock.” and, in my opinion, that she is a modest,
‘If you please,’’ replied I; for I would interesting young woman, in whom Captain
not refuse the bribe, although I had a per- Delmar has taken an interest. I wish father
fect knowledge why it was offered. would not come here with his nonsensical
Miss Medea brought the cake and wine. ideas, telling us to make much of the boy.
As soon as I had despatched them, which ‘Very true, Medea,” replied the mother ;
did not take very long, she commenced her ‘“ you might have saved that cake and wine.
pumping, as I had anticipated, and which I _—‘ Thinks I to myself, you have not pumped

B

33

iwart, merely out of4

me, and I never felt more-delighted than at
having outwitted them. I thought it, how-
ever, prudent to walk away) from the
window.

Shortly afterwards, Mr. Culpepper. re-
turned, accompanied by one of the numerous
Portsmouth fitting-out tailors... I was sum-
moned; the tailor presented a list of what

G&S»

he declared to be absolutely necessary for’ |

the outfit of a gentleman.

Mr. Culpepper struck out two-thirds of
the articles, and desired the remainder to be
ready on the Friday morning, it being then
Wednesday. The tailor promised faithfully,
and Mr. Culpepper also promised most
faithfully, that if the articles were not ready
they would be left on his hands.

As soon as the tailor had gone, Miss
Medea asked me if I would not like to take
another run in the garden. J knew that she
wished to speak to her father, and therefore’
had a pleasure in disappointing her. I
therefore replied, that I had been there
nearly the whole day, and did not wish to
go out any more.

‘« Never mind whether you wish it or not ;
I wish you to go,” replied Miss Medea,
tartly.

‘“Medea,, how can you. be so rude?”
cried Mr. Culpepper; ‘‘surely Mr. Keene
may do as hepleases. I’m surprised at you,
Medea.”

‘‘ And I’m surprised at you, papa, finding
out a mystery when there is none,’’ replied
Miss Medea, very cross.’ “ All you said this
morning, and all your surmises, have turned
out to be all moonshine. Yes, you may
look, papa; I tell you-—all moonshine.’

‘““Why, Medea, what nonsense you are
talking,” replied Mr. Culpepper.

‘‘Medea’s right,’ croaked
pepper ; ‘‘ all moonshine.”

‘“So you need not be so very particular,
papa, I can tell you,’ rejoined Miss Medea,
who then whispered in her father's ear, loud
enough for me to hear, ‘‘No such thing,
nothing but a regular marine.”

‘« Pooh, nonsense,” replied the purser, in
a low voice; ‘‘the boy has been taught to
say it—he’s too clever for you, Medea.”

At this very true remark of her father's,
Miss Medea swelled into a towering passion,
lier whole face, neck, and shoulders—for she
wore a low gown in the morning—turning to
a fiery scarlet. 1 never saw such a fury as
she appeared to be. She rushed by me so
roughly, that Iwas thrown back a couple of
paces, and then she bounced out of the
room,

** Medea knows how to put that and that
together, Mr. Culpepper,’ croaked out Mrs.
Culpepper.

“ Medea’'s wise in her-own conceit, and
you'r a regular old fool,’ rejoined Mr. Cul-

Mis cule

 

 

  
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 

PERCIVAL KEENE:

a 66

pepper, with asperity ; ‘“‘one too knowing
and the other, not half knowing enough.
Master Keene, I hope you are hungry, for
we have a very nice dinner. Do you like
ducks and green peas?”

‘Yes, sir, very much,’’ replied: I.

‘‘Were you born at Chatham, Master
Keene?” i

' “No, sir, I was born at the Hall, near
Southampton. My mother was brought up
by old Mrs. Delmar, the captain's aunt.”

I gave this intelligence on purpose ; as I
knew it would puzzle Miss Medea, who had
just returned from the kitchen. |

Mr. Culpepper nodded his, head _ tri-
umphantly to his daughter and wife, who
both appeared dumb-founded at this new
light thrown upon the affair.

Miss Medea paused a moment, and then
said to me, —

‘T wish to ask you one question,” Master

eene.
. “1 will not answer any more of your
questions, miss,” replied I. ‘‘ You have
been questioning me all the morning, and
just'now, you were so rude as nearly to push
me down. If you want to know anything
more, ask. Captain Delmar; or, if you wish
it, 1 will ask Captain Delmar whether I am
to answer you, and if he says I am, I will,
but not-without.”

This. was'a decided blow on my part;
mother and Medea both looked frightened,
and Mr. Culpepper was more alarmed than
either of the females. It proved to them
that I knew what they were inquiring for,
which was to them also proof that I also
knew who I was ;) and further, my reference
to Captain Delmar satisfied them that I felt
sure of his support, and they knew that he
would be very much irritated if I told him
on what score they had been pumping me.

‘‘You are very right, Master Keene,’’ said
Mr. Culpepper, turning: very read, ‘‘to re-
fuse to answer any questions you don't like;
and, Medea, I’m surprised at your behaviour;
I insist upon it you do not annoy Master
Keene with any more of your impertinent
curiosity.’

“No, no," croaked the:old lady; ‘“hold
your tongue, Medea, hold‘your tongue.”

~ Miss Medea, who looked as if she could
tear my eyes out if she dared, swallowed
down her rage as well as she could. She
was mortified at finding She had made a
mistake, annoyed at my answering her so
boldly, and frightened at her father’s anger ;
for the old gentleman was:very apt to vent
it in the argumentum ad feminam, and box
her ears soundly.

Fortunately dinner was served just at this
moment, and this gave a turn to the con-
versation, and also to their thoughts. Mr.

Culpepper ‘was a. attention, and Missae = = = ae =e oe

PERCIVAL KEENE.

Medea, gradually recovering her temper, would let her know that I was in the secret ;
also became affable and condescending. and I thought that the reply to me would
The evening passed away very agreeably; be a guide as to the correctness of the fact,
but I went to bed early, as I wished tobe which, with all the hastiness of boyhood, I
left to my own reflections, and it was not considered as incontrovertible, although {
till daylight that: I could compose my had not the least positive proof, E
troubled mind so as to fall asleep, The day that I was to go-on board, I
requested Miss Culpepper to give me a
sheet of paper, that I might write to my
CHAPTER XV. mother ; she supplied me very readily,
Saying, ‘‘ You had better let me see if you
ALTHOUGH the aversion which I had taken. make any mistake in your Spelling before
to the whole Culpepper family was so great your letter goes; your mamma will be a
that I could haye done anything to annoy pleased if you write your letter properly.”
them, my mind was now so fully occupied She then went down into the kitchen to
with the information which I had collected, give some orders,
relative to my supposed birth and parentage, As I had not the slightest intention that
that I could not think of mischief. she should read what I wrote, and resolved
iL walked on the Common or in the little to have it in the post before she came up
garden during the whole of the following again, I was very concise in my epistle.
day, plunged in deep thought, and at night, which was as follows ;—
when I went to bed, I remained awake till
the dawn. During these last two days I ‘* Dear Mother :—I have found it all out—
had thought and reflected more than I had Iam the son of Captain Delmar, and every
perhaps done from the -hour of my birth. one here knows what you have kept a secret
That I was better off than I should have from me. I go on board to-day.
been if I had been the son of a private in Yours truly,
the marines, I felt convinced ; but still I “P.. KEENE.”
had a feeling that I was in a position in
which I might be subjeoted to much insult,
and that unless I was acknowledged by my
aristocratic parent, my connection with his
family would be of no use to me ;—and
Captain Delmar, how was I to behave to
him? I did not like him much, -that was
certain, nor did this new light which. had
burst forth make me feel any more love for
him than I did before. © Still, my mother’s But I paid no attention to her, and having
words at Chatham rung in my ears, ‘‘Do_ sealed my letter, put on my hat, and walked
you know who it is that you have been?” out to the post-office. I dropped it into the
&c. I felt sure that he was my father, and box, and on returning, found Mr. Culpepper
I felt a sort of duty towards him ; perhaps coming home, accompanied by Bob Cross,
an increase ef respect. the Captain’s coxswain, and two of the
These were anxious thoughts for a boy. boat’s crew.
not fourteen ; and the Culpeppers remarked, As I presumed, they were sent for me; I
that I had not only looked very pale, but joined them immediately, and was kindly
had actually grown thin in the face during greeted by Bob Cross, who said, —
my short stay. ‘“Well, Mr. Keene, are you allready for
As I was very quiet.and reserved after the shipping? We've come for your traps.”
first. day, they were very glad when my ‘All ready,’’ replied I, and very glad_to
clothes were brought home, and I. was go, for I’m tired of staying on shore doing
reported ready to embark; so was I, for I nothing.”
wanted to go on board and see my friend We were very soon at the house; the
Tommy Dott, with whom I intended, if the seamen carried away my chest and bedding,
subject was brought up, to consult as to my while Bob Cross remained a little while,
proceedings, or perhaps | thought it would that I might pay my farewell to the ladies.
be better to consult Bob Cross, the captain’s The ceremony was not attended with
coxswain ; I was not sure that I should not much regret on either side. Miss Culpep-
advise with them both. - per could not help asking me why I did
I had made up my mind how to behave not show her my letter, and I replied, that
to my mother. I knew that she would. there were secrets in it, which answer did
never acknowledge the truth, after whathad not at all add to her good temper ; our
passed between the captain and her when I adieus were, | therefore, anything but
was present; but I was. resolved that I affectionate, and before the men with my

5

o

 

This was very short, and it must be
admitted, direct to the point ; I could not
perhaps have written one which was so
calculated to give my mother uneasiness.

As soon as it was finished, I folded it up,
and lighted a taper to seal it. Old Mrs.
Culpepper, who was in the room, croaked
out, ‘‘ No, no; you must showit to Medea.”36 PERCIVAL KEENE.

effects were a hundred yards in advance,
Bob Cross and I were at their heels.

“Well, Master Keene,’ said Bob, as we
wended our way across Southsea Com-
mon, ‘‘how do you like the purser’s
ladies?”

Not at -alle* replied 1: “they have
done nothing but try to pump me the whole
time I have been there ; but they did not
make much of it.”

‘Women will be curious, Master Keene
—pray what did they try to pump about?”

{ hardly knew how to reply, and I hesita-
ted. I felt a strong inclination towards
Bob Cross, and I had before reflected
whether I should not make him my confi-
dant, still I was undecided, and made no
reply, when Bob Cross answered for me :—-

**Look ye, child—for although you're
going on the quarter-deck, and I am before
the mast, you are a child compared to me—
I can tell you what they tried to pump
about, as well as you can tell me if you
choose. According to my thinking, there’s
no lad on board the frigate that will require
good advice as you will; and I tell you can-
didly, you will have your cards to play.
Bob Cross is no fool, and can see as far
through a fog as most chaps; I like you
for yourself as far as 1 see of you, and I
have not forgotten your mother’s kindness
to me, when she had her own misery to
occupy her thoughts; not that I wanted
the money—it wasn't the money, but the
way and circumstances under which it was
given. I told her I’d look after you a bit—
a bit means a great deal with me—and so
I will, if you choose that I shall; if not, I
shall touch my hat to you as my officer,
which won't help you much. So now, you
have to settle, my lad, whether you will
have me as your friend, or not.”

The appeal quite decided me. ‘‘ Bob
Cross,” replied I, ‘‘I do wish to make you
my friend; I thought of it before, but I
did not know whether to go to you or to
‘Tommy Dott.”

‘‘Tommy Dott! Well, Master Keene,
that’s not very flattering, to put me in one
scale, and Tommy Dott in the other; I’m
not surprised at its weighing down in my
favour. If you wish to get into mischief
you can’t apply to a better hand than
‘Tommy Dott ; but Tommy Dott is not half
so fit to advise you, as you are, I expect, to
advise him; so make him your playmate
and companion, if you please, but as to his
advice, it’s not worthasking. However, as
you have given me the preference, I will
now tell you that the Culpepper people have
been trying to find out who is your father.
Ain't I right?’

# Ves: you are, replied I.

** Well, then, this is no time to talk about

such things; we shall be down to the béat
in another minute, so we'll say no more at
present ; only recollect, when you are on
board, if they talk about appointing a man
to take charge of your hammock, say that
Bob Cross, the captain’s coxswain, is, you
understand, to be the person ; say that, and
no more. I will tell you why by-and-by,
when we have time to talk together ; andif
any of your messmates say anything to you
on the same point which the Culpeppers
have been working at, make no reply, and
hold yourself very stiff. Now, here we are
at the sally port, so there's an end to our
palaver for the present.”

My chest and bedding were already in
the boat, and as soon as Cross and I had
stepped in, he ordered the bowman to
shove off; in half an hour we arrived along-
side the frigate, which lay at Spithead,
bright with new paint, and with her pen-
nant proudly flying to the breeze.

‘You'd better follow me, sir, and mind
you touch your hat when the officers speak
to you,’ said Bob Cross, ascending the
accommodation ladder. I did so, and found
myself on the quarter deck, in the presence
of the first lieutenant and several of the
OHMOSI:

‘“ Well, Cross,” said the first lieutenant.

“T’ve brought a young gentleman on
board to join the ship. Captaia Delmar
has, I believe, given his orders about him.”’

‘*«Mr. Keene, I presume?” said the first
lieutenant, eying me from head to foot.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied I, touching my hat.

‘“How long have you been at Ports-
mouth?”

‘“Three days, sir; I have been staying
at Mr. Culpepper’s.”

‘“Well, did you fall in love with Miss
Culpepper?”

«INO! sir, ’= replied 1-<""1 shate her.

At this answer the first lieutenant and the
officers near him burst out a-laughing.

‘Well, youngster, you must dine with
us in the gun-room to-day; and where’s
Mr. Dott ?”

peterey sins said Tommy Doit, coming
from the other side of the quarter-deck.

“Mr. Dott, take this young gentleman
down below, and show him the midship-
men’s berth. Let me see, who is to take
care of his hammock ?”

‘TI believe that Bob Cross is to take care
Ofit, sip said I:

‘“The captain's coxswain—humph ! Well,
that’s settled at all events ; very good—we
shall have the pleasure of your company
to dinner, Mr. Keene. Why, Mr. ‘Tommy
Dott and you look as if you knew each
other.”

“Don't we, Tommy ?” said I to the mid-
shipman, grinning."'T suspect that there is a pair of you,”
said the first lieutenant, turning aft and
walking away; after which Tommy and I
went down the companion ladder as fast as
we could, and in a few seconds afterwards
were sitting together on the same chest, in
most intimate conversation.

My extreme resemblance to our honour-
able captain was not unobserved by the
officers who were on the quarter-deck at the
time of my making my appearance ; and, as
I afterwards heard from Bob Cross, he was
sent for by the surgeon, on some pretence or
another, to obtain any information relative
tome. What were Bob Cross’s reasons for
answering as he did I could not at that time
comprehend, but he explained them to me
afterwards.

‘‘ Who brought him down, Cross ?”’ said
the surgeon, carelessly.

‘His own mother, sir; he has no father,
sir, I hear.’

‘* Did you see her ?
son was she ?”’

‘‘ Well, sir,’’ replied Bob Cross, ‘‘I’ve
seen many ladies of quality, but such a real
lady I don’t think I ever set my eyes upon
before ; and such a beauty—I’d marry to-
morrow if I could take in tow a craft like
hen @

‘‘How did they come down to Ports-
mouth ?”

‘‘ Why, sir, she came down to Portsmouth
in a coach and four; but she walked to the
George Hotel, as if she was nobody.”

This was not a fib on the part of the cox-
swain, for we came down by the Portsmouth
coach ; it did, however, deceive the surgeon,
as was intended.

‘Did you see anything of her, Cross?”

‘* Not when she was with the captain, sir,
but at. her own lodgings I did; such a
generous lady I never met with.”’

A few more questions were put, all of which
were replied to in much the same strain by
the coxswain, so as to make out my mother
to be a very important and inysterious per-
sonage. It is true that Tommy Dott could
have contradicted all this ; but, in the first
place, it was not very likely that there would
be any communication upon the point be-
tween him and the officers; and in the next
I cautioned him to say nothing about what
he knew, which, as he was strongly attached
to me, he strictly complied with: so Bob
Cross completely mystified the surgeon, who,
of course, made his report to his messmates.

Mr. Culpepper’s report certainly differed
somewhat from that of Bob Cross. ‘There

What sort of a per-

was my statement of my aunt being married
to a marine officer—but it was my state-
ment; there was also my statement of my
mother residing with Captain Delmar’s aunt:
altogether, there was doubt and mystery ;

   

PERCIVAL KEENE.

o7
and it ended in my mother being supposed
to be a much greater person than she really
was—everything tending to prove her a lady
of rank being willingly received, and ail
counter-statements looked upon as apocry-
phal and false.

But, whoever my mother might be, on one
point everyone agreed, which was, that I
was the son of the Honourable Captain
Delmar, and on this point I was equally
convinced myself. I waited with some
anxiety for my mother’s reply to my letter,
which arrived two days after I had joined
the frigate. It was as follows :-—

‘“ MY DEAR PERCIVAL, “ You little know
the pain and astonishment which I felt upon
the receipt of your very unkind and insulting
letter ; surely you could not have reflected at
the time you wrote it, but must have penned
it in a moment of irritation arising from
some ungenerous remark which has been
made in your hearing.

‘‘Alas, my dear child, you will find, now
that you have commenced your career in
life, that there -are too many whose only
pleasure is to inflict pain upon their fellow-
creatures. I only can imagine that some
remark has been made in your presence,
arising from there being a similarity of
features between you and the Honourable
Captain Delmar; that there is so has been
before observed by others. Indeed, your
uncle and aunt Bridgeman were both struck
with the resemblance, when Captain Delmar
arrived at Chatham ; but this proves nothing,
my dear child ; people are very often alike,
who have never seen each other, or heard
each other mentioned till they have by ac-
cident been thrown together so as to be
compared.

“It may certainly be, as your father was
in the service of Captain Delmar, and con-
stantly attended upon him, and indeed I
may add as I was occasionally seeing him,
that the impression of his countenance might

be constantly in our memory, and but
you don’t understand such questions, and
therefore I will say no more, except that
you will immediately dismiss from your
thoughts any such idea.

‘“You forget, my dearest boy, that you
are insulting me by supposing any such
thing, and that your mother’s honour is
called in question; I am sure you never
thought of that when you wrote those hasty
and inconsiderate lines. I must add, my
dear boy, that knowing Captain Delmar,
and how proud and sensitive he is, if it
should ever come to his knowledge that you
had suspected or asserted what, you have,
his favour and protection would be lost to
you for ever: at present he is doing a kind
and charitable action in bringing forward

 

\38 PERCIVAL
the son of a faithful servant; but if he
imagined for a moment that you were con-
sidered related to him, he would cast you
off for ever, and all your prospects in life
would be ruined.

‘‘ Even allowing it possible that you were
what you so madly stated yourself in your
letter to be, I am convinced he would do
so. If'such a ‘report came to his ears, he
would immediately disavow you, and leave
you to find your own way in the world.

‘You see, therefore, my dear boy, how
injurious to you in every way such a ridi-
culous surmise must prove, and I trust that,
not only for your own sake, but for your
mother’s character, you will, so far from
giving credence, indignantly’ disavow what
must be a source of mischief and annoyance
to all parties.

‘“Captain Bridgeman°desires me to say
that he is of my opinion, so is your aunt
Milly; as for your grandmother, of course,
I dare not show her your letter. Write to
me, my dear boy, and tell me how this un-
fortunate mistake happened, and believe me
to be your affectionate mother,

‘““ARABELLA KEENE,”

I read this letter over ten times before I
came to any conclusion; at last I said to
myself, there is not in any one part of it any
positive denial of the fact, and resolved some
future day, when I had had some conversa-
tion with Bob Cross, to show it ito him, and
ask his opinion,

 

CHAPTER XVI,
THE next morning, at daylight, the blue
Peter was hoisted at the foremast, and the
gun fired as a signal for sailing; all was
bustle—hoisting in, clearing boats of stock,
and clearing the ship of women and
strangers.

At ten o'clock Captain Delmar made his
appearance, the hands were piped up
anchor, and in half an hour we were stand-
ing out for St) Helen’s. Before night it
blew very fresh, and we went rolling down
the Channel before an easterly wind. I
went to my hammock very sick, and did not
recover for several days, during which no-
body asked for tne, or any questions about
me, except Bob Cross and Tommy. Dott.

As soon as I was well enough, I mademy
appearance on deck, and was ordered by
the first lieutenant to.do my duty under the
signal midshipman; this was day duty and
notvery irksome. I learnt the flags, and

how to use-a spy-elags.

We were charged with despatches for the
fleet then off Cadiz, and on the tenth day
we fell in with it, remained’a week in com-
pany, and then were ordered to Gibraltar

  

KEENE.

and Malta, From Malta we went home
again with despatches, having been out
three months:

During this short and pleasant run, I
certainly did not learn much of my profes-
sion, but I did learn a little of the ways of
the world. First, as to Captain Delmar, his
conduct to me was anything but satisfactory ;
he never inquired for me during the time
that I was unwell, and took no notice of me
on my reappearance.

The officers and young gentlemen, as
midshipmen are called, were asked to dine
in the cabin in rotation, and I did, in con-
sequence, dine two’ or three times in the
cabin; but it appeared to me as if the
captain purposely took no notice of me,
although he generally did say a word or
two to the others; moreover, as the signal
mids were up in the morning watch, he
would occasionally send to invite one of the
others to breakfast with him, but he never
paid me that compliment.

This annoyed me, and I spoke of it to
Bob Cross, with whom I had had some long
conversations. I had told him all I knew
relative to myself, what my suspicions were,
and I had shown him my mother’s reply.
His opinion on the subject may be given in
what follows :—

‘“You see, Master Keene, you are in an
awkward position; the captain is a very
proud man, and too proud to acknowledge
that you are in any way related tohim. It’s
my opinion, from what you have told me,
and from other reasons, particularly from
your likeness to the captain,‘that your sus-
picions are correct; but, what then? Your
mother is sworn to secrecy—that’s clear; and
the captain won’t own you—that’s also very
clear. I had some talk with the captain’s
steward on the subject, when I was taking a
glass of grog with him the other night in his
berth. It was he that brought wp’ the sub-
ject; not me, and he said that the captain
not asking you to breakfast, and avoiding
you, as it were, was another proof that you
belonged to him; and the wishing to hide
the secret only makes him behave~as he
doés. You have a difficult game to play,
Master Keene; but you are a clever la
and you ask advice—mind you follow it,
or it’s little use asking it. You must always
be very respectful ‘to Captain Delmar, and
keep yourself at as great a distance from
him as he does from you.”

““That I’m sure I will,” replied= i 4* for I
dislike him very much.”

‘No, you must not do that; but you
must bend to circumstances. By-and-by
things will go on better. But mind you
keep on good terms with the officers,
and never be saucy, or they may ‘say to
you what may not be pleasant; recollectthis, and things will go on. better, as I
said before. If Captain Delmar protects
you with his interest, you will be a captain
over the heads of many who are now your
superiors on board of this frigate. One
thing be careful of, which-is, to keep your
own counsel, and don’t be persuaded in a
moment of confidence to trust anything to
Tommy Dott, or any other midshipman;
and if anyone hiftts at what you suppose,
deny itimmediately ; nay, ifnecessary, fight
for it—that will be the way to please the
captain, for you will be of his side then, and
not against him.”

That this advice of Bob Cross was the
best that could be given to one in my posi-
tion there could not be a doubt ; and that I
did resolve to follow it, is most certain. I
generally passed away a portion of my
leisure hours in Bob’s company, and became
warmly attached to him ; and certainly my
time was not thrown away, for I learnt a
great deal from him.

One evening, as I was leaning against
one of the guns on the main deck, waiting
for Cross to come out of the cabin, I was
amused with the following conversation
between a boatswain’s mate and a fore-top
man. I shall give it verbatim. They were
talking of one that was dead; and after the
boatswain’s mate had said—

‘* Well, he’s in heaven, poor fellow.”

After a pause, the fore-top man said—

‘‘T wonder, Bill, whether I shall ever go
to heaven ?”’

‘“Why not?’ replied the boatswain’s
mate.

‘‘ Why, the parson says it’s good works ;
now, I certainly have been a pretty many
times in action, and I have killed plenty of
Frenchmen in my time.”

‘Well, that’s sufficient, I should think ;
I hold my hopes upon just the same claims.
I've cut down fifty Frenchmen in. my life,
and if that ain’t good works, I don’t know
what is,”

‘*T suppose Nelson’s in heaven? ”’

‘Of course ; if so be he wishes to be
there, I should like to know who would
keep him out, if he was determined on it;
no, no; depend upon it he walked s/ap in.”

On our return to Portsmouth, the captain
went up to the Admiralty with the des-
patches, the frigate remaining at Spithead,
ready to sail at-a moment's notice.

I was now quite accustomed to the ship
and officers ; the conviction I had of my
peculiar position, together with the advice
of Bob Cross, had very much subdued my
spirit ; perhaps the respect created by dis-
cipline and the example of others, which

produced in me a degree of awe of the
captain, and the lieutenants, assisted a little
—certain it is, that I gained the goodwill of

 

PERCIVAL KEENE;

  

39

my messmates, and had not been in any
scrape during the whole cruise.

The first lieutenant was a stern, but not
unkind man ; he would blow you up, as we
termed it, when he scolded for half an
hour without ceasing. I never knew a man
with such a flow of words ; but if permitted
to go on without interruption, he was con.
tent, without proceeding to further punish-
ment. Any want of respect, however, was
peculiarly offensive to him, and any attempt
to excuse yourself was immediately cut short
with, ‘‘ No reply, sir.”

The second day after our return to Spit-
head, I was sent on shore in the cutter to
bring off a youngster who was to join the
ship ; he had never been to sea before ; his
name was Green, and he was as green as a
gooseberry. I took a dislike to him the
moment that I saw him, because he had a
hooked nose and very small ferrety eyes.
As we were pulling on board, he asked me
a great many questions of all kinds, par-
ticularly about the captain and officers, and
to amuse myself and the boat’s crew, who
were on the full titter, I exercised my
peculiar genius for invention.

At last, after I had given a character of
the first lieutenant, which made him appear
a sort of marine ogre, he asked how it was
I got on with him :-—

‘“O, very well,” replied I; “but I’m a
freemason, and so is he, and he’s never
severe with a brother masen,”’

“But how did he know you were a
mason?”

‘“‘I made the sign to him the very first
time that he began to scold me, and he
left off almost immediately ; that is, when
I made the second sign ; he did not when I
made the first.”

‘“‘I should like to know. these. signs,
Won't you tell therh to me?.”’

‘«Tell them to you! oh-no, that won't
do,” replied I. ‘‘I don’t knew you. Here
we are on board—in bow—rowed of all,
men. Now, Mr. Green, I'll show you the
way up.”

Mr. Green was presented, atid ushered
into the service much in the same way. as I
was ; but he had not forgotten what I said
to him relative to the first lieutenant; and
it so happened that, on the third day, he
vitnessed a jobation, delivered by the first
lieutenant to one of the midshipmen, who,
venturing to reply, was ordered to the mast-
head for the remainder of the day; added
to which, a few minutes afterwards, the first
lieutenant ordered two men to be put both
legs in irons. Mr. Green trembled as he
saw the men led away by the master-at-
arms, and he came to me:

‘‘T do wish, Keene, you would tell me
those signs,” said he; ‘‘can't you be per-40 PERCIVAL KEENE.

suaded to part with them? I'll give you any-
thing that I have which you may like.”

““Well,” said I, ‘‘I should like to have
that long spy-glass of yours, for it’s a very
good one; and, as signal-midshipman, will
be useful to me.”’

“‘T will give it you with all my heart,”
replied he, ‘‘if you will tell me the signs.”

*‘ Well, then, come down below, give me
the glass, and I will tell them to you.”

Mr. Green and I went down to the berth,
and I received the spy-glass as a present in
due form. I then led him to my chest in
the steerage, and in a low, confidential tone,
told him as follows :—

“You see, Green, you must be very
particular about making those signs, for if
you make a mistake, you will be worse off
than if you never made them at all, for the
first lieutenant will suppose that you are
trying to persuade him that you are a
mason, when you are not. Now, observe,
you must not attempt to make the first sign
until he has scolded you well ; then, at any
pause, you must make it; thus, you see,
you must put your thumb to the tip of your
nose, and extend your hand straight out
from it, with all the fingers separated, as
wide as youcan. Now, do it as I did it.
Stop—wait a little, till that marine passes.
Yes, that is it. Well, that is considered the
first proof of your being a mason, but it re-
quires a second. ‘The first lieutenant will, I
tell you frankly, be, or rather pretend to be,
in a terrible rage, and will continue to rail
at you; you must, therefore, wait a little
till he pauses; and then, you observe, put up
your thumb to your nose, with the fingers
of your hands spread out as before, and
then add to it your other hand, by joining
your other thumb to the little finger of the
hand already up, and stretch your other
hand and fingers out like the first. Then
you will see the effects of the second sign.
Do you think you can recollect all this? for,
as I said before, you must make no mis-
take.”

Green put his hands up as I told him,
and after three or four essays, declared him-
self perfect, and I left him.

It was about three days afterwards that
Ms. Green upset a kid of dirty water upon
the lower deck, which had been dry holy-

. Stoned, and the mate of the lower deck,
when the first lieutenant went his round,
xeported the circumstance to exculpate him-
Self. Mr. Green was consequently sum-
Ynoned on the quarter-deck, and the first
listitenant, who was very angry, commenced,
as usual, a volley of abuse on the unfor-
tanate youngster.

Green, recollecting my instructions, waited
till the first lieutenant had paused, and then
made the first freemason sign, looking up

very boldly at the first lieutenant, wno
actually drew back with astonishment at
this contemptuous conduct, hitherto unwit-
nessed on board of a man-at-war.

‘““What! sir,” cried the first lieutenant.
‘‘Why, sir, are you mad ?—you, just come
into the service, treating me in this manner!
I can tell you, sir, that you will not be three
days longer in the service—no, sir, not three
days ; for either you leave the service or I
do. Of all the impudence, of all the inso-
lence, of all the contempt, I have heard of,
this beats all—and from such a little animal
as you. Consider yourself as under an
arrest, sir, till the captain comes on board,
and your conduct is reported; go down
below, sir, immediately.”’

The heutenant paused, and now Green
gave him sign the second, as a reply, think-
ing that they would then come to a right
understanding; but to his astonishment,
the first heutenant was more furious than
ever; and calling the sergeant of marines,
ordered him to take Mr. Green down, and
put him in irons, under the half-deck.

Poor Green was handed down, all as-
tonishment, at the want of success of his
mason’s signs. I, who stood abaft, was
delighted at the success of my joke, while
the first lieutenant walked hastily up and
down the deck, as much astonished as en-
raged at such insulting and insolent conduct
from a lad who had not been a week in the
service.

After a time the first lieutenant went down
below, when Bob Cross, who was on deck,
and who had perceived my delight at the
scene, which was to him and all others so
inexplicable, came up to me and said —

‘‘Master Keene, I’m sure, by your looks,
you know something about this. That
foolish lad never had dared do so, if he
knew what it was he had done. Now, don’t
look so demure, but tell me how it is.”

I walked aft with Bob Cross, and con-
fided my secret to him; he laughed heartily,
and said —

‘Well, Tommy Dott did say that you

were up to anything, and so I think you
are; but you see this is a very serious affair
for poor Green, and, like the fable of the
frogs, what is sport to you is death to
others. The poor lad will be turned out
of the service, and lose his chance of being
a post captain; so you must allow me to
explain the matter so that it gets to the ears
of the mrst lieutenant as soon as possible.”
__ “Well,” replied I, “‘do as you like, Bob;
if any one’s to be turned out of the Service
for such nonsense, it ought to be me, and
not Green, poor snob.”

# No fear of your being turned out : the
first lieutenant won't like you the worse,
and the other officers will like you better,especially as i shall say that it is by your
wish that I explain all to get Mr. Green out
of the scrape. I'll to the surgeon and tell
him; but, Master Keene, don’t you call
such matters wonsense, or you'll find your-
self mistaken one of these days. I never
saw such disrespect on a quarter-deck in all
my life—worse than mutiny a thousand
times.” Here Bob Cross burst out into a
fit of laughter, as he recalled Green’s ex-
tended fingers to his memory, and then he
turned away and went down below to speak
to the surgeon.

As soon as Cross had quitted the deck, I
could not restrain my curiosity as to the
situation of my friend Green; I therefore
went down the ladder to the half-deck, and
there, on the starboard side between the
guns, I perceived the poor fellow, with his
legs in irons, his hands firmly clasped to-
gether, looking so woeful and woe-begone,
every now and then raising his eyes up to
the beams of the upper deck, as if he would
appeal to heaven, that I scarcely could re-
frain from laughing.. I went up to him and
said :—

‘Why, Green, how is all this?—what has
happened ?”’

‘“Happened?” said the poor fellow;
‘“happened ? see what has happened; here
Iehaet

‘ Did you make the freemason’s signs?”
replied. I:

“Didn't 1? Yes—I did: Oh, what will
become of me?”

‘“You could not have made them right;
you must have forgotten them.”

‘‘I’m sure I made them as you told me;
I’m quite sure of that.”

‘“’Then perhaps I did not recollect them
exactly myself: however, be of good heart ;
I will have the whole matter explained to the
first lieutenant.”

‘*Pray do; only get me out of this.
don't want the glass back.”

‘‘T’ll have it done directly,’’ replied I.

As I went away, Bob Cross came up, and
said I was wanted by the first lieutenant in
the gun-room.. ‘“ Don't be afraid,” said he;
‘they've been laughing at it already, and
the first lieutenant is in a capital humour ;
still he'll serve you out well; you must ex-
pect that.’’

‘* Shall Lmake him the sign, Cro
plied I, laughing.

‘‘No, no; you've gone far enough, and
too far already ; mind what I say to you.”

I went down into the gun-room, when a
tittering ceased as the sentry opened the
door, and I walked in.

‘‘Did you want me, sir?” said I to the
first lieutenant, touching my hat, and look-
ing very demure.

“*So, Mr, Keene, I understand it was you

ea
c

I

2

Si? re-

PERCIVAL KEENE,

 

 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
   
  
   
 
  
 
  
  

4l

Green,
pect to
r-deck,

who have been practising upon Mr,
and teaching him insult and disres
his superior officers-on the quarte
Well, sir?”

I made no reply, but appeared very peni-
tent.

‘Because a boy has just come to sea, and
is ignorant of his profession, it appears to be
a custom—which I shall take care shall not
be followed up—to play him all manner of
tricks, and tell him all manner of falsehoods.
Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?’’

‘“Mr. Green and I have both just come to
sea, sir, and the midshipmen all play us so
many tricks,” replied I, humbly, ‘‘that I
hardly know whether what I do is right or
wrong.

sut, sir, it was you who played this trick
to Mr. Green.”’

‘* Yes, sir, I told him so for fun, but-I
didn’t think he was such a fool as to believe
me. I only said that you were a freemason,
and thatfreemasons werekind to each other,
and that you gave one another signs to know
one another by; I hear? you say you were a
freemason, sir, when I dined in the gun-
room,”

‘Well, sir, I did say so; but that 1s no
reason for your teaching him to be impu-
dente:

‘‘He asked me for the signs, sir, and I
didn’t know them exactly; so I gave him
the signs that Mr. Dott and I always make
between us.”

‘““Mr. Dott and you—a pretty pair, as I
said before. I've a great mind to put you
in Mr. Green’s place ; at all events, I shall
report your conduct when the captain comes
from London. There, sir, you may go.”

1 put on a penitent face as I went out,
wiping my eyes with the back of my hands.
After I went out, I waited a few seconds at
the gun-room door, and then the officers,
supposing that I was out of hearing, gave
vent to their mirth, the first lieutenant
laughing the loudest.

““Cross is right,” thought I, as I went up
the ladder; a minute afterwards, Mr. Green
was set free, and, after a severe reprimand,
was allowed to return to his duty.

‘You are well. out. of that trick, my
hearty,” said Bob Cross; ‘‘the first lieu-
tenant won't say a word to the captain,
never fear; but don’t try it again.”

But an event occurred a few hours after-
wards which might have been attended with
more serious consequences. The ship was,
during the day, surrounded by shore boats
of all descriptions, containing Jews, sailors’
wives, and many other parties, who wished
to have admittance on board. It wasalmost
dusk, the tide was running strong flood, and
the wind was very fresh, so that there was a
good deal of sea, All the boats had been

re
veA2

ordered to keep off by the first lieutenant,
but they still lingered, in hope of getting on
board.

I was looking over the stern, and per-
ceived that the boat belonging to the bum-
boat woman, who was on board of the ship,
was lying with her painter fast to the stern
ladder; the waterman was in her, as well as
one of the sailors’ wives, who had left her
own wherry in hopes of getting on board
when the waterman went alongside to take
in the articles not sold, when the bumboat
woman left the ship, which would be ina
few minutes, as it was nearly gun-fire for
sunset. ‘The waterman, who thought it time
to haul alongside, and wished to communi-
cate with his employer on board, was
climbing up by the stern ladder.

“That's against orders, you know,”’ cried
I to the man.

‘“Yes, sir; but it is so rough, that the
boat would be swamped if it were to remain
alongside long, and I hope you won’t order
me down again; there’s some nice cakes in
the boat, sir, just under the stern sheets, if
you would like to have them, and think
it worth while to go down for them.”

This was a bribe, and I replied, ‘No, I

don’t want your cakes, but you may come
up.
‘The man thanked me, and walked forward
aS soon as he had gained the deck. On
second thoughts, 1 determined that I would
have the cakes; so I descended by the
stern ladder, and desiring the woman who
was left in the boat to haul upon the rope,
contrived to get into the boat.

“What is it you want, my dear?” said
the woman.

**T come for some of those cakes under
the stern sheets,”’ replied I.

“‘ Well, Pl soon rummage them out,”
said she, ‘‘and I hope you will let me slip
on board when the boat is alongside.
Mind sir, how you step, you'll smash all
the pipes. Give me your hand. I’m an
old sailor.”’

‘I~ should not think “so,” replied I,
looking at her. I could hardly make out
her face, but her form was small, and, ifan
old sailor, she certainly was a very young
woman.

We had a good many articles to remove
before we could get at the cakes, which
were under the stern sheets; and the boat
rocked and tossed so violently with the sea
which was running, that we were both on
our knees for some little while before we
obtained the basket : when we did, to our
surprise, we found that the boat’s painter,
somehow or another, had loosened, and
that during our search we had drifted
nearly one hundred yards from the ship.

““ Mercy on me !—why, we are adrift,”

 

   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
   
  
   
  
   
    
   
   
  
  
  

PERCIVAL KEENE,

exclaimed the woman. ‘‘ What shall we
do? Itsno use hailing, they'll never hear
us ; look well round for any boat you may
see.

“Tt is getting so dark that we shall not
see far,’’ replied I, not much liking our
position, ‘‘Where shall we go to?”

‘“Go to!—clean out to St. Helen’s, if the
boat does not fill before we get there ; and
further than that too, if I mistake not, with
this gale of wind. We may as well say our
prayers, youngster, I can tell you.”

‘« Can't we make sail upon her?” replied
I. ‘‘Can’t we try and pull on shore some-
where? Had we not better do that, and
say our prayers afterwards? ”’

‘Well said, my little bantam,’ replied
the woman: ‘‘you would have made a
good officer if you had been spared ; but
the fact is, boy, that we can do nothing
with the oars in this heavy sea ; and as for
the sail, how can you and I step the mast,
rolling and tossing about in this way? If
the mast were stepped, and the sail set, I
think I could manage to steer, if the weather
was smoother, but not in this bubble and
this gale; it requires older hands than
either you or I.”’

“Well, then, what must we do? ”

‘‘Why, we must sit stilk and trust to our
luck; bale out the boat, and keep her from
swamping as long as we can, and between
times we may cry, or we may pray, or we
may eat the cakes and red _ herrings, or the
soft bread and other articles in the boat.”

“Lets ‘bale the boat out first,” said I,
‘“for she’s half full of water; then we'll
have something to eat, for I feel hungry and
cold already, and then we may as well say
our prayers.”

“Well, and I tell you what, we'll have
something to drink, too, for I have a drop
for Jem, if I could have got on board. I
promised it to him, poor fellow, but it’s no
use keeping it now, for I expect we'll both
be in Davy’s locker before morning.”

The woman took out from where it was
secreted in her dress a bladder containing
spirits; she opened the meuth of it, and
poured out a portion into one of the milk-
cans ; having drunk herself, she handed it
to me, but no‘ feeling inclined, and being
averse to spirits, I rejected it. ‘‘ Not just
now,” said I; ‘‘by-and-by, perhaps.”

During the time of this conversation we
were swept by a strong tide and strong wind
right out of the anchorage at Spithead ; the
sea was very high, and dashed into the boat,
so that I was continually baling to keep it
free ; the night was as dark as pitch ; we
could see nothing except the lights of the
vessels, which we had left far away from us,
and they were now but as little twinkles as
we rose upon the waves. The wind roared,gale.

‘Little hopes of our weathering this

storm,’; said the’ woman; ‘‘we shall soon
be swamped if we do not put her before the

wind. I'll. see if I-cannot find the lines,’

She did so after a time, and by means of
a rudder put the boat before the wind ; the
boat then,took in much less water, but ran

at a swift/rate through the heayy sea.

““There, we shallsdo better now; out to
sea we. go, that’s clear,’» said the woman,
‘‘and before daylight we shall be in the
Channel, if we do not fill and go down;
and then, the Lord have mercy upon us,
Won't you take a drop?” con-
tinued she, pouring out some spirits into

that’s all!

the can.

As I felt very cold, I did not this time
I drank a small quantity of the

refuse.
spirits ; the woman took off the remainder,
which, with what she had previously drunk,
began to have an effect upon her.

‘That's right, my little Trojan,” said
she, and she commenced Singing. ‘A
Jong pull, a strong pull, and a pull alto-
gether; in spite of wind and weather, boys,
in spite of wind and weather. Poor Jem,”
continued she, -‘‘-he’ll be disappointed; -he
made sure of being glorious to-night, and
I made sure to sleep by his side—now he'll
be quite sober—and_ Ill be food for fishes :

it’s a cold bed that I shall turn into before
morning, that’s certain. -Hand me the
cakes, boy, if you can fumble’ them out ;
the more we fill ourselves, the less room for
salt water. Well, then, wind and waves
are great bullies ; they fly slap back in a
fright when they bang against a great ship ;
but when they get hold of a little boat like
this, how they leap and topple in, as if they
made sure of us: [here a wave dashed into
the boat]. Yes, that’s your sort. Come
along, swamp a little boat, you washy
cowards, it’s only a woman and a boy.
Poor Jem, he'll miss me something, but
he'll miss the liquor: more; who.cares ?
Let’s have another drop.”

‘““Give me the lines, then,” said I, as I
perceived she was letting them go, ‘‘or we
shall be broadside to the waves again.”

I took the rudder lines from her, and
steered the boat, while she again resorted
to the bladder of spirits.

‘“Take another sip,’’ said she, after she
had filled the milk-can ; ‘‘it won’tharm you.”

I thought the same, for I was. wet
through, and the wind, as.it howled, pierced
me to the bones ; I took a small quantity
as before, and then continued to keep the
boat before the wind., The sea was in-
creasing very much, and, although no
sailor, I felt fully convinced that the boat
could not live much longer,

PERECTICAL

and there was every appearance of a heavy

  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
   

KEENE, 43
aS vecom-
knew the

In the meantime the woman w
ing intoxicated wery>; fast... I
Consequence of this, and requested her to
bale out the boat; she did SO, and sang a
mournful sort of song as she baled, but the
howling of the wind prevented me from
distinguishing the words,

I cannot well analyse my feelings at this
time—the were confused ; butsthisel know,
self-preservation and hope were the most
predominant. I[ thought of my mother, of
my aunt, of Captain Bridgeman, Captain
Delmar, and Bob Cross; but my thoughts
were as rapid as the gale which bore ys
along, and I was too much employed in
steering the boat, and preventing the seas
from filling it, to have a moment to collect
my ideas.

Again the woman applied to the bladder
of spirits, and offered some to me: I refused.
I had had enough, and by this time she had
had too much, ard after an attempt to bale
she dropped down in the stern sheets,
smashing pipes and everything beneath her,
and spoke no more.

We had now been more than four hours
adtift, the wind was as Strong as ever, and
I thought the sea much higher ; but I kept
the boat steady before the wind, and by
degrees, as: I became more accusto:ned to
Steer, she did not take in»so much water ;
still the boat appeared to-be sinking deeper
down, and after a time I considered it
necessary to bail her out. I did so with my
hat, for I found it was half full of water ;
and then I execrated the woman for having
intoxicated herself, so as to be useless in
such an emergency.

I succeeded in clearing’ the boat of. the
major portion of the water, which was-no
easy task, as the boat, having remained
broadside to the wind, had taken in the sea
continually as I baled it out. -I then once
more resumed the helm, and put the boat
before the wind, and thus did I continue
for two hours more, when the rain cameé
down in torrents, and the storm was wilder
than ever: but a Portsmouth wherry is one
of the best boats ever built, and so it proved
in this instance, Still I was now ina situa-
tion most trying for a lad between fourteen

and fifteen: my teeth chattered with the
cold, and I was drenched through and
through ; the darkness was opaque, and I
could see nothing but the white foam of the
waves, which curled and broke close to the
gunwale of the boat.

At one moment I despaired, and looked
for immediate death ; but my buoyant spirit
raised me up again, and I hoped. It would
be daylight in a few hours, and oh! how I
looked and longed for daylight. I knew I
must keep the boat before the wind ; I did
so, but the seas were worse than ever ; theynow continually broke injo the boat, for the
tidehad turned, whichhad increased theswell.

Again I left the helm and bailed out ; I
was cold and faint, and I felt recovered
with the exertion ; I also tried to rouse the
woman, but it was useless. I felt for her
bladder of liquor, and found it in her
bosom, more than half empty. I drank
more freely, and my spirits and my courage
revived. After that, I ate, and steered the
boat, awaiting the coming daylight.

It came at last slowly—so slowly; but it
did come, and I felt almost happy. There
is such a horror in darkness when added to
danger, I felt as if I could have worshipped
the sun as it rose slowly and with a watery
appearance above the horizon. I looked
around me; there was something like land
astern of us, such as I had seen pointed
out as land by Bob Cross, when off the
coast of Portugal; and so it was—it was
the Isle of Wight: for the wind had
changed when the rain came down, and I
had altered the course of the boat, so that
for the last four hours I had been steering
for the coast of France.

But, although I was cold and shivering,
and worn out with watching, and tired with
holding the lines by which. the wherry was
steered, I felt almost happy ai the return of
day. I looked down upon my companion
in the boat; she lay sound asleep, with her
head upon the basket of tobacco pipes, her
bonnet wet and dripping, with its faded
ribbons hanging in the water, which washed
to and fro at the bottom of the boat, as it
rolled and rocked to the motion of the
waves ; her hair had fallen over her face, so
as almost to conceal her features; I thought
that she had died during the night, so
silent and so breathless did she lie. The
waves were not so rough now as they had
been, for the flood tide had again made;
and as the beams of the morning sun
glanced on the water, the same _ billows
which appeared so dreadful in the darkness
appeared to dance merrily.

I felt hungry; I took up a red herring
from one of the baskets, and tore it to pieces
with my teeth. I looked around me in every
quarter to see if there was any vessel in
sight, but there was nothing to be seen but
now and then a screaming sea-gull. I tried
to rouse my companion by kicking her with
my foot; I did not succeed in waking her
up, but she turned round on her back, and
her hair falling from her face, discovered the
features of a young and pretty person, ap-
parently not more than nineteen or twenty
years old; her figure was slight and well
formed.

Young as I was, I thought it a pity that
sueh a nice-looking person—for she still was
so, although in a state of disorder, and very

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 

dirty—should be so debased by intoxication,
and, as I looked at the bladder, still halt
full of spirits, I seized it with an intention
to throw it overboard, when I paused at the
recollection that it had probably saved my
life during the night, and might yet be re-
quired.

I did not like to alter the course of the
boat, although I perceived that we were
running fast from the land; for although
the sea had gone down considerably, there
was still too much for the boat to be put
broadside to it. I cannot say that I was
unhappy; I found my situation so very
much improved to what it was during the
darkness of the night. The sun shone
bright, and I felt its warmth. I had no
idea of being lost—death did not enter my
thoughts. ‘There was plenty to eat, and
some vessel would certainly pick us up.
Nevertheless, I said my prayers, more de-
voutly than I usually did.

About noon, as near as I could guess, the
tide changed again, and as the wind had
lulled very much, there was little or no
swell. I thought that, now that the motion
was not so great, we might possibly ship the
foremast and make some little sail upon the
boat; and I tried again more earnestly to
rouse up my companion. After a few not
very polite attempts, I succeeded in ascer-
taining that she was alive.

‘‘ Be quiet, Jim,’’ said she, with her eyes
still closed; ‘‘it’s not five bells yet.”

Another kick or two, and she turned her-
self round and stared wildly.

‘Jim,’ said she, rubbing her eyes; and
then she looked about her, and at once she
appeared to remember what had passed ;
she shrieked, and covered her face up with
her hands.

‘“‘T thought it was a dream, and was going
to tell Jim all about it, at breakfast,’’ said
she, sorrowfully; ‘‘ but it’s all true—trueas
gospel. What will become of me? We
are lost, lost, lost!”

‘‘We are not lost, but we should have
been lost this night if I had been as drunk
as you have been,” replied I; ‘‘I’ve had
work enough to keep the boat above water,
I can tell you.”

‘“That’s truth,’”’ replied she, rising up
and taking a seat upon the thwart of the
boat. ‘‘ God forgive me, poor wretch that
Tam! what will Jim think, and what will
he say, when he sees my best bonnet in such
a pickle?”

‘“ Are you quite sure that you'll ever see
Jim again, or that you'll ever want your best
bonnet ?” replied I.

“OUNEES trifte.- Tf one's body. is “to be
tossed about by green waves, it's little mat-
ter whether there’s a bonnet or shawl on,
Where are we, do you know?"

 

,“‘T can just see the land out there,” re-
plied I, pointing astern ; ‘‘ the sea is smooth ,
I think we could ship the foremast, and get
sail upon her,”’

The young woman stood up in the boat.

‘‘ Yes,” said she, ‘‘I'm pretty Steady; I
think wecould, Last nightin thedark andthe
tossing sea, I could do nothing, but now I
can. What a blessing is daylight to cowards
like me—I am only afraid inthe dark. We
must put some sail upon the boat, or nobody
will see us. What did you do with the
bladder of liquor?”

‘Threw it overboard,” replied I.

“Had you courage to do that?—and
watching through the night so wet and cold.
Well, you did right—I could not have done
it. Oh! that. liquor—that liquor; I wish
there wasn’t sucha thing in the world, but
it’s too late now. When I first married
James Pearson, and the garland was hung
to the mainstay of the frigate, nobody could
persuade me to touch it, not even James
himself, whom I loved so much. Instead of
quarrelling with me for not drinking it, as
he used to do, he now quarrels with me for
drinking the most. If you'll come forward,
sir, and help me, we'll soon get up the fore-
mast. This is it, you see, with the jib
passed round it. Jim often says that I'd
make a capital sailor, if I’d only enter in
man’s clothes; but, as I tell him, I should
be put up at the gangway, for not being
sober, before I'd been on board a week.”

We contrived to ship the mast, and set
the jib and foresail. As soon as the sheets
were hauled aft, ray companion took the
steering-lines, saying, ‘‘I know how to
manage her well enough, now it's daylight,
and I’m quite sober. You must be very
tired, sir; so sit down on the thwart, or lie
down if you please, and take a nap; all's

safe enough now—see, we lie up well for
the land;”’ and such was the case, for she
had brought the boat to the wind, and we
skimmed over the waves at the rate of three
or four miles an hour, I had no inclination
to sleep; I baled the boat_out thoroughly,
and put the baskets and boxes into some
kind of order. I then sat down on the
thwarts, first looking round for a vessel in
sight; but seeing none, I entered into con-
versation with my companion.

‘‘ What is your name?” said I,

‘‘Peggy Pearson; I have my marriage
lines to show: they can throw nothing in
my face, except that I’m fond of liquor,
God forgive me.”’

‘‘ And what makes you so fond of it now,
since you say that when you were married
you did not care for it?”

‘‘You may well say that: it all came of
Sipping, James would have me on his
knee, and would insist on my taking a sip;

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 

 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
   
  
   
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

45

and to please him I did, although it made
me almost sick at first, and then after a
while I did not mind it; and then, you see,
when I was waiting at the sallyport with
the other women, the wind blowing fresh,
and the spray wetting us as we stood on the
shingle with our arms wrapped up in our
aprons, looking out for a boat from the
ship to come on shore, they would have a
quartern, and make me take a drop; and
soit wenton. Then James made me bring
him liquor on board, and I drank some
with him; but what finished me was, that I
heard something about James when he was
at Plymouth, which made me jealous, and
then for the first time I got tipsy. Ater that,
it was all over with me; but, as I said be-
fore, it began with sipping—worse luck,
but it’s done now. Tell me what has passed
during the night. Has the weather been
very bad ?”’

I told her what had occurred, and how I
had kicked her to wake her up.

‘Well, I deserved more than kicking,
and you're a fine, brave fellow ; and if we
get on board the Ca//iope again—and I trust
to God we shall—I’ll take care to blow the
trumpet for you as you deserve.”

‘‘ I don’t want anyone to blow the trumpet
for me,’’ replied I.

‘Don't you be proud; a good word from
me may be of use to you, and it’s what you
deserve, The ship’s company will think
highly of you, I can teil you. A good name
is of no small value—a captain has found
out that before now; you're only a lad, but
you're a regular trump, and the seamen
shall all know it, and the officers too.”’

‘‘We must get on board the ship first,”
replied I, ‘“‘and we are a long way from it
just now.”

‘We're all right, and I have no fear. If
we don't see a vessel, we shall fetch the
land somewhere before to-morrow morning,
and it don’t look as if there would be any
more bad weather. I wonder if they have
sent anything out to look after us?”

‘‘ What's that?” said I, pointing astern,
‘it's a sail of some kind.”

suvies, 7 Said .Pegey,. §"so if 1s4 sites sa
square-rigged vessel coming up the Channel
—we had better get on the other tack, and
Steer for her. -

We wore the boat round and ran in the
direction of the vessel; in three hours we
were close to her; I hailed her as she came
down upon us, but no one appeared to hear
us or see us, for she had lower studding-
sails set; and there was no one forward.
We hailed again, and the vessel was now
within twenty yards, and. we were right
across her bows; a man came forward, and
cried out, ‘‘ Starboard your helm,” but not
in sufficient time to prevent the vessel fromstriking the wherry, and to stave her quarter
in; we dropped alongside as the wherry
filled with water, and ‘we were hauled in by
the seamen over the gunwale, just as she
turned over and floated away astern.

“Touch and go, my lad,’’ said one of the
seamen who had hauled me on board.

““Why don't youkeep a better look out?”’
said Peggy Pearson, shaking her petticoats,
which were wet up to the knees. ‘‘ Paint
eyes in the bows of your brig, if you haven't
any yourself, Now you've lost a boatful of
red-herrings, eggs, and soft tommy—no
bad things after a long cruise; we meant
to have paid our passage with them—now
you must take us for nothing.”

The master of the vessel, who was on
deck, observed that I was in the uniform of
an officer. Iie asked me how it was we
were found in such a situation? I narrated
what had passed in few words. He said
that he was from Cadiz, bound to London,
and that he would put us on shore at any
place up the river I would like, but that he
could not lose the chance of the fair wind
to land me anywhere else.

I was> too thankful to be landed any-
‘where; and telling him that I should be
very glad if:he could put. me on shore at
Sheerness, which was the nearest: place to
Chatham, I asked leave to turn into one of
the cabin bed-places, and was soon fast
asleep.

I may as well here observe, that I had
been seen by the sentry abaft to go down
by the stern ladder into the boat, and when
the waterman came back shortly afterwards
to haul his boat up, and perceived that it
had gone adrift, there was much alarm on
my account. It was too dark to send a boat
after us that night, but the next morning
the case was reported to the admiral of the
port, who directed a cutter to get under
weigh and look for us.

The cutter had kept close in shore for the
first day, and it was on the morning after I
was picked up by the brig, that, in stand-
ing more out, she had fallen in with the
wherry, bottom up. ‘This satisfied them
that we had perished in the rough night,
and it was so reported to the port-admiral
and to Captain Delmar, who had just come
down from London.

I slept soundly till the next morning,
when I found that the wind had fallen and
that it was nearly calm. Peggy Pearson
was on deck; she had washed herself and
smoothed out with an iron the ribbons of
her bonnet, and was really a very handsome
young woman.

‘““Mr. Keene,” said she, ‘ I didn’tknow
your name before you told it to the skipper
here; you're in a pretty scrape. I dont
know what Jim Pearson will say when you

PERCIVAL KREME.

go-back, running away with his wife as you
have done. Don’t you think I had better
go back first, and smooth things over?”’

‘‘Oh! you laugh now,” replied I; “but
you didn’t laugh the night we went adrift.”

‘* Because it was no laughing matter. I
owe my life to you, and if I had)been adrift
by myself, I should never have’put my foot
on shore again. Do you know,” said’ she
to me very solemnly, ‘‘ I’ve madé a vow—
yes, a vow to Heaven—that I'ilcleave off
drinking; and I’ only hope I may have
strength given me to keep it.”

“Can youjskeepit 2eisaidoks

*“T think I can ; for when I reflect. that I
might have gone to my account in that
state, I really feel ashorror of liquor. . If
James would only give it up, I’m sure I
could. J swear that I never will ‘bring him
any more on: board—that’s settled. He
may scold me, he may beat. me: (I don’t
think he would do that, for he never has
yet); but let him do what he -pleases, I
never will; and if he keeps sober because
he hasn’t the means of getting tipsy, I-am
sure that I shall keep my vow. © You don’t
know how I hate myself; and although I
I'm merry, it’s only to prevent my sitting
down and crying like a’ child at''my folly
and wickedness in yielding to temptation.”’

‘‘¥ little thought to, hear this from ‘you.
When I was with you in the boat, 1 thought
you a very different person.”’

‘“A woman who drinks, Mr. Keene; is
lost to everything. I've often thought of
it, after I’ve become sober again: Five
years ago I was the best girl in the school.
I was the monitor, and wore a medal for
good conduct. I thought that I should be
so happy with James ; I loved him’so, and
do so still. I knew that he was fond of
liquor, but I never thought that he would
make me drink. I thought then that I
should cure him, and with the help of God
I will now ; not only him, but myself‘too.”’

And I will here state that Peggy Pearson,
whose only fault was the passion she had
imbibed for drinking, did keep her ‘vow ;
the difficulty of which few can understand
who have not been intemperate themselves -;
and she not only continued sober herself,
but by degrees broke her husband of his
similar propensity to liquor.

It was not till the evening of the fourth
day that we arrived at the Nore. I had
four pounds in my pocket at the time that
I went adrift, which’ was more than suffi-
cient, even if I had not intended to go and
see my mother. <A wherry came alongside,
and Peggy Pearson and I stepped into it,
after I had thanked the captain, and given
a sovereign to the seamen to drink my
health.  ‘

As soon as we landed at Sheerness Igave another of my sovereigns to Peggy,
and left her to find her way back to Ports-
mouth, while I walked up to Chatham to
my mother’s house.

It was past eight o’clock and quite dark
when I arrived ; the shop was closed, and
the shutters up at the front door; so I went
round to the back to obtain admittance.
The door was not fast, and I walked into
the little parlour without meeting with any-
body. I heard somebody upstairs, and I
thought I heard sobbing; it then struck
me that my. supposed loss might have been
communicated to my mother.» There was
a light on the parlour table, and I perceived
an open letter lying near to it.. I looked at
it; it was the handwriting of Captain Del-
mar. The candle required snuffing; I
raised the letter to the light that I might
read it, and read as follows :—

‘“My DEAR ARABELEA;—You must
prepare yourself for very melancholy tidings,
and it is most painful to me to be compelled
to be the party who. communicates them.
A dreadful accident has occurred, and’ in-
deed I feel most sincerely for you. On the
night of the roth, Percival was in a boat
which broke adrift from the ship in a gale
of wind; ‘it was dark, and the fact not
known until too late to render any assist-
ance.

‘*The next day a cutter was despatched
by the admiral to look for the: boat, which
must haye been driven out to sea; there
was a woman in the boat as well as our
poor boy. Alas! I regret to say that the
boat'was found bottom up, and there is no
doubt but that owx dear child has perished.

‘‘ You will believe me when I say that I
deeply. lament his loss; not only on your
account, but because I had become most
partial to ‘him for his many good qualities,
and. often have I regretted that his peculiar
position prevented me from showing him
openly: that regard which, as zs father, 1
really felt for him.

‘©T know that I can say nothing that will
alleviate your sufferlngs, and yet I fain
would, for you have been so true, and
anxious to please me in every point since
our first acquaintance and ‘intimacy, that
there is nothing that you do not deserve at
my hands.

‘*Comfort yourself, dear Arabella, as
well as you can, with the reflection that it
has been the will of Heaven, to whose
decrees we must submit with resignation. I
am deeply suffering myself; for, had he
lived, I-swear to you that I intended to do
much more for him thanever I had promised
you. He would have made a good and
gallant sailor had it pleased Heaven to spare
him, and you would have been proud of
him; but it has been decided otherwise,

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

and we must bow in-obedience to His will.
God bless you, and support. you in. your
afflictions, and believe me still

‘* Yours, most sincerely and faithfully,

““ PERCIVAL DELMAR.”

‘“Then it is so,’’thought I; ‘‘ here I have
it under his own hand.” I immediately
folded up the letter, and put it into my
bosom. ‘‘ You and I never part; that: is
certain,’’ murmured: I. .I had almost lost
my breath from emotion, and I sat down to
recover myself. After a minute or two I
pulled the letter out, and read it over again.
‘‘And he is my father, and he loves me, but
dare not show it, and he intended to do
more for me than even he had promised my
mother.”

I folded up the letter, kissed it fervently,
and replaced it in my bosom. ‘‘ Now,’
thought I, ‘‘what. shall I do? This letter
will be. required of me by my mother, Sut
never shall she get it; not tears, nor threats,
nor entreaties shall.ever induce me to part
with it. What. shall:I do? Nobody has
seen me—nobody knows that I have been
here. I will go directly and join my ship ;
yes, that will be my best plan.”

I was so occupied with my own reverie,
that I did not perceive a footstep on the
stairs, until the party was:sv far down that I
could not retreat. I thought to hide myself.
I knew by. the list shoes that.it must be my
grandmother.. A moment of.reflection. I
blew out the light on the table, and put my-
self in an attitude : one arm raised aloft, the
other extended from my body, and with my
mouth wide open and my eyes, fixed, I
awaited her approach, She came in—saw
me—uttered a fearful shriek, :and fell sense-
less on the floor; the candle in her hand
was extinguished in the fall: I stepped over
her body, and darting out intothe back-yard,
gained. the door, and was in the street in a
minute.

CVPR’ Xey Ve

1 WAS soon in the high road, and clear of
the town of Chatham. As my object was
that it should not be supposed that I had
been there, I made all the haste I could to
increase my distance; I therefore walked on
in the direction of Grayesend, where I
arrived about ten o’clock. A.return chaise
offered to take me to Greenwich for a few
shillings, and before morning dawned I had
gained the metropolis.

I lost no time in inquiring when the coaches
started for Portsmouth, and found that’ I
was in plenty of time, as one set off at nine
o'clock.

Muchas I wished to see London, my
curiosity gave way to what I considered thenecessity of my immediate return to the
frigate. At seven o'clock in the evening I
atrived at Portsmouth; I hastened down,
jumped into a wherry, and was on board of
the frigate again by eight.

It may be imagined that my sudden and
unexpected appearance caused no little sur-
prise. Indeed, the first lieutenant con-
sidered it right to send the gig on shore at
that late hour to apprise the captain of my
return, and Bob Cross had just time to give
me a wring of the hand before he jumped
into the boat, and went away to make the
report.

I gave a history of my adventures to the
officers, leaving them, however, to suppose
that I had never been to Chatham, but had
gone up to London in the merchant vessel.

Pearson, the boatswain’s mate, came to
make inquiries about his wife ; and soon after
Bob Cross came on board, with the captain's
orders that I should go on shore to him in
the gig on the following morning.

I wished very much to consult Bob Cross
previous to my seeing the captain. I told
him so, and he agreed to meet me on the
gangway about ten o'clock, as by that time
the officers would be almost all in bed, and
there would be less chance of interruption.

It was a fine, clear night, and as soon as
we found ourselves alone I narrated to him,
in a low voice, all that had taken place, and
gave him the contents of the letter which I
had taken possession of. I then asked him
what he thought I ought to do, now that I
was certain of being the son of the captain.

‘“ Why, Master Keene, you have done it
very cleverly, that’s the truth; and that
letter, which is as good as a certificate from
Captain Delmar, must be taken great care
of. I hardly know where it ought to be put,
but I think the best thing will be for me to
sew it in a seal-skin pouch that I have, and
then you can wear it round your neck, and
next your skin; for, as you say, you and
that must never part company. But, Master
Keene, you must be silent as death about it.
You have told me, and I hope I may be
trusted, but trust nobody else. As to saying
or hinting anything to the captain, you
mustn't think of it; you must go on as
before, as if you knew nothing, for if he
thought you had the letter in your possession
he would forget you were his son, and per-
haps hate you. He never would have been
induced to acknowledge you under his own
hand as his son had he not thought that you
were dead and gone, as everybody else did ;
so behave just as respectful and distant as
before. It's only in some great emergency
that that letter will do you any good, and
you must reserve itin caseof need. If your

mother is suspicious, why, you must blind
her... Your granny will swear that it was

PERCIVAL KEENE.

  

your ghost; yotir mother may think other-
wise, but cannot prove it; she dare not tell
the captain that she suspects you have the
letter, and it will all blow over after a cruise
or two.”

I agreed to follow the advice of Rob
Cross, as I saw it was good, and we parted
for the night.

‘The next morning I went on shore to the
captain, who received me very stiffly, with,
‘““Mr. Keene, you have had a narrow
escape. How did you get back?”

I replied, that the vessel which picked me
up was bound to London, and that I had
taken the coach down.

‘‘ Well, I nevér had an idea that we
should have seen you again, and I have
written to your mother, acquainting her
with your loss,”

“Have you, sir?” replied gs ‘‘itswill
make her very unhappy.”

‘Of course it will; but I shall write by
this post, stating that you have been so
fortunately preserved.”

‘‘'Thanky, sir,” replied I; have you any
further orders, sir?”

‘‘No, Mr. Keene; you may go on board
and return to your duty.”

I made my bow, and quitted the room;
went down below, and found Bob Cross
waiting for me.

“Well 2?” said he, as we walked away.

“Stiff as ever,” replied 1: ‘‘told me to
go on board and ‘tend to my duty.”

** Well, I knew it would be so,” replied
Bob; ‘‘it's hard to say what stuff them
great nobs are made of. Never mind that:
you've your own game to play, and your
own secret to keep.”

‘‘ His secret,’ replied I, biting my lips,
‘to keep or to tell, as may happen,”

‘“Don't let your vexation get the better
of you, Master Keene; ‘‘ you've the best of
it, if you only keep your temper; let him
play his cards, and you play yours. As you
know his cards and he don’t know yours, you
must win the game in the end—that is, if
you are commonly prudent.”’

‘You are right, Cross,” replied I; ‘‘ but
you forget that I am but a boy.”

‘“You are but a boy, Master Keene, but
you've no fool’s head on your shoulders.”

‘‘T hope not,” replied I; ‘‘but here we
are at the boat.”’
“Yes; and, as I live, here's Pegg

Pearson. Well, Peggy, how did you like
your cruise with Master Keene?”

“If ever I go on another, I hope he will
be my companion. Master Keene, will you
allow me to go on board with you to see my
husband ?”’

‘Oh, yes, Peggy,” replied Cross; ‘‘the
{--st liectenant would rot refuse you after
what has happened, nor Captain Delmareither, stiff as he is; for, although he never
shows it, he don’t want feeling. Jim will
be glad to see you, Peggy; you haven't an
idea how he took on, when he heard of
your loss. He borrowed a pocket-handker-
chief from the corporal of marines.”

‘*T suspect he'd rather borrow a bottle of
rum from the purser,” replied Peggy.

‘*Recollect, Peggy, said I, holding up
my finger.

‘““Mr. Keene, I do recollect ; I pledge
you my word that I have not tasted a drop
of spirits since we parted—and that with a
sovereign in my pocket.”

‘‘ Well, only keep to it—that’s all.”

‘*T will, indeed, Mr. Keene; and, what's
more, I shall love you as long as I live.”’

We pulled on board in the gig, and Pegg
was soon in the arms of her husband. As
Pearson embraced her at the gangway—for
he could not help it—the first lieutenant
very kindly said, ‘‘ Pearson I shan’t want
you on deck till after dinner: you may go
below with your wife.”

‘“ Now, may God bless you, for a cross-
looking, kind-hearted gentleman,” said
Peggy to the first lieutenant.

Peggy was as good as her word to me;
she gave such an account of my courage
and presence of mind, of her fears, and at
last of her getting tipsy—of my remaining
at the helm and managing the boat all night
by myself—that I obtained great reputation
among the ship’s company, and it was all
reported to the officers, and worked its way
until it came from the first lieutenant to the
captain, and from the captain to the port
admiral. This is certain that Peggy Pear-
son did do me a good service, for [ was no
longer looked upon as a mere youngster,
who had just come to sea, and who had not
been tried.

‘Well, sir,” said Bob Cross, a day or two
afterwards, ‘‘it.seems, by Peggy Pearson's
report, that you're not frightened at a
trifle.”

‘* Peg Pearson's report won't do me much
good.”

‘‘You ought to know better, Master
Keene, than to say that; a mouse may help
a lion, as the fable says.”’

‘‘Where did you learn all your fables,
Cross?”

“T'll tell you; there’s a nice little girl
that used to sit on my knee and read her
fables to me, and I listened to her because I
loved her.”

‘* And does she do so now ?”’

‘‘Oh, no; she’s too big for that—she’d
blush up to the temples; but never mind
the girl or the fables. I told you that Pegg
had reported your conduct, as we say in the
service. Now do you know, that this very
day I heard the first lieutenant speaking of

 

 

FERCIVAL KRENE,

it to the captain, and you've no idea how
proud the captain looked, although he
pretended to care nothing about it; I
watched him, and he looked as much as to
say, ‘ that’s my boy.’”

‘‘ Well, if that pleases him, I’ll make him
prouder yet of me, if I have the opportunity,”’
replied I.

“That you will, Master Keene, if I’m
any judge of fizonomy ; and that’s the wav
to go to a parent's heart: make him feel
proud of you.”

I did not forget this, as the reader will
eventually discover.

I had written to my mother, giving hera

long account of my adventures, but not say-

ing a word of my having been at Chatham.
I made her suppose, as I did the captain,
that I had been carried up to London. My
letter reached her the day after the one
announcing my safety, written to her by
Captain Delmar.

She answered me by return of post, thank-
ing Heaven for my preservation, and stating
how great had been her anguish and misery
at my supposed loss. In the latter part of
the letter was this paragraph—

‘‘Strange to say, on the night of the rsth,
when I was on my bed in tears, having but
just received the news of your loss, your
grandmother went downstairs, and declares
that she saw you or your ghost in the little
back parlour. At all events, I found her
insensible on the floor, so that she must
have seen something. She might have been
frightened at nothing; and yet I know not
what to think, for there are circumstances
which almost make me believe that some-
body. was in the house. I presume you can
prove an a/zdz.”’

That my mother had been suspicious,
perhaps more than suspicious, from the dis-
appearance of the letter, I was convinced.
When I replied to her, I said :—My alzdz
is easily proved by applying to the master
and seamen of the vessel on board of which
Iwas. Old granny must have been fright-
ened at ber own shadow: the idea of my
coming to your house, and having left it
without seeing you, is rather too absurd ;
granny must have invented the story, be-
cause she hates me, and thought to make
you do the same.”

Whatever my mother may have thought,
she did not again mention the subject. I
had, however, a few days afterwards, &
letter from my Aunt Milly, in which she
laughingly told the same story of granny
swearing that she had seen me or my ghost.
‘« At first we thought it was your ghost, but
since a letter from Captain Delmar to your
mother has been missing, it isnow imagined
that you have been here, and have taken
possession of it. You will tell me, my50 PERGCIVAL KEENE.

dearest Percival, I’m sure, if you did play
this trick to granny, or not; you know you
may trust me with any of your tricks.”

But I was not in this instance to be
wheedled by my aunt. I wrote in return,

_ Saying How much I was amazed at my grand-

mother telling such fibs, and proved to her
most satisfactorily that I was in London at
the time they supposed I might have been
at Chatham.

That my aunt had been requested by my
mother to try to find out the truth, I was
well‘ convinced: but I felt my secret of too
much importance to trust either of them,
and from that time the subject was never
mentioned ; and I believeit was at last sur-
mised that the letter might have been
destroyed accidentally or purposely by the
maid-servant, and that my grandmother had
been frightened at nothing at all—an opinion
more supported, as the maid, who had taken
advantage of my mother’s retiring to her
room, and had been out gossiping, declared
that she had not left the premises three
minutes, and not a soul could have come in.
Moreover, it -was so unlikely that I could
have been in Chatham without being recog-
nised by somebody.

My grandmother shook her head, and
said nothing during all this canvassing of
the question; but my Aunt Milly declared
that 1 never would have been at Chatham
without coming to see her.. And it was
her opimion that the servant girl had read
the letter when’ left on the table, and had
taken it out to show to her associates ; and
somebedy who wished to have a hold upon
my mother by the possession of the letter
had retained it.

I think my mother came to that opinion
at last, and it was the source of much un-
easiness to her. She dared not say a word
to Captain Delmar, and every day expected
to have an offer made of returning the letter,
upon a certain sum being paid down. But
the offer was never made, as the letter had
been sewed up by Bob Cross in the piece of
seal-skin, and was worn round my neck
with a ribbon, with as much care as if it
had been a supposed bit of the wood of the
true cross, possessed by some old female
Catholic devotee.

But long before all these discussions were
over, H.M. ship Cad/zoge had been ordered
to sail, and was steering down the Channel
before a smart breeze.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.

ALTHOUGH I have so much to say as to
oblige me to pass over without notice the
majority of my companions, I think Pought
to dedicate one chapter to a more particular

description of those with whom I was now
principally in contact on board of the
Calliope.

I have already spoken much of the Hon.
ourable Captain Delmar, but. I must
describe him more particularly, When
young he must have been a very handsome
man ; even now, although nearly fifty years
of age, and his hair and whiskers a. little
mixed with grey, he was a fine-looking per-
sonage, of florid complexion, large blue
eyes, nose and mouth very perfect : in height
he was full six feet; and he walked so erect
that he looked even taller.

‘There was precision, I may say dignity, in
all his motions. _ If he turned to you, it was
slowly and deliberately; there was nothing
like rapidity in his movement. On the most
trifling occasions, he wrapped himself up in
etiquette with all the consequence of a
Spanish Hidalgo; and showed in almost
every action and every word that he never
forgot his superiority of birth.

No one, except myself, perhaps, would
ever have thought of taking a liberty with
him; for although there was a pomposity
about him, at the same time: it was the
pomposity of a high-bred gentleman, who
respected himself, and expected everyone ta
do the same.

That sometimes a little mirth was occa-
sioned by his extreme precision is true; but
it was whispered, not boldly indulged in.
As to his qualities as an officer and seaman,
I shall only say, that they were considered
more than respectable. Long habit of com-
mand had given him a fair knowledge of
the duties in the first instance, and he never
condescended (indeed, it would have been
contrary to his character) to let the officers
or seamen know. whether he did or did not
know anything about the second.

As to his moral character, I can only say
that it was very difficult to ascertain it.
That he would never do that which was in the
slightest degree derogatory to the character
of a gentleman was most certain: but he
was SO wrapped up in exclusiveness, that it
was almost impossible to estimate his feel-
ings. Occasionally, I may say, very rarely,
he might express them ; but if he did; it was
but for a moment, and he was again re-
served as before.

That he was selfish, is true; but who is
not? and those in high rank are still more so
than others, not so much by nature, but be-
cause their self is encouraged by those
around them. You could easily offend his
pride ; but he was above being flattered in
a gross way. I really believe that the
person in the ship for whom he had the least
respect was the obsequious Mr. Culpepper.
Such was the honourable Captain Delmar.

Mr, Hippesley, the first lieutenant, was abroad-shouldered, ungainly-looking person-
age. He had more the appearance of a
master in the service than a first lieutenant.
He was a thorough seaman; and really, for
a first lieutenant, a very good-natured man.
All that: was requisite, was to allow his
momentary anger to have free escape by
the safety-valve of his mouth; if you did
not, an explosion was sure to be the result.

He was, as we use the termat sea,ia
regular ship husband—that is to say, he
seldom put his foot on shore; and if he did,
he always appeared anxious to get on board
again. He was on good: terms, but not
familiar, with his messmates, and very
respectful to the captain. There was no
other officer in the service who would have
suited Captain Delmar so well as Mr. Hip-
pesley, who, although he might occasionally
erumble at not being promoted, appeared
on the whole to be very indifferent about
the matter.

The men were partial to him, as they
always are to one who, whatever may be
his peculiarities, is consistent. Nothing is
more unpleasant to men than to sail under
a person whom, to use their own expression,
‘‘they never knew where to find.”

The second and third lieutenants, Mr.
Percival and Mr. Weymiss, were + young
men of good family, and were admitted to
a very Slight degree of familiarity with
Captain Delmar: they were of gentlemanly
manners, both good seamen, and kind to
their inferiors.

Mr. Culpepper, the purser, was my
abomination— a nasty, earwigging, flatter-
ing, bowing, old rogue. ‘The master, Mr,
Smith, was a very quiet man, plain and
unoffending, but perfectly master of, and
always attentive to, his duty.

The marine officer, Mr. Tusk, was a
nonentity, put into a red jacket. The sur-
geon was a tall, and very finiking sort of
gentleman as to dress; but well-informed,
friendly in disposition, and perfectly ac-
quainted with his profession.

My messmates were most of them young
men of good birth, with the exception of
Tommy Dott, who was the son of a warrant
officer, and Mr. Green, whose father was a
boot-maker in London. I shall not, how-
ever, waste my reader’s time upon them;
they will appear when required. I shall,
therefore, now proceed with my narrative.

It is usually the custom for the midship-
men to take up provisions and spirits
beyond their allowance, and pay the purser
an exira sum for the same; but this Mr.
Culpepper would not permit—indeed, he
was the most stingy and disagreeable old
fellow that I ever met with in the service.
We never had dinner or grog enough, or
even lights sufficient for our wants.

PERCIVAL KEENE.

   
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
     

5I

We complained to the first lieutenant,
but he was not inclined to assist. us: he
said we had our allowance, and it was all
we could demand ; that too much grog was
bad for us, and as for candles, they only
made us sit up late when we ought to be
in bed : he was, moreover, very strict about
the lights being put out: This, however,
was the occasion of war to the knife be-
tween the midshipmen and Mr. Culpepper.

But it was of no avail ; he would seldom
trust his own steward or the mate of the
main deck ; whenever he could, he superin-
tended the serving out-of all provisions and
mixing of the grog: no wonder that he
vas said to be arich man. The only party
to whom he was civil was Mr. Hippesley,
the first lieutenant, and the captain ; both
of whom had the power of annoying him,
and reducing his profits.

To the captain he was all humility ; every
expense that he required was, with his
proffered bow, cheerfully submitted to ; but
he gained on the whole by this apparent
liberality, as the captain was rather inclined
to protect him in all other points of service,
except those connected with his own com-
forts and luxuries ; and many a good job
did Mr. Culpepper get done for him,
by humbly requesting and obsequiously
bowing.

We had been at sea for about a week,
and were running down towards the island
of Madeira, which we expected to reach the
next morning. Our destination -was a
Secret, aS our captain sailed with sealed
orders, to be opened when off that island,

The weather was very fine and warm,
and the wind had fallen, when at sundown
high land was reported from the mast-head,
at about forty miles distant. I was, as on
the former cruise, signal midshipman, and
did day duty—that is, I went down with
the sun, and kept no night watch.

I had been cogitating how I couid play
some trick to Mr. Culpepper: the midship-
men had often proposed that we should do
so, but I had made up my mind that when-
ever I did, I would make no confidant.
Tommy Dott often suggested an idea, but
I invariably refused, as a secret is only a
secret when it is known to one person : for
that reason I never consulted Bob Cross,
because I knew that he would have per-
suaded me not to doso ; but after anything
was happily executed, I then used to con-
fide in him.

I observed before that Mr. Culpepper
wore a flaxen wig, and I felt sure, from his
penuriousness, that he was not’ likely to
have more than one on board; I, there-
fore, fixed upon his wig as the object of my
vengeance, and having made up my mind
on the night that we made the island ofMadeira, I determined to put my project in
execution.

For convenience, the first lieutenant had
a small ladder which went down through
the skylight of the gun-room, so that they
could descend direct, instead of going round
by the after-hatchway, and entering by the
gun-room doors, where the sentry was
placed.

I went to my hammock, and slept till the
middle watch was called ; I then got up
and dressed myself without being perceived.

As soon as the lieutenant of the middle
watch had been called by the mate, who
lighted his candle and left him to dress him-
self, 1 came up by the after-ladder, and,
watching an opportunity when the sentry
at the captain's cabin door had walked for-
ward, I softly descended by the skylight
ladder into the gun-room,

The light in the cabin of the lieutenant,
who was dressing, was quite sufficient, and
the heat of the weather was so great, that
all the officers slept with their cabin doors
fastened back, for ventilation ; Thad, there-
fore, no difficulty in putting my hand on
the purser's wig, with which I escaped un-
perceived, and immediately turned in again
to my hammock, to consider what I should
do with my prize.

Should I throw it overboard ; should I
stuff it down the pump-well, or slip it into
the ship's coppers, that it might re-appear
when the pea-soup was baled out for din-
ner; or should I put it into the manger
forward, where the pigs were?

In the meantime, while I was considering
the matter, the midshipman of the first
watch came down and turned in, and all
was again quiet, except an occasional nasal
melody from some heavy sleeper.

At last, quite undecided, I peeped through
the clues of my hammock, to see what the
sentry at the gun-room door was about,
and found that he had sat downona chest,
and was fast asleep. I knew immediately
that the man was in my power, and I did
not fear him ; and then it was that the idea
came into my head, that I would singe the
purser’s wig. I went softly to the sentry’s
light, took it from the hook, and went down
with it into the cockpit, as being the best
place for carrying on my operations. The
wig was very greasy, and every curl, as I
held it in the candle, flared up, and burned
beautifully to within a quarter of an inch of
the caul,

It was soon done, and I replaced the
sentry's light; and finding that the gun-
room door was a-jar, I went in softly, and
replaced the wig where I had taken it from,
repassed the sentry, who was still fast
asleep, and regained my hammock, intend-
ing to undress myself in it ; but I had quite

PERCIVAL KEENE.

   

forgotten one thing (I was soon reminded
of it)—I heard the voice of the officer of
the watch, calling out to the sentry at the
cabin door.

‘Sentry, what's that smell of burning ?”’

‘‘T don’t know, sir,” replied the sentry ;
‘‘T was just thinking of going forward for
the ship's corporal.”

The smell, which had gradually ascended
from the cockpit, now spread from deck to
deck, and became stronger and_ stronger.
The gunroom-door sentry jumped up at the
voice of the lieutenant, and called out that
there was a very strong smell in the cockpit.
The lieutenant and mate of the watch came
down, and it was immediately supposed that
the spirit-room had caught fire, for the
smell was really very powerful.

The first lieutenant, who had wakened
up at the voices, was out in a minute ; he
put his head over the cockpit, and ordering
the officer of the watch to call the drummer,
and beat to quarters, ran up to inform the
captain.

The drummer was out in a moment, and,
seizing his drum, which hung up by the
mainmast, ran up in his shirt and beat the
tattoo.

The whole ship's company rose up at the
sound, which they knew was the signal for
something important ; and the beat of the
drum was followed up by the shrill piping
of the boatswain’s mates at each hatchway.

At that moment, some frightened man
belonging to the watch cried out that the
ship was on fire, and the lower decks were
immediately ascene of bustle and confusion.

Perhaps there is nothing more awful than
the alarm of fire at sea; the feeling that
there is no escape—the only choice being
by which element, fire or water, you choose
to perish. But if it is awful in daylight,
how much more so is it to be summoned up
to await such peril when you have been
sleeping in fancied security.

The captain had hurried on his clothes,
and stood on the quarter-deck, He was
apparently calm and _ collected ; but, as
usual, the first lieutenant carried on the
duty, and well he did it.

‘“Where's the gunner? Mr, Hutt, bring
up the keys from my cabin, and have all
ready for clearing the magazines if required.
Firemen, get your buckets to bear:;, car-
penters, rig the pumps. Silence there, fore
and aft.”

But the confusion became very great, and
there evidently was a panic. The captain
then interposed, calling out to the boatswain
and his mates to send every man aft on the
quarter-deck.

This order was obeyed ; the men came
thronging like a flock of sheep, huddling
together and breathless,‘‘Silence there, my men,” cried Captain
Delmar—‘‘silence, I say; is this the con-
duct of men-of-war's-men? Every man of
you sit down on deck—pass the word there
for every man to sit down.”’

The order was mechanically obeyed, and
as soon as the ship’s company were all
seated, the captain said— .

‘©T tell you what, my lads, I’m ashamed
of you: the way to put out a fire is to be
cool and calm, obeying orders and keeping
silence. Now collect yourselves all of you,
for until you are all quiet and cool, you
will sit where you are.”

After a pause of a few seconds—

‘“Now, my men, are you more steady?
Recollect, be cool, and keep silence. Car-
penter, are the pumps rigged?”

‘Yes, sir,’ replied the carpenter,

“ Now, firemen, go for your buckets ; let
nobody else move. Silence—not a word:
three foremost guns main-deck, to your

 

quarters. Silence and quiet, if you please.
Now, are you all steady?—then, go to
your quarters, my men, and: wait for
orders.”’

It was astonishing how collected the
ship's company became by the judicious
conduct of the captain, who now continued
to command. When the men had gone
down to their stations, he directed the two
junior lieutenants to go and examine where
the fire was, and to be careful not to lift the
hatches if they discovered that it was in the,
spirit-room. 1H: 0

I had been on the quarter-deck .some,
time, and being aware of the causé, of
course was not at all alarmed: and I had
exerted myself very assiduously in keeping the
men cool and quiet, shoving the men down
who were unwilling to sit down on the deck,
and even using them very roughly ; showing
a great deal moresaxg/rozd than any other of
the officers, which of course was not to be
wondered at.

Mr. Culpepper, who was most terribly
alarmed, had come up on deck, and stood
trembling close to the side of the captain
and first lieutenant; he had pulled on his
wig without discovering that it had been
burnt, and as I passed him, the burnt smell
was very strong indeed; so thought the
captain and the first lieutenant, who were
waiting the return of the officers.

‘‘T smell the fire very strong just now,”
said the captain to the first lieutenant.

“Yes, sir, every now and then it is very
strong,” replied the first lieutenant.

The purser’s wig was just between them,
no wonder that they smelt it. After two or
three minutes the officers came up, and
reported that they could discover no fire,
and that there was very little smell of the
fire dawn below.

PERCIVAL KEENE,

 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
   
 
   
  
   
 
   
 
  
   
 
   
  
  
    
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 

53

‘‘And yet I smell it now,” said Captain
Delmar.

‘So doI, sir,” said the second lieutenant ;
and it really smells stronger on deck than it
does down below,”

“It's very odd; let them continue the
search,”

The search was continued ; the first lieu-
tenant now going down, and after a time
they said that the strongest smell was from
the purser’s cabin.

‘““Mr. Culpepper, they say the smell is in
your cabin,” said Captain Delmar; ‘‘go
down, if you please; they may want to open
your lockers.”

Mr. Culpepper, who still trembled like an
aspen, went down the ladder, and I followed
him ; but in descending the second ladder
his foot slipped, and he fell down the hatch-
way ta the lower deck.

I hastened down after him; he was
stunned, and I thought this a gocd op-
portunity to pull off his wig, which -I did
very dexterously, and concealed it. Hewas
taken into the gun-room, and the surgeon
called, while I walked up on deck, and
quietly dropped the wig overboard at the
gangway.

My reason for doing this was, that having
no idea that my trick would have created so
much confusion, and have turned up the
officers and men as it did, I thought that the
purser’s wig would, the next morning, ac-
count for the smell of fire, and an investiga-
tron take place, which, although it might
rot lead to discovery, would certainly lead

°to suspicion ; so the wig was now floating
away, and with the wig went away. all
evidence.

After a search of nearly half an hour,
nothing was discovered ; the drummer was
ordered to beat the retreat, and all was quiet
again.

I went to bed quite satisfied with the events
of the night, and slept the sleep of inno-
cence—at least I slept just as soundly.

This mysterious affair ever remained a
mystery: the only loss was the purser’s wig ;
but that was nothing, as Mr. Culpepper
acknowledged that he did not know himself
what he was about, and, for all he knew to
the contrary, he might have thrown it over-
board.

My conduct on this occasion again gained
me great credit. It had been remarked by
the captain and officers, and I rose in esti-
mation. How I might have behaved had I
really supposed that the ship was on fire, is
quite another affair—I presume not quite
so fearlessly. As it was, I was resolved to
take all the credit given to me, and for
that reason it was not till a long while after-
wards that I hinted the secret even to Bob
Cross,PERCIVAL, VGERIV ER:

pose,” said the steward : ‘‘I will go to the

CHAPTER XIX,
gallery for another light.”

   

THE next morning, when we arrived at
Funchal, we found that our orders were for
the West Indies: we stayed one day to take
in wine, and then hove up the anchor, and

‘Yes, yes, be quick,” said Mr. Culpep-
per, who remained in the steward’s room
in the dark, until the return of the steward.

Tommy Dott then slipped in softly, and

went on to our destination. We soon got commenced filling all his pockets with the
into the trades, and run them fast down till raisins; he had nearly taken in his full
we arrivedat Carlisle Bay, Barbadoes, where cargo, when, somehow or other, Mr. Cul-
we found the admiral, and delivered our pepper stepped forward from where he
despatches. We were ordered to water and stood, and touched Tommy, whom he im-
complete as soon as possible, as we were to mediately seized, crying out, ‘‘ Thieves,

be sent on a cruise.

Tommy Dott, my quondam ally, was in
disgrace. He had several times during the
cruise proposed that I should join him in
several plots of mischief, but I refused, as I
did not consider them quite safe.

‘You are not the keen fellow I thought
you were,’ said he; ‘‘you are up to nothing
now ; there’s no fun in you, as there used to
Dee

He was mistaken ; there was fun in me,
but there was also prudence, and from what
I had latterly seen of Tommy Dott, I did
not think he was to be trusted.

The day after we anchored at Carlisle Bay,
Tommy came to me and said, ‘‘Old Cul-
pepper serves out plums and suet this after-
noon; I heard him tell the steward. Now,
I think we may manage to get some—I never
saw better plums on board of a ship.”

“Well,” said I, “I like raisins as well as
you do, Tommy—but what is your plan?”

‘“Why, I’ve got my squirt, and old Cul-¢
purser’s dips (small candles) in the steward’s
room. I'll get down in the cockpit in the
dark, and squirt at the candle—the water
will put it out, and he’llsend the steward for
another light, and then I'll try and get
some.”

It was not a bad plan, but still I refused
to join in it, as it was only the work of one
person, and not¢wo. I pointed that out to
him, and he agreed with me, Saying that he
would do it himself.

When Mr. Culpepper went down into the
steward’s room, Tommy reconnoitred, and
then came into the berth and filled his
squirt.

Although I would not join him, I thought
I might as well se2 what was going on, and
therefore descended the cockpit ladder soon
after Tommy, keeping out of the way in the
foremost part of the cockpit, where it was
quite dark.

Tommy directed his squirt very dexter-
ously, hit the lighted wick of the solitary
candle, which fizzed, sputtered, and finally

- gave up the ghost.

-.“ Bless me!” said Mr. Culpepper, ‘‘ what
can that be?”
“& leak from the seams above, I sup-

 

thieves!—call the sentry !—sentry, come
loveste,

The sentry of the gun-room door went
down the ladder-as Mr. Culpepper dragged
out Tommy, holding him fast by both hands,

‘Take him, sentry—take him in charge.
Call the master-at-arms—little thief. Mr.
Dott ! Hah—well, we’llsee.”’

The,consequence was, that Mr. Tommy
Dott was handed from the sentry to the
master-at-arms, and taken up on the quar-
ter-deck, followed by Mr. Culpepper and
his steward.

There was no defence or excuse to be
made: the pockets of his jacket and of his
trousers were stuffed with raisins; and at
the bottom of his pocket, when they were
emptied by the master-at-arms, was found
the squirt.

As soon as the hue and cry was over, and
all the parties were’on the quarter-deck, I
thought J might as well take advantage of

< ite; andc therefore I came out from my
pepper never lights more than one of his‘

hfding-place, went into the steward’s room,
‘filled thy handkerchief with raisins, and
escaped to the berth unperceived ; so that
while Tommy Dott was disgorging on the
quarter-deck, I was gorging below.

Mr. Dott was reported to the captain for
this heinous offence; and, in consequence,
was ordered below, under arrest, his place
in the captain’s gig being filled up by me; so
that in every point of view Tommy suffered,
and I reaped the harvest. What pleased
me most was, that, being midshipman of
the captain’s boat, I was of course continu:
ally in the company of the coxswain, Bob
Cross,

But I must not delay at present, as I
have to record a very serious adventure
which occurred, and by which I, fora long
while, was separated from my companions
and shipmates.

In ten days we sailed in search of a pirate
vessel, which was reported to have com-
mitted many dreadful excesses, and had be-
come the terror of the mercantile navy. Our
orders were to proceed northward, and to
cruise off the Virgin Islands, near which
she was said to have been last seen.

About three weeks after we had left
Carlisle Bay, the look-out man reportedtwo strange sail from the mast-head. I
was sent up, as signal mid, to examine
them, and found that they were both
schooners, hove to close together; one of
them very rakish in her appearance. All
sail in chase was made immediately, and we
came up to within three miles of them, when
one, evidently the pirate we were in search
of, made sail, while the other remained
heve to.

As we passed the vessel hove to, which
we took it for granted was a merchantman
which the pirate had been plundering, the
captain ordered one of the cutters to be
lowered down with a midshipman and boat's
crew to take possession of her. ‘The men
were all in the boat, but the midshipman
had gone down for his spyglass, or some-
thing else ;-and as it was merely with a
view of ascertaining what the vessel was, and
the chief object was to overtake the pirate
vessel, to prevent the delay which was
caused by the other midshipman not being
ready, Mr. Hippesley ordered me to go
into the boat instead of him; and as soon
as I was on board of the schooner, to make
sail and follow the frigate.

The captain did say, ‘‘ He is too young,
Mr. Hippesley, is he not?”

‘‘I’d sooner trust him than many older,
Sir,’ was the reply of the first lieutenant.
| Jump in,, Mr Keene” I did so, with
my telescope in my hand. ‘‘ Lower away,
my lJads—unhook, and sheer off; and
away went the frigate in pursuit of the
pirate vessel, leaving me in the boat, to go
on board of the schooner.

We were soon alongside, and found that
there was not a soul on board of the vessel ;
what had become of the crew, whether they
had been murdered, or not, it was impos-
sible to say, but there were a few drops of
blood on the deck.

The vessel was an American, bound to
one of the islands, with shingle and fir
planks ; not only was her hold full, but the
fir planks were piled up on each side of the
deck, between the masts, to the height of
five or six feet. The pirate had, apparently,
been taking some of the planks on board
for her own use.

We dropped the boat astern, let draw the
foresheet, and made sail after the frigate,
which was now more than a mile from us,
and leaving us very fast.

The schooner was so overloaded that she
sailed very badly, and before the evening
closed in, we could just perceive the top-
gallant sails of the Calliope above the
horizon: but this we thought little of, as we
knew that as soon as she had captured the
pirate, she would run back again, and take
us out.

‘There were some hams and other articles

PECL Al: IPN F.

 

 
 
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
    
   
    
  
   
  
  

55

on board, for the pirates’ had not taken
everything, although the lockers had been
all broken open, and the articles were
strewed about in every direction in the cabin
and on the deck.

Just before dark, we took the bearings of
the frigate, and stood the same course as she
was doing, and then we sat down to a plen-
tiful meal, to which we did justice. I then
divided the boat’s crew into watches, went
down into the cabin, and threw myself on
the standing bed-place, of which there was
but one, with all my clothes on; the men
who had not the watch went down, and
turned in in the. cuddy forward, where the
seamen usually sleep.

It was not till past midnight that I could
obtain any sleep; the heat was excessive,
and I was teased by the cockroaches, which
appeared to swarm in the cabin to an
incredible degree, and were constantly run-
ning over my face and body. I little
thought then why they swarmed. I recollect
that I dreamt of murder, and tossing men
overboard ; and then of the vessel being on
fire, and after that, I felt very cool and
comfortable, and I dreamed no more; I
thought that I heard a voice calling my
name: it appeared that I did hear it in my
Sleep, but I slept on.

At last I turned round, and a splashing
as of water, and some water coming into my
mouth: I awoke. All was dark and quiet ;
I put my hand out, and I put it into the
water—where was I—was I overboard ? ‘I
jumped up in my fright; I found that Iwas
still on the standing bed-place, but the water
was above the mattress.

I immediately comprehended that the
vessel was sinking, and I called out, but
there was no reply.

I turned out of the bei-place, and found
myself up to my neck in water, with my feet
on the cabin deck. Half swimming, and
half floundering, I gained the ladder, and
went up the hatchway.

It was still quite dark, and I could not
perceive nor hear anybody. I called out,
but there was no reply. I then was certain
that the men had left the vessel when they
feund her sinking, and had leftme to sink
with her. JI may as well here observe, that
when the men had found the water rising
upon them forward, they had rushed on deck
in a panic, telling the man at the wheel that
the vessel was sinking, and had immediately
hauled up the boat to save their lives ; but
they did not recollect me, and the coxswain
of the boat had come down in the cabin by
the ladder, and called me: but the cabin
was full of water, and he receiving no
answer, considered that I was drowned, and
returned on deck.

The boat had then shoved off, and I was

Cs
SLUleft to my fate: still I hoped that such was
not the case, and I hallooed again and
again, but in vain, and I thought it was all

ver with me, It was a dreadful position to

be in. _I said my. prayers and prepared to:

die, and yet I thought it was hard to die at
fifteen years old.

Although I do not consider that my
prayers were of much efficacy, for there was
but little resignation in them, praying had
one good effect—it composed me, and I
began to think whether there was any chance
of being saved.

Yes, there were plenty of planks on the
deck, and if it were daylight I could tie
them together and make araft, which would
bear me up.- How I longed for daylight,
for I was afraid that the vessel would sink
before I could see to do what was requisite.
The wind had become much fresher during
the night, and the waves now dashed against
the sides of the water-logged vessel.

As I watched for daylight, I began to
reflect how this could have happened ; and
it occurred to me that the pirates had scut-
tled the bottom.of the ship to sink her ; and
in this conjecture I was right.

At last a faint light appeared in the east,
which socn broke into broad day, and I lost
no time in setting about my work.

Before I began, however, I thought it
advisable to ascertain how much more water
there was in the vessel since I had quitted
the cabin, which it appeared to me must
have been about two hours. I therefore
went down in the cabin to measureit. I
knew how high it was when I waded through
it. I found, to mysurprise, and I may say,
to my joy, that it was not higher than it was
before.

1 thought perhaps that I might be mis-
taken, so I marked the height of the water
at the cabin ladder, and I sat down on deck
to watch it; it appeared to me not to rise
any higher.

This made me reflect, and it then struck
me that, as the vessel was laden with timber,
she would probably not sink any lower, so
I deferred-my work till I had ascertained
the fact.

Three hours did I watch, and found that
the water did not rise higher, and I was
satisfied ; but the wind increased, and the
vessel's sails, instead of flapping to the wind
as she drove without anyone at the helm,
were now bellied out, and the vessel careened
to leeward.

I was afraid that she would turn over ;
and finding an axe on the deck, I mounted
the rigging with it, and commenced cutting
away the lacing of the sails from the mast.
I then lowered the gaffs, and cleared away
the canvas in the same way, so that the sails
fell on the deck. This was a work of at

86 PERCIVAL KEENE.

least one hour; but when the cafivas was
off, the vessel was steady.

It was well that I had taken this precau-
tion ; for very scon afterwards the wind was
much fresher, and the weather appeared
very threatening ; the sea also rose consicer-
ably. I was very tired, and sat down for
some time on the deck abaft.

It then occurred to me that the weight of
the planks upon the deck must not only
keep the vessel deeper in the water, but
make her more top-heavy, and I determined
to throw them overboard ; but first I looked
for something to eat, and found plenty of
victuals in the iron pot in which the men
had cooked their supper the night before.

As soon as I had obtained from the cask

‘lashed on the deck a drink of water, to wash

down the cold fried ham which I had eaten,
I set to work to throw overboard the planks
on deck.

When I had thrown over a portion from
one side I went to the other, and threw over
as many more, that I might, as much as
possible, keep the vessel on an even keel.

This job occupied me the whole of the
day; and when I had completed my task I
examined the height of the water at the
cabin ladder, and found that the vessel had
risen more than six inches. This was a
source of great comfort to me ; and what
pleased me more was, that thé wind had
gone down again, and the water was much
smoother,

I made a supper off some raw ham, for
the fire had been extinguished, and com-
mitting myself to the protection of Heaven,
I lay down as the sun set, and from the
fatigue of the day was soon in a sound
sleep.

I awoke about the middle of the night ;
the stars shone brightly, and there was but
a slight ripple on the water.

I thought of my mother, of my Aunt
Milly, of Captain Delmar, and I felt for the
sealskin pouch which was fastened round
my neck. It was all safe.

I calculated chances, and I made up my
mind that I should be picked up by some
vessel or another before long.

I said to myself—‘‘ Why, I am better off
now than I was when in the wherry, with
Peggy Pearson; I was saved then, why
should I not be now?”

I felt no desponding, and lay down, and
was soon fast asleep again.

It was broad daylight when I awoke; I
took my spyglass, and looking round the
horizon, discovered a vessel several miles
off, standing towards me. This gave me
fresh spirits.

I made a raw breakfast, and drank plenty
of water as before, The wind, which was
very light, increased a little. The vesselcame nearer, and I made her out to be a
schooner. In two hours she was close to
me, and I waved my hat, and hallooed as
loud as I could.

‘The schooner was full of men, and steered
close to me; she was a beautiful craft, and,
although the wind was so light, glided very
fast through the water, and I could not
help thinking that she was the pirate vessel
which the frigate had been in chase of.

It appeared as if they intended to pass
me, and I hallooed, ‘‘Schooner, ahoy!
Why don’t you send a boat on board?”

I must say, that when the idea struck me
that she was a pirate vessel, my heart almost
failed me,

Shortly afterwards the schooner rounded
to and lowered a boat, which pulled to the
vessel, ‘The boat's crew were all negroes.

One of them said, “ Jump in, you white
boy; next jump he take be into the shark’s
mouth,’’ continued the man, grinning as he
addressed himself to the others in the boat.

I got into the boat, and they rowed on
board the schooner. I did then think that
I was done for; for what mercy could I
expect, being a king’s officer, from pirates,
which the words of the negro convinced me
they were?

As soon as IJ was alongside of the
schconer, they ordered me to go up the
side, which I did, with my spyglass in my
hand. I leaped from the gunwale down on
the deck, and found myself on board of an
armed vessel, with a crew wholly composed
of blacks.

I was rudely seized by two of them, who
led me aft to where a negro stood apart
from the rest. A more fierce, severe, deter-

mined-looking countenance, I never beheld.
He was gigantic in stature, and limbed like
the Farnesian Hercules.

‘* Well, boy, who are you?” said he,
‘fand how came you on board of that
vessel ?”’

I told him in very few words.

‘Then you belong to that frigate that
chased us the day before yesterday ?”’

* Yes, 7 replied I.

‘‘ What is her name?”

‘The Calliope.”

‘« She sails well,’’ said he.

‘‘ Ves,” replied I; ‘‘sheis the fastest sailer
on this station.”’

‘‘That's all the information I want of
you, boy ; now you may go.’

‘*Go where?”’ replied I.

‘Go where ?—go overboard, to be sure |”

replied he with a grin.

My heart died within me; but I mustered
courage enough to say, ‘‘Much obliged to
you, sir ; but I’d rather stay where I am, if
it’s all the same to you.”’

The other negroes laughed at this reply,

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 

 

and I felt a little confidence; at all events’
their good-humour gave me courage, and |
felt that being bold was my only chance.

The negro captain looked at me for a
time, as if considering, and at last said to
the men, ‘‘ Overboard with him.”

‘‘Good-bye, sir; you're very kind,” said
I; ‘‘but this is a capital spyglass, and I
leave it to you as a legacy.” And I went
up to him and offered him my spyglass,
Merciful Heaven! how my heart beat against
my ribs when I did this!

The negro captain took the glass, and
looked through it.

“Tt isa good glass,” said he, as he re-
moved it from hiseyes. It was poor Green's
spyglass, which he had given me for
showing him the mason’s signs.

‘Welk white boy, I accept your present ;
and now, good-bye.”

‘‘Good-bye, sir. Do me onekindness in
return,”’ said I, very gravely, for I felt my
hour was come.

‘« And what is that?” replied the negro.

‘«Tie a shot to my heels, that I may sink
quickly ; it won’t take them long.”

‘“You don’t ask me to spare your life,
then ?”’ replied the negro.

‘He de very first white dat not ask it,”
said one of the negroes.

‘‘Dat really for true,”’ said another.

‘‘Yes, by gum,” replied a third.

Oh, how I wished to know what to say a
that moment! The observations of the ne-
groes made me imagine that I had better
not ask for it ; and yet how I clung to life!
It was an awful moment—-I felt as if I had
lived a yearin a few minutes. For a second
or two I felt faint and giddy--I drewalong
breath and revived.

‘“You don’t answer me, boy,” said the
negro captain.

‘Why should I ask when I feel certain
to be refused? If you will give me my life
I will thank you: I don't particularly wish
to die, I can assure you.”

‘‘T have taken an oath never to spare a
white man. For once I am sorry that I
cannot break my oath.”

“Tf that is all, I am a boy, and nota
man, replied I.” ‘‘Keep me till I grow
bigger.”’

‘‘By golly, captain, that very well said.
Keep him, captain,” said one of the ne-
groes.

‘‘Yes, captain,” replied another ; ‘‘ keep
him to tend your cabin. Very proper you
have white slave boy.”

The negro captain for some time made
no reply; he appeared to be in deep

thought. At last he said,— epi
‘‘Boy, you have saved your life: you
may thank yourself and not me. Prossa,

let him be taken below ; give him a frock58 PERCIVAL KEENE.

and trousers, and throw that infernal dress
overboard, or I may change my resolution.”

The negro who was addressed, and who
wore a sort of uniform as an officer—which
he was, being second mate—led me below,
— nothing loth, I can assure my readers.

When I was between decks, I sat down
upon a chest, my headswam, and I fainted.
The shock had been too powerful for a lad
of my age. They brought water, and re-
covered me. When I revived I felt that I
might have lost in their good opinion by
thus showing my weakness ; and I had suf-
ficient presence of mind to ask for some-
thing to eat. This deceived them; they
said to one another that I must have been
on board that vessel for two days without
food, and of course I did not deny it.

They brought me some meat and some
grog, I ate and drank alittle. They then
took off my uniform, and put on mea
check frock and white trousers ; after which
I said I wished to lie down a little, and they
left nie to sleep on the chest where I had
been seated.

I pretended to sleep, although I could
not; and I found out by their conversation
that I had gained the goodwill, not only of
the crew, but of the captain, by my beha-
viour.

I considered that I. had gained my life,
at least for the present ; but what security
could I have in such company?

After an hour or two I felt quite recovered,
and I thought it advisable to go on deck.
I did so, and went right aft to the negro
captain, and stood before him.

“Well, boy,’ said he, ‘‘why do you
come to me?”

‘You gave me my life ; you're the greatest
friend I have here, so I come to you. Can
I do anything?”

“‘Ves; you may assist in the cabin, if
your white blood does not curdleat the idea
of attending on a black man.”

“Not at all. I willdo anything for them
who are kind to me, as you have been.”’

‘‘And.think it no disgrace ?”’

‘‘Not the least. Is it a disgrace to be
grateful?”

The reader will observe how particularly
judicious my replies were, although but
fifteen years old. My dangerous position
had called forth the reflection and caution
of manhood.

“Go down into the cabin; you may
amuse yourself till 1 come.”’

I obeyed this order. The cabin was fitted
up équal to most yachts, with Spanish ma-
hogany and gold mouldings ; a beaufet full
of silver (there was no glass) occupied
nearly one half of it; even the plates and
dishes were of the same material. Silver
candelabras hung: down from the middle of

the beams ; a variety of swords, pistols, and
other weapons were fixed up against the
bulkheads; a small bookcase, chiefly of
Spanish books, occupied the after-bulk-
head, and the portraits of several white
females filled up the intervals ; a large table
in the centre, a stand full of charts,' half-a
dozen boxes of cigars, and two most luxu-
rious sofas, completed the furniture.

A door from the starboard side led, I
presumed, to the state-room, where the cap-
tain slept ; but I did not venture to open it.

I surveyed all this magnificence, wonder-
ing who this personage could be; and
more still, how it was that the whole of the
crew were, as well as the captain, of the
negro race.

We had heard that the pirate we were
in search of was a well-known character—a
Spaniard, who went by the name of Chico,
and that his crew consisted of Americans,
English, and Spaniards. That this was the
vessel I knew, from the conversation of the
men when I was below, for they called her
the Szed/a.

Now, it appeared that the vessel had
changed masters;. the crew were chiefly
Spanish negroes, or other negroes who
spoke Spanish, but some of them spoke
English, and a few words of Spanish ;
these, [ presumed, were American or English
runaways. But the captain—his language
was as correct as my own ; Spanish he spoke
fluently, for I heard him giving orders in
that language while I was in the cabin ;
neither was he flat-nosed, like the majority.
Had he been white, his features would have
been considered regular, although there
was a fierceness about them at times, which
was terrible to look at.

“Well,” thought I, ‘‘If I live and’do
well, I shall know more about it; yes, if I
live. I wish I was on the quarterdeck of
the Calliope, even as Tommy was, with his
pockets- stuffed full of the purser’s raisins,
and looking like a fool and a rogue at the
same time.

I had been down in the cabin about half
an hour, when the negro captain made his
appearauce.

‘‘Well,” said he, ‘‘I suppose you would
as soon see the devil as me—eh, boy?”

‘« No, indeed,”’ replied I, langhing—for I
had quite recovered my confidence—“ for
you were about to send me to the devil, and
I feel most happy that I still remain with
your.”

“You're exactly the cut of boy I like,”
replied he, smiling. ‘‘How I wish that
you were black !—I detest your colour.”

‘‘T have no objection to black my face,
if you wish it,” replied I: ‘it’s all the same
to me what colour I arn.”

‘‘ How old are you?”PERCIVAL. KEENE,

“ T was fifteen a few months back.” thing for you, if it could be; for you have
‘‘ How long have you been to sea?” not seen him sometimes in his moods; and
** About eighteen months.” if to-morrow morning he was chased and
He then asked me a great many more hard pressed by the frigate, you would
questions, about the captain, the officers, stand a poor chance, suppose his eyes light
the ship, and myself; to all of which I upon you. Ican’t tink what make him to
answered in a guarded way. let you off, only but cause you give him de
A-negro brought down his supper; itwas spyglass in dat bold way. [tink I know a
hot, and very savoury ; without any order chap on board who understand dat—I go
on his part, l immediately attended upon see—you wait here till I-come back.”
him during his ‘meal. He told the negro The negro left me, and ina few minutes
not to wait, and conversed with mé during returned, with a sort of half-Indian, half-
the time that he was eating; at last, he negro-looking cut of fellow, with whom he
told me how he had doubled the‘frigate conversed in Spanish.
during the night.~. I then remarked that we ‘““He say he know how to make brown
had been informed that the vessel wascalled like himself, but. not dark, same as me.
the Sve//a; that the captain's name was Suppose you wish he do it to-night—begin
Chico, andthe crew were composed of now?”

white men of different nations. ‘Yes, I do wish it,” replied E; and so I
‘‘A month or two-ago, it was the case,” did sincerely, for I felt that it might be the
replied the captain: “‘* Now I have done, saving of my llfe; and I had a great aversion

and you may clear away,” continued he, to be torn.to pieces by the sharks which
rising from his chair and throwing himself followed the vessel, that being anything but
down on oneof the sofas. ‘Stop; you are an agreeable mode of going out of the
hungry, I don't doubt; you can sit down world.
and eat your supper, and remove the things The American black remained with me,
atterwards.” . «= and we conversed for about half an hour,
I did as he told‘me: -it was the first time by which time we were joined by the Spanish
in my life I had supped off massive plate-- Main negro, who brought up with him some
but I was in strange company ; however, it decoction or another, boiling hot. They
did not spoil my appetite, and I did not stripped me, and rubbed me all over with a
forget to drink a goblet of wine by way of bit of sponge, not only the face and hands,

washing down my repast.-- but every part of my body, and then I was
“Thank you, sir,” said J, rising, and then left standing quite naked to dry ; the crew

performing my office of attendant. had gathered round us, and were very merry
At his order, I rang thebellforthe negro, at the idea of changing my colour.

who assisted me in clearing away, and then As soon as the warm air had dried me,

went out with the remains of the supper. the application was repeated ; and when I
‘““Am I to stay or go?” said I, respect-. was again dry, the American told me to put

fully. on my clothes, and that he would call me

*“You may go now. Find the man who early to have two more applications of the
came in just now—José he is called; tell stuff, and that then I should be quite dark

him to give you something to sleep upon.’’ enough.
“Good-night, sir,” said I. I asked for José, and told him what the
‘*Good-night, boy.” captain had said ; he gave me a bundle of

As I went forward looking for the negro matting for a bed, and’I was soon fast
servant, I was accosted more than-once asleep. About threeo’clock in the morning
very kindly by the negro seamen. At last I was called up, and the staining repeated
I went up on the forecastle, and they asked twice, and I then lay down again.
me to tell them how I was left on board the When the hands were turned up at five
schooner. I did so to those who Spoke bells (for everything was very regular on
English, and one of them, who could speak board), José brought me‘a glass to look at
both languages, translated into Spanisir for myself, and I was quite satisfied that my
the benefit of the others. colour would no longer annoy the captain.

‘You be first white he hab spared, ‘I tell I was not as blackjas a negro, but I was as
you,’ said the American negro, who’had dark asa Mulatto.
translated into Spanish what I-had told thém, I asked the Spanish negro, through José,
after the other had left me with him. who could speak both languages, whether

“The captain says he wishes I were I might wash myself? He replied, all day
black,’’ said I to the negro ; ‘‘I wish I was, “long if I pleased ; that I should noi get the

too, while I am on board of: this vessel— ~- colour off ; it would wear off in time, and
my colour makes him angry, I see that. the stuff must be applied once a month,
Could I not be stained black?” and that would be sufficient,

‘Well, I do think it will be a very safe I went to the forecastle, and washed my-=60 PERCIVAL KEENE.

self; the negro crew were much amused,
and said that I now was a ‘‘ bel muchaco”
—a handsome boy. I have no doubt they
thought so—at all events, they appeared to
be very friendly with me, and my Staining
myself gave them great satisfaction. I was
sitting with José between decks when the
cabin bell rang.

‘©You go,’ said he, showing his white
teeth as he grinned ; ‘‘I go after, see what
captain tink.”

{ went into the cabin, and knocked at
the state-room door.

‘““Come in,” said the captain.

I went in, and met him face to face.

‘‘ What!’’ said he, looking earnestly at
me—‘ yet it must be—it is you, is it not?”

peices; sie replied Ie (ait 1s me. geve
turned dark to please you, and I hope it
does please you.”

‘“It does, boy ; I-can look at you now,
and forget that you are white. I can. Yes,
I feel that I can love you now—you ve got rid
of your only fault in my eyes, and I’m not
sorry. Im only glad that I did not Z

‘© Give me to the sharks,” said I, finish-
ing his sentence.

‘« Exactly so; say no more about it.”

I immediately turned the conversation,
by asking him what he required ; and I
attended him while dressing. From that
time he became very friendly towards me,
constantly conversing with me. I did my
duty as his servant for more than a fort-
night, during which time we became very
intimate, and (I may as well confess it) I
grew very fond of my new master, .and
thought less about the ship and my ship-
mates, We were going into a port, I knew,
but what port I did not know.

I often had conversations with José and
the American black, and gained a great
deal of information from them ; but I could
not discover much of the history of the cap-
tain, _ On that point they refused to be
communicative; occasionally hints were
given, and then, as if recollecting them-
selves, they stopped speaking.

It was about three weeks before we made
the land of Cuba, and as soon as we did so,
the schooner was hove to till night, when
sail was again made, and before ten o'clock
we saw the lightsvof the Havannah. When
about three miles off we again hove to, and
about midnight we perceived under the
land the white sails of a schooner, which
was standing out. Sail was made, and we
ran down to her, and before she was aware
that we were an enemy, she was laid by the
board and in the possession of our crew.
The people belonging to the vessel were
handed up, and she was examined. She
proved to be a vessel fitted out for the
slave trade, with the manacles, &c,, on

 

board of her, and was just sailitig for thé
coast.

I was on the deck when the white men,
belonging to the slaver, were brought on
board, and never shall I forget the rage and
fury of the captain.

All sail was made upon both schooners;
standing right off from the land, and at
daylight we had left it along way astern.

José said to me, ‘‘ You better not go to
captain dis day. Keep out of his way
perhaps he recollect dat you white.”’

From what I had seen the night before; ~
I thought this good advice; and | not only
did not go into the cabin, but I did not
show myself on deck.

About eight o'clock in the morning f
heard the boat lowered down and orders
given to scuttle the vessel, as soon as she
had been well searched. This was done,
and the boat returned, having found several
thousand dollars on board of her, which
they handed upon deck.

I remained below: I heard the angry
voice of the negro captain—the pleadings
and beggings for mercy of the prisoners—
busy preparations making on deck ; and
several men came down and handed up
buckets of sand; an iron grating was
handed up. The countenances of the
negroes who were thus employed appeared
inflamed, as if their wrath was excited ;
now and then they laughed at each other,
and looked more like demons than men.
‘That some dreadful punishment was about
to be inflicted I was certain, and I remained
crouched behind the foremast on the lower
deck. =

At last the men were all on deck again,
and I was left alone ; and then I heard more
noise, begging for mercy, weeping and
wailing, and occasionally a few words from
the mouth of the negro captain; then rose
shrieks and screams, and appeals to Heaven,
and a strong smell, which I could not com-
prehend, came down the hatchways.,

The shrieks grew fainter, and. at. last
ceased, and something was thrown over-
board. ‘Then the same tragedy, whatever it
was, was acted over again—more attempts
to obtain mercy—more shrieks—again the
same overpowering smell. What could it
be? I would have given much to know, but
something told me that I must remain where
I was. Ten times was this repeated, and
then, as evening came on, there was a
bustle on deck, and after a time the crew
descended the hatchways.

I caught the eye of the American,
with whom I was intimate, and as_ he
passed me, I beckoned to him. He came
to me.

“Wat has been done?” said I, in a
whisper,PERCIVAL KEENE.

‘Captain punish slave traders,” replied to read—without being aware that he could
he ; ‘‘ always punish them so,” read : he took it and read it aloud,

““Why, what did he do to them?” “Yes,” said he, ‘that’s proof under his

‘‘Do?—roast ‘em alive. Dis third slave own hand ; and now, Cato, never be afraid
vessel he take, and he always serve ’em so. of me, for, however I may wreal my ven-
Serve 'em right ; captain very savage; no geanceupon others, I swear by my colour that

go to him till morrow morning—you keep I never will hurt you, or permit others to do
close.” So saying, the American negro left so. I ama tiger—I know it ; but youhave
me, often seen a little spaniel caressed by the
As I afterwards found out, the long boat tiger, whose fangs are turned against every
on the booms had been cleared out, the sand other living thing. You are quite safe.’’
laid at the bottom to prevent the fire from ‘I feel I am, since you Say so,” replied
burning the boat, the captain ana crew of I; “and since I am to be your pet, I shall
the slave vessel laid on one after the other take liberties, and ask you, in return, to tell
upon the iron grating, and burntalive, This me your history.”’
accounted for the horrible smell that had ‘‘T am. glad that you have asked it, as
come down the hatchways. I wish you to know it, I will begin at
It may be considered strange that I really once—
did not feel so much horror as perhaps I “*T was born in America, in the state of
ought to have done. Had this dreadful Pennsylvania, of free parents. My father
punishment been inflicted upon any other was a sail-maker, and was worth money ;
persons than slave dealers, and éyany other but a free black in America is even worse
parties than negroes, I should not have been treated and more despised than a slave. [
able to look at the captain without abhor- had two brothers, who went to school with
rence expressed in my countenance; but I me.
know well the horrors of the slave trade, “My father intended to bring me up for
from conversation I had had with Bob Cross; the Church. You look astonished = buttin
and I had imbibed such a hatred against the the States we have clergymen of our colour,
parties-who had carried it on, that it ap- as well as white ones ; looked down upon
peared to me to be an act of retaliation and despised, I grant, although they do
almost allied to justice. Had the negro teach the Word of God ; but I was very un-
captain only warred against slave dealers, I fit for that profession, as you may suppose.
do not think I should have cared about I was very proud and haughty ; I felt that I
remaining in the vessel; but he had told me, was as good as a white man, and [ very
and fully proved to me, that he detested all often got into scrapes from my resenting
white men, and had never spared them injuries,
except in my own instance. ‘“ However, my education went on suc-
I must acknowledge that I felt very much cessfully, much more so than my brothers’,
like going into the lion's den, when the next who could not learn. I could, and learnt
morning, on his ringing the cabin bell, I rapidly; but I learnt to hate and detest
presented myself to the captain ; but so far white men, and more especially Americans ;
from being in an ill-humour, he was very I brooded over the injuries of people of
kind to me. colour, as we were called, and all my father’s
After breakfast, as I was going out, he advice and entreaty could not persuade me
Said to me, ‘‘ You must have a name: I shall to keep my thoughts to myself. As I grew
call you Cato—recollect that: and now I up to manhood, I spoke boldly, and more
have a question to ask you—What is that than once nearly lost my life for so doing ;
Which you carry round your neck on a for most Americans think no more of taking
ribbon?” the life of one like me than of a dog in the
“A letter, sir,’ replied I. street. More than one knife has been
“A letter! and why do you carry aletter?’’ directed to my heart, and more than once
“‘ Because it is of the greatest importance was I taken up before the judge, and
to me.”’ sentenced toimprisonment for no fault ; my
‘“Indeed! Now, Cato, sit down on evidence, and the evidence of those of my
the other sofa, and let me know your colour, not being permitted to be received
history.”’ in a court of justice. Any white villain had
Ifelt that I could not do better thanto make only to swear falsely—and there is no want
this man at once my confidant. He might of that class in America—and there was no
take a strong interest in me, and it was not appeal. At last I was sonteneed o be
likely to go farther. I therefore told him whipped ; then my blood ee ‘
everything connected with my birth and vowed a vengeance which I have fearfully
parentage, what mysuspicions had been, and_ adhered to. abs Aah
how the letter had confirmed them. I un- ‘*I do not wonder at that, said I;
sewed the seal-skin, and gave him se letter would have done the same, oo

6162 PERCIVAL KEENE.

“The man who-had sworn falsely against seaward, and there is but one narrow, pass
me in this last instance had come up from by which it communicates with the interior,
the South; I obtained what money I could and it is far from any habitation. A better
from my father, and went. away in pursuit. retreat for a pirate vessel could not well be
of him. I found him—dogged him, and found. We used very often to go in to refit,
one evening I accosted him, and plunged and take in provisions and water, for in a
my bowie-knife into his heart. I fled that. cave there, we keep the provisions which
State, and crossed the Mississippi. we take from other vessels.
in Arkansas before ‘Tn a desperate fight which we had with

‘‘T had not been long 1
a man—a cotton grower, who owned about an English man-of-war brig, we lost nearly
forty of our men. The captain, Chico, as

a hundred and fifty slaves—inquired who I
was, and whether [ had a pass. I replied he was called, was obliged to fill up with
that I was a free man, born in Pennsylvania, black men, until he could procure others.

and was there on my own affairs. he next The consequence was, that with the ten
day I was taken up, brought before the before on board, there were fifty blacks to
magistrate, and this scoundrel swore that I. seventy whites. It was then that I made
was his slave, and had absconded from him up my mind that I would retaliate for all
ten years before. that my race had suffered. I was sure of
‘“My defence—the proof which. I offered the ten with whom I had sailed so long; I
to bring—was not listened to. I wasmade sounded the others, and found them all
over to him, and the rascal grinned as the. willing.
constables brought me away with him. His “We sailed from the Mexican Gulf, and
plantation was at the Red River. It was made for the rendezvous bay, in Cuba.
difficult to escape, and, indeed, almost use- As soon as we arrived, of course, as with
less to attempt it: but the fact was, that I. all pirate vessels, the first day was dedicated
did not wish to do so; I remained to have to revelling and intoxication—that is, bythe
my reyenge. I tried to make the other white portion of the crew. We negroes
slaves rise against him, but they were too. were employed in getting the casks ashore
cowed; they even informed against me, and for water.. That very night, when they all
I was tied down, and flogged by the drivers. lay asleep and drunk, we put every soul of
until the flesh fell. from my shoulders. them to death, and the S/e//a belonged to
is As soon as I recovered, I determined me and my brave blacks, who chose me for
to do or die. / I, heard.that.there were,,,their captain, and swore by their wrongs
some pirate vessels in the Barataria lagoons eternal enmity to the European race.
on the other side of New Orleans’; 1 re- “As you may suppose, I was short-
solved to join the crews, but first to have manned ; but we soon found plenty of men,
my revenge. I did so: I set fre to the and I have now as fine a crew as eyer trod
plantation house—struck the scoundrel who a deck.”
had made me a slave senseless as he at- “ How long is it since you took possession
tempted to escape, and threw his body into of the vessel ?”’
the flames; I then made the door fast, and ‘About eight or nine months, during
fled, I was met by one of the overseers, which time I have spared none except you.
who was armed, and who would have The usual death is drowning ; but if I fall
stopped me: I beat his brains out with his in with a slaver, then—you know what took
own musket, and then gained the woods. place yesterday.’
You see that I-am powerful; you hardly I was silent fora time. ‘‘IJ-do not won-
kn3w how. much: so. After several days’ der,” said I, at last, ‘‘at your hatred of the
travelling, I arrived at the lagoons. J found whites, especially of the Americans. As for
this very vessel at anchor. | I offered myself, your wreaking your vengeance upon those
and they accepted me immediately. employed in the slave trade, dreadful asit is,
‘‘ There were several of my colour on I scarcely pity them; but in your general
board—runaway slaves—and all good, de- warfare against the whites, recollect. that
termined men. These were the people I you may murder those who are your friends,
required, for they understood me. Even on .and who. have done all they can to put an
board of a pirate vessel, the same contempt end to slavery. . Even in America, there are
was shown towards us—still considered as many who are opposed to it.”
inferior beings. All the heavy work, all the ‘‘Tt is impossible to make a distinction,”
dirty work, was for the negro race; and we ‘replied the negro captain.
often worked like slaves, while the captain ‘‘What is your name?” said J, musing.
and the rest of the crew caroused. I was ‘‘Why do you ask? You may.as well
three years on board of this vessel. Our know ;'I wish it to be known: it is James
rendezvous, where we are going to now, is Vincent.”
qa. small land-locked bay on the island of ‘But tell me, if you were to meet with a
Cuba. No vessel in it can be seen from very superior force, what would youdo?‘“Run if I could; if not, fight.”

“But you might be captured, and
then .

Never, boy. never.

“Well,” said I, ‘‘as you have begun by
sparing me, I hope you will spare others
now.

_ **T don’t know why I spared you. Had
you shown any fear of death I should not
have done.so ; but I felt that you would not
care about it. I believe it was that.”

About ten days after, we made the east
end of the island of Cuba, and ran into the
Bay of Rendezvous, as it wasnamed by the
pirate. Tt was very small, but completely
land-locked, and the land so high on every
side that the masts of the vessel could not
be seen from the seaward. The bay on the
land side was met by a deep, narrow ravine,
between mountains which were almost per-
pendicular, the ravine itself being accessible
from the main land by only one narrow path
known to the pirates, and which they seldom
made use of, except when a spy was sent to
the Havannah to ascertain what vessels were
about to sail.

On the high land which shut in the bay
from the sea, the pirates had a man con-
stantly on the look-out, to report any vessel
which might be in the offing, and Vincent
himself passed much of his time there, as
the breeze was fresh and the air cool to
what it was down in the land-locked bay. I
was, for the same reason, very fond of being
on the look-out hill, and generally followed
up the captain when he went out there. He
certainly now showed a st:onz affection for
me, and J liked him better than I ever
thought I could have done. He was con-
stantly telling me of the treatment he and
the other poor blacks had received in Ame-
rica, and I could not help feeting my blood
boil, and a conviction that, had I been so
treated, I should probably have been equally
under the influence of revenge. It is the
world, and the treatment we receive from it,
which makes us chiefly what we are.

One day the captain told me he was
going that evening to obtain information, as
the spy he had sent had returned unsuc-
cessful, and that he should be absent for
three or four days.

Although I was not discontented with my
. position, still, as the reader may well sup-
pose, I had a strong wish to be out of it as
soon as possible, and I had determined to
escape if I couid ; it immediately occurred
to me, that his absence would give me the
opportunity.

I replied with a laugh, “ Had you not
better take me with you?”

‘Very likely, indeed, you would be so
very useful ; I shall have quite enough todo
to take care of myself; besides, you might

 

 

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 

 

  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
   
   

63
betray. me,” added he, with a fierce and
penetrating look.

‘“Thank you, for your good opinion,”
replied I, indignantly... ‘‘So you think,
because you have saved my life, that I would
take yours. I am not yet such a rascal,
whatever t may become by keeping bad
company,

‘Well, well,” replied the negro captain,
‘‘T believe I am wrong, so don’t get into a
passion ; but, at all events, you must see
that it is impossible I can take you with
me.

‘“If you don’t choose, I can’t help it,”
said 1; ‘‘ but I don’t like remaining here
without you ; I shall run away if I can, so
I give you fair warning.”

“You won't find that quite so easy,”
replied he, laughing ; ‘‘and I recommend
you not to attempt it.”’

Here the conversation dropped. About
midnight the captain commenced his ascent
of the ravine, and I resolved that I would
not lose the opportunity, if it offered, of
following him. ! watched him as long as I
could see him, that I might know the direc-
tion of the secret path, and then I joined
the crew, who were lying down by the tents
which they had pitched on the shore. Shortly
afterwards, the Spanish Indian, who had
coloured me, passed by me, and, as I inten-
ded to make the attempt before it was. quite
dark, I thought that I would remove any
suspicion, and I therefore requested him to
stain me again. This he consented to do,
and in half an hour I was again naked
among the negroes, and undergoing the
operation. Having received the two appli-
cations, as before, | then quitted them.

As soon as it was quite dark, I armed
myself with a pair of pistols, and crawled
underneath the back of the captain’s tent,
in which I always slept, and, without being
perceived, gained the narrow path in the
brushwood by which the captain had left.

I continued in the path for some time,
by feeling the brushwood on either side; but
before I had crawled half way up the ravine,
] found that the brushwood had not been
cut away any farther, and I was ata loss
how to proceed. All traces were gone, and
all I had to do was to climb up to the.sum-
mit, and to take my chance of finding any
egress. I toiled’ on with difficulty, some-
times stopped by a rock, which would take
me minutes to climb over, at others, holding
on by the brushwood for my life. By twelve
o'clock I had gained more than two-thirds
of the ascent, and then the moen rose, and
assisted me with her lhght. 1 must say,
that when I looked up, and saw the rocks
towering above» me, and overhanging my
path, I felt that escape was nearly impos-
sible ; however, I recommenced my labour,64 PFRCIVAL KEENE.

and gained some ground, when, as I was
clinging to the side of a rock, by a small
shrub, it gave way, and I rolled and fell
down many feet,. between that rock and
another opposite to it.

I was not rauch hurt, and I regained my
legs. Looking up and about me, I foynd
that I was in a narrow passage, between the
rocks, leading both up and down —in fact,
I had tumbled into the secret path that I
had been in search of. Delighted with this
discovery, I now set off with great spirit,
and in half an hour found myself on the
other side of the hill which formed the
ravine, and looking down upon an expanse
of country in the interior. Being very tired,
I sat down, that I might recover my strength
before I continued my journey.

‘‘T am free at last,’’ thought I, and my
memory wandered back to my mother, my
ship, and my captain—old Culpepper,
Tommy Dott, and Bob Cross. ‘‘I shall
see them all,” I thought, ‘and what a story
I shall have to tell.” As soon as I had
rested myself and recovered my breath, I
thought I might as well start.

I had not proceeded more than a hundred
yards before I thought I heard a noise, as
if some one was approaching. I listened—
I felt sure that such was the case, and I also
heard the deep baying of a hound. The
noise increased rapidly—it was that of one
forcing his way through the brushwood,
which covered the side of the hill.

In a minute afterwards I perceived a man
coming up the hill at a swift pace, directly
towards me. As he approached I could
almost swear that it was Vincent, the negro
captain; but when within ten yards of me,
I perceived him turn round and flourish his
sabre in the air, while, at the same time,
three large bloodhounds sprang at him.
One fell by the blow of his sabre, but the
other two flew at his throat, and fastened
on him, tearing him to the ground, and
holding him in spite of all his struggling
and his immense strength.

I recollected my pistols : I cocked them,
ran up, and putting one to the head of the
nearest dog, blew out its brains. J] was
equally successful with the other—they both
lay dead by his side, and Vincent was
released. He started up.

‘lpasme, Cato, said...

“Cato!” replied he: ‘but there is not a
moment to belost. I understand it all.”

He seized me by the arm, and dragged
me with him to the narrow entrance of the
pass, and as soon as we came in he rolled
three large rocks, which had evidently been
used for such purpose before, so as com-
pletely to block up the entrance.

“There,” said he, leaning back quite
exhausted; ‘‘be quiet, Cato. We are safe

now; they will be on the top of the hill
directly.”

We remained where we were about ten
minutes, when we heard voices not very far
from us. They were the pursuers of the
negro captain, who were evidently baffled.
After a time the sounds receded from us,
and we heard them no more. Vincent then
spoke :-—

“« You were escaping, Cato.”

‘‘T had escaped,’’ replied I; “I told you
that I wouid.”’

‘« Strange that you should have discovered
the path; did anyone betray it to you?”

‘“No one,’ replied I: and I then told him
how I had fallen into it.

‘“‘ Well, you have returned all obligations,
and more than ever you owed me,” said he:
‘*you have saved my life this time, and that
when all chance was over.

‘« Then,” replied I, ‘‘although I shall be
very sorry to part with you, give me that
liberty which I had gained, and which I
lost in defending you from the dogs.”

‘‘T would have let you go then, Cato,”
replied he, ‘‘ but your life would have been
sacrificed. My pursuers would have hurried
you to prison before you could have ex-
plained who you were. You forget your
colour is changed ; they were not seeking
me, but a runaway slave, and the blood-
hounds came upon my track. Those white
men show no mercy; they have more
pleasure in seeing a runaway slave torn to
pieces by those dogs than in recovering
possession of him. It is a sort of fox-chase
to them,’’ continued he, grating his teeth
after he had said so. ‘‘Cato, I will give
you your liberty, if you wish it, and I know
you do wish it, as soon asI can with any
prudence ; that I promise you, and you
know that I will keep my word.”

‘‘T am quite satisfied,’ replied I.

‘‘And do you promise me that you will
not attempt to escape a second time?”

‘‘T promise you that I will not,” replied I.

‘«Enough,” said Vincent. ‘ Now let us
go down the hill, for ] am very much torn
by those infernal brutes, and must have the
wounds washed and attended to.”

We descended the hill in silence, and in
a quarter of an hour had gained the tent.
Vincent was Severely bitten and torn: as
soon as his wounds had been dressed he lay
down on his mat, and I did the same.

It was some days before Vincent recovered
from the severe injuries which he had re-
ceived from the bloodhounds : and he did
not appear to be inclined to run any more
risks of that sort. Although he said little,

I could perceive that he was brooding over
future vengeance, and he was now nearly
the whole of the day with his glass on the
look-out hill,One morning a schooner hove in sight,
Steering from the Havannah to the south-
ward and eastward, either for the islands or
the Spanish Main. The Sze//a had for
many days been ready for instant sailing,
and having watched her till near sunset,
Vincent sent down orders for every soul to
be on board, and the anchor hove up. Just

"as it was dark we towed out of the bay,
and made all sail.

At daylight the schooner was but a few
miles ahead of us, and not being a fast
sailer, in little more than an hour we were
alongside of her. She proved to be bound
to the island of Curacoa, being the property
of an old Dutch gentleman, who was on
board with his daughter, a little girl about
seven years old. The crew consisted chiefly
of negroes, slaves to the owner ; the master
of the vessel and the mate being, with the
exception of the old gentleman and the little
girl, the only white people on board.

As usual, the crew were brought on board
by the pirates, who reported to the captain
that the vessel was in ballast, and of no
value. As the crew of the Sfe//a were
already more than requisite, Vincent did not
require the negroes; he told them that they
might go on board the schooner again, ard
take her into any port they pleased ; with the
white people, however, it was another affair.

I had remained below, not wishing to
witness a scene of butchery; but I was in-
duced to look up the ladder, in consequence
of José telling me that there was a little white
girl come on board. At the time that I did
so, Vincent had just done speaking with the
negroes belonging to the captured vessel ;
they had fallen back, and there was then
standing before Vincent the master and
mate of the vessel, the old Dutch gentle-
man,-and the little girl.

A more interesting child I never had seen,
and my heart bled at the idea of her being
sacrificed. I could not help hoping that
Vincent would have a similar feeling, but I
was mistaken. The master and mate were
pointed at, and immediately seized by
negroes and tossed over into the sea. ‘The
old gentleman bowed his head over the
beautiful child, and she knelt to him, as if

for his blessing before she died. At that very
moment Vincent gave the sign—I could re-
main quiet no longer—I sprang on the deck.

“Stop!” cried I to the men who were
about to seize the old gentleman—‘‘stop !”
The negroes did fall back at my voice.

‘“What is this ?’’ cried Vincent.

‘‘Captain Vincent,’’: cried I, ‘‘do you
call yourself a man, to war with children and
old grey-headed men? You must not, shall
not, touch these two. You have wreaked
your vengeance upon the white men ; be con-
tent—let these go.”

 

RERCIVAL KEENE:

‘‘Cato,” replied Vincent, fiercely, ‘‘it is
well that it is you that have dared to snatch
the prey from the fangs of the wild beast.
Had it been another, this pistol should have
sent a ball whizzing through his brain ; as it
is, go down below immediately.”

“I do not fear your pistol, Captain Vin-
cent, nor will I go below ; that very pistol,
in my hand, saved you from the fangs of
the bloodhound. I tell you, therefore, that
you must not destroy that innocent child—
if you love me, you must not ; for I will
hate, detest, and scorn you ever afterwards.
I entreat you—I implore you to let them go:
they are not fit objects for your vengeance ;
and if you destroy them, I tell you, you are
a coward.”

‘“What!”’ roared the tiger, ‘‘a coward !”
and, no longer able to contain himself, he
levelled his pistcl at me and drew the
trigger. It missed fire; Vincent looked
very confused—he tossed the pistol on deck,
folded his arms, and turned his face away.

There was a dead silence. The negro
crew looked first at me and then at the cap-
tain, as if awaiting orders, and uncertain of
the issue. ‘The Dutch gentleman seemed to
be so lost in surprise, as to almost forget his
impending fate ; while the little girl clung to
him and stared at me with her deep blue
eyes. It was what on the theatres they
would call a tableau.

I followed up my advantage. Stepping
forward, and placing myself before the old
man and the child, I first broke the silence.

““Captain Vincent,” said I, ‘‘you did
once promise me that you would never in-
jure me or attempt my life; that promise
you have broken. Since that, you have
made me another promise—you may recol-
lect it—which was, that you would allow me
to leave you on the first favourable oppor-
tunity; there Gannot be any opportunity
mere favourable than the present. The
negroes whom you are to send back to the
schooner do not know how to navigate her.
I request, therefore, to know whether you
intend to keep this second promise, or to
break it as you have the first? I ask my
liberty.”

‘‘Tf I broke my promise just now, it was
your fault,’ replied Vincent, coolly.” ‘I

am sorry for it, and I can say no more; I
intended to keep it, and, to prove so, I now
keep my second—you may go.”

“T thank you for that. I only wish that,
now I leave you, I could leave you with
feelings of good-will and not of—I must say
it—of horror and disgust. Captain Vin-
cent, once more let me beg, as a last favour,
that you will spare these poor people.”’

‘Since you are so particularly interested
about this useless old man and still more
useless child,” replied Vincent, sarcastically,

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“IT will now make a proposal to you. You

have your liberty. Do you choose to give
-it up and remain here, provided I let them
“go awayin the schooner? Come now—take
‘your choice ; for I swear by my colour, that
-if you go away in the schooner, the moment
you shove off, they shall go over the gun-
‘wale,”’

‘“ My choice is then made,”’ replied I ; for
I knew that when he swore by his colour he
“was in earnest: ‘‘release them, and I will
‘remain here.’ I little knew what I was to
‘undergo in consequence of this decision.

‘ Be it so,’ said Vincent : then turning to
‘one of the mates, ‘‘ Let them go back with
the negroes; hoist the boat up when she
‘returns, and sail for the Rendezvous.” So
‘Saying, he went down into the cabin.

“‘You are saved,’ said I, going up to the
‘old Dutch gentleman; ‘‘lose no time; get
‘into the boat as fast as possible, and make
:sail_on your vessel as soon as you get on
‘board. Good-bye, little girl,’’ said I, taking
cher hand,

‘‘T thank you,”’ replied the gentleman in
‘good English—‘‘ I cannot say how much;
{ am so surprised at what I have seen: but
recollect the nameof Vanderwelt of Curacoa ;
cand if ever we meet again, you will find me
:grateful.”’

‘«T will; but ask no more questions now
-—into the boat—quick,”’ said I, shaking his
proffered hand. ‘They were handed down
unto the boat by the negroes:

I remained on deck until they were put
‘on board; the boat returned, was hoisted
up, the schooner made sail again, and then
Z-went down into the cahin. I found the
megro captain stretched upon the sofa, his
iface covered up with both his hands; he
remained in the same position, taking no
motice of my coming down. Although my
‘confidence in him was destroyed after his
‘snapping the pistol at me, yet when I
reflected how I had bearded ‘him in his
wage, 1 did make some excuse for him;
moreover, I knew that it was my interest to
‘be on the best terms with him, and if
ipossible, make him forget what had passed,
‘for I felt that his proud spirit would make
tit difficult for him to forgive himself for
shaving been induced by his passion. to
‘break an oath which he had sworn to by
‘his colour; I therefore, after a little reflec-
‘tion, went up to him and said—

‘‘T am sorry that I made you so angry,
‘Captain Vincent; you must forgive me, but
I thought that deed beneath you, and I
‘could not bear to have a bad opinion of
“you.”

‘Do you mean to assert that you have
‘not a bad opinion of me now?” replied he,
‘fixing his eyes upon me.

‘‘No, certainly not; you have released

PERCIVAL REENE.

 

those I pleaded for, and I ath very grateful
to you for having done so.” /

‘‘You have made me do what I never
did before,”’ replied he, raising himself and
sitting with his feet on the deck.

‘‘T know I have; I have made you spare
those of my colour.”

‘‘] did not mean that; you have irritated
meso as to make me break my oath.”’

‘“That was my own doing—my fault
rather than yours. I had no right to speak
as I did; but I was in a great rage, and
that is the truth. I do believe that if I had
had a pistol in my hand I should have fired
it at you; so we may cry quits on that
score.

‘‘Tam angry with myself—the more so,
that I little imagined that you would have
remained with me after my breaking my
oath. Either you must have felt great
interest about those people, or you must
have great confidence in me—a confidence
which I have proved that I do not deserve.”

‘That you did forget yourself, I grant ;
but I have that confidence that it will bea
warning to you, and you will not forget
yourself again; I therefore remain with you
with perfect confidence,. feeling [ am quite
safe, until you think proper to give me my
liberty.”

‘“ You will wish to leave me, then?”

‘‘T have relations and friends—a_profes-
sion to follow. What can I gain by remain-
ing here, except your friendship? I neyer
will be a pirate, you. may be assured. I
wish from my heart that you were not one.”

‘‘And who should be pirates if the blacks
are not?” replied Vincent. ‘‘ Have they
not. the, curse of Cain?.. Are .they . not
branded? Ought not their hands to be
against every one but their ownrace ? What
is the Arab but. the pirate of the desert—
the sea of sand? Black is the colour for
pirates. Even the white pirates feel the
truth of this, or why do they hoist the d/ack
flag !”’

At all events, it’s a profession that seldom
ends well.”

““And what matter does. that make?
We can die but once—I care not how soon.
I have not found life so very sweet as to
eare for it, I assure you. Cato, there is
but one thing sweet in existence—one feeling
that never clogs and never tires, and that is
revenge,”

“‘Are not love and friendship sweet? I
certainly know nothing about the. first.”

‘‘I know no more than you do of it.
They say friendship is the more lasting;
and as a proof of how lasting that is, I
snapped my pistol at you, and, had it not
missed fire, should have killed the only one
for whom I ever felt friendship in this
world,”“That's a bad habit you have of carrying
your pistols at all times ; they are too handy,
and give no time for reflection. . Only sup-
pose, now, you had blown out my brains,
you would have been very sorry.”

‘‘Cato, I have many lives on my hands,
and hope to have many more before I die.
I never have repented one act of my life—a
murder, as you may call it—and I never
shall. But I tell you frankly, that had I
destroyed you in my passion, I should have
been a miserable man. I know it; I feel
ne

‘Let's say no more about it: that I’m
just as glad as you are that you did not
kill me, I assure you most positively. Here’s
José coming with the dinner.”

Here ended our conversation, which I
have given just to show the peculiar dis-
position of this extraordinary man, with
whom I had become domesticated. Verily
and truly was I, as he said, ‘‘like a little
dog in the cage of a tiger,”” and, from
familiarity, just as bold as dogs become
under such peculiar circumstances.

Before morning we were again at anchor
in the Rendezvous Bay, and the tents were
pitched as before. We remained there for
more than a fortnight, during which my
intimacy with the captain was even greater
than before. He appeared to endeavour to
do all in his power to restore my confidence
in him, and he succeeded. Still I must say
that I began to be weary of this sort of life.
My dreams were ever of murder and blood-
shed; and more than once I felt inclined to
make my escape: but I had promised, and
the remembrance of my promise prevented
me.

One afternoon the man on the look-out
made the usual signal for a vessel in sight.
Vincent went up immediately, and I
followed him. It was a schooner, very
long, with very taut, raking masts. Vincent
examined her for some time, and then gave
me the glass, and asked me what I thought
of her. I replied that I thought she was a
man-of-war schooner.

‘‘You are right,” said he, ‘‘T know her
well; it is the 477ow, and she has come out
to cruise for me. This is the third time that
she has been sent after me. Once we ex-
changed a few broadsides, but another man-
of-war hove in sight, and I was compelled
to leave her. She shall not accuse me of
running from her, now that she is alone,
and by to-morrow morning I will give her
the opportunity of making the report of my
capture if she can; but if tf Caprure ler,
you may guess the rest.”

We remained till nearly sunset watching
the motions of the schooner. Vincent then
went down the hill to give orders for sailing,
leaving me with the glass. I again directed

PERCIVAL KEENE,

  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
    

67

it to the schooner, and perceived that she
was making signals.

‘Then she is not alone, thought I; and
Vincent may not capture her quite so easily
as he expects. I looked in vain for the
other vessel; I could not see her; I, there-
fore, concluded that she must be somewhere
under the land, and hidden by it from my
sight.

The signals were repeated till dusk, when
I went down the hill, and found that all was
bustle and activity, Vincent superintending
himself the preparations for sailing. 1 did
not interrupt him to tell him that I had
perceived the schooner making signals. I
had an idea, somehow or another, that I
should regain my liberty, and was as anxious
as Vincent that the S¢e//a should be under
weigh.

Before ten o'clock everything was ready,
Vincent had told his men that the English
man-of-war schooner was outside, and that
he intended to fight her; the men appeared
delighted at the proposal, and as resolute
and determined as men should be.

As soon as the Sfe//a was clear of the
bay, everything was got seady for action,
and I must say that nothing could be more
rapid or more quiet than’their movements.
We stood out until we had gained an offing
of five miles, and then made a reach along
the shore towards the Havannah. .

As soon as the S¢e//a had laid her head
towards the Havannah, Vincent came down
below. I had latterly slept.on one of the
cabin. sofas, but had this night remained
with my clothes on, for I was not sure that
we might not bein action before the morn-

ng.
The Avrow had gained the knowledge
that our Rendezvous Bay was somewhere
about the east end of the island, and had
cruized accordingly, but could not discover
it.

Vincent threw himself on the other sofa,
and I pretended to be asleep, as I did not
wish to enter into conversation with him; I
was too much occupied with my own
thoughts, and felt that there could be
nothing in common between us at sucha
moment. He was very soon asleep, and he
talked in his sleep. He was evidently in
action, and gave his orders, every now and
then speaking a few words aloud, and then
it appeared as if he had taken the English
schooner, and that he was fulfilling his
vows of retaliation. Ishuddered.as I heard
the half-broken menaces—the exulting laugh
which occasionally burst from his lips.
arose and watched him as he slept; his
hands were continually in motion, and his
fisis elenched, and he smiled. Merciful
heaven! whatia tale of savage cruelty that
smile foretold if he were successful! Isee ition Salen a li ete a sc

 

68

knelt down and prayed that he might be
foiled in his endeavours. As I rose I heard
a noise and talking on deck, and one of the
mates came down in the cabin.

“How does she bear?” cried Vincent,
starting up from his couch, as if he instinc-
tiyely knew what was to be told.

‘“Two points on the weather bow, cap-
tain,” replied the negro. ‘‘I think she has
her foresheet to windward.”

‘What's the time?”

**One bell in the morning watch; it will
be daylight in an hour.”

‘“Very good. How far is she off?”

** About four miles.”

“ Pipe to quarters ; I will be up directly.”

Vincent took down his sword and buckled
on his belt; then his pistols, which, after
haying examined the primings, he fixed in
his girdle. I still remained as if asleep, and
as he was going out of the cabin, he turned
tome. ‘‘He sleeps, poor boy; well, why
should I wake him?—the guns will rouse
him up soon enough.” So saying, he went
on deck.

I considered what I should do. To be
on deck was hardly safe for me as a white
person; and, indeed, what business had I
there? Why should I expose myself to the
shot of my countrymen, or run the risk of
losing my life from the rage of the negroes ?
I, therefore, resolved on remaining where I
was—at all events, for the present. ~

The negroes now came into the -cabin,
for the after-magazine was under the fore-
part of it. The hatch was taken up, the
screens let down, and all was dark. I had
nothing to do but to catch now and then
the commands given by the negro captain,
and draw my inference as to what was
taking place.

Although for the first half-hour I gained
little information, after that time had
elapsed I knew what was going on. I
heard a voice hailing us from another
vessel, and the reply of the Sfe//a was a
broadside. ‘There could be no mistake in
that. The Sze//a was then put about, and
the other broadside given without a return
from her opponent. At last it came, and,

 

-as the shot whizzed over or tore up the

planking of the gunwales, I certainly did
feel very strangely. I had never been in
action before, and the sensation was, I con-
fess, that of alarm ; but it was so mingled
with curiosity as to what was going on,
that it was impossible to say what my
feelings were. I longed to be on deck, and
certainly would have been, if I had thought
that I was safe with the pirate crew: that
alone prevented me ; I remained, therefore,
in a most unpleasant state of ignorance and
suspense.

The broadsides were now exchanged

ICR CIVAE [tf Ni.

rapidly, and the wounded, Erought down
between decks every minute, told me that
the action was severe. The orders of the
negro captain were occasionally heard—
they were cool and determined. Every
minute some fresh manceuvre was executed,
and the guns still worked as if there was
nothing else to attend to. At last, the day-
light came down the hatchway, and I left
the cabin and walked forward between
decks ; I found the deck strewed with
wounded and dying men, calling for water.
I was glad to be able to do something
which I could consistently do, and I brought
water from the cask and gaye it to them,
one after another, as fast as I could; I
think there were at least thirty men lying
about the lower deck, some in pools of
their own blood, and sinking fast, for there
was no surgeon on board of the Séedda.

Some more wounded men were brought
down, andaconversation took place between
o1e of the mates of the schooner, who was
hurt, and the men who brought down the
wounded, and listening to them, I found
that at daylight they had discovered that
an English frigate was under all sail, beat-
ing up to them, and about five miles to lee-
ward ; that, in consequence, the Sze//a was
now Carrying on arunning fight with the
schooner (who was. to windward of her),
and trying to escape. ‘This accounted for
the signals which I had perceived that the
English schooner was making the evening
before. My anxiety at thisintelligence was
naturally much increased. The Sfe//a was
trying to escape, and her sailing powers
were so remarkable that I was afraid she
would succeed.

‘The action was still continued between
the two schooners, but now the shot no
longer hit the Sze//az, nor were there any
more wounded men brought down ; it was
evident that the two vessels were now firing
at each other's masts and rigging, the one
to prevent, and the other to effect her
escape, by dismantling her antagonist. I
felt as if I could have given my left hand to
have gone on deck. I waited half an hour
more, and then, curiosity conquering my
fear, J crept gradually up the fore ladder.
‘The men were working the guns to wind-
ward, the lee-side of the deck was clear,
and I stepped forward, and got into the
head, where I could see both to windward
and to leeward. To leeward I perceived
the frigate, about four miles distant, with
every stretch of canvas that she could set
on a wind ; I knew her directly to be the
Calliope, my own ship, and my heart beat
quick at the chance of being once more on
board of her.

To windward, as the smoke occasionally
cleared away, I saw the Arrowsschoonerclose hauled on the same tack as the S¢ed/a,
and distant about a mile, every ten seconds
the smoke from her guns booming along
the water's surface, and the shot whizzing
through our rigging; she had not suffered
much from our fire: her sails were full of
shot-holes, it is true, but her spars were not
injured. I then turned my eyes upon the
masts and rigging of the Sfe//a: apparently,
the damage done was about equal to that
received by the Arrow; our sails were
torn, but our spars were unscathed.

The water was smooth, although the
breeze was fresh, and both schooners were
running at the rate-of six or seven miles an
hour; but the S¢e//e had evidently the
advantage of sailing, and forereached upon
her opponent. I perceived that everything
depended upon a lucky hit, and having
satisfied myself with what I had seen, I
hastened down below.

For more than half an hour the firing
continued without advantage on either side,
when a yell was given by the negro crew,
and I heard them cry on the deck that the
Arrow's foretop-mast was shot away. I
heard the voice of Vincent cheering his men,
and telling them to be steady in their aim.
My heart sank at the intelligence, and I sat
down on a chest.

The. firing now slackened, for the Stella
had shot ahead of the English schooner,
and the negroes on deck were laughing and
in high good-humour. Fora few minutes
the firing ceased altogether, and I took it
for granted that the Sze//a had left her pur-
suers far behind; when, of a sudden, a
whole broadside of guns were poured into
us, and there was a terrible crashing and
confusion on the deck.

I ran up the ladder to see what had
happened. It appeared that as the Szel/a
was crossing the bows of the Arrow, the
latter had, as a last chance, thrown up in
the wind, and discharged her whole broad-
side into us: two shots had struck our main-
mast, which had fallen by the board. I
perceived at once that the .S¢e//a’s chance
was over—nothing could save her; she
might resist the schooner, but could not
escape the frigate.

I ran down below, and went into the
cabin ; I was afraid that the negroes might
perceive the joy in my countenance. I
heard the angry voice of the negro captain
—-I heard him stamping with rage, and I
thanked God that I was not by his side.
The wreck of the mast was soon cleared
away ; I heard hiin address his negroes,
point out to them that it was better to die
like men at the guns, than swing at the
yard-arm like dogs. Some of them came
down and took on deck a quarter-cask of

spirits, which was plentifully supplied to all.

 

PERCIVAL. KEENE,

The English schooner had borne down
upon us, and the action now commenced at
pistol-shot. Never shall I forget what took
place_for nearly three-quarters of an hour ;
the negroes, most of them intoxicated,
fought with rage and fury indescribable—
their shouts—their screams—their cursing
and blasphemy, mingled with the loud re-
port of the guns, the crashing of the spars
and bulwarks, the occasional cry of the
wounded, and the powerful voice of Vincent.
It was terrific between decks; the smoke
was so thick that those who came down for
the powder could not see, but felt their wav
to the screen. Every two seconds I heard
the men come aft, toss off the can of liquor,
and throw it on the deck when they went to
resume their labour at their guns.

At the end of the time I have mentioned,
the shot flew from to leeward as wellas from
to windward: the frigate had got within
range, and was pouring in her broadside;
still the firing and the shouting on the deck
of the Se//a continued, but the voices were
fewer; and as the firing of the frigate be-
came more severe, they became fainter and
fainter ; and at last but an occasional gun
was fired from our decks.

I became so uneasy that I could remain
where I was no longer ; I went forward on
the lower deck again, and tumbling over
the wounded and the dead, [I crept up the
fore-ladder. I looked over thessoombings of
the hatchway ; the decks were clear of
smoke, for not a gun was being fired.
Merciful Heaven ! what a scene of slaugh-
ter! Many of the guns were dismantled,
and the decks were strewed with the
splinters and plankings of the gunwale,
broken spars, and negroes lying dead or
drunk in all directions—some cut and torn
to pieces, others whole, but mixed up with
the fragments of other bodies: such ascene
of blood I have never since witnessed. Out
of the whole crew, I do not think there
were twenty men left unhurt, and these
were leaning or lying down, exhausted with
fatigue, or overcome with liquor, on various
parts of the deck.

The fighting was over ; there was not one
man at his gun ; and of those who remained
still alive, one or two fell, while I was look-
ing up, from the shot, which continued
every minute to pierce the bulwarks. Where
was Vincent?. I dare not go aft tosee. I
dare not venture to meet his eye. I divec
down below again, and returned aft to the
cabin; there was no more demand for
powder ; not a soul was to be seen abaft.
Suddenly the after-hatchway grating was
thrown off; I heard some one descend ; I
knew it was the hurried tread of the negro
captain. It was so dark, and the cabin so
full of smoke, that, coming from the light,AR PREY RIPEN AN PRR eR REM TS te a RRR IRON RATT H

 

 

he did not ferceive me, although I could
distinguish him. He was evidently badly
wounded, and tottered in his walk: he
came into the cabin, put his hand to his
girdle, and felt for his pistol, and then he
commenced pulling down the screen, which
was between him and the magazine. His
intentions were evident ; which were to blow
up the vessel.

I felt that I had not a moment to lose. I
dashed past him, ran up the ladder, sprang
aft to the taffrail, and dashed over the stern
into the sea. I was still beneath the surface,
having not yet risen from my plunge, when
I heard and felt the explosion—felt it, in-
deed, so powerfully that it almost took
away My senses ; so great was the shock,

~ even when I was under the water, that I

was almost insensible. I have a faint re-
collection of being drawn down by the vor-
tex of the sinking vessel, and scrambling
my way to the surface of the water, amidst
fragments of timbers and whirling bodies.
When I recovered myself, I found that I
was clinging to a portion of the wreck, in
a sort of patch, as it were, upon the deep
Dlue water, dark as ink,'and strewed with
splintered fragments.

There I remained some minutes, during
which time I gained my recollection: I
looked around and perceived the Arrow
schooner, lying about one hundred yards
off, totally dismantled, and my own frigate
about a quarter of a mile to leeward, as
bright and as fresh as if she had just
been refitted. I observed a signal made by
the Calliope to the schooner, which was
answered. I looked in vain towards the
schooner, expecting her to lowér down a
boat, ‘The fact was, that the Calliope had
made the signal for her to do so, and the
schooner had replied that she had no boat
that could swim. I then perceived that the
frigate had lowered down a boat which was
pulling towards me, and I considered myself
as safe.

Ina few minutes, during which I had‘quite’
recovered myself, the boat pulled into the
mass of floating fragments, and then the
sailors ceased rowing, to look about them.
They perceived and pulled towards me
hoisted me in over the gunwale, and laid me’
at the bottom of the boat. Iscrambled on
my feet, and would have gone aft, when the
midshipman of the boat said to the men,
‘Pass that cursed young pirate forward—
don't let him come aft here.”

“@h; “oh;" Mr." Lascellés’ thinks ‘T=
“‘so you don’t know me; you shall know
me by-and-by.” I quite forgot that I was
stained black, till one of the men, who
seized me by the collar to pass me forward,
said, ‘‘Hand along the nigger. He's a
young one for the gallows, anyhow.”

 

7° TE Tol Aly Ki NE.

They handed me forward, and I did not
choose to say who I was. My love of fun
returned the moment that I was again with
my shipmates. After looking well round
and ascertaining that I was the only one
left alive, they pulled®back to the frigate ;
and the midshipman went up to report. I
was handed up the side, and remained at
the break of the gangway, while the captain
and first lieutenant were talking with Mr.
Lascelles : during which Mr. Tommy Dott
came up to me, and, putting his finger to
his left ear, gave a cluck with his tongue,
as much as to say, You'll be hanged, my
good fellow.

I could not help giving the first mason’s
sign which I taught to Mr. Green, in return
for Tommy's communication ; to wit, putting
my thumb to my nose, and extending my
finger out towards him ; at which Tommy
Dott expressed much indignation, and called
me aprecious impudent varmin. The men
who were near us laughed, and said that I
was game at all events. No oneknew me;
for not only was my face well stained, but I
was covered from head to foot with a solu-
tion of salt water and gunpowder, which
made me still more indistinguishable.

I had remained at the gangway about two
minutes, when the first lieutenant said,
bring the prisoner here.”

I immediately went aft; and as soon as I
was standing before Captain Delmar and
the first lieutenant—(and behind were all the
officers, anxious to hear what I had to dis-
close)—I put my hand to my head, having
no hat, as may be supposed, and said,
‘“ Come on board, sir,’’ reporting myself, as
is usually the ‘custom of officers when they
return from leave or duty.

“Good Heavens ! that voice !—why, who
are you?” cried Captain Delmar, starting
back a pace.

‘“‘ Mr. Keene, sir,” replied I, again put-
ting my hand to my head.

Bob Cross, who was, with many of the
seamen, close to me, quite forgetting eti-
quette, ran up and caught me round the
waist, looking me full in the face: ‘It is
him, sir—it is him! Huzzah! huzzah!”
and all the seamen joined in the huzzahs,
which were, however, mingled with a great
deal of laughter.

“Merciful Heaven! and so you have
been blown up in that, vessel,” said the first
lieutenant, coming to me, with great kind-
ness. ‘‘ Are you much burnt? Why, he’s
quite black—where’s the surgeon?”

‘Aren't hurt at all, sir,” replied I,

“©Let him be taken down and examined,”
said the captain with some emotion ; 1f not
hurt, let him come into the cabin to me.”

The captain went down the ladder, and
then I shook hands with Tommy Dott andall the other officers and midshipmen ; and
I will say that my re-appearance appeared
to give unusual satisfaction. I went down
into the gun-room and was stripped. ‘They
were much surprised to find that I was not
hurt, and even more when they discovered
that I was biack all over, and that washing
would not restore my colour.

“Why, Keene,” said the first lieutenant,
“how is it that you have changed your
colour?”

‘‘Oh, sir, I have been playing the nigger
for these last three months. It is a long
story, but I will go with you to the captain,
and I will tell it there.”

As soon as I had put on my uniform, I
went up with Mr. Hippesley to the cabin,
and having, at the captain's request, taken a
chair, I entered into a full explanation, which
lasted more than an hour.

As soon as I had finished, Mr. Hippesley,
who had plenty to do on deck, but who
could not leave until he had heard my
story, quitted the cabin, and I found myself
alone with the captain.

‘‘T must say that I gave you up for lost,”
said Captain Delmar; ‘the boat’s crew
were picked up the next morning, and re-
ported that you were drowned in the cabin
of the vessel. Scoundrels, to desert you in
that way.”

*“T do not think they were to blame, sir;
the water being so high in the cabin, and my
not answering to their call.”

** But did they call you?”

“Yes, sir; I heard them call when I was
half asleep, and J did not answer.”

“Well, lam gladto hear you say so; but
so convinced have we been of your loss, that
I have written to your mother on the sub-
ject. Strange, this is the second time that
she has been distressed in this way. You
appear to “have a charmed life, Mr.
iccene

‘‘T hope I shall long live to do credit to
your protection, sir,’’ replied I.

‘‘T hope so, too, Mr. Keene,” replied the
captain, very kindly; ‘‘Isincerely hope so,
too. In all this business you have conducted
yourself very manfully. It does you great
credit, and your mother ought to be proud
of you.”

‘“Thanky, sir,” replied I, for I was over-
joyed at such language from Captain Del-
mar, and I thought to myself, if he says my
mother ought be proud of me, he feels so
himself. :

“Of course, you cannot do duty under
such a masquerade as you are at present,
continued the captain, who referred to
my stained skin, ‘‘I presume it will wear
off by-and-by. You will dine with me
to-day ; nw you may go to your me€ss-
mates.”

PERCIVAL KEENE,

  

 
 
  
    
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

71

I left the cabin, bowing very respecttully,
and pleased with what had occurred. I
hastened to join my messmates, not, how-
ever, until I had shaken hands with Bob
Cross, who appeared as delighted to see me
as if he was my father,

I leave the reader to imagine the sort of
levee which I held both on the quarter-deck
and below. Mr. Hippesley could not get
any of the officers to mind their duty. I
certainly was for two or three days the
greatest personage in the ship. After that,
[had time to tell the whole of my history
quietly to Bob Cross.

Bob Cross, when he had heard me with-
out interruption, said, ‘* Well, Master Keene,
there's no telling what a man’s born to till
after he’s dead, and then it’s: all known ;
but it does appear to me that you are born
to something out of the common. Here
you are, not sixteen, not only playing a
man’s part, but playing it manfully. You
have been put in most difficult situations,
and always have fallen upon your feet in the
end. You appear to have an old head upon
very young shoulders; at one moment to be
a scampish boy full of mischief, and at
another a resolute, cool, and clever man.
Sarcumstances, they say, make men, and so
it appears in you ; but it does seem strange,
for one and the same lad to be stealing the
purser's plums at one moment, and twisting
a devil of a nigger pirate round his finger
the very next ; and then you have had such
escapes—twice reported dead at head-quar-
ters, and twice come to life again. Now,
Master Keene, I’ve very good news to tell
you ; you don’t know how high you stand
with the captain ‘and officers: there's a
feeling of envy against a lad who goes ahead
(as well asa man), which blinds people to
his real merits ; but when he is supposed to
be dead and gone, and no longer in the way
of others, then everyone tells the real truth;
and I do assure you that not only the
officers, but the captain himself, grieved
most sorely at your loss: I saw the captain’s
eyes wink more than once when speaking of
you, and the first lieutenant was’ always
telling the other mids that he had not one
worth his salt, now that you were gone.
And now that you have come back and
gained so much credit for what has passed,
I do really think that the captain is proud
of you. I overheard a little conversation
between the captain and the first lieutenant

the day you came on board, after you had
been in the cabin telling your adventures,
and all that I can say is, that the game is
in your own hands, if you only play your
cards well, and never let Captain Delmar
have the least idea that you know that you
have such claims upon hin.”

‘That I certainly will not,” replied I,iiaisiaieaeameineuceuatiints

~ eee Staecteitee ipene ek eERaite STR TORtei  eeenipet te

 

92 PERCIVAL KEENE.

‘fas it might, probably, check his feeling
towards me.”

*« Exactly : I’ve often thought about you,
and now that I like you so much, I watch
the captain for your sake, and listen parti-
cularly to what he says after dinner especi-
ally, when I've the opportunity ; for you see,
when gentlemen drink wine, they speak
more freely as to what they really think,
just as we foremast-men do when we get our
grog on board. ‘The greatest misfortune
which could happen to you in your position
would be, the captain marrying and having
children on the right side of the blanket as
they callit. Now I’veoften heard the captain
express a dislike to matrimony, and laugh at
people's getting married, which has pleased
me yery much for your sake, Master Perci-
val. You see, a man don't think much of
marrying after forty, and the captain must
be fifty, if not more.”

‘‘Yes: but if his brother dies—and he is
a very infirm man—the captain will then be
Viscount de Verseley, and inherit very large
estates, and then he will marry to have an
heir to the title and estates, even if there is
no love in the case.”

‘‘So he may,’ replied Cross,—‘‘ there’s
no saying ; but still, even if he does, it ain’t
certain that he has a family ; chickens must
not be counted before they are hatched. All
you have to pray for then is, that the bro-
ther may proveas tough as our old admirals,
whose senses get tired of staying any longer
in their bodies, and leave them long before
their hulks are worn out.”

‘Why do admirals live so long ?°

“Well, I suppose it is for the same rea-
son that salt meat keeps so much longer
than fresh ; they have been forty or fifty
years with the salt spray washing in their
faces and wetting their jackets, and so in
time, d'ye see, they become as it were pickled
with brine. Talking about that, how long
will it be before you get that tanning off
you?”

‘‘T don’t know ; but as the captain says
I’m to do no duty while it lasts, I hope it
won't wear off too soon.”

‘Spoken like a midshipman : now take
my advice, although not ordered to your
duty, come up on deck and take your spy-
glass.”

‘T’ve lost it, unfortunately. That was a
good glass, for it saved my life.”

‘‘Yes, it turned out as good for you as a
Freemason’s sign, which is more than Mr.
Green can say. I don’t think he'll ever
make a sailor—he’d better bear up for clerk,
and then he might do very well for a purser
by-and-by. ‘There’s eight bells, Master
Keene, so I think we had better say good
night.”

 

CHAPTER XX.

THE Arrow schooner had _ suffered vei'y
severely in the contest, having lost her
commanding officer and thirteen men killed
and wounded : indeed, had not the Cad/iope
been at hand, it was the general opinion
that the Sze/la would have overpowered
her, notwithstanding that the latter had lost
her mainmast, for the Arrow was com-
pletely dismantled, and would not have
been able to have made sail.

The Calliope sent her carpenters and best
seamen on board to repair her damages,
and the next day we stood .away for Port
Royal, Jamaica, to announce the destruc-
tion ef the pirate vessel.

In the morning Captain Delmar sent for
me.

‘“Mr. Keene, as you cannot do duty for
the present, and as I do not wish you to be
idle, I think you had better pay a little
attention to navigation. You send in your
day's work, I perceive, but I suppose you
have never regularly gone through a course
of study.”

‘‘No, sir,” replied I; ‘‘I fudge my day’s
work, and I should be very glad to learn
navigation properly.”’

‘So Ipresume. Well, then, I have spoken
with Mr. Smith, the master, who has
promised to give you the necessary instruc-
tion. You will commence to-morrow ; you
can sit at the table in the fore-cabin, -where
you will have nothing to distract your atten-
tion. You may go now.”

I bowed and left the cabin, and meeting
Bob Cross on the main deck, I told him
what the captain had said.

‘‘I'm glad of it, Master Keene; it shows
that the captain does now take a strong
interest in you. He has never taken any
trouble of that kind with any midshipman
before. It will be of great service to you,
so pay attention ; it will please the captain
if the master gives a good report of you.
Who knows but you may be sent away ina
prize, and I sent with you to take care of
you? Wouldn't that be a capital spree?”

The next day I commenced accordingly,
under the tuition of the master, and as I
had not Tommy Dott to play with, I gave
satisfaction, and continued to do so until
our arrival at Port Royal, when the captain
went up to the admiral’s, stating all the
particulars of the action, and, by way of
sequel, my adventures on board of the
pirate vessel. The admiral was so much
interested that he requested Captain Delmar
to bring me on shore to dine with him the
next day.

I was still very black: but that made me,
I presume, more interesting. I told my
story over again, and it afforded great—_—

 

amusement to the company; particularly to
the ladies; and I have reason to believe
that many compliments were paid me
behind my back, by the admiral and
officers who dined there; at all events,
Captain Delmar was much pleased.

My strange history soon got wind. The
governor heard of it, and asked Captain
Delmar about it. The consequence was,
that I received another invitation from the
governor, and Captain Delmar again in-
formed me that I might tell my own story,
which I did, modestly as before, I say
modestly, for I never was a boaster at any
time; and I really believe that IT thought
much less of the circumstances than those
did to whom I narrated them: I had at
that time but one wish, which was to find
favour in the sight of Captain Delmar. I
felt that all my prospects in life depended
upon that ; and aware of his disposition,
and the deference thathe expected, humility
had become, as it were, habitual.

During the time that we remained at
Port Royal I continued my studies in the
cabin, and as the captain remained almost
altogether on shore, I found the run of the
cabin very pleasant; but as I had no incli-
nation to study the whole of the day, I was
not sorry that Tommy Dott was very often
my companion in the cabin, an entrance to
which, as he could not pass the sentry at
the door, he obtained by climbing down the
mizen chains, and creeping into the port
windows. As soon as the captain's boat
was seen coming off, Tommy was out again
by the port as quick as a monkey, and [|
was very studiously poring over right-
angled triangles. I rose, of course, as the
captain entered the cabin. ‘‘Sit down Mr.
Keene,’ he would say—‘‘sit down; the
master has reported favourably of you, and
I am glad to hear of it.”’

One morning, when, as usual, Tommy
Dott had come through the port, we were
so busily employed with a caricature which
we were making of old Culpepper, that the
captain's boat came alongside without our
being aware of it, and the captain’s voice
speaking to the first lieutenant as he was
descending the after-ladder was the first
intimation we received of his being on
board.

It was impossible for Tommy Dott to
escape without being seen as he climbed
out. The table which was in the centre of
the cabin was covered with a blue cloth,
large enough for the table when all the
additional leaves were put to it, and in its
present reduced size the cloth fell down to
the deck; I pointed it out to Tommy, as
the sentry’s hand upon the handle of the
door announced the immediate entrance of
the captain, and he darted underneath the

PERCIVAL KEENE,

table, that he might escape detection, in-
tending as soon as the captain went into
the after-cabin to make his retreat by the
cabin door or windows. The. captain
entered, and I rose, as usual, from my chair.

“‘Mr. Keene,” said he, ‘‘I have occasion
to speak to the first lieutenant on important
private business; oblige me by leaving the
cabin till that is done. You may as well
tell Mr. Hippesley that I wish to see him.”

‘> Yes, sir,’ replied I, making a bow, and
leaving the cabin. I felt very much alarmed
lest Tommy should be discovered in his
hiding-place; and after the captain had
stated that he had particular business with
the first lieutenant, it was my duty, knowing
that Mr. Dott was there, to have said so. I
hardly knew what to do or how to act.
After all, it was no great crime as it stood.
Tommy Dott had come into the cabin with-
out leave, and had concealed himself; but
if I was to allow Tommy to remain there
and listen to important and particular busi-
ness, evidently of a secret nature, I should
forfeit the good opinion and confidence of
the captain: nevertheless, I was very un-
willing to betray him; I was dreadfully
puzzled, and when I went to the first lieu-
tenant he perceived my confusion.

“Why, what is the matter with you, Mr.
Keene ?—you look quite frightened,"’ said
he.

“Welle sir J aim, = replied: i Scande h
think it my duty to tell you why I am so.”

I then informed him that Tommy Dott
was under the cabin-table, and would, of
course, hear the secret communications of
the captain.

*“You have done very right, Mr. Keene,
and I know how unpleasant it is to you
to inform against your messmate; but at
present there is no harm done.”

He then iaughed, and said, ‘* However,
Mr. Dott shall never know that you have
said anything about it, and I wlll frighten
him out of the cabin for the future.”

He then went down the ladder and into
thefore-cabin. [expected that he would have
discovered Tommy as if by accident, but
such was not the case. ‘The captain had
just gone into the after-cabin, and Mr.
Hippesley immediately followed him, and
shutting the door, informed him of Mr.
Dott’s position, and why I had made it
known. ‘The captain could not help laugh-
ing, as, after all, it was no great offence.

He then gave the necessary information
to the first lieutenant, and they both walked
into the fore-cabin ; the first lieutenant say-
ing, ‘‘If you please then Captain Delmar,
I will send a boat immediately with the
letter,” eee

‘‘Certainly,” replied the captain, sitting
down, and who evidently was inclined tui
|
i
rie
Le

se RRR thc Ne Ste aim. cE RE OT

 

74

join in the joke with Mr. Hippesley. ‘‘Sen-
try, send the officer on deck to man the
jolly-boat, and tell Mr. Dott to come here
immediately.”

I was on deck when the sentry put his
head up the ladder and gave the order, and
I immediately perceived the plan of the first
lieutenant and the state of alarm in which
Tommy Dott must have been put.

‘“The jolly-boat was manned, and Mr.
Dott called for in every quarter of the ship,
but he did not make his appearance. After
a delay of several minutes, the officer on
deck went down into the cabin, reporting
that the jolly-boat had been manned some
time, but that Mr. Dott was not to be
found.

“Not to be found!” replied the captain ;
*“why he can’t have fallen overboard.”

“Not he, sir,” replied the first lieutenant ;
‘‘he has gone to sleep somewhere: either
in the tops or the fore-topmast  staysail
netting.”

‘‘He appears to be a very troublesome
boy,” replied the captain.

‘“Very useless, indeed, sir,” replied the
first lieutenant. ‘Sentry, have they found
Mr. Dott?”

“No, sir; quarter-masters have been
everywhere. He's not in the ship.”

*“Very odd!”’ observed the captain.

““Oh! he'll turn up soon, sir;’’ but really,
Captain Delmar, if you were to give him
two or three dozen at the cabin gun, it
would bring him to his senses.”

‘“That I most certainly will do,” replied
Captain Delmar ; ‘‘and I authorise you to
do it, Mr. Hippesley, as soon as he makes
his appearance ; it will be of some service
to him; but I hope no accident has hap-
pened to him.”

“$I have no fear of that, sir,” replied the
first lieutenant: ‘‘if the purser’s steward’s
room had been open to-day, I should have
sent to see if he was not locked up in
another attempt to steal raisins, but that
has not been the case. By-the-by, the spirit-
room was open this morning, and he may
have been down there, and may have had
the hatches put over him.”

‘Well, we must send another midship-
man. Call Mr, Keene,” said Captain Del-
mar.

The sentry called me, and I made my
appearance.

‘‘Mr. Keene you'll go on shore to the
dockyard in the jolly-boat; give that letter
to the master attendant, and wait for an
answer.”

mes Sin, « replied «ll.

‘‘ Fave you seen anything of Mr. Dott?”
said the first lieutenant; ‘‘you are con-
stantly together.”

“T saw him just before Captain Delmar

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 

came on board, sir, but I have not seen him
since...

‘Well, well, we will settle accounts with
the young gentleman as soon as he turns
up, replied the captain. ‘‘ You may go,
Mr. Keene.

I perceived that the captain and first lieu-
tenant both smiled as I left the cabin. It
appeared that soon after they left it, and
the captain went on shore ; but Tommy was
so frightened that he remained in his hiding-
piace, as he made sure he would be flogged
if he made his appearance, and he resolved
to remain where he was until my return,
that he might consult me.

As soon as I had reported myself, end
given the answer to the first lieutenant, I
hastened to the cabin, and then poor Tommy
crawled from under the table; the tears
were still wet on his cheeks.

‘‘T shall be flogged, Keene, as sure as I
stand here. ‘Tell me, what can I do—what
can. say ns

‘Tell. the truth; that’s the best way,”
replied I.

‘‘Tell the captain that I was hid under
the table! that would never do.”

‘“Depend upou it, it’s the best plan,”
replied I ; “ and it is the only advice I can
give you: you may be flogged if you tell the
truth, but you are sure to be flogged if you
fell ay icy It will only add to your
offence.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it: I’m
sure that Mr. Hippesley will flog me if he
catches me to-day or to-morrow ; but if I
remain hid for a day or two, they will really
think that I have fallen overboard, and then
they will say, ‘poor Tommy Dott,’ and
perhaps be so glad when I do make my ap-
pearance, that they will forgive me.”

‘‘ Yes,” replied I, delighted at the idea :
‘‘T’m sure they will, if you do tell the truth
when you appear again.”

‘“Then, that is what I'll do. The first
lieutenant said that I might be in the spirit-
room. Where shall I go to?”

“Why,” said I, ‘‘ you must remain under
the table till dark, and then you may easily
slip down into the coalhole, where it is so
dark that they never will see you, even if
they go down for coals. It is the only place
T know of; stay there all to-morrow and
next day, and come up in the evening; or
the next morning perhaps will be_better.”’

‘Well, it's a very good place,” replied
Tommy; ‘‘anything better than being
flogged ; but will you bring me something
to eat and drink ?”’

‘‘ Depend upon me, Tommy,” replied I :
‘“‘ I'll contrive to bring you something every
night.”

‘Well, then, I'll be sure and do that,”
replied he,PERCIVAL KEENE,

** Yes ; and tell the truth when you come “That I will,” replied Tommy, ‘‘If I set
out,” said I six dozen for it.’’ I then left him. %
: Yes, upon my honour I will;” and so On my return on deck, I saw Bob Cross ;
saying, Tommy, hearing a noise, again he was on shore during the major portion of
dived under the cabin table, the day, attending upon the captain, and as
Soon afterwards I went out of the cabin. I was no longer in the captain's gis, I saw
The first leutenant beckoned me to him, but little of him. Horr
and’ asked me where Mr. Dott was, and “Well, Mr. Keene,” said hey <tethink
I told him what had been arranged be- you have quite recovered your colour by this
tween us. He laughed very much, and time, and I hope to see you in the gig

75

said— again.
‘“ Well, if Master Tommy punishes him- “YF do not think I shall yet awhile—I
self by two days’ confinement in the coal- have not yet learnt navigation enough ; but
hole, and tells the truth when he comes out, the master says he will be done with me in
I think I may promise he may get off his a fortnight, if I go on as well as I do
flogging; but don’t you say that I have now.”
spoken to you about it, and let him do ashe ‘Yes ; I heard him tell the captain that
proposes.’ you were very quick, and would be a good
When it was dark, I supplied Tommy navigator ; but I can’t get over the loss of
with provisions, and he gained the coal- poor Tommy Dott; he wasa littlescampish,
hole without being discovered. that’s sartin, but still he was a merry, kind-
The next day the speculations at his dis- hearted boy—too good for the sharks, at
appearance were general, and it was now all events. You must feel his loss, Mr.
believed that poor Tommy had fallen over- Keene, for you were always together.”

board, and as the sharks are thick enough ‘No, I don’t, Bob,” replied I.
in Port Royal, that he was safely stowed “Well, I’m sorry to hear you say that,

away in one of their maws. I will say that Mr. Keene; I thought you had a kinder
the whole of the ship’s company were very - heart.”

sorry for him, with the exception of Mr. “So I have, Bob; but I'll tell you a

Culpepper, who observed that no good ever secret, known only to the first lieutenant

came of a boy who Stole raisins. and me; and that is, Tommy’s inthe coal-
‘So you think that, because a lad steals hole, very dirty, but quite safe.”’

a few of your confounded plums,” observed Bob Cross burst into a fit of laughing,

the second lieutenant, ‘‘ he deserves to be which lasted some time.

eaten by, the sharks. If*I were Tommy “Well, Mr. Keene, you have really taken

Dott, I would haunt you if I could.” a weight off my mind: now tell me all
*‘I’m not afraid of dead men,’’ replied about it. You know I’m safe.”’

Mr, Culpepper; ‘‘ they are quiet enough,” I then told Bob what had happened, and

“Perhaps so; but recollect, you make of-Tommy’s intention to make his appear-
them chew tobacco, and therefore they ought ance on the following evening or the next
to rise up in judgment against you, if they morning.
do against anyone.”’ ‘‘Well,” said Bob, ‘‘you’re mischief it-

As this conversation passed on the quarter- self, Master Keene, and that’s a fack:
deck, it put an idea in my head. That however, it’s all right this time, and you
night I went to Tommy, whom I found have the captain and first lieutenant as your
terribly tired of sitting on the coals. I  confidants and partners in the joke. You
brought him a bottle of mixed grog, and did perfectly right, and I’m sure the captain
some boiled beef and biscuit. I consoled and first lieutenant must be pleased with
him by telling him that every one was sorry you; but recollect, Master Keene, keep
at his disappearance, and that I was con- your distance as before ; don’t presume.”
vinced that he would not be punished if he “Never. fear; Bob, replied I: ‘but
told the truth. now I have told you that, I want you to

Tommy was for leaving the coal-hole im- assist me.” I then repeated the conversa-
mediately, but I pointed out to him that the tion of Mr. Culpepper with the second
captain had not been on boardthat day, and lieutenant.
that it was necessary that the captain should ‘‘Now,’’ continued I, ‘‘you see, Cross,
believe that he had fallen overboard as well I can’t do anything myself; Mr. Culpepper
as the officers, or his compassion would not hates me, and would suspect me ; but if
be roused. Tommy saw the propriety of we could only frighten him: you might, for
this, and consented to remain another day. he would not think you were playing him a
I then told him what Mr. Culpepper had trick.” ; vd
said, and I added, ‘‘ Now, Tommy, if Mr. a I see, replied Bob ; “it will be a good
Culpepper should see you by any chance, thing for Tommy Dott, and a nice wind-up

pretend to be your ghost, = of this affair. Let me alone. When Ii
$
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i
ti
if
if
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i
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it

   

 

76 PERCIVAL KEENE,

come on board to-morrow evening, I'll
manage it if I can.”

After a little more conversation, we
separated for the night.

The next morning the captain came on
board. He remained on deck with the
first lieutenant for some minutes, during
which, of course, he was made acquainted
with Tommy Dott’s position. When he
came down into the cabin, I moved from
my seat, as respectful and serious as before ;
and when ordered to sit down again, re-
sumed my studies with great apparent
diligence. He did not say a word to me
about Tommy Dott, and as he was going
out of the cabin, Mr. Culpepper was an-
nounced by the sentry.

‘If you please, Captain Delmar,” said
Mr. Culpepper, with his usual profound
bow, ‘‘what are we to do with the effects
of Mr. Dott, who has fallen overboard? By
the regulations of the service, they should
be sold before the mast. And TI also wish
to know whether he is to be continued to
be victualled, or whether it is your pleasure
that he is discharged as dead?”

The captain smiled, and turned his face
towards me; but I continued with my eyes
down on my book.

‘‘Perhaps we had better wait till to-
morrow, Mr. Culpepper,’ replied the
captain, “ and then you may sell his effects,
and put D.D. to his name, poor fellow.”
And having made this reply, the captain
went out of his cabin. Mr. Culpepper
followed ; and shortly afterwards the captain
went on shore again.

Before dusk, the captain’s gig, as usual,
returned on board, and I was at the gang-
way to meet Bob Cross; the boat was
hoisted up, and then Bob came to me.

‘‘T must first go downand see Mr. Dott,
that I may be-able to swear to the fact.”
Bob did so, and then returned on deck.
Mr. Culpepper was abaft, walking by him-
self, when Bob went up and accosted him.

‘Tf you please, sir,’ said Bob, touching
his hat, “did the captain say anything to
you about coals, for I expect we shall not
stay here much longer?”

“‘No,” replied Mr. Culpepper.

‘«Then he must have forgotit, !suppose,
‘‘Well, there's plenty of coals,’’ replied
Mr. Culpepper.

‘‘Well, sir, I don’t know; but I think I
heard the cook’s mate say as how they were
getting rather low.’

‘Getting rather low! then there must
have been great waste,” exclaimed Mr.
C., who was very careful of his expenses.

‘J don’t know how far it may be so;
but I think it might be as well to know how
matters stand ; and if so be there’s plenty,

sir

   

why I can tell Captam Delmar when I go
on shore to-morrow.”

‘‘T’ll see; I'll go down myself to-night,”
replied Mr. Culpepper. «The midshipmen
are allowed a stove to themselves—very
unusual—and they are cooking all day.”

“Talking about midshipmen, sir,” replied
Cross, ‘‘you may think it’s very odd; but
as I stand here—and you know, Mr. Cul-
pepper, I arn't easily scared—I saw that
young Tommy Dott, or his ghost, this very
evening.”

It was now quite dark; and Mr. Cul-
pepper stared at the coxswain, and then
replied, ‘‘ Pooh, nonsense!”

‘‘Tt’s no nonsense, I do assure you. I
saw him with these eyes, as sure as I stand
eke

‘“‘Where?” exclaimed Mr. C.

“Right forward, sir, I only mention it
to you; but don't say a word about it, for I
should only be laughed at; but I do
assure you that I would kiss the Bible to
it, if it was required... I never did before
believe in anything of that sort, that’s sar-
tin; but it’s no use talking about it, sir. I
think I had better get a lantern, and get
over this coal business at once.”

-‘ Yes, yes,” replied Mr. Culpepper ;
‘but you won't know how much coals there
are: I must go myself and see.”

Bob Cross was soon ready with the lan-
tern, and went forward with Mr. Culpepper.
The hammocks had been piped down, and
they were obliged to bend double under
them to get along the lowerdeck. I followed
unperceived.

The decent into the coal-hole was by
battens, and not very easy foran old man
like Mr. C: But ‘Cross went down ‘first,
holding the light for the purser to follow,
which he did very slowly, and with great
caution. As soonas they both stood onthe
coals below, the purser took the light to
make his survey. :

‘‘Why, there’s plenty of coals for three
months, coxswain,” said he. ‘‘I thought
there was; you see they are nearly up to the
beams abaft.”’

“Look! sir—look!'* exclaimed Cross,
starting back; ‘‘ what's that?”

“Where?” exclaimed Mr. C., alarmed.

“There, sir—there he is: I told you so.’

The purser’s eyes were directed to where
Bob pointed, and then he beheld Tommy Dott
standingimmovable, with his arms extended,
as if denouncing him—his eyes staring, and
his mouth wide open.

‘*Mercy! murder!’ cried the purser,
dropping the lantern, which went out and
left them in the dark ; and he tumbled down
on the coals.

Bob Cross stepped over him, and hastened
up to the lower deck, followed by TommyDott, who first, by way of revenge, jumped
serveral times upon the purser’s face and
body before he climbed up.

The cry of the purser had given the alarm.
The master-at-arms hastened forward with
his lantern just as Tommy had made his
appearance above the coombings. Seeing
Tommy as black as a sweep, he too was
frightened ; the men had put their heads out
of their hammocks, and some of them had
seen Tommy.

Bob Cross, as he crawled aft, cried out,
“Tommy Dott's ghost!” I had pretended
to be terrified out of my wits, as I ran aft,
and all was confusion on the lower deck.
The first lieutenant had come out of the
wardroom, and seeing me, he inquired what
was the matter. I replied that Mr. Cul-
pepper had gone down into the coal-hole,
and had seen Mr. Dott’s ghost. He laughed
heartily and went back.

Tommy had in the meantime made his
appearance in the mids’ berth, at which they
had all rushed from him in dismay, just as I
entered ; when I caught him by the hand,
saying, ‘“ Tommy, my boy, how are you?”
They then perceived that it was Tommy
himself, and order was restored.

Mr. Culpepper was hoisted up out of the
coal-hole ; Master ‘Tommy having jumped
upon his face, he looked a very miserable
object, as he was well blackened, as well as
much bruised from the soles of Tommy’s
shoes, and his nose had bled profusely. He
was very incoherent for some time ; but the
doctor gave him an opiate, and put him to bed.

The next morning the whole affair was
explained on the quarter-deck, Master
Tommy well reprimanded, and desired to
return to his duty. The captain was very
much amused at the winding up of this
affair, as it was a capital story to fell at the
governor's, ‘Tommy never had an idea that
1 had blown upon him, nor did Mr. Cul-
pepper imagine that their meeting was
premeditated.

I had now completed the usual course of
navigation under the master, and had no
longer any cause for remaining in the cabin; I
therefore returned to my berth ; but as I had
taken a liking to navigation, I now was em-
ployed daily in working sights and rating
the chronometer.

We remained three weeks longer in Port
Royal, and then were ordered out on a
cruise, on the South American coast. There
we continued for nearly six months without
anything occurring worth relating, except
our having captured four good prizes. We
were returning to Jamaica, when we fell in

with a schooner, which gave us the intelli-

gence of the capture of the island of Cura-
coa by four English frigates.
As we were near to the island, and short

 

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

of water, Captain Delmar resolved to touch

-at it, and remained two or three days.

The reader will perhaps recollect that the
old Dutch gentleman, whose life I had
saved in the pirate vessel, had stated that
his name was Vanderwelt, and that he lived
at Curacoa. ‘The next evening we entered
the- harbour; and it was astonishing to
every one how so strong a place could
have been taken by so small aforce. The
commodore, who had plenty of work on
hand, requested, or rather ordered, our cap-
tain to remain with him for ten days or a
fortnight, to assist him.

On the third day after our arrival I.
obtained leave to goon shore, as I wished to
find out the old Dutch gentleman.- As I was
again in the captain’s gig, I had very often
landed, but had not had an opportunity of
making inquiries, as I could not leave my
boat and boat's crew.

This afternoon I landed in the gig, and
went up through the gate into the town, but
I could not find anyone who spoke English,
At last, by asking for the house of Mynheer
Vanderwelt, it was pointed out to me, and
I went up to the door; it was a very large
house, with a verandah all round it, painted
bright green and white .alternately. There
were several slaves sitting down at the en-
trance, and I asked for Mynheer Vander-
welt; they stared at me, and wondered
what I wanted, butas I was in midshipman’s
uniform, they were of course very civil, and
one of them beckoned me to follow him,
which I did, and was introduced to the old
gentleman, who was sitting in a cane arm-
chair with his pipein his mouth, and fanned
by two slave girls, about twelve years old.

As he had spoken to me in English on
board of the pirate, I immediately went up
to him, and said, ‘‘ How do you do, sir? -

“T am very well, sir,” replied he, taking
the pipe out of his mouth. ‘‘ What do you
want? do you come from the English com-
modore? What is his pleasure?”

‘No, sir,” replied I; ‘‘I do not come

from the commodore: but I came up to see
you.
i Oh, that is all,” replied the old gentle-
man, putting his pipe in his mouth again,
and resuming his smoking. I felt rather
nettled at this treatment, and then said—

‘Don’t you know me, sir?”

‘‘No, sir,” replied he, ‘‘ have not that
honour. I have never seen you in my life
before, and I do not know you.”

My blood was up at this cool declaration.

“Then I wish you a good morning, sir,”
replied I, and turning on my heel, I was
strutting out with all the dignity of an
offended midshipraan, when Iwas met face
to face by the little girl, his daughter. She
stared at me very much, and I passed her inf
f
f
i:
f
'

SE a i RY RTP

come mi rth ranean ari statencmmne ses emai

 

 

sovereign contempt ; shé followed metimidly,
and looked into my face, then panting for
breath, seized me by the arm. I turned to
her at being stopped in this manner, and
was about to shake her off with anything but
politeness, when she screamed out, and in
a moment had sprung up, and was hanging
With both arms round my néck,

“Fader, fader,” she cried out as 1 strug-
fled to disengage myself.

The old gentleman came out at the sum-
mons.

“Stop him! fader; don’t let him go
away, Cried she in Dutch; “it is he! it is

Gly.

“Who, my child?” asked the old géntle-
man.

“The pirate-boy,” replied the little girl,
bursting into a paroxysm of tears, on my
shoulders.

“Mein Gott ! it cannot be ; he was dZack,
my child; yet,” continued the old gentle
man, looking at me, “‘ he is like him. Tell
me, sir, are you our preserver ?”

_ és, teplied I, “"I was ~ but thaPisiof
little consequence now. Will you oblige
me by removing this young lady?” con-
tinued I, for I was highly offended.

“Sir, [ask your pardon,” replied the old
gentleman; ‘‘ but lam not toblame, How
could I recognise you in a white person when
you were so dark-coloured at our meeting on
board of that vessel? Iam not to blame :
indeed I am not, my dear young friend. I
would have given ten thousand rix dollars
to have met you, that I might prove my
gratitude for your noble defence of us, and
our preservation at such a risk. Come, sir,
you must forzive the mistake of an old man,
who was certainly not inclined to be civil to
an officer who belonged to the squadron,
who had within these few days so humiliated
us by their astonishing bravery and success.
Let my little girl, whose life you saved, per-
suade you, if I, cannot.”

In the meantime the little girl had
dropped from my shoulder, and was on the
floor, embracing my Isnees, and still sobbing.
I felt convinced that what the old gentleman
said was true, and that he had not recog-
nised me. I had forgotten that I had been
stained dark at the time that I had «net them
on board of the SzeZ/a.

I therefore held out my hand to the old
gentleman, and raising the little girl, we all
three went in together to where we had
found the old gentleman on my first intro-
duction to him. ‘

“‘ If you knew how delighted I am to see
you, and be able to express my thanks,”
said Mynheer Vanderwelt, ‘‘and poor
Minnie too. How often have we talked
over that dreadful day, and wondered if ever
we should see you again. I assure you, on

TEICIVAL (EAL.

my honour, that now I no longer regret the
capture of the island.”

Minnie stood by me during the time her
father was speaking, her large blue eyes
beaming through the tears with which they
brimmed ; and as I tured to her, our eyes
met, and she smiled. I drew her towards
me. She appeared as if she only required
Some encouragement, for she immediately
kissed me several times on the cheek nearest
to her, every now and then saying a word or
two in Dutch to her father, which I could
not waderstand.

[ hardly need say, that after this, intimacy
was soon brought about, _ If I thought that
at first I had been treated with ingratitude,
ample amends were made afterwards.

The old gentleman said during the even-
ing, ‘‘ Good heaven! if my daughter's eyes
had not been sharper than mine; if you had
gone away, thinking that I did not choose
to recognise you-—had I found it out, after-
wards, it would have broken my heatt, and
poor Minnie’s too. Oh! I am. grateful—
very grateful to God that it was not so.”

That I passed a very pleasant evening the
reader may imagine. The household, who
had been told who I was, appeared to almost
worship me. ‘The old gentleman asked me
a hundred questions as to my parentage,
&c., about Captain Delmar and the service,
and begged of me to remain with him alto-
gether while the frigate was in port. I told
him that was impossible, but that I would
come as often as 1 could obtain leave. At
nine o'clock I bade them good-night, and
was escorted to the boat, by six of the slaves
carrying lanterns.

Captain Delmar, as well as all the other
captains of the frigatés, had taken up his
quarters on shore, for the harbour was so
narrow and land-locked, that the heat on
board was excessive. I found that the next
day old Mr. Vanderwelt had paid his
respects to Captain Delmar, giving him an
account of what had occurred on board of
the pirate much more flattering to me than
what I had stated myself. The steward
was present at the time, and he had told
Bob Cross, who communicated it to me.
Mynheer Vanderwelt had also begged asa
favour that I might be permitted to stay on
shore with him during the time. that the
frigate was in harbour, but to this Captain
Delmar had not consented, promising, how-
ever, that I should have occasional leave
when the service would permit of it.

The reader may récollect that the island
of Curacoa had been surrendered to the
English in 1800, and restored to the Dutch in
1802. During that interval several English
merchants had settled there and remained
after the restoration, and now at the second
capture we found them still on the islandFrom these we received the information that
Mr. Vanderwelt was the richest man on the
island, and that the Dutch government was
indebted to him in very large sums; thathe
had long retired from business, although he
had large property in the Havannah, which
he received with his wife, who had been a
. Spanish lady, and that it was his intention
to have gone back to Holland by the first
man-of-war which should have arrived.

We remained three weeks at Curacoa,
during which time the first lieutenant gave
me leave to go on shore almost every evening
after the captain had dismissed his gig, and
to remain at Mr. Vanderwelt’s till half-past
eight the following morning, when I joined
my boat, and attended on the captain. By
this plan my duty was not interfered with,
and I had many pleasant meetings with
my new friends, and became, as may
be imagined, very intimate with little
Minnie.

I may as well describe her. She was
about ten years old, tall for her age; she
was very fair, with deep blue eyes, and very
dark hair; her countenance was very ani-
mated and expressive, and she promised to
be a very handsome woman. Her father
doted upon her, for he had no other child ;
he had married late in life, and his wife
had died a few days after Minnie was born.
She was very affectionate in disposition,
and very sweet-tempered ; up to the present
she had received but little education, and
that was one principal reason for Mr.
Vanderwelt’s wishing to return to Holland.
I soon became as one of the family, and
certainly was treated as such.

Minnie was very curious to know what it
was that.I carried about my neck in the
seal-skin pouch, but I never could tell either
her or her father what it really was. Mr.
Vanderwelt very often asked me if I liked
being at sea, and I invariably replied in the
affirmative.

At last the frigate was to sail, and I had
but one more evening to pass with them.
Mr. Vanderwelt appeared very grave, and
little Minnie would every now and then
during the evening burst into tears at the
idea of our separation.

At last the hour of parting arrived—it
was very painful. I promised to write to
them, and Mr. Vanderwelt told me that his
house was always ready to receive me, and
begged that if I wanted anything I would
let him know.

I cried, myself, when I left the house—
the first time that I ever cried, I believe, on
such an occasion. ‘The next morning we
were again under weigh, to rejoin the
admiral at Jamaica.

Bob Cross had told me that he wished to
have a little talk with me in the first watch,

 

PERCIVAEL KEENE.

  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
    
  
  
  
 
    

and I met him on the gangway, our usitah
rendezvous.

‘‘ Master Keene, I have some news for:
you, which I gained from the steward last:
night. I will say, that his ears are always:
open; not that I think he is generally what.
is called an eavesdropper, but he likes you,
and when you are concerned, he does care:
to find out what is going on. Now, you:
see, sir, that Dutch gentleman whom you.
saved from the nigger pirate came to call on.
Captain Delmar yesterday morning, and,,.
after some palaver, he told the captain that
he wished you to remain with him alto--
gether, and leave his majesty’s service; and.
he begged the captain to allow you to be:
discharged, and then he would be a father
to you, as you had no father. There was a
great deal more which the steward could
not make out, but it was all to that
effect. Well, the captain said that it was
very true that you had lost your father, but
that he considered you as zs owz son, and
could not part with you on any account,
and he stated that you were so promising
an officer, that. it would be very wrong that
you should leave the service, and that it
must not be thought of. The old gentle-
man said a great deal, and tried very hard
to persuade the captain, but it was of no
use. The captain said he would never let
you go till you were a post-captain and
commanded a fine frigate, and then you
would of course be your own master, and
act as you please.”’

‘“‘T am very glad to hear all this, Bob, I
can assure you.”

“Yes, sir, it is very good news: but,
Master Keene, I only hope, knowing Cap-
tains Delmar as you do, that you will act
towards him asif you had never heard it.”

‘JT will, depend upon it, Cross. As for
leaving the service, that I would not have
done even if Captain Delmar had agreed to
it. I'm an Englishman, and I don't want.
to be under Dutch protection.”

‘“That’s right, sir—that’s right—just as I
wished you to feel. How time flies away.
Why, Master Keene, you have been afloat
nearly three years.”

‘« Within a month, Bob.”

“And you're growing such a tall fellow,
they won’t keep you much longer in the
captain’s gig, I expect: 1! shall be sorry
for that. So Master Tomimy Dott is in an-
other scrape.”’

‘How ?—I heard nothing of it.”

“ No, because it’s only within this half-
hour that he’s got in it.”

(Tell me.”

““Why, sir, Mr. Culpepper had fallen fast
asleep on the gun-room table, under the
skylight, which, as you know, is always:
open, and his head had fallen back, and his,Ce aaenpstcammeeematat sem mR ee:

cinmcmnncteininanetinlisiagmaii

 

mouth was wide open: there was no other
officer in the gun-room except Mr. Cul-
pepper: and Tommy Dott, who perceived
him, asked Timothy Jenkins, the maintop-
man, to give him a quid of tobacco; well,
Jenkins takes it out of his cheek, red-hot,
as you may suppose, and hands it to Master
Tommy, who takes his perpendicular very
accurately, and.drops the quid into the
purser’s open mouth.

““Mr. Culpepper was almost choked, but
after a terrible coughing, the quid comes up
again ; notwithstanding, he turns as sick as
a dog, and is obliged to run to the basin in
his cabin. Well, sir, as soon as he comes
out again, he goes up under the half-deck,
and inquires of the sentry who it was who
did it; and the sentry, who is that sulky
fellow, Martin, instead of knowing nothing
about it, says directly, it was Master
Tommy; and now there’s a formal com-
plaint made by Mr. Culpepper on the
quarter-deck, and Master Tommy will get
it as sure as a gun.”

“‘He don’t know how to play a trick,’’
replied I; ‘‘he is always found out and
punished: the great point is, not to be dis-
covered—that’s the real pleasure in playing
a trick.”

“Well, you certainly do manage well,
Master Keene; but I think it’s almost time
you left them off now, you're getting an
oldster, Why, you must be seventeen,
SID, ©

‘“Yes, Bob, not very far from it.”

“Well, I suppose I must say Mister
Keene for the future.”

“You may call me what you like, Bob;
you have been a good friend to me.”

“Well, sir, I only hope that Captain
Delmar will make you a post-captain, as he
Says, and that you'll get a fine frigate, and
I'll be your coxswain; but that’s a long way
to look to, and we shan't have any more
councils of war on the gangway then.”

‘“No; but we may in the cabin, Cross.”

““A large sail on the starboard bow,"
cried the look-out man forward.

“A large sail on the starboard bow,” re-
ported the mate of the watch.

My glass was on the capstern, and I ran
for it, and went forward to examine the
vessel, although my duty as signal midship-
man was ended at sunset.

“What do you make of it, Mr. Keene?”
said the officer of the watch.

‘“‘T think she is a man-of-war; but it is
so dark, that I cannot make her out very
clearly.”

‘Is she standing this way?”

“Yes, sir, under top-sails and top-gallant-
sails, I think.”

The officer of the watch went down to
report to the captain, who had not yet

  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
    
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
   
   
     
  
   
     
   

80 PERCIVAL KFENE.

turned into his cot. Captain Delmar had
been informed that a Dutch frigate- was
expected at the island, but not until the
following month; still we had no reason to
suppose that there were any of our frigates
down in these latitudes, except those lying
in the harbour at Curacoa. ‘The wind was
light, about a three-knot breeze, and there
being no moon till after twelve o'clock, it
was very difficult to make out what she was.
Some said she was a two-decked vessel.
‘The captain went down to look at his private
signals for the night, and before he came
up I was all ready with the lanterns.

‘Two lights over one in a triangle; be
quick, Mr. Keene.”’

 AYe; aye, Sir,i, replied, Ll.

The lights were soon hoisted at the peak,
but as they could not well be’ seen by the
other vessel, as we were standing towards
her, we went about and hove to. across her
hawse. For a quarter of an hour she con-
tinued to stand towards us without™oticing
the signals ; at last the captain said, ‘“They
must be all asleep on board of the vessel.”

‘“No, Captain Delmar,” replied I, keep-
ing my telescope on the vessel, ‘‘they are
not all asleep, for I saw lights on the main-
deck through the bow-ports. I see them
again now.”

‘‘So do I,”’ said the first lieutenant.

‘Then we'll beat to quarters, Mr, Hip-
pesley,” rejoined the captain.

The men were summoned to quarters,
and hammocks piped up and stowed in a
very short time, the guns cast loose, and
every man at his post (but the ports not
opened), waiting the coming down of the
stranger, now about a mile distant, when
suddenly she rounded to the wind on the
same tack that we were, and set her royals
and flying-jib.

“She does not answer our signals,’”’ ob-

served the captain: ‘‘I suspect by that and
her present manceuvre she must be an
enemy.”

‘‘I have no doubt of it, sir," observed the
first lieutenant ; ‘‘an English frigate would
not behave in that way.”

‘Open the ports and get up the fighting
lanterns, then,” said the captain ; for, up to
the present, we had been careful. not to
show any lights.

It was now plain to see that her men
were at their quarters, and that she was
prepared foraction. When everything was
ready on deck, the royals and flying jib
were set, and we gave chase. The strange
vessel was about three-quarters of a mile
on our weather-beam ; in half an hour we
had gained upon her considerably, and our
sailing was so superior that we were satis-
fied, should she prove an enemy, that inan
hour more we should be engaged,Of course, we might have engaged her
at the distance we were from her, but you
cannot be too careful in a night action, and
ought never to engage without first hailing
the vessel to make sure that she is an
enemy, as circumstances may, and have
occurred by which an English vessel may
not be able to answer the private signal, and,
of course, a vessel belonging to a neutral
power would be in the same position.

Theincertitude which existed as towhether
the strange vessel was an enemy or not
created great excitement. -My duty, as
signal midshipman, placed me abaft on the
quarter-deck, and Bob Cross, who was really
a quarter-master, although doing duty as
captain's coxswain, was at the wheel.

At last we had brought the chase well on
our weather quarter, and when we tacked
we found that we lay well up, she being
about a point on our lee bow. Another
half-hour brought us within two cables’
length of her, when we kept away, so as to
pass her to leeward, close enough to have
thrown a biscuit on board.

The stranger still remaining on the oppo-
site tack, Captain Delmar then hailed from
the gangway—

“Ship, a-hoy !”

There was a death-like silence on board
of both vessels, and his voiced pierced
sonorously through the night wind.

‘“ Ah! yaw !’" was the reply.

‘* What ship is that ?"’ continued Captain
Delmar.

During this time every man was at his
gun; the captains, with the lanyards of the
locks in their hands, ready to pour in a
broadside.

The reply from the other vessel was—
*Vatichip:-is date.’

‘* His Britannic Majesty’s ship Cal/iope,”’
replied Captain Delmar; and then he re-
peated—‘‘ What ship is that? Let every
man lie down at his quarters,’ said Captain
Delmar. The order was hardly obeyed,
when the stranger poured in her broadside,
and, as we were then very close, with great
execution to our hull and rigging; but as
the men had been lying down, very few of
them were hurt.

As soon as the crash was over, Captain
Delmar cried out—‘‘ Up men, and fire, as I
round to under her stern.”

In a few seconds we had passed through
the volumes of smoke, and luffed up under
her stern: we poured in our whole broad-
side.

‘‘Let her go off again—flatten in there
forward. Ready about,” was the next order
given,

We ran away from her about three cables’
length, until we had sufficient way to tack,
and then we went about and stood towards

 

TERCIVAL KEENE.

her, steering for her weather quarter, as if
we were going to engage her to windward,

“Over to the larboard guns, my lads.
Hands by, after bracings and bowlings, Mr,
Hippesley.”’

SAye, aye,-sir,-all ready."

As soon as we were near enough, the
after-yards were shivered, the jib sheet to
windward, and the helm put up. The
Calliope worked beautifully ; she paid sharp
off, and we again passed under her stern,
and gave another raking broadside ; very
unexpected on the part of the Dutchman,
who presunied that we were going to engage
him to windward, and had his men all ready
at his larboard guns in consequence.

The Dutch captain was evidently much
annoyed: he stood at the taffrail, and,
much to our amusement, cried out, in bad
English, ‘*‘ You coward —not fight fair.”

As we shot ahead of her, to leeward, she
gave usa portion of her starboard broad-
side; but the men having been over at the
guns on the other side, were not quick
enough, and they did us no injury ; whereas
her mizzen-mast fell over the side a few
minutes after we passed her.

She then paid off, and so did we, so that
she might not rake us, and broadsides were
exchanged on equal terms; but before we
had exchanged these broasides, both ships
running with the wind on the quarter, we
found that our superiority in sailing free
was so great that we shot ahead of him
out of his fire, and we were enabled to luff
up and rake him again.

The last raking broadside brought down
his main-topmast, and then she was all our
own, as Bob Cross said; as she could not
round to with no after-sail, as we could,
from our superiority in sailing, take- our
position as we pleased, which we did, con-
stantly keeping ahead of him, and raking
him, broadside after broadside, and re-
ceiving but one broadside in return, until
his foremast went by the board, and he had
nothing but his main-mast standing.

This bettered his condition on the whole;
as, although hardly manageable with so
little wind, he had more power over his
vessel, as far as rounding to the wind, which
he did, and the action continued; but our
fighting under sail gave us great advantage,
and although an occasional shot would
come in, and we had to carry some men
into the cockpit, for one shot we received,
we certainly returned ten. The action had
continued about an hour, when, by the
continual cannonading, the light wind was
beaten down, and it fell dead calm. ‘This
put us again upon a more equal footing, as
the Calope had not steerage way.

We were then about a quarter of a mile
apart, lying head and stern ; but both shipsaaa

 

 

 

 

 

 

had fallen off during the calm, so that only
the quarter guns of each could be brought
to bear. The major portion of the ship’s
company being, therefore, not able to use
their guns, were employed in repairing the
darnages we had received, which were very
considerable, especially in the sails and
rigging.

I was standing by Bob Cross, who was
looking out for cats’ paws, as we call slight
breaths of wind, he saying in a low voice :—

‘“ Master Keene, I never had an idea that
the captain could handle his ship so well:
he really knows what he’s about as well as
any man in the service.”

*‘T thought so, too,’’ replied I. ‘‘ Whew!
there’s a nasty shot,” cried I, as one came
in and upset half a dozen of the marines,
who were hauling upon the mizzen-topsail
sheet, which had just been spliced.

“Yes, sir, that chap is made of good stuff,
depend upon it—all the Dutchmen are: if
they could only keep their hands out of their
breeches’ pockets, they would be rummer
customers than they are now; as it is, they
are not to be played with; and, depend upon
it, we're a long way off having him yet:
we must pray for wind to come up, and he
must pray for the calm to continue.”

‘““Where’s Mr. Keene?” said the captain,
who was on the other side of the deck.

“Here, sir,” said I, running up ~and
touching my hat.

“Mr. Keene, go down quietly and as-
certain how many men we have hurt: the
doctor will be able to tell you pretty nearly.”

‘‘Aye, aye, sir,” replied I, and I dived
down below; just as I did so, a shot came
in and cut away the lower rail of the copper
stanchions which were round the hatchway,
about a foot beyond my hat: had I not gone
down so quickly, it would have taken my
head off.

I went down into the gun-room, for the
doctor preferred being there to the cockpit,

as.there was so much more room to operate,

and I gave him the captain's message.

He was very busy taking offa poor fellow’s
leg. It was a horrible sight, and made me
sick and faint. As soon as the bone had
been sawed off, he said, —

“You will find all the wounded I have
dressed in the steerage; those they have
brought me down dead are in the cockpit.
There have been five amputations already ;
the master is badly wounded, and Mr.
Williams, the mate, is killed : those whom I
have not been able to attend to yet are here
in the gun-room. You must ascertain what
the captain Wishes to know yourself, Mr.
Keene; I cannot leave a leg with the
arteries not taken up, to count heads. Mr.
Rivers, the tenaculum—ease the tourniquet,
now.”

PERCIVAL, KEEN Ez.

As I felt what the doctor said to be true’
I got a lantern and commenced my ex-
aminations. I found fourteen wounded men
waiting the doctor’s care in the gun-room,
which was almost a pool of blood. In the
steerage there were nine who had been
dressed, and four in their hammocks, who
had undergone amputation of the arm or
leg. I then went down into the cockpit,
where I counted eleven of our best men lying
dead. Having obtained the information
required, I was proceeding up the cockpit
ladder, when I turned towards the purser’s
steward’s room, and saw Mr. Culpepper, the
purser, on his knees before a lantern; he
looked very pale—he turned round and
saw me.

‘‘What’s the matter?” cried he.

‘‘Nothing, sir; only the captain wishes
to know how many men are killed and
wounded.”

‘“Tell him I do not know: surely he does
not want me on deck?”

‘‘ He wants to know how many men are
hurt, sir,” replied I, for I perceived that he
thought that the message was sent to him.

‘*Mercy on me! Stop a minute, Mr,
Keene, and I'll send up word by you.”

“1 can’t stop, sir,’’ replied I, going up the
ladder.

Mr. Culpepper would have called me back,
but I preferred leaving him in his error, as
I wished to see which he most dreaded, the
captain’s displeasure or the shot of the
enemy.

I returned on deck and made my report.
The captain looked very grave, but made no
reply.

I found that the two frigates were now
lying stern to stern, and firing occasional
guns, which raked fore and aft. Except the
men who worked the guns aft, our people
were lying down at their quarters, by the
order of the captain.

‘‘Tf we only had but a capful of wind,”
said the captain to the first lieutenant, “* but
I see no appearance of it.”

I touched my hat and said, ‘‘The moon
will rise in about ten minutes, sir, and she
often brings the wind up with her.”

‘‘That’s true, Mr. Keene, but it’s not
always the case. I only hope she will; if
not, I fear we shall lose more of our men.”

‘The firing continued, and our main-mast
had received so many shots, that we were
obliged to wold it forits support. Whileso
employed, the moon rose, and the two
vessels had now a good view of each other.
I directed my glass to the horizon under the
moon, and was delighted to perceive a black
line, which promised wind ; I reported it to
the master, and the promise was kept good,
for in a quarter of an hour oursails flapped,
and then gradually filled,’

“She has steerage way, sir,’
Bob Cross.

‘¢Thank Heaven for that,” replied Cap-
tain Delmar. ‘‘Jump up, men. — Brace
round the yards, Mr. Hippesley.”’

‘““The enemy’s main yard is cut in two in
the slings, sir,”’ reported I, after 1 had my
glass upon her.

‘Then her last hope is gone,” replied Mr.
Hippesley. ‘‘ Haul over the starboard jib-
sheet forward—let her come to, quarter-
master. Larboard guns, my lads.”

‘“Now, my men,” cried Captain Delmar,
“‘ make short work of her.”’

This injunction was obeyed. We had
now a good sight of the enemy, and brought
our whole broadside to bear upon her
stern ; and aftéfa quarter of an hour more
firing I perceived that her ensign was no
longer on the staff, where it had been
hoisted after the fall of the mizenmast ;
neither had she for the last five minutes
given us 4 gun in return.

‘©She has struck, sir, I think,’ said I
to Captain Delmar s'ehers ensign is
down.”

‘© Pass the word ‘ Cease firing,’ Mr. Hip-
pesley ; but let the guns be all reloaded in
case of accidents. Have we a boat that
can swim? Examine the cutters, Mr.
Keene.”

I found the cutter onthe larboard quarter,
with her bottom out: she could not swim,
that was clear. The starboard one was in
better condition.

“The starboard cutter will float, sir; her
gunwale is all torn away, but there are
rollocks enough to pull.”

“Tet her be cleared away and lowered
down, Mr. Hippesley. Send for the second
lieutenant. ’’

‘‘ T believe he’s not on deck, sir,’’ replied
the first lieutenant.

“Not much hurt, I hope?”

‘A splinter, I was told, sir.”

‘*Where’s Mr. Weymss, the third lieu-
tenant? Mr. Weymss, jump into the boat,
and take possession of the prize: take as
many men as you can ; and, Mr. Keene, go
with Mr. Weymss, and as soon as you have
gained the necessary information, come
back with the boat and two hands.”

I followed the third lieutenant into the
boat, and we pulled on board of our anta-

gonist. ' A junior officer received us on the
deck, and presented his sword.

reported

His left
arm was bound up, and he was very pale
from loss of blood. He spoke pretty good
English ; and we found that we had captured
the Dort, Dutch frigate, of thirty-eight guns,
bound to Curacoa, with a detachment of
troops for the garrison, ard a considerable
quantity of ammunition and specie on board
for the use of the colony.

 

PERCIVAEL KEENE:

We inquired whether the capiain was
much hurt, as he did not appear on deck.

‘‘Hle is dead, gentlemen,” replied the
young officer: ‘he was my father. Our
Joss has been very great, 1am only acadet,
yet Iam commanding officer.”

A tear rolled down his cheek as ne said
that the captain was his father, and I
felt for him, Shortly afterwards he staggered
to a carronade slide, and dropped down on
it, and very soon was in a state of insensi-
bility.

The carnage had been dreadful, and the
bulwarks of the vessel had been shattered to
pieces. ‘The scene was almost as bad as the
Stella's decks before she was blown up by
the negro captain. Several of the guns
were dismounted, and two of them had
burst. I had only time to go round the gun-
deck, and then I ordered two hands into the
boat, that I might make my report to Cap-
tain Delmar.

I asked the third lieutenant to allow me
to take on board the young officer, who still
remained lifeless on the carronade slide,
and, as it was proper for me to bring back
with.me the commanding officer, he con-
sented. We lowered him with a rope into
the boat, and then I returned on board of
the Cudlzofe, and went up to the captain to
make my report, and present him with the
sword of the officer commanding the
prize.

Just as I was commencing my story, Mr.
Culpepper came up without his wig, and in
a state of great disorder, with a piece of
dirty paper in his hand. He trembled very
much from the effects of his alarm, but made
a very profound bow, and said to Captain
Delmar—

‘‘ Here is the state of killed and wounded,
Captain Delmar, as far as I have been able
to collect them. I could not possibly get
them ascertained before, although I have
been an hour or two employed—ever since
Mr. Keene came down.”

_ The captain, who did not like the inter-
ruption, replied very haughtily, ‘‘ Mr. Cul-
pepper, it’s the duty of the surgeon to send
in the report of killed and wounded. You
had better go down below, and get your
dress in a little better order. Now, Mr.
Keene.”

Old Culpepper slunk away as I proceeded
to give the information, and the captain
now asked the carpenter if the pinnace was
sufficiently repaired. -

‘‘In a few minutes, sir,’’ was the reply.

‘‘ Mr. Hippesley, you must, then, send
forty hands on board the prize to repair her
damages, as far as we can. Mr. Weymss
must remain on board.”

In the meantime the young officer had
been taken down below to the surgeon, whoSSS

 

 

 

  

 

34

had now some leisure to attend to him. He
was soon restored, and the surgeon expressed
his opinion that it would be possible to save
his arm. I went down to see him, and I
gave him my hammock to sleep in for the
present, and as soon as he was comfortably
arrauged under the half-deck I returned to
the quarter-deck, and made myself as useful
as I could, for we had plenty to do on board
of our own frigate, knotting and splicing,
having only made temporary repairs.

It was now dawn of day, and very soon
afterwards broad daylight. “The men were
ordered aft with the ‘buckets, and the decks,
which were smeared and black with powder
and the blood of the wounded, were washed
cown. ‘That we were all very tired I hardly
need say, but it was not yet time for repose ;
the magazines had been secured and the
fires lighted.

Another boat, with the carpenter and
assistant-surgeon, had been sent on board
the prize to remédy any serious damage,
and to assist in dressing the wounded. I
was sent with the boat. Mr. Weymss, the
third lieutenant, had not been idle ; jury-
masts were in preparation, the decks had
been cleared, the dead thrown overboard,
and the wounded taken below.

On mustering the remainder of the Dort’s
ship's company, and calling over the
muster-roll of the troops on board, we
found that she had lost the captain, 2
lieutenants and ro officers, 73 seamen and
6x soldiers, killed ; and the first lieutenant,
13 Officers, and 137 wounded—r47 killed
and 151 wounded: total 298. ‘She had
received several shot between wind and
water, and had a good deal of water in the
hold: this was, however, soon remedied
by the carpenter and his crew, and the
frigate pumped out by the prisoners.

I returned on board of the CaZliope with
this intelligence to the captain, and found
that the surgeon had just sent in the report
of our own loss, which was, 1 officerand 17
men killed—master, 2 lieutenants, 2 mid-
shipmen, and 47 wounded.

“Do you know who are the midshipmen
wounded ?”’ said the captain to me.

“‘T heard that Mr. James was killed,
sir, but not the names of those who are
wounded ; but I think one of them must be
Mr. Dott, or we certainly should have seen
him about.”

‘‘T should not be surprised,” replied the
captain. ‘‘Sentry, ask who are the young
gentlemen wounded.”

The sentry replied,
Mr. Dott.”

“Well,” replied the captain, ‘‘he'll be
in no more mischief for some time; I heard
of his trick to the purser.”

As the captain was saying this,

“Mr. Castles and

I per-

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

   

ceived the piece of paper which the purser
had brought up as his report of killed and
wounded ‘lying on the table with the other
reports. It had, apparently, not been
examined by the captain, but my eye caught
it, and I observed, written in a shaking
hand, ‘“ Pieees of beef, 10 ; ditto pork, 19;
raisins; 117 js marines, £O.:; ‘1.,.could. not
help smiling.

‘What are you amused with, Mr. Keene,
may I ask?’’. said the. captain, rather
gravely.

‘‘T beg your pardon, sir, for venturing so
in your: presence,® replied E>). but atias
Mr. Culpepper’s report of killed and
wounded ;” which I then took up, and
handed to the captain.

This proof of Mr. Culpepper’s state of
mind during the conflict was too much for
even Captain Delmar, who laughed out-
right.

““The old fool,” muttered he.

‘““You may go now, Mr. Keene. If
breakfast is ready, tell Mr. Hippesley to let
the men have it as soon as possible.”’

‘« Aye, aye, sir,’ replied I, and bowing
respectfully, I quitted the cabin ; for I felt
that Captain Delmar thought that he had
not been quite so reserved towards me as
he always wished to be.

As soon as I had given the captain's
orders, I went down to find out Tommy
Dott. He was in his hammock next to
mine, in which I had put the young Dutch
officer. Dott was wide awake, and,
apparently, very feverish.

‘‘ Where are you hurt, Tommy?”’

‘‘T am sure I don’t know,’ said he.
““Get me some water, Keene,”

I got a pannikin of water, and he drank it.

‘‘ Don’t you know where you are hurt ?”

‘‘T believe it’s my side—somewhere
about the body, I know; but I’m so stiff
all over, that ‘I can't tell exactly where.
Something hit me, and I fell right down
the hatchway ; that’s all I know about
it until I found myself in my hammock.”

‘“Well, at all events, you won't be
punished now for dropping the quid into
Mr. Culpepper’s mouth.”

‘‘No, replied Tommy, with a smile, in
spite of his pain; ‘‘ but I would have played
him a better trick than that if I had had
any idea that we should have been so soon
in action. I wish | could tur round,
Keene—I think I should be easier.”

I turned poor Tommy in his hammock,
and then left him. I looked at the son of
the Dutch captain—he was slumbering ; he
was a very slight youth, with very beautiful,
but very feminine features. I felta kindness

towards him, poor fellow ; for he had lost
his father, and he was about to pass his
best years in prison. But the boatswain’smates piped to breakfast, and I hastened
down into the berth to get my share of the
cocoa.

As soon as the men had finished their
breakfast, the hands were again turned up,
the lower deck cleared and washed, new
sails bent, and the guns properly secured :
screens were put up round the _half-deck
where the wounded were in their beds.
The dead were brought up and sewed up
in their hammocks, laid out on gratings,
and covered with the ensign and union
jack, preparatory to their being committed
to the deep. Another party was sent to
assist on board of the prize, and the prison-
ers were brought on board, and put down
in the fore-hold, which had been cleared
for their reception.

By noon everything was so far ready that
we were enabled to take the prize in tow, and
make sail on the Ca/Jiopfe, after which, the
men, who were exhausted, went to dinner,
and were permitted to sleep during the
remainder of the day until the evening, when
the ship's company were ordered up, and
the dead were committed to the deep blue
sea with the usual ceremonies.

The breeze was steady, but the water was
smooth during the night, and glad I was to
throw myself on one of the lockers in the
midshipmen’s berth, after so many hours of
excitement. I slept till four in the morning,
and finding the planks not quite so soft as
they might be, I then turned into the ham-
mock of the midshipman of the morning
watch, and remained till six bells, when Bob
Cross came down and told me that, the
captain would soon be on deck.

«Well, Cross,” said I, as I came on deck
and went aft to look at the prize in tow,
‘‘this is a nice business, and our captain
will gain a great deal of credit.”

‘‘ And he deserves it, Master Keene,”’ re-
plied Cross: ‘‘as I said before, I never had
anidea that he could handle his ship so well
—no, nornone of the ship's company. We
all thought Mr. Hippesiey the best officer
of the two, but we have found out our mis-
take. The fact is, Mr. Keene, Captain
Delmar wraps himself up in his dignity like
a cloak, and there's no making him out,
till circumstances oblige him to take it off.”’

Seclehatis: VeLys Lue; Bob,,.zepued, 1 :..5 it
is only this very morning that he laughed
himself, and I laughed also, and he pulled
up immediately afterwards, twice as stiff to
me as before.”

I then told Bob of Mr. Culpepper’s report,
which amused him very much.

«©T am sure that he is pleased with you,
Mr. Keene, and I must say that you were
very useful and very active.”

“Do you know that the carpenter says
that we have received injuries that cannot

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

    
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
   

85

be well repaired without the ship going into
dock, and [ should not be surprised if we
were to be sent home, if the survey confirms
his report. I hope we shall; I am tired of
the West Indies, and I should like to see
my mother; we have a nice breeze now,
and we are two points free. Ifit lasts, we
shall be at Jamaica in a fortnight or less.”

The captain coming on deck put an end
to our conversation.

Before night the prize had got up jury-
masts, and sail set upon them, and we went
through the water more rapidly. In ten
days we arrived at Port Royal with our
prize. The captain went on shore, and
what was still more agreeable, we got rid of
all our prisoners and wounded men. A
survey, in consequence of the carpenters
report, was held upon the Ca/Ziope, and
the result was, she was ordered home to be
repaired. The Dorf was commissioned by
the admiral, and Mr. Hippesley received an
acting order to the sloop of war, which had
become vacant by the commander of her
being promoted into the Dor?, which was
now christened the Cuvacoa.

In ten days alter our arrival we were
ready, and made sail for Old England.
Tommy Dott and the second lieutenant re-
mained on board, and were both conva-
lesceut before we entered the Channel.
Tommy Dott’s wound, by-the-by, was a
splinter in the back, added to severe bruises
from tumbling down the hatchway.

Captain Delmar had shown great kind-
ness to the son of the Dutch captain, and
he did not send him on shore with the rest
of the prisoners, but permitted him to re-
main, and come home in the Cadlzope. He
recovered slowly, but was soon out of
danger, and was walking about with his
arm in a sling long before we arrived in
England. It appeared to me that, during
the passage home, old Culpepper was not
so much in the good graces of Captain
Delmar as he used to be ; he was, however,
more obsequious than ever. We had a fine
run home, and in seven weeks from our
leaving Port Royal, we dropped our anchor
at Spithead.

I may have been wrong, but it certainly
did appear to me that as we neared the
coast of England the behaviour of Captain
Delmar was more reserved to me (I may
say it. was harsher) than ever it had
been before. Hurt at treatment which I
felt I did not deserve, I tried to analyse the
cause as I walked up and down the deck,
and at last I decided that his pride was
again alarmed. On the one hand he was
returning to his own country, to meet with
his aristocratical connections, and on the
other he was reminded of my mother, and
his mésalliance with her—if such a termpry eee

 

 

 

 

 

  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
   

can be used to a woman who had sacrificed
herself to one above herinrank. At all
events, I was the result of that connection,
and i presumed that he was ashamed of it,
and consequently kept me at a distance,
and checked his feelings towards me. Per-
haps he thought that my mother might be
induced to disclose to me that which I had
under his own handwriting, and wore next
my heart ; or he might consider that I was
no longer a boy, but a tall young man, and
One who might be induced to claim his
protection. Such were my reflections, and
my resolutions were taken accordingly—I
wanted no Bob Cross to counsel me now.
When the captain left the ship, I made
no request, as did the other midshipmen,
for leave to see my friends ; nor even when
he returned on board, which he did several
times after the ship had gone into harbour,
and was stripping, preparatory to being
docked. One thing, however, gave me
great satisfaction, which was, that when the
despatch which we brought home was pub-
lished, I found my name honourably men-
tioned in conjunction with other Officers,
and but three midshipmen were named.

When the Cad/ioge went into dock, the
report of the dockyard was very unfavour-
able. She required a thorough repair,
which would take some months. She was,
therefore, ordered to be paid off. In the
meantime the captain had gone to London.
During his sojourn at Portsmouth, I had
never spoken to him, except on duty, and
he had left me without a word of explanation
as to his intentions towards me. As soon,
however, as the order came down for paying
off the ship, I received a letter from him,
very cold and stiff, stating that I might, if
I pleased, join any other ship, and he would
recommend me to the captain; or I might
remain on the books of the guard-ship, and
wait until he commissioned another vessel,
when he would be happy to take me with him.

My reply was immediate. I thanked him
for his kindness, and hoped I might remain
on board the guard-ship until he took the
command of another vessel, as I did not
wish to sail with any other captain. I had
been brought forward by him in the service,
and preferred waiting for months rather than
lose his kind protection.

The only reply to my letter was an order
from the Admiralty, for me to be discharged
into the guard-ship when the Calliope was
paid off.

I hardly need say that I had written and
received letters from my mother, who was
delighted at my name being mentioned in
the despatches; but I will defer family
news till the proper opportunity, as I must
first tell all that occurred in the Calliope
before she was paid off,

86 PERCIVAL KEENE.

The reader will recollect that the son of
the Dutch captain, whose name was Vangilt,
had been permitted to come home in the
ship, instead of being sent to prison, He
and I were very intimate, and when I dis-
covered that he was the cousin of Minnie
Vanderwelt, I became more partial to him.
He was very melancholy during the passage
home ; how, indeed, could he be otherwise,
with the prospect of being a prisoner during
the remainder of the war? and he often ex.
pressed his feelings on the subject.

“Could you not escape?” said i rone
evening.

_‘‘I fear not,” replied he. ‘If once out
of prison, I have no doubt but that I could
get a conveyance over the Channel by means
of the smugglers; indeed, I have connec-
tions in England who would assist me.”

When Captain Delmar went away to
town, he had quite forgotten the poor
fellow, and Mr., Weymss, who was the
commanding officer, did not make any
special report of him, as he thought he
might defer it till the last moment, as every
day out of prison would be so much gained
by young Vangilt, who was a general
favourite.

In this instance, my regard for the young
man made me quite forget my duty as an
officer, and the Articles 6f War. I knew
that I was about to do wrong; but I con-
sidered that, with so many thousand
prisoners which we had in England, ene
more or less could be of no consequence,
and I set to work to see if I could not effect
his escape.

After much cogitation, I found I could
do nothing without Bob Cross, and I con-
sulted with him. Bob shook his head, and
said it was, he believed, hanging matter;
but, after all, it wasa pity that such a nice
lad should be peeping between iron bars.
‘‘ Besides,” continued he, ‘‘he lost his
father in the action, and he ought not to
lose his liberty also. Well, Mr. Keene,
show me how I can help you.”

“Why, Bob, there’s a very pretty little
girl, who very often comes alongside with
the old woman, and you go down into the
boat and talk with her.”

; Yes, “sir,” replied Bob, ‘that’s the
little girl I told you of, that used to repeat
her fables on my knee, The fact is, I hope
to splice her some of these days. It’s her
mother who is with her, and she will not let
her come on board to mix with the other
women, because she is good and modest;
too good for me, I’m afraid, in one sense
of the word.”

‘‘ How do you mean, Bob?”

“Why, sir, when I first knew her, she
and her mother were living upon what they
could earn, for the father was killed inaction many years ago, and I used to help
them as far as I could; but now I find that
although they are not changed, things are,
most confoundedly. Her uncle lost his wife;
he is considered a rich man, and being
stone-blind, and having no one to take care
of him after his wife’s death, he sent for
this girl and her mother to keep his house,
and he is very fond of the girl, and declares
that he will leave her all his money, and
that she shall marry well. Now, sir, if she
was to marry me, a petty officer only, it
would not be considered that she married
well; so you see, sir, there's a hitch.”

“Who and what was he?”’

‘““He was a smuggler, sir, and a very
successful one; he has six or seven houses,
all his own property, besides the one he
lives in himself. He lives abot a quarter
of a mile out of Gosport. I know all about
him, although I have never seen him.
Soon after he left off smuggling, he lost his
eyesight, and, somehow or another, he
considered it was a judgment upon him—
at least his wife, who had joined the Ran-
ters, persuaded him so—and so he took a
religious turn, and now he does nothing
but pray, and call himself a poor blind
sinner.”

‘““Well, Bob, but £ do not see why you
should give up the girl.”

“No, sir: nor will she or her mother
give me up. I could marry her to-morrow
without his consent, but I do not like to do
her that injury.”

‘«He is stone-blind, you say?”’

ea Sits |

«We'll talk your affair over another time.
What I want at present is, to help this poor
young Vangilt to escape. He says, that if
once clear, the smugglers would put him on
the other side of the water. Now, it appears
to me that it would be very easy for him to
get out of the ship unperceived, if he were
dressed in women’s clothes, so many women
are going and coming all day long.”

‘Very true, sir, especially on pay-day,
when nobody keeps any look-out at all.
see now : you want some of Mary's clothes
for him; they would fit very well.”

“Exactly ; and I think that, as her uncle
yad been a smuggler, we might go and con-
sult him as to his escape over the water.
Vangilt will pay £100 with pleasure—he
told meso. That will be an introduction
for you as well as for me to the old fellow.”

‘““T think we had better let the old fellow
suppose it’s a woman—don’'t you, Sir P But
what shall we call ourselves ?”’

“Why, I will be a sort of agent for ships,
and you shall be a captain.”

«A captain! Mr. Keene.”

‘« Yes; a captain who has had a ship,
and expects another. Why, you were a

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

captain of the fore-top before
rated coxswain,”’

“Well, sir, I must consult Mary and her
mother, and then I'll let you know : they
will come this afternoon. Perhaps in help-
ing Mr. Vangilt, I may help myself.”

That night Bob Cross told me that Mary
and her mother were quite willing to assist,
and that they thought it would be a very
good introduction to old Waghorn: that
we must expect some religious scruples at
first, but we must persevere, and they had
no doubt that the old man would. contrive
to get the young man over to Cherbourg, or
some other place on the other side; that
we had better call on him in the evening,
and they would be out of ‘the way.

As soon as the work was over for the day,
Bob Cross and I obtained leave, and set off
for Mr. Waghorn’s house. We were met
by Mary and her mother, who pointed it
out to us, and then continued their walk.
We went to the door, and found the old
man smoking his pipe.

‘"Who’'s there?” cried he, as we lifted
the latch of the gate.

‘Friends; sit)” *replied2"€ross*! “two
persons who come to talk on business.”

‘‘Business! I’ve no business—I’ve done
with business long ago: I think of nothing
but my ‘perishing soul—poor blind worm
that I am.”

He was a very fine-looking old man,
although weather-beaten, and his silver
locks hung down on his collar; his beard
was not shaved but clipped with scissors:
his want of sight gave him a mournful look.

‘“ Nevertheless, sir, I must introduce
myself and my friend, the captain,” replied
I, ‘‘ for we want your assistance.”

‘‘My assistance! poor blind beetle—how
can I assist you?”

The fact is, sir, that a young woman is

you were

‘very anxious to return to her friends, on the

other side of the water; and knowing that
you have acquaintance with those who run
to and fro, we thought you might help the
poor young woman to a passage.”

‘“That’s to say, you've heard that I was
a smuggler. People do say so ; but, gentle-
men, I now pay customs and excise—my
tea has paid duty, and so has my tobacco;
so does everything—the king has his own.
The Bible says, ‘Render unto Ceesar the
things which are Ceesar’s.’ Gentlemen, I
stand by the Bible. Iam apoor, sinful old
wretch—God forgive me.”’

‘““We ask nothing against the Bible, Mr.
Waghorn ; it’s our duty to assist those who
are in distress; its only a poor young
woman,”

‘A poor young woman. If she’s poor,
people don’t do such work for nothing ;
besides, it’s wrong, gentlemen—I’ve givenaaa

Sa

 

 

 

 

up all that— I’ve a precious soul to look
after, and I can’t divert my attention from
it. I wish you good-bye, gentlemen.”

At this moment Mary and her mother
‘returned, and we rose up.

‘“Mrs, James, is that you and Mary?
Here’s a captain and his friend come to
me; but it’s a fool's errand, and so I’ve
told them.”

I then stated to Mrs. James what we had
come for, and begged that she would per-
suade Mr. Waghorn.

‘‘Well, Mr. Waghorn, why won't you ?—
it’s a good action, and will have its reward
in heaven.”’

‘Yes, but she’s a poor young woman,
and can’t pay her passage, so it’s no use.”

‘On the contrary,” replied I, ‘‘the cap-
tain here will become security that £105
shall be paid down as soon as she arrives in
any part of France or Holland.”

‘““Will he? But who’s the captain ?”’

‘T haven't a ship just now, but I expect
one soon,” replied Bob, ‘‘and the money
shall be paid at once, if you will only
receive the young woman until she can be
sent off.”

“Well, let me see—there’s James Martin:
no, he wont do. There's Will Simpson ;
yes, that’s the man. Well, it’s a good act ;
and, captain, will you bring the money?”

Now the ship was to be paid off on Wed-
nesday, and as we had each three years’ pay
due, there was no difficulty about that ; sol
replied, ‘‘On Wednesday, the captain will
give the money to this lady, or whoever
comes with us to receive the young woman ;
will you not, Captain Cross?”

‘‘Oh ! certainly ; the money is ready at
an hour's notice,” replied Bob. ‘‘ I'm sure
that she'll pay me back, if she can; and if
she can't, it’s of no consequence.”

“Well, well, it’s a bargain,’’ replied the
oldman. ‘I’m a poor blind beetle, a sin-
ful old soul ; I’ve nothing to do but to make
my peace with Heaven. It’s charity —
‘Charity covereth a multitude of. sins,’
saith St. Paul. Recollect £r00o—that's the
bargain. I'll send Mrs. James to you ; you
must not call again till she’s on the other
side of the water.”’

‘“Many thanks, sir,” replied Bob. ‘‘I
won't call till I hear she is safe, and then
I'll bring you some tobacco to smoke, such
as you don’t often pick up nowadays.”

“Happy to see you, Captain Cross, and
your friend there,’’ replied the old man.

We then took our leave. Mrs. James,
after we were gone, praised the appearance
of Captain Cross, as such a nice-looking
man, and old Waghorn evidently thought
well of him by the answer he made. Mary,
however, pretended to prefer me.

As soon as I returned on board, I told

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
    
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
   

88 PER CLVAL Mf NE

young Vangilt what I had been about. He
wrung my hand, and the tears started in his
eyes. ‘‘ You, as an officer, are indeed risk-
ing much for me. As to the money, you
know me, J trust, too well, not to be sure of
receiving it as soon as I can send it; but I
never can repay your kindness.”

‘Perhaps you may be able to help me
one of these days,’ I replied. ‘‘Who
knows? It’s fortune of war, my good
fellow ; but it’s as. well not to be seen too
much together.’ So saying, I left him.

The next day, Mrs. James came off with
the necessary garments and borinet for his
escape, and they were given me by Bob
Cross. ‘The day after was pay-day ; and the
ship was in such a state of confusion, and
there were so many people on board, that
there was no difficulty whatever. Vangilt
changed his clothes in the midshipmen’s
berth, which was empty, and Bob Cross
handed him down the side into the boat,
where Mrs. James waited to receive him.
Bob and I had both been paid, and we gave
her the £100 for old Waghorn. The boat
shoved off; Vangilt arrived safe at Wag-
horn’s house, where he was kept concealed
for eight days, when, for the sum of £20,
he was safely landed on the French coast,
old Waghorn having pocketed £80 by the
transaction, which, considering he acted out
of pure charity, was a pretty good reward.

Having thus successfully managed, by
being guilty of high treason, in aiding and
abetting the enemy, I bade farewell to Bob
Cross, leaving him to follow up his amour,
while I went to Chatham to pay my respects
to my mother. I had made up my mind
how to act. I was no longer a child, but a
man in reflection as well as appearance.

I arrived, and hastened to the house from
which I had escaped so mysteriously the last
time I was in it. My mother threw herself
in my arms, embracing me, and then look-
ing at me with surprise and_ pleasure.
Three years anda half had changed me ; she
hardly knew me, for her association of ideas
had still pictured me as the smart stripling
whom she had, with so much anguish, con-
signed into the hands of Bob Cross. She
was proud of me—my adventures, my
dangers, my conduct, and my honourable
mention in the Gazette, were all known to
her, and she had been evidently congratu-
lated by many upon my _ successful career.
My grandmother, who had grown much
older in appearance, seemed to be softened
towards me, and I had sense enough to
receive her advances with great apparent
cordiality. My aunt and the captain were
delighted to see me, and I found that my
two cousins, of whose appearance I had
been duly apprised, were very pretty chil-
dren, JI found that my mother had twoPERCIVAL

assistafits in her business, and everything
appeared to be on a grander scale, and more
flourishing than ever.

The first two or three days were devoted
to narratives, communications, explanations,
and admirations, as is usually the case after
so long an absence ; after which we quietly
settled down in the relative positions of
mother and son, and she assumed, or rather
would have assumed, her control over me;
hut this was not my wish; I had made up
my mind that, although a clever woman, I
must in future control her, and I took the
first opportunity of a long Zefe-a-fefe to let
her know that such was my intention.

Speaking of Captain Delmar, I at once
told her that I knew he was my father, and
that I had his own handwriting to prove it.
She denied it at first ; but I told her that all
denial was useless, that I had possession of
the letter he had written to her upon my
supposed death, and that it was no ghost,
but I, who had frightened my grandmother.

This was my first blow, and a heavy one,
to my poor mother; for what woman can
bear to be humiliated by her offspring being
acquainted with her indiscretion? I loved
my mother, and would fain have spared her
this pang, had it not been that all my future
plans were based upon this one point, and
it was necessary she should aid and abet me
in them.

My poor mother was bowed to the earth
when she found that it was in vain to deny
my parentage; she covered her face with
her hands in deep shame before her child,
but I consoled, and caressed, and told her
(what I really felt), that I was indebted to
her for not being the sonof a private
marine; that, at all events, I had noble
blood in my veins, and would prove myself
worthy of my descent, whether it were
acknowledged or not ; but from that hour I
took the command over her—from that hour
it was I that dictated, and her authority as
a parent was gone for ever. Let it not be
imagined that I treated her harshly ; on the
contrary, I was more kind, and, before
other people, more dutiful than ever I was
before. She was my only confidant, and to
her only did I explain the reasons of my
actions ; she was my adviser, but her advice
was not that of a parent, but that of an
humble, devoted, and attached friend ; and
during the remainder of her days this posi-
tion was never altered,

As soon as my mother had acknowledged
the fact, there was no longer any reservation
on my part. I told her what was the con-
duct of Captain Delmar towards me. I
pointed out his checking any display of
paternal feelings towards me, and also the
certainty that I had that he was partial to
and proud of me. I explained to her the

    
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  

KEENE. 89
line of conduct which I had pursued, and
was determined still to pursue, towards
him.

‘“ Percival,” said my mother, ‘I see the
judiciousness of what you say, and of your
behaviour towards him: but allow me to
ask you, What is the object you are aiming
at—I mean particularly aiming at? Of
course you hope to obtain advancement
from his interest, and perhaps, if he becomes
more attached to you, he may not forget you
when he dies; but it appears to ‘me that
you have something nearer to your heart
than all this—tell me, am I right?”

‘You are, my dear mother ; my great end
is, that. Captain Delmar should acknowledge
me as his son.”’

“T fear that he will never do that, Per-
cival; nor, indeed, do_I think you would
gain by it. When you are more advanced
in the world, your parentage may be con-
sidered as obscure, but still, being born in
wedlock, it will be more respectable than
the acknowledgment you would seek from
Captain Delmar. You are not aware of
the affronts you may meet with by obtaining
what you evidently wish; and once known
as the son of Captain Delmar, you may
wish that it was never promulgated.”

‘Twas bornin wedlock, mother, as yousay,
and as many others are, who now ate peers of
the realm, and in virtue of their being born
in wedlock, succeed to property to which
they would otherwise not be entitled. Your
shame (excuse me for using the word) and
my disgrace are equally covered by that
wedlock, which is an answer to any accusa-
tions of illegitimacy. As to affronts, I do
not fear them, or ever shall, from those who
know me. I can defend and protect myself;
but it isa great difference to me to let the
world suppose that I am the son of Ben the
marine, when I know myself to be the son
of the future Lord de Versely. I wish to
be acknowledged by Captain Delmar in
such a way as to convince the world that
such is the fact, without the world being
able to throw it up in my face. That is
easily doneif Captain Delmar chooses to do
it ; and if done as it ought to be done, will
lead to my benefit. At all events, it will
satisfy my pride ; for I feel that Iam not the
son of your husband, but have blood boiling
in my veins which would satisfy the
proudest aristocrat. I prefer the half rela-
tion to that class, such as it is, with all its
penalties, to being supposed to be the son
of the man whom, from prudential motives
alone, you took to be your husband.”

“Well, Percival, I cannot blame you ;
and do not you, therefore, blame your
mother too much, when you consider that
the same feeling was the cause of her be-
coming your mother.”Fi PORE om re

   

90 PERCIVAL KEENE.

* Far from it, my dear mother,” replied

i= only: let us now jact im concert. I
require your assistance. Allow me to ask
you one question—Have you not realized a
sufficient sum of money to enable you to
retire from your business?”
. ‘‘T certainly have, my dear Percival, much
more than is necessary for me to live in
comfort, and I may say, some little luxury ;
but I have thought of you, and for your
sake, every year, have continued to add to
my profits.”’

‘Then, my dear mother, for my sake
give up your business as soon as possible ;
money is not my object.”

‘Yell me what your reasons are for this
demand.”

‘“«My dear mother, I will be candid with
you. I wish you to retire from business,
and leave this place for any distant part of
England ; I wish you to change your name,
and, in one word, I wish Captain Delmar
should believe you are dead.”

‘“And why so, Percival? I cannot see
how that will benefit you: it was on my ac-
count that he took charge of you. You are
not sure that he mgy not be severed from
you, and who knows but that my supposed
death may occasion him to desert you
altogether ?”’

“You assist my cause, my dear mother, by
what you say, if it is on your account that
Captain Delmar is my friend; and if, as
you say, he might. desert me when you are
dead, or supposed to be so, it is evident that
his motive of action must be fear. You
have the secret of my birth, which he sup-
poses to be known only to you and to him.

am. convinced that if you were supposed
dead, and that the secret was his own, if he
thought that there was no proof whatever
against him, he would then not care show-
ing towards me that regard which he is
inclined to feel as a father, and which is
now checked by his pride. Captain Delmar
is naturally of a kind and affectionate dis-
position—that I am sure of. Your memory
would do more for me than your existence
ever can, and as for the rest, leave that to
me. Atall events, if he should, as I do
not believe he will, be inclined to throw me
off, I have still his written acknowledgment
that I am his son, to make use of in case
of necessity. Now, my dear mother, you
must consent to do as I wish. Give up
your business as soon as possible, and retire
to another part of the country, When I
consider it a proper time to do so, your
death shall be made known tohim. I have
no doubt that he will be afloat again in a
few months, and when we are out of Eng-
land, I will bide the proper time.”

** Butyour grandmother, Percival—must
actclger? 2 :

‘“No; tell her only that you intend to
retire from business and go away from
Chatham ; say that you will in future reside
in Devonshire, and ask her to accompany
you. -Depend upon it she will be pleased
with your intentions, As to what we arrange
relative to Captain Delmar, say nothing to
her—she hates his very name, and is not
likely to talk about him.”

‘‘ Well, Percival, you will allow me till
to-morrow to think about it, before I give a
decided answer.’

‘‘ Certainly, my dear mother ; I wish you
so to do; as Iam convinced that you will
agree with me; and I infinitely prefer that
you should ‘decide on conviction, than be
induced by maternal regard.”’

As I was well assured, my mother’s deci-
sion was favourable to my wishes. She con
sulted with my grandmother, who approved
of her intentions, and then it was made
public that Mrs. Keene intended to retire
from business, and that the goodwill was
to be disposed of along with the stock. My
aunt Milly and Captain Bridgeman ap-
peared well content that my mother should
take the step which she proposed. In
short, all the family approved of the measure,
which is not a very usual circumstance in
this world. I now employed myself in as-
sisting my mother in her affairs... ania
month we found a purchaser of the stock
and goodwill, and when the sum paid was
added to my mother’s former accumulations
she found herself possessed of £12,000 in
the Three per Cents., the interest of which,
#360, was more than sufficient for her
living comfortably in Devonshire, especially
as my grandmother had still remaining an
income very nearly amounting to £200 per
annum,

In another month everything was  ar-
ranged, and my mother bade farewell to her
sister and all her friends, and left Chatham,
after having resided there more than seven-
teen years.

Long before my mother had removed from
Chatham, I received a letter from young
Vangilt, announcing his safe arrival in Am-
sterdam, and enclosing an order to receive
the money advanced, from a house in Lon-
don. His letter was very grateful, but, as
I had cautioned him, not one word was in
it which could implicate me, had it fallen
into other hands.

I may as well here observe, that in the
hurry of paying off the ship, Vangilt was
never missed, and although it did occur to
the commanding officer after he had gone
on shore that Mr. Vangilt had not been
sent to prison, he thought it just as well not
to raise a question which might get himselt
into a scrape; in short, nothing was
thought or said about it by anybody, esA few days before my mother quitted
Chatham I went up to London to receive
the money, and then went to Portsmouth to
repay the portion belonging to Bob Cross.
I found that Bob had made good use of his
time, and that the old smuggler now re-

ceived him as a Suitor to his niece.

As, however, Mary was still very young
—nhot yet seventeen—and Bob had acknow.
ledged that he had not laid by much money
as yet, the old man insisted that Bob Cross

. Should get another ship, and try a voyage
or two more before he was spliced ; and to
this arrangement both the mother and Mary

I went to call

persuaded him to consent.
upon them with Bob, and did all I could,
without stating what was not true, to give
the old man a favourable opinion of Cross.
I even went so far as to say that if he could
not procure another vessel, I was ready to
put down,a sum of money to assist him;
and so I was ; and, had it been requisite, I
have no doubt but that my mother would
have advanced it ; but Bob, a fine seaman,
not yet thirty years old, was always sure of
a ship—that is, a man-of-war. To save
himself from impressment, Cross had
dressed himself in long toggery as a captain
of a merchant vessel, and was believed to
be sueh.

Having satisfied myself that everything
went on favourably in that quarter, I again
returned to Chatham, that I might escort
my mother and grandmother into Devon-
shire, We bade farewell to my aunt and
Captain Bridgeman, and Set off for London,
where we remained a few days at an hotel,
and then took the day coach down to I Ifra-
combe, where my mother had decided upon
taking up her future residence, changing
her name to Ogilvie, which had been my
grandmother's maiden name.

Ilfracombe was then a beautiful retired
spot, and well suited to my mother from its
cheapness: with their joint incomes, my
grandmother and she could command any-
thing they wished. We soon hired a very
pretty little cottage ovnée, ready furnished,
as my mother would not furnish a house
until she had ascertained whether there
were any drawbacks to the locality. I
ought to observe, that my grandmother
noW appeared quite as partial to me as she
had before been otherwise. I treated her
with great respect. ;

Although it was not difficult to obtain a
renewal of leave from a guard-ship, after, il
had remained six weeks with my mother, it
was necessary that I should make my ap-
pearance at Portsmouth. It was arranged
that I should take my departure for Ports-
mouth in three days, when, on reading the
Plymouth newspaper, I learnt that the
newly-launched frigate JZanzf/a, of 44 guns,

 

PERCIVAL KEENE

 

 

OI
was put in commission, and that the
Honourable Captain Delmar had come

down and hoisted his pennant. This, of
course, changed my plans. I resolved to
set off for Plymouth, and wait upon Cap-
tain Delmar. I wrote to Bob Cross, en-
closing an order for my chest and bedding
on board of the guard-ship at Portsmouth,
acquainting him with my intention, but re-
questing him not to act until he heard from
me again.

I had a long conversation with my mother,
from whom I obtained a renewal of her
promise to abide and act by my instructions.
I took a respectful farewell of my grand-
mother, who gave me 4100, which L did
not want, as my mother had given me a
similar sum, and then set off for Plymouth,

The reader may perhaps inquire how it
was that Captain Delmar—as he had pro-
mised to pay my expenses—had not made
any offer of the kind, or communicated
with me on the subject? But the fact was,
that he knew I had three years’ pay due,
besides the prize-money for the Dutch
frigate ; which, however, I had not yet
received, although it was payable. In
pecuniary matters I was certainly well off,
as my mother desired that I would draw for
any money that I required, feeling convinced
that, being aware of her circumstances, I
should not distress her by any extravagan-
cies: in that she did me justice.

I was now eighteen years old, and just
Starting again on my career. AsI grew up,
my likeness to Captain Delmar became
more remarkable every day. My mother
could not help observing iteventome. ‘TI
almost wish that it was not sO, my dear
mother. I fear that it will be the cause of
annoyance to Captain Delmar; but it can-
not be helped. At all events, it must satisfy
him, allowing that he has any doubt (which
I am sure he has not), that I am his own

child.”

‘That I believe to be quite unnecessary,”
replied my mother with a deep sigh.

‘I should think so, too, my dear mother,”
replied I, caressing her kindly. ‘At all
events, I will prove, whether I ever obtain
it or not, that I am not unworthy of the
name of Delmar: but I must wait no longer
—the coach is about to start. Adieu, and
may God bless you.’’

On my arrival.at Plymouth—or Plymouth
Dock, as. Devonport was then called—I
inquired at wkich hotel Captain Delmar
had taken up his quarters. It was the one
to which I had intended to have gone my-
self; but I immediately had my luggage
taken to another, for I really believe that
Captain Delmar would have considered it a
great liberty for any one of his officers to
presume to lie down in the same caravansaryen ee ee ee

o2 PERCIVAL KEENE,

asahimself. The next morning I sent up
my name and was admitted.

‘‘Good morning, Mr. Keene,” said the
captain. ‘‘I presume that you have come
down to request to join my ship, and I,
therefore, consent before you make the
‘equest. I trust you will always show the
same zeal and deference to your officers that
you did in the Cadlzope. You have grown
very much, and are now a young man. I
shall give you the rating of mate, and I
trust you will not do discredit to my patron-
age.”

“YT trust not, Captain Delmar,’’ replied
I. ‘I have but one wish in the world,
which is to please you, who have so be-
friended me from my boyhood. I should
be very ungrateful if I did nct do my duty
with zeal and fidelity; I am indebted to

you for everything, and I am aware I must.

look to you for every future prospect. I
have to thank you, sir, for your great kind-
ness in publishing my name in the public
Gazette:

‘““You deserved it, Mr. Keene, and it
certainly will be of great advantage to you
when you have served your time. Has your
time gone on since the Ca//iope was paid off.”

‘Yes, sir; I am still on the books of the
Salvador.”

‘‘ How much time have you served ?”

“Nearly four years and a half, sir.”

‘‘ Well, the rest will soon be over; and if
you do your duty, my patronage shall not
be wanting.”

Here there was a bow on my part, and a
pause, and I was backing out with another
bow, when the captain said, ‘‘ How is your
mother, Mr. Keene?”

‘She has been advised to retire from
business, and to settle in the country,” re-
plied I, mournfully; ‘‘her health is such
that Here I stopped, as I preferred
deceiving him by implication, or rather
allowing him to deceive himself.

“Tam sorry to hear that,’ replied he;
‘‘but she never was strong as a young
woman.” Here the captain stopped, as if
he had said too much.

“No, sit, replied'‘I;:‘‘ when in the ser-
vice of Mrs. Delmar she could not be put
to anything that required fatigue.”

‘Very true,” replied the captain. ‘‘ You
may go on board, Mr. Keene, and desire
my clerk to make out a letter, requesting
your discharge from the Salvador into. the
Manilla. Do you require anything ?”

“No, sir, I thank you. I need not tres-
pass on your generosity just now. Good
morning, sir.’’

‘Good morning, Mr. Keene.”

‘‘T beg your pardon, Captain Delmar,”
said I, as I held the door ajar; ‘‘ but should
you like Robert Cross, your former cox-

 

ee

—

swain, should join you in the same capacity ?
I know where he is,”’

“Yes, Mr. Keene, I should like to have
him; he was a steady, good man. You
will oblige me by writing to him, and re-
questing him to join immediately. Where
is Need

‘At Portsmouth, Captain Delmar.”

‘‘Very well; tell him to come round as
fast as he can, By-the-by, you will have
two of your old messmates—Mr. Smith, the
master, and Mr. Dott. I hope the latter is
a little nore steady than he was. I was in
hopes to have had your old acquaintance,
Mr. Culpepper with us; but he died about
six weeks back—a fit, or something of that
kind.”

‘Thank Heaven for that,” thought I.
Again I made my most respectful bow, and
quitted the room.

I returned to my own hotel, and sitting
down, I began to reflect upon the interview.
I recalled all that had passed, and I made
up my mind that I was right in preparing
him for the report of my mother’s death.
His reception of me was all that I could
have expected from him—it was cordial ;
but my blood boiled when I called to mind
that he had only made a casual inquiry after
my mother, as I was leaving the room; and
then his checking himself because he had
inadvertently said toat she was not strong
when she was a young woman. ‘‘ Yes,”
thought I, ‘‘he cannot bear the remem-
brance of the connection ; and it is only for
myself, and not from any natural affection of
a parent, that he cares for me; or if he does
care for me as his son, it is because I have
his blood in my veins; and he despises- and
looks down upon the mother. I am sure
that he will be anything but sorry to hear
that my mother is dead, and he shall be
gratified. - I will now write to her.”

I could not help observing that there was
some change in the appearance of Captain
Delmar. Strange to say, he looked more
youthful ; and as I compared our two faces
in the mirror on the mantel-piece behind
him, when I stood up, he appeared more
like me in appearance than ever. What was
it? “‘Oht™ thought 1,“ Eiavert. “has hair
is no longer mixed with grey: he must wear
a wig.” ‘This was the fact, as I afterwards
ascertained ; the colour of his wig was, how-
ever, much darker than my own hair.

By the same post I wrote to Bob Cross,
acquainting him with what had passed, and
begging him to come round by the first water
conveyance, and bring my chest and bedding
with him. I then walked down to the dock-
yard to have a look at the Wazzl/a, which
was, as I had heard, a splendid vessel; went
up again to order a mate’s uniform, and re-
turned to the hotel. It was useless going to

|
:
;
|
}
i
{
E|
Sthe ship at that time, as the marines and
boys had only been drafted into her that
morning ; and there was nothing to do until
she was clear of the shipwrights, who were
still on board of her, and employed in every
part of her. The first lieutenant had not yet
come down, ‘The master was the only offi-
cer who had joined, and he had hoisted the
pennant. I was delighted to find that he
was to sail with us; and we passed that
evening together.

During the evening the master said, “I
hear there are plenty of good men stowed
away by the crimps at different places. I
wish we could only find out where they are,
and get hold of them. I fear, if we do not,
we Shall either be badly manned in haste
from the Tower tender, or have to wait a
long while before we sail. Now, Keene,
don’t you think you could manage so as to
get us Some men?”

““T've got one already,’’ replied I; ‘‘ Bob
Cross, the captain’s coxswain.”’

“ And a real good one, too,’ replied the
master; ‘‘the best helmsman we had in the
Calliope. You and he were very thick to-
gether.”

““Yes.. replied. 1+ “‘when, | came on
board, a mere lad, he was very kind to me,
and I amvery partial to him in consequence.’

That night, after the master and I had
parted, I thought over the question he had
put to me, as to obtaining good seamen for
the ship, and I made up my mind that I
would wait till Cross arrived, and consult
with him as to a project which I had in my
head. In the meantime I went to a slop-
shop by the dockyard wall, and provided
myself with a common sailor's toggery, of
the real cut, with a banyan-covered hat, and
all complete. Three days afterwards Cross
joined me, having found a passage round in
a cutter ; and as soon as I had talked over
his affairs, I proposed my plan to him, in
which he heartily coincided.

That I did this to please the captain is
certain; I had no other view. It was ne-
cessary, however, that I obtained the cap-
tain’s permission, and J went to him and
explained my ideas. ‘The captain was too
willing to let me try it, and thanked me for
my zeal.

‘Go on board, Mr. Keene, and tell them
I have given you six weeks’ leave of absence,
and then you can do as you propose.”

I did so, for it was absolutely necessary
that as few as possible should be acquainted
with what I was about, as I ran a great risk.
I have.no hesitation in saying that I should
have been made away with by the crimps
had they discovered me.

i dressed myself as a common seaman,
darkened my face, and dirtied myself a little,
especialiy,on the hands, and Bob Cross and

’

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

os

I then went at night into one of the low
public-houses with which the town is filled ;
there we pretended to be much alarmed lest
we should be pressed, and asked for a back
room to smoke and drink in. We called in
the landlord, telling him we were second
mates of vessels, and not secure from the
impress ; that we never were at Plymouth’
before, our ships having put in damaged,
and that the crew were discharged; and
asked if there was no safe place where we
could be stowed until we could find another
vessel ready to start.

He replied, that there was a house at
Stonehouse where we would be quite safe ;
but that, of course, we must pay the crimps
well for our board and lodging, and that
they would find us a ship when we wished to
go; and further, that we must give him
something handsome for taking us there.
To this we agreed, and at midnight we set
off in company with our landlord, each of
us carrying our bundles, and in less than an
hour arrived at a sort of farm-house detached
from the road.

After a short parley we obtained entrance,
and were taken into a small room, where
the crimp inquired of us what money we
had, and then told us what his charges
were. The reason of his doing this was,
because if we had no money, or very little,
he would have disposed of us very soon by
sending us on board of some ship, and
obtaining an advance of our wages from
the captain as his indemnification ; but it
we had plenty of money, he would then
keep us as long as he could, that he might
make his profit of us; his charges were
monstrous, as may be supposed, and we
had replied that we had very little money.
We contrived to look-as careless and in-
different as we could, agreed to everything,
paid the landlord of the pothouse a guinea
each for taking us to the house, and were
then ushered into a large room, where we
found about twenty seamen sitting at a
long table, drinking, and playing cards and
dominoes.

They did not appear to notice us, they
were so busy either playing or looking

on. Cross’ called for “a pot on ale~ and
we sat down at the farther end o the
table. :

‘‘Whata dislike the men must have to
the press,’ said Cross to me, ‘‘when they
submit to be mured up here in prison.”

“Yes, and cheated by such a scoundrel
as the crimp appears to be.”

‘Don't talk so loud, Jack,” replied Cross ;
for I had insisted upon him calling me Jack,
‘Jest we should be overheard.”’

We then asked to go to bed, and were
shown by the crimp into a room, which had
about fourteen beds in it.aR eI ANTE ARETE

 

 

94 PERCIVAL

‘““You may take your choice of those
five,’ said he, pointing to five nearest the
door: ‘‘I always come up and take ‘away
the candle.”

As we found some of the other beds
occupied, we did not resume our conversa-
tion, but went to sleep.

The next morning we found that we
mustered about thirty-five, many of the
more steady men having gone to bed before

we arrived. After breakfast, Cross and f -

each entered into conversation with a man,
and pumped them very cleverly. Our chief
object was, to ascertain the houses of the
other crimps, and, as the men knew most
of them, having invariably resorted to them
at the end of their voyages, we obtained
the locality of five or six, all apparently
public-houses, but having back premises for
the concealment of seamen: all of these
were carefully noted down.

As we became more intimate, the seamen,
who were glad to talk, from weariness of
confinement, asked us many questions. We
said that we had deserted from a’ man-of-
war, and then a hundred questions were
asked us as to our treatment. I allowed
Bob Cross to be spokesman, and his replies
were very sensible. He told them that.all
depended upon what sort of captains and
first lieutenants were on board ; that he had
been pressed twice: the first time he' was
comfortable enough, and made £200 prize-
money in eight months ; but in the Jast man-
of-war he was very uncomfortable, and had
therefore cut and run. Altogether, he made
the service appear much more favourable
than they supposed, although the crimp,
who had stood by, did all he could to
persuade the men to the contrary.

We remained in this house for more than
a week, and then declared that we had no
more money, and must find a ship. The
crimp said that he had a berth for one of
us as second mate of a brig, and I agreed
to take it, leaving Bob Cross to get a berth
for himself as soon as he could. AsI paid
up, there was no demand upon the owners
of the vessel, and it was arranged that I
should be down at a certain wharf at three
o clock in the morning, when I should find
a boat waiting for me. I waited up with
Bob Cross until the clock had struck two,
and then the crimp let me out. He did not
offer to go down with me, as he had no
money to receive ; and as it was pitch-dark,
there was little chance of my being picked
up by a press-gang at that hour. I wished
Cross good-bye, and set off for Plymouth
Dock with my bundle on my stick.

Not knowing where to go at such an
hour, I walked about to see if I could per-
ceive a light in any house : I did so at last
through the chinks of the shutters of a small

 

See ae eeereermnenrimemcees

KELL Eo,

   

ale-house and tapped at the door; it was
opened, I was ushered in, and the door
closed immediately upon me. I found my-
self in the presence of several marines with
their side-arms, and seamen with cutlasses.
An officer started up from his seat, and
collaring me, said, ‘‘ You’re just the fellow
we want. We're in luck to-night.” In
fact, I was in the hands of a press-gang,
and I was pressed myself,

“Yes, hell do: hédl makes capital
main-top man,” said a midshipman, getting
up and surveying me.

I looked at him, and perceived my old
acquaintance Mr. Tommy Dott, grown a
great deal taller; I perceived that he did
Not recopnize me, _.“\ Bul, sit, sald i 40
the officer of the party, who was so dis-
guised that I could not tell his rank, ‘‘ sup-
pose I belong to a man-of-war already ?”

‘*That you do -not; or if you do, you
must be a deserter, my good fellow ; that
is evident by your stick and bundle. Now
sit down and drink some beer, if you like ;
you are going to serve in a fine frigate—you
may as well make yourself comfortable, for
we shall not go on board yet, for this hour.”

I determined to keep up my zzcog., as it
amused me. I sat down, and it then occurred
to me that my not going on hoard of the
vessel might lead to an explanation with
the crimp, and that an alarm might be
created and the men dispersed in conse-
quence. ‘There were still two hours to day-
light, andif I could take up the press-gang,
we might secure all the men in the house
before the dawn of day.

As I had just made up my mind to act,
there was a stamping of feet outside and a
knock at the door. When it was opened,
another portion of the press-gang, headed
by another officer, entered. I counted heads,
and found that they mustered thirty hands—
quite sufficient, as they were armed, to
secure all my late companions. I therefore
went up to the officer, and begged to speak
With him aside.

I then told him that I had just come-from
a crimp’s house near Stonehouse, where 1
left in their beds thirty-five as fine men as
ever walked a plank, and that, as I was
pressed myself, I did not mind telling him
where they were, and he could take them all.

The officer curled up his lip, as if to say,
“You're a pretty scoundrel to betray your
companions,’ but immediately resolved to
act uponit. Without stating his intentions,
he ordered all the men out, and putting me
between two marines, so as to prevent my
escaping, I was desired to lead on. I did
so, and we proceeded in silence until we
arrived near to the house. I then pointed
out to the officer that it must be surrounded,
or the men would escape, and that it mustPERCIVAL KEENE. O8

be done_very carefully, as there was a large changed. We were all put into the boats
dog, which would be sure to givethe alarm. and rowed off to the hulk appropriated to
My advice was attended to, and when all the crew of the frigate, until she was rigged,
the men were at their stations, the whole and as soon as we were on board, we were
advanced slowly towards the house. The

put below under the charge of sentries.
dog commenced baying, as I had foreseen, ““What! you here!” said some of the
and shortly afterwards the crimp put his pressed men.

head out of a window, and perceived that ~ Yes,’ replied I: ‘‘they picked me up as
the press-gang¢ were below. But allattempts I went to ship myself last night.” The

to force an entrance were in vain, every crimp, who had been brought on board with

. a. oS
window below, and the doors, being secured the others, then Started forward. ‘‘It is he
with iron bars.

who has blown upon us ; I'll swear to it.”

“Ts there no’ way of getting into this “You may swear if you please,” replied I;
den ?” said the officer to me. “that will do you no good, and me no

UY, Sin, 0 try. harm.”

As Bob Cross had given another name, I The crimp talked with the other men, and
knew that I risked nothing in calling out his, then indignation was levelled against me.
and I therefore requested the officer to im- Most of them swore they would be even with
pose silence, and when it was obtained, I me, and have my life if they could ; indeed,
cried out, ‘‘Bob Cross! Bob Cross! ! they could hardly be prevented laying hands
Where's Bob Cross?” upon me; but Bob Cross told the sentry,

After that, Iwent to the small door at the and he interfered with his bayonet ; not-
side of the house, which led to the home- withstanding which, fists continued to be
stead, and again cried out, ‘‘ Bob Cross !_— shook in my face, and vengeance threatened
where's Bob Cross?” every minute.

I then told the officer that we must wait ‘“I told you, my lads,” said Bob Cross,
patiently, and that if it was daylight before ‘‘that I have been on board of a man-of-
we got in, all the better. war before this, and you'd better mind what

About ten minutes after that, as I re- you're about, or youll repent it; at all
mained at the small door, I heard the bars events, if one of you touches him, you'll
quietly removed; I then requested the have five dozen lashes at the gangway before
officer to attempt to force the small door, to-morrow morning.”
and it yielded almost immediately to their This made the poor fellows more quiet ;
efforts. most of them lay down, and tried to sleep

“Now, sir, leave a guard at the other off their misery,
door, that they may not open it, and escape ‘““Why don't you make yourself known,
by it, also five orsix hands to catch anywho Mr. Keene?” said Cross to me, ina whisper;
May jump out of the upper windows, and ‘I saw the master go on the quarter-deck
then enter with the rest of your party.” just now.”

“You know what you are about, at all “I think I had better not: there are
events,” said he, giving the directions which more houses to examine, and if my trick
I had pointed out, and then entering with was known, it would soon get wind from
the remainder of his party, with the exception the women, and I should be waylaid, and
of one marine that held me by thearm, with perhaps murdered by the crimps. The
his bayonet drawn. captain will be on board by ten o’clock, I

The scuffle within was very severe, and have no doubt, and then I will conttive to
lasted for many minutes: at last, the armed see him, somehow or another,”

force, although not so numerous, prevailed, “But you could trust the master—why
and one by one, the men were brought out, not see him?”
and taken charge of by the marines, until ‘“ ll think of it—but there’s no hurry.”

the whole of them were discovered in their Iwas afraid that Tommy Dott would
retreats, and secured. have discovered me, and I kept out of his
Day now dawned, and it was time to be way as much as I could,

off. To make more secure, the pressed men ‘“T'll tell you what, sir—as I've not joined
were lashed two and two, with small rope, the ship, why not let it be supposed that I
which had been provided on purpose. Bob am impressed with the other men, and then
Cross, who, of course, had not mixed in the I can send for Mr. Dott and make myself
affray, gave me a nod of recognition,and we known? The commanding officer will, of
set off as fast as the men could be persuaded course, send for me, and I will enter, and
fo move; certainly not a very gay procession, then I shall be allowed to go about, and
for although the wounds were not dangerous, can speak to the captain when he comes on
there was scarcely one of the party, amount- board.” :

ing in all to upwards of sixty men, who was “Well, that is not a bad idea, Talk to
not bleeding, Hardly a word was ex- the sentry.”,96

 

“Who's the captain of this ship, sentry?”
said Bob Cross.

“ Captain Delmar.”

“Delmar !—why, be's my old captain.
Hrd net £ see a Mr. Dott, a midship-
man?

‘Yes, there is a Mr. Dott on board.”

‘‘Well, I wish you would just pass the
word to Mr. Dott, to say that one of the
pressed men wishes to speak to him.”

The sentry did so, and Mr. Dott came
down.

‘‘How d’ye do, Mr. Dott?” said Bob
Cross, while I turned away.

“What, Cross, is that you? Are you
pressed ?.”’

“Ves, sir, can’t be helped. I’mglad I’m
to sail with you, sir. What's become of
Mr. Keene?”

‘©Oh, I don't know; but if he’s not
hanged by this time, I believe that he’s to
join the ship.”

Won't I pull your ears for that ? thought I.

“What other officers have we of the
Calliope, six? ey

«There's the master, Mr. Smith, and the
surgeon.”

<©Well, Mr. Dott, one must always make
a virtue of necessity. Tell Mr. Smith that
I shall enter for the ship ; and I'll put my
name downat once, instead of being penned
up here.”

“That's right, Cross; and I say, you
chaps, you'd better follow a good example.
Sentry, let this man go with me:

Bob Cross then went with Tommy Dott,
and entered for the service. The master
was very glad to see him again, and said,
“Why, Cross, Mr. Keene said that you
had promised him to join us.”

“Why, sir, so I had; but it’s a long
story. However, it’s all the same in the
end: here I am, and I hope I shall get my
old rating.”’

Soon after, Bob Cross came down and
said, ‘‘ Well, my lads, I’m free now, and
I advise you all to do the same. Come,
Jack,” said he tome, © what d’ye say?”

‘No, no,” replied I. ‘‘I won't unless
all the rest do.”

Bob then took me on one side, and told
me what had taken place, and asked me
what he should say to the captain. I told
him, and then he left us.

At ten o'clock the captain came on
board. Bob Cross went up to him, and
Said he wished to say something to him in
the cabin. He followed the captain down,
and then explained to him that I was among
the pressed men; but as I had means of
obtaining plenty more men, I had remained
among them, and had not made myself
known, for fear my trick should get wind ;
also that I thought the crimp should be

PERCIVAL KEENE.

kept on board, although he was of no use
as a seaman.

“ Mr, Keene has behaved very prudently,”
replied Captain Delmar. ‘‘I understand
his motives—leave the rest to me.”

A few minutes after Bob had communi-
cated to me what the captain had said, the
pressed men were ordered up, and ranged
along the quarter-deck., A finer set of men
I never saw together; and they all appeared
to be, as they afterwards proved to be,
prime seamen. The captain called them
one by one, and questioned them. He
asked them to enter, but they refused. The
crimp begged hard to be released. Their
names were all put down on the ship's
book togethef.

The captain, turning to me—for I had
stood up the last of the row—said, “ I
understand the officer of the impress agreed
to release you if you would tell him where
your comrades were. I don’t like losing a

-good man, but still I shall let you go in

consequence of the promise being made.
There, you may take 1 boat-and go on
shore.”

‘““Thank your honour,” replied. le, =
went to the gangway immediately; but I
never shall forget the faces of the pressed
men when I passed them: they looked as if
I had a thousand lives, and they had
stomach enough to take them all.

I went on shore immediately, and going
to my hotel, washed the colour and dirt off
my face, dressed myself in my mate’s uni-
form, and went to the hotel where the
captain lived. I found that he had just
come on shore, and I sent up my name,
and was admitted. I then told the captain
the information which we had received with
regard to nine or ten more houses, and that
I thought I might now go on board, and
never be recognized.

‘““You have managed extremely well,”
replied Captain Delmar; ‘‘ we have made
a glorious haul: but I think it will be better
that you do not go on board ; the press-
gang shall meet you every night, and obey
your orders,” I bowed, and walked out of
the room.

The next night, and several subsequent
ones, the press-gang came on shore, and,
from the information I had received, we
procured in the course of a fortnight more
than two hundred good seamen. Some of
the defences were most desperate : for, as
one crimp’s house after another was forced,
they could not imagine how they could
have been discovered ; but it put them all
on their guard; and on the last three occa-
sions the merchant seamen were armed, and
gave us obstinate fights ; however, although
the wounds were occasionally severe, there
was no loss of life.PERCIVAL

Heving expended all my knowledge, I
had nothing more to do than go on board,
which I did, and was kindly received by the
master and the other officers, who had been
prepossessed in my favour. Such was the
successful result of my plan. The crimp we
did not allow to go on shore, but discharged
him into a gun-brig, the captain of which
was a notorious martinet ; and I have no
doubt, being aware of his character and
occupation, that he kept his word, when he
told Captain Delmar that he would make
theship a hell to him—‘‘and sarve him right
too,’’ said Bob Cross, when he heard of it :
‘““the money that these rascals obtain from
the seamen, Mr. Keene, is quite terrible ;
and the poor fellows, after having earned it
by two or three years’ hard work, go to
prison in a crimp-house to spend it, “or
rather to be swindled out of it. Jt is these
fellows that raise such reports against the
English navy, that frighten the poor fellows
So; they hear of men being flogged until
they die under the lash, and all the lies that
can be invented. Not that the masters of
the merchant vessels are at all backward in
disparaging the service, but threaten to send
a man on board a man-of-war for a punish-
ment, if he behaves ill—that itself is enough
to raise a prejudice against the service.
Now, sir, I can safely swear that there is
more cruelty and oppression—more ill-
treatment and more hard work—on board
of a merchantman, than on board any man-
of-war. Why so? Because there is no
control over the master of a merchant vessel,
while the captain of a man-of-war is bound
down by strict regulations, which he dare
not disobey. We see many reports in the
newspapers of the ill-treatment on board of
merchant vessels ; but for one that is made
known, ninety-nine are passed over; for a
eaman has something else to do than to be
Geking his heels at a magistrate’s office ;
and when he gets clear of his vessel, with his
pay in his pocket, he prefers to make merry
and forget his treatment, to seeking revenge.
I say again, sarve that crimp right, and I
hope that he'll get a lash for every pound
which he has robbed from the poor seamen.”

I may as well inform the reader that, as
it is mostly the case after the men have been
impressed, nearly the whole of them entered
the service; and when, some time after-
wards, they ascertained that it was I that had
tricked them, so far from feeling the ill-will
towards me that they had on their first
coming on board, they laughed very much
at my successful plan, and were more partial
to me than to any other of the officers.

Our frigate was now well manned, and
nearly ready for sea. I wrote to my mother,
enclosing the heads of a letter to her which
she should send to Captain Delmar, and in

 

KEENE.

a day or two I received an answer,
copy of what she had sent.
effect that I was now going away for the
second time, and that it was possible she
might never see me or Captain Delmar
again; that she wished him success and
happiness, and begged him, in case she
Should be called away, not to forget his
promises to her, or what she had undergone
for his sake ; but she trusted entirely to him,
and that he would watch over me and my
interests, even more out of regard to her
memory, than if she were alive to support
my claims upon him.

The letter was given to Captain Delmar
when he was on the quarter-deck, and he
went withitdown below. Hecameon deck
shortly afterwards. I looked at him, but
did not perceive that he was in any way put
out or moved by its reception. Claims for
past services, whether upon the country or
upon individuals, are seldom well received ;
like the payment of a tavern bill, after we
have done with the enjoyments, we seem
inclined to cavil at each separate item—
ainst va le monde.

It was reported down at Mutton Cove,
that our ship, which sailed with sealed
orders, was to be sent to the West Indies.
This the captain did not expect, or wish, as
he had had enough of the tropics already.
When he, however, opened his orders, it
was found that Mutton Cove was correct,
and the captain's instructions were, to seek
the admiral of the station with all possible
dispatch.

We carried sail day and night, and asthe
Manilla proved a remarkably fast sailer, we
were very soon in Carlisle Bay, Barbadoes,
where we found the admiral and six sail of
the line, and a few smaller vessels. As soon
as the despatches were opened by the
admiral, our signal, as well as that of all the
smaller vessels, was made, and before the
evening we had spread our canvas in every
direction, being sent to recall the whole of
the disposable force to rendezvous at Car-
lisle Bay. We knew that something was in
the wind, but what, we had no idea of. Our
orders were to proceed to Halifax, and we
had a quick passage. We found two frigates
there, and we gave them their instructions,
and then, having remained only twenty-four
hours, we all sailed together for Barbadoes.

On our arrival there, we found the bay
crowded with vessels; twenty-eight sail of
pennants and a fleet of transports, contain-
ing ten thousand troops. Three days after-
wards the signal was made to weigh, and
the whole fleet stood out from Carlisle Bay,
it being now well known that the capture of
the island of Martinique was the object of
the expedition. On the third day we arrived
off the island, and our troops were disem-

D

97

with a
It was to the98 PERCIVAL KEENE.

barked at two points, expecting to meet give very prompt replies to those who they
with strong opposition. Such, however, to did not consider had any right to control
our surprise, was not the case. It appeared them. Complaints were made to the cap-
that the militia of the island, being com- tains of the men-of-war, and, on being
posed of slaves, and who were sent to investigated, the result generally was, that
oppose us, did not consider that slavery was the captains defended their officers, and the
worth fighting for quite as well as liberty, and military gentlemen obtained no_ redress.
therefore very quietly walked home again, The active service, however, did not admit
leaving the governor and regular troops to of any notice being taken of it at the time ;
decide the question as to whether the island but after the island had surrendered, these
was for the future to belong to the F rench unfortunate animosities were resumed.
or English. But the two following days A few days after the capture of the
there was some hard fighting, and our island, the prisoners and troops were em-
troops, although theyadvanced, had a severe barked, and the fleet sailed, a sufficient
loss. The French retired from the advanced garrison being left upon the island for its
posts to Fort Dessaix, and we obtained pos- defence. The admiral also thought proper
session of the fort on Point Salamon. to leave two or three men-of-war in the
The next point to be attacked was Pigeon harbour, and our frigate was one. For the
Island, and there the navy were called into first few days everything went on smoothly.
action; we had to get the carronades and ‘The French inhabitants were soon on good
mortars up a hill almost inaccessible; we terms with us, and balls and parties had
did it, much to the surprise of the troops, commenced ; but the seamen and soldiers,
who could hardly believe it when the bat- when they met at the liquor-stores, began
tery opened fire. After a prisk cannonading to quarrel as to which branch of the service
of ten hours, Pigeon Island surrendered, haddonemost towardsthe taking the island.
and then the admiral stood into, and an- ‘This will always be the case with peple so ad-
chored the fleet in Fort Royal Bay; not, dicted tointoxication. Several severe wounds
however, in time to prevent the French from were received in the various skirmishes which
setting fire to the frigates which were in the took place, and at last the seamen were in-
harbour. A few days after, the town of St. terdicted from going on shore. Indeed, as
Pierre and the town of Fort Royal sur- they were not armed, and the soldiers car-
rendered, and Fort Dessaix only held out. ried their bayonets, it was too unequal a
For more than a week we ‘were very busy contest when an affray took place; but the
constructing batteries and landing cannon ill-will spread, and at last arrived to the
and mortars; and when all was ready, the superior officers.
bombardment of Fort Dessaix commenced, The consequence was, that a challenge
and five days afterwards the French capitu- was given to one of the captains of the
lated, and the island was formally surren- frigates by an adjutant. It was accepted ;
dered to the English. but not an hour after it was accepted, the
I have hurried over the capture, as it has captain was taken with a fever, and on the
oftentimes been described in detail. All I morning of the following day, when the
can say is, that it was very hard work for the duel was to have taken place, he was-not
seamen, and that they had their full share able to quit his bed; and the military
of the fatigue; but, from the peculiar gentlemen, on arriving at the ground, found
nature of the service, an affair took place an excuse instead of an antagonist. Whether
which was of much importance to me. I it was really supposed that the fever was a
said before that the sailors were employed mere excuse to avoid the duel, or that the
in the hard duty of getting the guns, &c., animosity prevailing gave rise to the report,
on shore, and up to where the batteries certain it is, that there were many sneers on
were to be erected—in short, working like the part of the military men, and great indig-
slaves in the heat of the sun, while the nation on the part of the naval officers; who,
troops remained quiet investing the fort. if theycouldhaveso done, would have gone on
There was no objection raised to this, and shore on purpose to insult every officer they
the seamen worked very willingly: but the could meet who wore a red coat; but in
staff and mounted officers of the army, who consequence of this excitement being known,
rode to and fro giving orders, were not quite all leave was prohibited.
as civil as they might be—that is, some of | Captain Delmar, who was the naval com-
them ; and a certain feeling of dissension manding officer, had taken up his quarters
and ill-will was created in consequence. on shore ; he had doneall he possibly could
_ The junior officers of the navy, and the to prevent the unpleasant feeling from con-
lieutenants who could be spared to direct’ tinuing, and had shown great forbearance
the labour of the seamen onshore, received and good sense: but it so happened that,
occasionally very harsh language from some being in company with some of the military
of the military officers, and did not fail to staff, observations were made in his presences

SinaPERCIVAL KEENE. 99

relative to the conduct of the nava i ; 2
ill with the fever, that he could n : Sap aD cored after the bleeding had Pool
Ot permit. performed, when he attempted to jook at his
He gave a flat denial to them, and the con- Papers, he was so confused that he found i
sequence was, that language was used which impossible, and was obliged to be put to b d
left no alternative but a duel. immediately. When the sur . :
This was the Monday nich i e i Pi
y night, and asit of his bedroom, he said to us, ‘He'll never
was too late then, it was agreed that the get up to fight that duel depend upon it;
meeting should take place on the following the fever increases —it may be that ie =
evening at sunset. I believe this was pro- never rise again—I fear it 1S le ell 2
posed by Captain Delmar, in preference to fever,” * as
the morning, as he knew his antagonist was ‘A bad job,” replied the master—‘‘ a ver
a regular duellist, and he wished to have the bad job, indeed ; two ‘captains in the nate
next day to put his affairs in order Previous receiving challenges, and both sendin a
to the meeting. I should here observe that cuses on account of illness. The ee will
the captain had not been on anything like be disgraced. [ll fight the soldier myself.”
Intimate terms with his lieutenants. The ‘That. will never do,” replied the sur-
surgeon and master were old shipmates, geon; “‘it will not help the captain that he
and with them he was sociable : whether it has sent one of his officers in his stead
was that he did not choose to ask the favour Steward, make me a bed up here in this
of the commissioned officers, certain it is room; I shall not leave the house to-night.”
that he sent for the master to be his second ‘It's of no use my staying here,”’ observed
on the occasion, and on the master return- the master: ‘nor you either Keene: let’s
ing on board he desired me to go on shore go on board, and we will be here early to-
with the boat and take the captain's pistols morrow morning. Confounded bad job
with me, but not to allow them to be seen this. Good-bye.”
by anyone; a message was also sent for The master and-I returned to the boat.
the surgeon to go on shore to the captain. I had been reflecting a good deal on the
When the surgeon and I arrived at. the disgrace which would, at all events for a
house where the captain resided, and were certain period, be. thrown upon the service
ushered up, the sitting-room was empty. I and Captain Delmar by this unfortunate
had put the case of pistols ina piece of circumstance, and before I had gone up the
canvas, so as to look like despatches about ship's side I had made up my mind. As
to besent to England, and I uncovered them soon as we were on board, I requested the
and placed them on one of the tables. A master to alloy me to speak to him in his
few minutes afterwards the captain came cabin; and when we were there, after can-
out, and I was very much surprised at his vassing the question, and pointing out to
appearance ; he was very flushed and heated him what discredit would ensue, and work-
in the face, and appeared to tremble as he ing him up into a great state of irritation, I
walked. The surgeon also looked at him then proposed to him what. I considered to
with surprise. We knew him to be incap- be the best course to pursue. “‘ Everyone
able of fear, and yet he gave us the appear- says how like I am to Captain Delmar, Mr.

ance of a person very much troubled, Smith,”’ said I.
“Doctor,” said he, ‘‘I am glad that you ‘“If you were his own son you could not
are come. I feel very unwell—feel my be more so,” replied the master,

pulse.” “Well, sir, I am, now as tall-as-heis: the

“Yes, sir,” said the doctor, ‘that you colour of my hair is lighter, certainly ; but
certainly are; you have the same fever on the captain wears a wig. Now, sir, I am
you as Captain W. Singular.” perfectly sure that if I were to put on the

“Yes, but it will be rather too singular, captain’s uniform and wig, as the duel is to
doctor. Poor W. had obloquy enough on take place in the evening, they never could
account of his illness; and if a second find.out that it was not the captain; and as
captain in the navy were to be obliged to fora good shot, I think I can hit a button
send a similar excuse, we should be at a as well as the best duellist in existence.”
pretty discount with the red-coats. If you The master bit his lips, and was silent for
can do anything for me, do; but it must be a short time, At last he said, ‘‘What you
perfectly understood that. fight to-morrow Propose is certainly very easy; but why
evening I will, even if I am carried to the should you risk your life for Captain Dei-
ground.” mar?”

‘Certainly, Captain Delmar, if it is pos- ‘““Why, did you not offer to do it just
sible, I think that a little blood must be. now for the honour of the service? I have
taken from you immediately, and probably, that feeling, and moreover wish to serve
the fever may subside..’ Ceptain Delmar, who has been my patron.

But before his arm could be bound up, What’s the life of a midshipman worth,
the captain became incoherent in his dis- even if I were to fall ?—nothing.”’100 PERCIVAL

‘That's true enough,’ replied the master,
bluntly; and then, correcting himself, he
added: -‘‘that is, midshipmen in general ;
but I think you may be worth something
by-and-by. However, Keene, I do think
on the whole it’s a very good plan; and if
the captain is not better to-morrow, we will
then consider it more seriously. I have an
idea that you are more likely to pin the
fellow than the captain, who, although as
brave a man as can be, he has not, I be-
lieve, fired twenty pistols in his life. Good
night; and I hardly need say we must keep
our secret.”’

‘‘ Never fear, sir. Good night.”’

I went to my hammock, quite overjoyed
at the half-consent given by the master to
my proposition. It would give me such a
claim on Captain Delmar, if I survived ;
and if I fell, at all events he would cherish
my memory; but as for falling, I felt sure
that I should not. I had a presentiment
(probably no more than the buoyant hope
of youth) that I should be the victor. At
all events, I went to sleep very soundly, and
did not wake until I was roused up by the
quartermaster on the following morning.

After breakfast the master requested a
boat to be manned, and we went on shore.
On our arrival at the house, we found the
surgeon in great anxiety: the captain was
in a state of delirium, and the fever was at
the highest.

“« How is he?’’ demanded the master.

‘More likely to go out of the world him-

self than to send another out of it,’’ replied
the surgeon. ‘‘He cannot well be worse,
and that is all that I can say. He has been
raving all night, and I have been obliged to
take nearly two pounds of blood from him ;
and, Mr. Keene,’ continued the surgeon,
‘the talks a great deal of you and other
persons. You may go in to him, if you
please; for I have as much as possible kept
the servants away—they will talk.”’
‘‘Bob Cross is down below, sir,” replied
‘he is the safest man to wait upon him.”
‘‘T agree with you, Keene——send for him
and he shall remain at his bedside.”

The master then spoke with the surgeon,
and communicated my proposition; and
the surgeon replied, ‘‘ Well, from what I
have learned this night, there is no person
who has so great a right to take his place;
and, perhaps, it will be as well, both for the
captain’s sake and his own; at all events, I
will go with you, and in case of accident,
do my best.”

The matter was, therefore, considered as
arranged, and I went into the captain's

-room. He was delirious, and ccnstantly
crying out about his honour and disgrace;
indeed, there is no doubt but that his
anxiety to meet his antagonist was one very

,

Ie

       
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  

KEENE.

great cause of the fever having run so high;
but at times he changed the subject, and
then he spoke of me and my mother.
‘“Where is my boy—my own boy, Perci-
val?’’ said he—‘‘my pride—where is he?
Arabella, you must not be angry with me—
no, Arabella; consider the consequence ;”’
and then he would burst out in such fond
expressions towards me, that the tears ran
down my cheeks as I planted a kiss upon
his forehead; for he was insensible, and I
could do so without offence.

“Bob Cross, who had for some time been
at his bedside, wiped the tears from his
eyes, and said,.‘‘ Master Keene, how this
man must have suffered, to have cloaked
his feelings towards you in the way which
he has done. However, I’m glad to hear
all this, and, if necessary, I will tell him of
it—ay, if I get seven dozen for it the next
minute.”

I remained with Bob Cross at his bedside
for the whole day, during which he more
than twenty times acknowledged me as his
son. As the evening closed in, I prepared
in silence for the duty I had to perform.
To the surprise of Cross, who was ignorant
of what I intended, I stripped off my own
clothes and put on those of the captain, and
then put his wig over my own hair. I then
examined myself in the glass, and was
satisfied.

‘‘ Well,” said Cross, looking at me, “you
do look like the captain himself, and might
almost go on board and read the articles of
war; but, surely, Master Keene,’ added
he, looking at the captain as he lay senseless
in bed, ‘‘this is no time for foolery of this
SOL”:

‘‘Tt is no foolery, Bob,” replied I, taking
his hand; ‘‘I am going to represent the
captain and fight a duel for him, or the
service will be disgraced.”

‘‘T didn’t know that the captain had a
duel to fight,” replied Bob, ‘‘although I
heard that there had been words.”

I then explained the whole to him. ‘* You
are right, Master Keene-—-right in every-
thing. May God bless you, and send you
good luck. I wish I might go with you.”

‘“No, Bob, that must not be.”

‘“Then, God bless you, and may you
floor the soldier. Lord, what a state I
shall be in till I know what has taken
place!”

‘“Tt will soon be known, Bob; so good-
bye, and I trust we shall meet again.” I
then went out of the bedroom.

The surgeon actually started when I made
my appearance, and acknowledged that the
personation was exact. Taking the arm of
the surgeon and the master, we set off, the
master carrying the pistols, which had been

prepared ; and in a quarter of an hour wePERCIVAL KEENE.

arrived at the place of meeting. My dis- my head wasso confu
guise was so complete, that we had not that I felt as if Ih
hesitated to walk out sooner than we had my breath should leave my body, and | was
intended ; and we found ourselves the first glad to find myself again on my pillow. Jf
on the field of action, which I was glad of. was soon ina sound sleep, from which I did
About dusk, which was the time agreed not arouse for many hours, and, as I after-
upon, and about five minutes after our wards was told, had had a very narrow
arrival, our antagonists made their appear- escape, from the exhaustion arising from the
ance. There was no time to be lost, as excessive hemorrhage.
there is little or no twilight in the West When I opened m
Indies; so a polite bow was exchanged, I could scarcely recall my senses. [| saw
and the ground marked out at eight paces Bob Cross sometimes, and I heard moaning
by the master and the second of my op- and talking. I thought the latter was my
ponent. A very short parley then took own voice, but it was Captain Delmar,
place between Mr. Smith and the other whose fever still continued, and who was in
gentleman, who officiated for the adjutant, an alarming state. Itwas not till the evening,
in which it was decided that we should twenty-four hours after the duel, that I
turn back to back, with our pistols ready, could completely recall my senses ; then I
and that on the words, ‘‘ Make ready— did, and motioned to Cross that I wanted
present—fire,”” given in succession, we were drink. He gave me some lemonade—it was
to turn round to each other, level, and fire. nectar: he then went out for the surgeon,
This made it more difficult to hit ; indeed it. who came to the bedside, and felt my pulse.
was almost impossible to take aim, as the “You'll do now, my boy,’ said he ; ‘get
words were given so quickly after each other; another good sleep to-night, and to-morrow
and the great point was, to fire as soon as morning you will have nothing todo but get
the word was given. : well,”
The first discharge was not lucky for me. ‘‘ Where am I hit?’ said I,
I missed my antagonist, and received his “You had a ball in your shoulder and
bullet in my left shoulder. This did not, another in your hip, but they are both ex.
however, disable me, and I said nothing tracted; the one in the hip cut through a
about it. The pistols were again loaded large vein, and the hemorrhage was so great
and handed to us; and on the signal being before you could be brought here, that at
given, my adversary’s pistol went off a little one time I thought you were gone. Your
before the word “ fire” was given, and I felt life hung upon a thread for hours ; but we
myself again hit; but I returned the fire may thank God that allis right now. You
with fatal success. The ball went through have no fever, and your pulse is getting
his body, and hefell. The surgeon, master, strong again.”

Ior

sed, and I wasso weak,
ardly dared breathe, lest

y eyes the next morning,

and his second, immediately went up, and ‘* How's the captain, sir?”
raised him in a sitting position; but in a “As bad as bad can be just now; but I
few minutes he was senseless. have hopes of a change for the better.”

In the meantime I remained where I was, “And Captain W., sir?”

having dropped my pistol on the ground. “Poor fellow! he is dead ; and has so
That I had an unpleasant pang at the idea decidedly proved that his fever was nota
of a fellow-creature having fallen by my sham, the soldiers are a little ashamed of
hand in a duel, I acknowledge: but when I themselves—and so they ought to be; but
called to mind why I had fought the duel, too often good feelings come too late. Now,
and that I had saved the honour of the Keene, you have talked quite enough for to-
captain (may I not say at once my father’s night ; take your sedative mixture, and go
honour? for that was my feeling), I could to sleep again ; to-morrow, I have no doubt,

- hot, and did not, repent the deed. But I you will beable to ask as many questions as

had not time given me to analyze my feel- you like.”

ings; a sensation of faintness rapidly crept “Only one more, sir:—is the adjutant
over'me. The fact was that I had been dead?”

bleeding profusely; and while the surgeon “T have not heard,” replied the surgeon }
and the others were still hanging over theex- ‘but we shall know to-morrow: now go to

piring adjutant, I dropped, and fell fainting sleep, and good night.” i
on the ground. When I recoveredI found When the surgeon left the room, ‘‘ Bob?
myself in bed, and attended on by the sur- said I.
geon, the master, and Bob Cross. ‘Not an answer will I give to-night,

““ Keep quiet, Keene,” said the surgeon, Mr. Keene,” said Bob Cross ; ‘‘ to-morrow
“and all will be well; but keep quiet, that morning we'll have the rights and wrongs of
we may have no fever. Here, drink this, the whole story. You must obey orders, sir,
and try if you cannot goto sleep."" They and goto sleep.”

raised me up, and I swallewed the mixture ; As I knew Bob would do as he said, I laidee as

cece eeeaiabaelaiiitaitedalaacaitaagiaainaadaaiaaaaaaa = ee oor
R. TORT ee ee IES eT

1o2

my head down, and was soon once more in
forgetfulness. It was not daylight when I
again awoke, and found Cross snoring in
the. chair by the bedside ; poor fellow, he
had never lain down since he came on shore,
when the captain was first taken ill. I felt
much better, although my wounds tingled a
little, and I was very anxious to know if
Captain Delmar was. out ef ‘danger ; ‘but
that could not be ascertained till I saw the
surgeon. I remained thinking over the
events which had passed. I called to mind
that the captain, in his delirium, had called
me his own boy, his Percival, and I felt more
happy.

About an hour after I had awoke, the
surgeon came into the room. ‘¢ How is
Captain Delmar, sir?’ said I.

‘“«T am glad to say that he is much better ;
but I must wake up poor Cross, who is tired
out.” Cross, who was awake the moment
that we spoke, was now on his legs.

‘’You must go to the captain, and keep
the bed-clothes on him, Cross. He is now
in a perspiration, and it must not be
checked—do you understand?”

‘“Yes,"’ replied Bob, walking away into
‘the other room.

‘You are all right. again, Keene,” said
the surgeon, feeling my pulse; “ we will
Jook at your wounds by-and-by, and change
‘the dressing.”

“Tell me, sir,” said I, ‘(how have you
qmanaged? Nobody has found it out? it
vot Oh, no; it is supposed that Captain
‘Delmar is badly wounded, and that you
have the yellow fever, and we must keep it
up—that is the reason why Bob Cross is the
only one allowed to come into the sick-
rooms. I have no doubt that Captain
Delmar will be sensible in a few hours, and
then we shall be puzzled what to say to him.
Must we tell him the truth?”

- “Not at present, sir, at all events: tell
him that he has fought the duel, and killed
his man; he will think that he did it when
he was out of his senses, or else that the
fever has driven it from his memory.”

“Well, perhaps that will be the best way
just now ; it will relieve his mind, for with
his return to sensibility will also revive his
feelings of disgrace and dishonour ; and if
they are not checked, the fever may come
on again.”
©! The surgeon gave me some breakfast this
morning, and then dressed my wounds,
which he pronounced were doing quite well ;
and about twelve o'clock the master caine
on shore with the first lieutenant. The
master came into my room after the first
lieutenant went away, who had been told
by the surgeon that he could not see
Captain Delmar—and he of course did not
wish to come into contact with me, who he

PERCIVAL KEENE.

   

supposed had the yellow fever. In the
afternoon Captain Delmar woke up from
his stupor—the fever had left him, and he
had nothing to combat with but extreme
debility. ‘‘ Where am I?” said he, after a
pause; and, recollecting himself, he con-
tinued to Cross, who was the only person
in the room, and who had received his
instructions from the surgeon. ‘‘ How long
have | lain here ?”’

“Ever since the duel, sir,”

‘« The duel—how do you mean?”’

““T mean ever since your honour fought
the duel, and killed the soger officer.”

“ Killed—-duel—I can't recollect having
fought the duel.”

‘“Daresay not, your honour,” replied
Bob ;: ‘‘ you were in a roaring fever at the
time; but you would not stay in bed,
all the surgeon could do—go you would ;
but when you had fought, we were obliged
to catry you back again.”

‘(And so I really have fought—I have not
the least recollection—I must have been in
a high fever indeed. Where's the surgeon?”

‘“‘ He's in the verandah below, sir, speak-
ing to some soger officers who have come
toinquire after your health: Here he comes.”

The surgeon came in, and Captain
Delmar then said to him, ‘‘ Is this all true
that Cross has beentelling me? Have I really
fought a duel and killed my adversary ?”’

‘“T regret to say, sir, that he is dead, and
was buried yesterday ; but, if you please,
you must not talk any more at present—you
must be quiet for a few hours.”

‘“Well, doctor, so that’ my honour is
saved, I am content to obey you—it’s very
odd——” Here the captain was exhausted,
and was silent, and in a few minutes he was
again asleep and remained slumbering till
the next morning, when.he was much better.
He then entered into conversation with the
surgeon, making him describe the duel;
and the latter did so, so as, to satisfy the
captain ; and he also informed him that I
had been taken ill with the fever, and was in
the next room. ur:

‘“Next room!’ repliedthe captain: “why
was he not sent on board? Are all the
midshipmen who are taken ill tobe brought
to my house to be cured? ”’
mak overheard this reply of the captain, and
it. cut_ me to the heart. I felt; what an
invincible pride had to be conquered before
I could obtain my wishes.

The surgeon answered Captain Delmar—
‘(As only you and Mr. Keene were taken
with the fever, I thought it better that ke
should remain here, than that ‘the ship's
company should take it by his being sent on
board. I.trust, Captain Delmar, I have
done right ?”’

‘‘Yes, I see,” replied the captain; ‘‘ youPERCIVAL KEENE,

did perfectly right—I did not think of that. captain’s Summons, leaving me in a state of
I hope Mr. Keene is doing well?” great nervous anxiety,

“I trust that we shall get him through ‘‘Cross,’’ said the Captain, sternly, ‘I in-
it, sir,”’ replied the surgeon. sist upon knowing the truth: I have been

“Pray let him have anything that he deceived by my officers. Did I, ordid I
requires, Mr. ; let him want for nothing not, fight this duel?”
during his illness and convalescence. He ‘“ Well, sir,” replied Cross, ‘‘ the truth was
would be a heavy loss to—the service,’ only kept back from you till you were quite »
added the captain. well again, and I suppose | must tell it to

“‘He would INGE. Site ‘replied the younow- You were too ill, and you raved

surgeon. _ about your honour, and that you were dis-
“Here are the journals of St, Pierre, in graced, and that 5

which there are several accounts of the Well, :zo. on, sir.”
duel, most. of them incorrect.~ Some say “IT will, Captain Delmar ; but I hope
that ‘you were twice wounded, others once,”’ you'll not be angry, sir, Mr. Keene could
““T daresay they thought so,” replied the not bear to see you in that way, and he said
captain, ‘‘for Cross tells me that I was he would lay down his. life for you at any
carried home. It’s very singular. that I time, and he begged Mr. Smith, the master,
should have fought in such a ‘condition. to allow him to fight the duel, because he
Thank you, Mr. ; I will read them said that he was so like you in person (which,
when I have lain down a little, for I am somehow or other, he is, that’s certain), that
tired again already.” no one would know it was him if he put on
The surgeon then informed ‘the captain your honour’s wig and uniform : that’s how

103

 

 

 

of the death of Captain W., it was, sir.”
“ Poor fellow!” replied Captain Delmar. ‘Go on,” said the captain.
‘Well, T will not make any appointments

‘‘ Well, sir, the master could not bear the
until Iam. better.” The captain then lay sneering of the sogers on shore, and he

down again, leaving the newspapers on the . consented that Mr. Keene should take your
coverlet. place, which he did, sir: and I hope you
A’ week now passed, during which both — will not be angry with Mr, Keene, for it’s
the captain and I became nearly con- your old coat, sir, and I think it may have
valescent : we had both been out of bed, a.piece let in, that it won't be SEEN},
and had remained for a few hours on the Cross then went on describing the whole
sofas in our respective rooms. The surgeon affair—of course, praising me—and told the
told me that it would be necessary to tell captain that everybody on board, as well as
him the truth very soon, and that. he on shore, thought that he was wounded, and
thought he would do so on the following that I had been taken with the yellow fever,
day. It did, however, happen that. the and that nobody knew the real truth except
discovery was not made to him by the the master, the surgeon, and himself,
surgeon, In the afternoon, when the latter “Is Mr. Keene seriously hurt?” inquired
was on board, Captain Delmar felt so strong the captain, after a pause.
that he resolved to put on his clothes, and ‘“ No, sir; the doctor says he will do very
go into the sitting-room. Hedesired Cross well. He was as near gone as ever a man
t> give them to him, and the first articles was: at one time his breath would not move
handed to him were his trowsers, and Bob a feather—allthe blood wasout of his body.”
quite forgot that I had worn them, Fora minute the captain made no reply ;
*“‘ Why, how's this?” said the captain— at last he said, in a quiet tone, ‘‘You may
“‘here’s a hole through the waistband, and leave the room, Cross,”
they are bloody.” What were the thoughts and feelings of
Bob was so frightened, that he walked Captain Delmar when he was left to reflect
out of the room as if he had not heard what upon the information which he had received,
the captain had said. It appears that the I cannot tell: but that he was-not angry I
captain took up his coat, and discovered inferred by the tone in which he desired
another hole in the shoulder, with the same Cross to leave the room. I was absorbed
marks of blood. in my own feelings, when the surgeon
‘“ This is quitea dream,” said the captain, entered the room, and gave me a letter.
talking to himself; ‘‘I’ve no wound, and ‘‘Here’s a schooner just come in With
yet the newspapers say that I was wounded despatches from the admiral,’’ said the sur-
twice. Cross! Cross !—Where is Cross?” geon; ‘the second lieutenant has brought
Bob, who had taken refuge in my room, them on shore for the captain, and among
where we overheard everything he said, the letters from England I found this one
whispered, ‘‘ It’s no use now, Mr. Iecene, foryor, ‘| have seen Cross, continued the
—I must tell it all; never fear me, I know surgeon, nodding his head significantly as
how to do it.” And then he obeyed the he left the room,tog

“The second lieutenant, with despatches,
sir,’ reported Bob’ Cross to the captain in
the other room—‘‘ shall I show him in?”

‘‘No, I am not well; desire him to send
them in by you,” replied the captain.

While the captain was busy with his des-
patches, I read my letter, which was from
my mother, enclosing a copy of one from
my grandmother, announcing my mother's
death. Of course there were a great many
dying wishes; but that was a matter of
course. I felt happy that this letter to the
captain arrived at such a propitious time,
as I knew that the announcement of my
mother’s death would be a great point in my
favour. That it ought not to have been, I
confess; but I knew whom I had to deal
with : the captain was ashamed of his inti-
macy, and the claims of my mother upon
him, but not so much ashamed of me ; and,
now that she was removed, probably he
might not be at all ashamed. My mother
was no relation, and below him—I was his
own flesh and blood, and half ennobled by
so being.

The captain sent on board orders for
getting under weigh. It appeared that the
admiral had written to him, desiring him to
sail for the coast of South America, to look
after a French frigate, and that, as there
was no farther occasion for so large a force
at Martinique, he was to leave the next
senior officer in command ; but this was
Captain W., who had died of the fever.

As senior in command, Captain Delmar
then filled up the vacancy ; the captain ofa
corvette was appointed to Captain W.’s
ship; our first lieutenant to the command
of the corvette ; but the lieutenant’s vacancy
was not filled up, much to the surprise of
the officers of the squadron. This was the
work of the afternoon ; in the evening the
master was sent for, and aconsultation held
with him and the surgeon, which ended in
the captain's consenting to go on board with
his arm in asling, asif he had been wounded,
and my being put into a cot, and removed
on board to the captain's cabin, as if still
too weak with the fever to quit my bed.
Cross was enjoined silence, and I was made
acquainted by the surgeon with the result
of the conference.

The next morning we were all embarked,
and we hove the anchor up, and made sail
to the southward. It must be observed,
that I had neither seen, nor had any com-
munication with the captain, during the
whole of this time. He was informed by

the surgeon that I was in great distress of
mind at the news of my mother’s death,
and that my recovery would be retarded in
consequence,

 

  

PERCIVAL KEENE.

CHAPTER XXI.

IT was not until three or four days after the
ship had sailed from Martinique that the
captainspoke tome. Ihad during that time
remained in my cot, which was hung up in
the fore cabin, and when the surgeon dressed
my wounds it was only in the presence of
Bob Cross. On the fourth morning after
our sailing, the captain came inside of the
screen, which was hung round my cot :—
“Well, Mr. Keene,’ said he, in a very kind
voice, ‘‘how are you?”

‘(Much better, sir, I thank you; and
hope you will look over the great liberty I
ventured to take for the honour of the
service.”

‘‘Why,” replied the captain, smiling, ‘‘I
think you have been sufficiently punished
already for your temerity ; I appreciate your
motive of action, and feel obliged to you for
your great zeal towards the service and
towards me. The only objection (I may
say annoyance) I have on the subject is, the
mystery and secrecy compelled to be
observed in consequence of your taking my
place, and still more, that one of the seamen
of the ship should be a party to the secret.”

‘I certainly did not consider the conse-
quences as I ought to have done, sir, when
I ventured to act as I did,” replied I.

‘‘Say no more about it, Mr. Keene. I
am very sorry to hear of your mother’s
death ; but it was not, I believe, unex-
pected.”

‘‘No, sir,” replied I; ‘‘and therefore the
shock has not been so great.”

‘Well, Mr. Keene, of course it is from
the interest I took in your mother that I was
induced to take you under my protection,
and her death will make no difference in
that point, so long as you conduct yourself
as you have hitherto done. You have now
created a strong interest for yourself by your
good conduct, and I shall not lose sight of
you. How many months have you yet to
serve before your time is out?”

‘‘T have served five years and seven
months, as far as I can recollect.”

““So “I thought: Now; Wir Recene: = it
was because I thought of you that I did not
fill up the lieutenant’s vacancy which was
made by the death of Captain W. and the
promotion of the commander and my first
lieutenant. As soon as you are well, I will
give you an acting order as lieutenant of
this ship; and, as we are now on a sort of
roving commission, I have no doubt but
that you will have served your time, and
found the means of passing before we join
the admiral; your promotion will, under
such circumstances, be, I have no doubt,
confirmed ; so all you have to do now is to
get well as fast as youcan. Good-bye.”The captain gave me a most gracious
nod, and then went outside of the screen,
giving me no time for thanks. I was,
indeed, overjoyed ; not so much at the pro-
motion as at the change in the captain’s
manner towards me : a change so palpable
that it filled me with the fondest anticipa-
tions. I remained for a long while reflecting
upon my future prospects. As a lieutenant
of the same ship, I should be more in con-
tact with him: he could now converse and
take notice of me without its being con-
sidered remarkable ; nay, he could be inti-
mate with me. I resolved to be most
careful of my conduct, so as not to alarm
his pride by the least familiarity, and hoped,
eventually, to play my cards so as to obtain
my earnest wish ; but I felt that there was a
great deal of ground to go over first, and that
the greatest circumspection was necessary.
I felt that I had still to raise myself in his
opinion_and in the opinion of the world to a
much higher position than I was in at
present before I could expect that Captain
Delmar would, virtually, acknowledge me
as his son. I felt that I had to wade
through blood, and stand the chance of
thousands of balls and bullets in my _ profes-
sional eareer, before I could do all this; a
bright vista of futurity floated before me,
and, in the far distance, I felt myself in pos-
session of the object of my ambition, and
with my eyes still fixed upon it, I dropped
fast asleep, revelling in the same dreams
which I had indulged in when awake.

In a fortnight I was quite recovered ; my
wounds had healed up, and I now walked
about. Having had my uniform altered by
the ship's tailor, and procured an epaulet
from one of the lieutenants, I took posses-
sion of my cabin in the gun-room, and was
warmly received by my new messmates ;
but I did not return to my duties for nearly
a month, on account of a little lameness
still remaining, and which the surgeon
declared was often the case after the yellow
fever !!

I ought to have observed, that when my
mother was so indulgent as to commit sui-
cide for my sake, she had taken every pre-
caution, and the letter of my grandmother
informed Captain Delmar that my mother
had bequeathed me £12,000 in the Three
per Cents., which she had laid by from her
business, and that therefore there was no
longer any occasion that I should be an
expense to Captain Delmar. It must not,
however, be supposed, from my grandmo-
ther stating this, that Captain Delmar was
at all mercenary or stingy ; on the contrary,
considering that, as the second son of a
nobleman, he had only £1000 per annum
besides his pay, he was exceedingly liberal
(although not extravagant) in all money

matters,

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

At last I was well enough to return to
my duty ; and glad I was to be once more
walking the quarter-deck; not as before,
on the lee, but on the weather side, with an
epaulet on my shoulder. Strange to say,
there was not a midshipman in the ship
(although there were so many) who had
served so long as I had, and in consequence
there was not any heart-burning or jealousy
at my promotion, and I continued on the
best terms with my old messmates, although
gradually lessening the intimacy which
existed between us. But that was not
intentional on my part ; it was the effect of
my promotion, and removal from the berth
of a set of lads to the company of the
senior and older officers. I was now a man
and had the feelings and thoughts of a
man. My frolics and tricks were discarded
with the midshipman’s coat, and in respect-
ing my new rank I respected myself.

Now that I walked on the same side of
the deck, Captain Delmar very often entered
into conversation with me; and although
at first it was with caution on his part, yet
when he found that I never presumed, and
was invariably most respectful, he became
on much more intimate terms with me.

During three months we continued cruis-

ing about without falling in with or having
received any intelligence of the French
frigate which we were sent in quest of; at
last Captain Delmar resolved to change the
cruising ground, and we ran up to ten degrees
of latitude further north.
As we were running up, we fell in with an
American brig, and brought her to ; a boat
was sent for the captain, who, when he
came on board, was interrogated by Cap-
tain Delmar as to his having seen or heard
of any French vessel on that coast. As the
conversation took place on the quarter-deck,
and I was Officer of the watch, I can
repeat it.

‘“ Well,” replied the American through
his nose, ‘‘I reckon there is a Frenchman
in these parts.”’

‘“‘ Have you fallen in with her?” inquired
Captain Delmar.

‘Well, I may say I have ; forI lay along-
side of her in Cartagena when I was taking
in my cargo of hides. You haven’t such a
thing as a sparas will make me a pole top-
gallant mast, captain, have you?”

‘Ts she large or small?”

‘Well, captain, I don’t care whether the
spar be large or small; I’ve two carpenters
on board, and I'll soon dub it down into
shape.”

‘‘T inquired about the vessel—I did not
refer to the spar,” replied Captain Delmar,
haughtily.

‘And I referred to the spar, which is my
business, and not to the vessel, which is no
consarn of mine,’ replied the Americanand so now I'll go on.

106

captain. ‘‘ You see, master, we have both
our wants ; you want information, I want a
spar : I have no objection to a fair swop.”

mn Well, ’ replied Captain Delmar, rather
amused, ‘‘ give me the information and you
shall have the spar.’

ethates agreed, ©

“Send for the carpenter, and desire him
to get out a small spar, Mr. ' said
Captain Delmar to the first lieutenant.

““Well, captain, that looks like business,
The Frenchman is
as large as you ; ee be,’ said hé, looking
round the deck, ‘‘he may be a bit Jar er,
but you won't mind that, I suppose.’

‘Pid .you leave her in port when you
satldecy "44+

pe reckon she was off two days before
me. :
“And how ‘many days is it Since you
sailed 2’:

‘*Just four days, I calculate.”

“And cid you hear w vhere she was going

oP”

“Yes, JI did; and I’ve a 6 Get ‘could
put my finger upon her now, ‘if I ‘choosed.
Captain, you haven't got’a- coil of two-inch
which you could lend me--l-ain't got a top-
sail brace to reeve, and mine are very queer
justnow. -I reckon they've been turned end
for end -so often; ‘that there's ‘an end of
them. =~;

“Vou say that you know where the reste
is—where is she?”

ue Captain, that’s telling—can’ t i have the
two-inch ?”

“We have not. a whole és of two-
inch left, sir,’’ said the’ master, touching his
hat. ‘We might spare him enough for a
pair of new braces.”

“Well, well, I’m reasonable altogether,
and if, so be you haven't got~it,; I don’t
expect it. It's very odd now, but I can't
just now remember ‘the place that the French
vessel, was going to ; it’s slipped clean-out of
my memory.

A ‘Perhaps the two-inch might: help your
memory, ’ replied-the captain.: “ Mr: Smith,
let the rope be got up and put: into : the
BO -

“Well,” said tee american captain, TAS
yqu.say, mister, it may help my memory.
It's not the first time that I’ve freshened a
man’s memory with a bit of two-inch my-
self,’ continued he, grinning at his own
joke ; ‘‘but I don’t see it coming.’

‘T have ordered it to be put in the boat,”
replied Captain Delmar, haughtily: ‘‘my
orders are not disobeyed, nor is my word
doubted.”

‘‘Not by them as knows you, I daresay,
captain, but you're a stranger to me; I
don’t think I ask much, after all—a bit. of
spar and a bit of rope—just to tell you
where you may go and take a fine vessel,

 

   

PERCIVAL KEENE. i)

and pocket.a nation lot of dollars as prize-
money. Well, there’s the rope, and now
I'll tell you. She was going off Berbice or
Surinam, to look after the West Indiamen,
who were on the coast, or expected on it, I
don't know which. There you'll find her,
as sure as I stand here; but I think that
she is a bit eect than this vessel—you
don’t mind that, I daresay.’

‘You may go on board now, sir,” said
Captain Delmar.

‘Well, thank ye, captain, and good luck
to you.”

The American captain went down the
side ; and as soon as our boat returned, and
was hoisted up, we made all sail for the
coast of Demerara.

‘‘She must bea fine vessel,” said Cap-
tain Delmar to me, as he was walking the
deck,——‘‘a very fine vessel if she is bigger
than we are.”

““You will excuse me, Captain Delmar,
if I venture to observe that there was an
expression in the eye of the American, when
he said a bit bigger,'which made me take
it into my head that in saying so he was
only deceiving us. ‘The Americans are not
very partial to us, and would be glad of
any revenge.

we—That-may— pe, Mir ttcéene ; but 4 do
not'sée that“ he*can be deceiving us, by
making her-out tobe larger, as it is putting
us’ on our guard.” Had he said that she
was smaller, tte word then have been de-
celving sys

‘*T ‘did not: fake it in that sense, 'sir,’’ re-
pled I. ‘He said a bit bigger; now, 1
can't help thinking that a bit bigger was
meant’ to deceive us, and‘that it will’ prove
that the ‘Frenchman is a line-of-battle ship,
and not’ a frigate: he wished to Teave“us
under’the impression that it’-was a larger
frigate than our ‘own, and tro more.”

“Tt may beso, ' peplied Captain-Delmar,
thoughtfully; ‘Sat all events, “Mr: Keene, T
am. obliged to’ yout for the 'stiegestion.”

The captain took two or three more turns
fore and ‘aft=in 1 silence; and mF pietocd the
deck.

 

CHAPTER XX. i
IN three days we had gained the latitude
of Berbice, and on the fourth morning the
men at the mast-head were keeping a sharp
look-out for any strange sail. Our head
was then towards the land, which being
very low, could not ‘be seen; the breeze
was light, the royals had been set, and the
men piped down to breakfast, when the
mast-head man reported three sail right
ahead. We soon made them out to be
merchant vessels, and as they separated,
and made all sail from us, we made sure
that they had been captured; and so itproved when we took possession of them,
which we did not do of the third before
night-fall.

Upon interrogating the prisoners and the
few English who had been left on board
the prizes, we found out that I had been right
in my conjecture ; they had been captured
by a French line-of-battle ship, which they
had left in shore the eVening before. The
English reported her a very fast sailer, and
believed her to be an eighty-gun ship—in-
deed, the French prisoners acknowledged
thet such was the case.

This was very important intelligence, and
Captain Delmar walked up and down deck
in deep thought: the fact was, he was
puzzled how to act. To attempt to cope
with such a force, unless under peculiarly
favourable circumstances, would be mad-
ness : to leave the coast and our mercantile
navy exposed to her depredations, was at
the same time very repulsive to his feelings
and sense of duty. The prizes had been
manned, the prisoners were on board, the
boats hoisted-up, and the AazzZJa still re-
mained hove to. The fact was, the captain
did not know which way ‘to put the ship's
head ; and he walked up and down in deep
thought.

‘“Mr. Keene, is it your watch?”

'No-siry”

“ Oblige me by telling.the master to work
up the reckoning; I wish to know exactly
where we are.”

“It is done already, sir,” replied I, “and
pricked off on the chart-—I have just left the
gun-room.”

‘Then, Mr. Keene, bring the chart into
my cabin.’ -I followed into the cabin with
the chart, which I laid down on the table,
and pointed out the position of the ship.

‘You were right in your supposition, Mr.
Keene,” said the captain ; ‘‘and really this
vessel turning out to be a line-of-battlée ship
has put me in a very awkward predica-
ment—I really am puzzled. Fighting is of
no use, and yet run away I will not, if I
can possibly help it.”

Now, I had been studying the chart, and
had made up my mind how I should have
acted under the circumstances, had I been
in Captain Delmar’s position. The great
point was, to give him my ideas, without
appearing to offer advice; I therefore re-
plied, ‘‘We have one advantage, at all
events, sir ; we have been cruising so long
that we are flying light—I don't think we
draw sixteen feet water.”

‘“Yes, that may give us the heels of her
inlight winds, certainly,” replied the captain.

“T think she cannot draw less than
twenty-six or twenty-seven feet of water,
sir,”’ continued I, to put him on the right
scent, ‘which, on this coast, will be a great

 

PERCIVAL KEENE,

107

advantage. I think, sir, when I was down
below, I measured from soundings to sound-
Ings, and the water isso shallow, and
deepens so gradually, that there is a distance
of four miles between seventeen feet and
twenty-eight feet water.”

I tookup the compass, So as to take in
the two soundings laid down-in the chart,
and then measuring the distance, showed
that my. assertion was true. The captain
said nothing for a little while. At last I
perceived aismile on his lips. “Tell the
officer of the watch to’ lower down the
cutter, Mr. Keene. Go on board of the
prizes, and tell them, in addition to their
present orders, to follow us, that in case of
an enemy, they are to run as close in shore
as the water will allow them, and drop their
anchors.”

‘TAyemayepesir!?
cabin,

This order satisfied me that the captain
perceived- what I would suggest, which was
that if we once got in’ shore and in shallow
water, we might laugh ‘at the line-of-battle
ship, which, in all probability, would not be
able to get near enough to réach us with
her guns ; or if she attempted it, she would
run on shore, and then we should ‘havé the
best of ‘it.

As soon-as I had’ given’ thé orders to’ the
prize-masters, and returned on board, the
boat was hoisted up, and all sail made for
the land. At twelve o'clock we sounded,
and found: ourselves’ in nine-fathom water,
by whicly we calculated we were about thirty
miles from the land. I hardly need say that
a most careful look-out was kept up, that
we might not fall in with our formidable
adversary. —

At one o'clock the moon rosé, and T,
having the middle watch, surveyed the
horizon on every side, but without discover-
ing the enemy; but at half-past three the
day dawned, and before my watch was over
it was broad daylight ; and theh, just. as I
was going down, having being’ relieved® by
the second-lieutenant, a ‘strange’ sail was
reported about eight’ miles to leeward, two
points before the beam. :

The second lieutenant hastened down to
the cabin, to report to the captain, and I
went up to the mast-head to make her out,
and I soon discovered that she was a line-of-
battle ship : I immediately descended, and
reported to the captain, who had come on
deck. As we could distinguish the masts
and sails of the enemy very well from the
deck, the glasses were fixed upon her at
the gangway, and she was seen ‘to set her
royals and flying jib in chase of us ; but we
felt that we were safe, as we should be in
shallow water long before she could beat up
tous, All we had to fear for was the mer-

replied I, leaving*the108

 

chant vessels, which we had retaken, and
which were two or three miles astern of us,
with all the sail that they could carry.

It was a five-knot breeze, and the water
quite smooth, which was very favourable for
the line-of-battle ship and ourselves, but not
for the merchant vessels, which, with their
cargoes, required more wind to propel them
through the water. The state of affairs
when the hands were piped to breakfast,
was as follows :—

The French line-of-battle ship had stood
in for the land, under all sail, until half-past
seven, being then, as she was when we first
saw her, exactly two points before the beam,
when, probably being in shoal water, she
had tacked, and was now a little abaft our
beam, and lying pretty well up for the mer-
chant vessel the furthest astern of us. Since
she had tacked, she had risen her hull out
of water, so as to show her upper tier of
guns. Two of the merchant vessels were
about three miles astern of us,—the other
one five, and stood a fair chance of being
cut off; the more so, because when we
discovered the enemy, we were standing
about two points free, right for the coast ;

‘whereas, upon her hauling her wind in

chase, we of course did the same, which
made us approach the shallow water ina
more slanting direction, and consequently
not get in quite so soon. We were now in
seven fathoms water, and, by our pricking
off on the chart, about eleven miles from
land, which was so low as to be barely visi-
ble from the mast-head. The men were
allowed an hour to their breakfast, and then
we beat to quarters. The captain‘did not,
however, put out the fires, so as to prevent
the ship's company’s dinner being cooked, as
everything was ready, and the magazines
could be opened in a minute.

At ten o'clock we had drawn into six
fathoms water; the Frenchman was now
nearly astern of us, still on the opposite
tack, and passing about three miles to lee-
ward of the merchant vessel which lagged
most behind, It was now considered cer-
tain that she would recapture this vessel,
which was at least seven miles astern of us,
and not impossible that she might take one,
if not both of the others, as it was evident
she was a prime sailer, as fast almost as our
own ship.

At a quarter-past ten, the French line-of-
battle ship tacked, and stood right after us
in our wake, being now hull down about
twelve miles from us.

‘“ He'll soon have the starnmost vessel,
Mr. Keene,” said Bob Cross tome. ‘‘ Mr.
Dott has charge of her; he is always in
some scrape or other.”

“Yes,” replied I; ‘‘ but he gets out of
them, and I daresay he will out of this.”

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

   

‘‘Helm up there, quarter-master—flatten
in forward.”

‘‘The wind’s heading us, sir,” said the
master ; ‘‘she’s full again now. ‘Thus, boy,
and nothing off.”’

‘She has broken off two points, sir.”

‘‘All the better,’ replied the captain ;
“it's a squeak for Mr. Dott.”

In a few minutes we perceived that the
other vessel had met the change in the wind,
and had broken off as well as ourselves.
‘The Frenchman did not now lay up for the
merchant vessel as she did before, and the
latter had some chance of escape. It was
very exciting ; for as the time drew nearer
to noon, the wind became more light and
more variable, dnd at one time all the
vessels broke off another point; shortly
afterwards, the wind flew back again to the
point which it at first blew from, and the
enemy lay once more right up for the
merchant vessels. The French _line-of-
battle ship was still about four miles astern
of the merchant vessel nearest to her.

‘‘T think we shall have a calm soon,’
observed Captain Delmar. ‘‘Square the
mainyard ; we may as well be nearer to her
as not, now ; for if it falls calm she will re-
capture them with her boats, and we shall
be too far to give any assistance. Get the
yard tackles up. All ready, Mr. a

‘‘Aye, aye, sir,” replied the first’ lieu-
tenant.

‘* Pipe the boat's crew away, and let them
get their guns and ammunition on the gang-
way.”

It was about a quarter to eleven when we
hoye to, the breeze still continuing variable
and light, and the French line-of-battle ship
did not come up so fast as before. We
sounded after we hove to, and found that
we were in five and a half fathoms water.

At twelve o'clock, in consequence of our
haying hove to, the relative positions of the
vessels were as follows :—The two merchant
vessels, which had been about four miles
astern of us, were now alongside of us; the
third was about three miles astern of us;
and the Frenchman was about the same
distance astern of her ; so that our frigate
was about six miles from the French line-of-
battle ship.

Captain Delmar had given orders to pipe
to dinner at seven bells (half-past eleven
o'clock) ; that in case the boats were re-
quired, the men might have dined before
they were sent away. A few minutes after
twelve o'clock it fell g dead calm ; the hands
were turned up, the boats hoisted out and
lowered down, the guns and ammunition
put in them, and everything in readiness ;
we keeping our glasses upon the enemy,
and watching her manceuvring, which, at
the distance we were, was now easily to bePERCIVAL

distinguished. Captain Delmar was aware
that he ran some risk in sending his boats
away, for it might so happen that a breeze
might spring up from thé seaward, and the
enemy have the advantage of it long before
us ; if so, it might bring her up to the vessel
astern, and the boats be captured : indeed,
it might bring her up nearly alongside of us
before we caught the wind. It was neces-
sary, therefore, to be very cautious, and not
send the boats away till-the last moment—
that 1s, before we saw the French ship hoist-
ing out or lowering down her own. That
the Frenchman knew that our boats had
been hoisted out, could not be doubted, as
their eyes were quite as sharp as ours.
They, however, tried to double us ; for, all
of a sudden, as I had my glass upon the
l’rench ship, I perceived three boats coming
round her quarter, and pulling right for the
merchant vessel : the fact was, that she had
lowered down her stern and quarter boats
to leeward, which we could not perceive. I
reported this immediately to the captain,
who ordered the boats’ crews to be piped
away.

“Who is to command the boats, sir?’
said the first lieutenant.

*“Mr. Keene,’’ said the captain.

““Mr. Keene, I wish to speak with you
before you go.”

Captain Delmar then walked to the cap-
stern, and, in a few words, pointed out what
I have just stated as the difficulty which
might occur, and the chances of capture.

“You understand me, Mr. Keene?”

- bemectly, Sit replied. 1.

‘Well, then, I trust to your discretion,
Mr. Keene, and hope I shall not be disap-
pointed. Now you may go.”

“The French ship is getting up her yard
tackles,’”’ said the signal man.

“Then you have no. time-to lose, Mr.
Keene. As for the small boats, they are of
no consequence.”’

{ went down the side and shoved off.
Our men gave way cheerfully and manfully ;
and the three boats of the Frenchman had
but a little start-of us. In half an hour we
were both within less than a mile of the
merchant vessel; but the French boats
were the nearest of the two. ‘The affair
now became very exciting. In another ten
minutes the French boats had gained the
merchant vessel, and the men were clamber-
ing up her sides, while we were not more
than three cables’ length from them. ‘That
Tommy Dott was defending himself was to
be presumed, as a good deal of firing took
place ; but before we could get alongside, it

was evident that he and his men had been
mastered, and the French were in possession
of the vessel. But now our turn came.
Dividing my boats, six in number, into two

 

  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
   
 

KEENE, 109
divisions, we boarded. on both sides, and
very soon had regained the vessel and
mastered the French, who did not amount
to more than thirty-five men, while we had
more than seventy.

We found that the Frenchmen had not
spared our people on board of the vessel,
all of them being wounded or killed; but
the fact was that Tommy Dott had fought
most nobly, and resisted to the very last.
He himself—poor fellow !—lay against the
capstern, with his head cut open by a blow
of a cutlass, and quite insensible. As soon
as we had secured the prisoners, I turned
my eyes to the line-of-battle ship, and saw
that her large boats had shoved off; they
were five in number, but much larger, and
holding more men than we had.

A little reflection decided me that we
should have a better chance of resisting
them on board of the vessel than in the
boats ; and I determined that I would get
my boats’ guns up on board of the vessel,
and arm herin that way. It was necessary,
however, to secure our boats, that they
might not cut them away from alongside ;
I therefore, as soon as the guns and am-
munition were on board, lowered the iron
chain cable down from the bows, and
passed it from one boat to the other under the
fixed thwarts of each boat, including those
captured from the French, hauling the end
of the cable on board again through the
stern port. We had plenty of-time to do
this, and make any other preparation on
board, before the French boats arrived.

It was a ‘dead calm; the sea was like a
mirror, and the advancing boats, as their
oars rose and fell in the water, gave you the
idea of creatures possessed of life and
volition, as they rapidly forced their way
through the yielding fluid. The vessel's
stern was towards the line-of-battle ship,
and the boats were pulling up a little on the
starboard quarter. The guns which I had
hoisted on board had, for want of any other
means, been sufficiently secured by ropes
to the slides and breechings to enable us to
fire them with effect. When the boats were
about a quarter of a mile from us, we
opened our fire ; not that we expected much
from our guns, as we knew that we could
not obtain more than two good shots at
the boats before they were alongside ; still
there was a chance of hitting and disabling
them, and no chance was to be thrown away.

Our first shot was successful ; it struck
one of the pinnaces, and she swamped
immediately.

Our men cheered, while’'the other French
boats pulled to it, and took up the men who
were floating in the water. Before they
could effect this, another gun was fired with
grape and round, which apparently didIIo PERCIVAE

some execution, as there appeared to be
much confusion on board of the two boats
that had gone to the assistance of their
comrades. We now fully expected the
boats to advance; on the contrary, they
spread out on each quarter, and opened
their fire upon us with their guns—a very
foolish act on their part, as it gave us every
advantage ; for they were far superior to us
in number of men, and should have boarded
us at once, instead of risking the loss of
more of their boats. So little did we expect
this, that at one time I was debating
whether I should not leave the guns in the
boats alongside, instead of getting them on
board, that there might be no delay in case
wind sprang up, and it were necessary that
we should be off; of course, as it was, I
was very glad that I had decided other-
wise.

The action, if it may be so termed, now
continued for about half an hour without
any great casualty on either side: we had
five or six men wounded on board of the
vessel, but none killed. I had occasionally
looked round to see if there was any appear-
ance of wind, and just about this time I
perceived -a black line in the offing, which
promised not only wind, but wind from the
very quarter which would be most disastrous
to us, and I began to feel very anxious,
when I heard a bugle sounded from the
largest French boat. This was the signal
to advance, and I was very glad, as the
affair would now be soon decided.

As all our boats were secured on the
starboard side of the vessel, the Frenchmen
did not attempt to board on that side, as in
so. doing it would have been at a double
disadvantage ; they had therefore no alter-
native but to board all together on the
larboard side. ‘Two of the boats’ guns had
been fixed on that side—double-shotted and
depressed, so as to be fired at the moment
one of the boats should pass beneath them ;
they were both fired at the leading boat, the
launch, which was very large and full
of men, and the shot went through her
bottom. ‘This did not prevent her coming
alongside : but she filled and sank almost
immediately afterwards, while the men
were climbing up the sides of the vessel.
The sinking of this boat prevented the
men of the other boats outside of her
from supporting their companions, and we
had therefore only to meet the force of the
launch and the two other boats which had
come alongside ahead of her, and which
was in number not equal to our own.

We always had an idea that the French
would never do much in the way of board-
ing, and so it proved ; they were beat down
as fast as they made their appearance above

the bulwarks. The French lieutenant was

 

 

    
    
  
   

 

KEENE.

attempting to get over the gunwale; he
was unsupported, as almost all his men had
tumbled back into the sea. Instead of
cutting him down, I caught him by the
collar, and hauled him on board, and as
soon as he was disarmed, gave him in
charge of a marine. In ten minutes all
was over : two of the French boats remained
alongside, and the others shoved off, half
manned, and dropped astern. We gave
them three cheers as a parting salutation ;
but we had no time to lose—the wind was
evidently springing up fast, already cat’s
paws were to be seen here and there rippling
the water, and the line on the horizon was
now dark and broad. I ordered our boats
to be ready for starting, the guns to be got
in, and the wounded men divided among
them as far as possible. The two large
French boats which remained on the star-
board side we cleared of the men who lay
in them, and then had their bottoms beat
out to sink them. ‘The French lieutenant
and two other officers I ordered into our
own boats, to take on board as prisoners ;
the rest of the French who had been cap-
tured, with their wounded, we put into the
three small French boats which had been-
captured in the first attack, taking away
their oars, that, when I shoved off and left
the vessel, they might drift about till they
were picked up by the French ship.

Everything being in readiness, I had now
to decide what I should do with the mer-
chant vessel. The wind coming up so fast
from the seaward, gave her no chance ot
escape, and I decided that I would set her
on fire. Having so done in three different
parts, to insure her destruction, I then
shoved off with our boats, having first
pushed off the Frenchmen in their boats
without oars, and wished them good-bye ;
they certainly did look very foolish, and
anything but pleased.

As we pulled for the frigate, I perceived
that the line-of-battle ship’s sails were filling,
and that it was touch-and-go with us ; but
I also, knew that she could not leave her
boats, and that it would take some time to
pick them up; two were half manned, and
pulling towards her; the other three were
without oars, and must be picked up by the
other boats; all of which would occasion
delay.. Notwithstanding, we pulled as hard
as we could, and were half-way back before
the breeze was sufficiently steady to enable
the line-of-battle ship to make much pro-
gress through the water. Of course we
could not well see what was going on when
we had pulled awayein the boats, and were
at.a distance ; all we could see was, that the
French _line-of-battle ship was not yet in
chase, from which we presumed that she
had not yet picked up her boats. In themeantime the merchant vessel burnt furiously,
and the columns of smoke very often hid the
enemy from our view.

Before we arrived on board, the breeze
had passed us and caught the sails of our
frigate and the two merchant vessels, so that
we were more easy on that score. Captain
Delmar had been very anxious ; the yards,
tackles, and stays, and the tackles for
hoisting up the quarter-boats, were already
hanging down as we pulled alongside, and
‘Call hands in boats” was piped before we
could get up the gangway. ‘There was no
time to be lost: the French line-of-battle
ship had picked up her boats, and was now
in chase, with studding-sails below and
abaft. The two merchant vessels had made
all sail, and were running in shore ahead of
us. Itouched my hat to the captain, and
said, ‘‘Come on board, sir—shall I see the
quarter-boats hoisted up ?”’

‘“Tf you please, Mr. Keene,’ replied he.

The fact was, it was very easy to tell my
story after the boats were up and sail made
upon the frigate, and I knew there was no
time for talking.

I never witnessed such a rapidity as was
shown on this occasion: in less than five
minutes all the boats were on board, and all
sail made. I looked at the French line-of-
battle ship ; she was within four miles of us,
and bringing up a very steady breeze. But
we were now drawing through the water,
and as the recaptured vessels were three
miles ahead of us, there was nothing to fear.
Captain Delmar came aft to look at the
I’'renchman, who had already passed by the
vessel which I had set on fire.

‘«Now, then, Mr. Keene,’’ Said he, ‘‘ we
will know what has taken place. Of course
we have seen most of it.”

I narrated what the reader already knows.

‘What do you suppose to have been the
loss?”

‘‘T should say three boats, and about
forty men, sir. forgot, sir, to tell you
that we have a lieutenant and two officers
prisoners, whom I brought on board withme.”’

‘‘Desire them to be brought on deck,”
said the captain. ‘‘Mr. Keéne, you have
done your work well—with great gallantry
and judgment.”

I touched my hat, not’ a little pleased at
such a compliment from Captain Delmar.

‘‘What's the last soundings, Mr. Smith ?”
inquired the captain.

‘And a- quarter
master.

‘This chase won't last long,’ observed
the captain. ‘‘ Take in the lower studding-
sail.”

' -The F¥ench lieutenant was then ques-
tioned ; but, with the exception of the name
of the ship and captain, there was little to

four, si!’ said the

PERCIVAL KEENE

III

be expected from him, and hewas dismissed
and sent below.

This affair, however, was not without loss
on our side (principally arising from Tommy
Dott’s stout defence). We had two men
killed, and we had altogether fourteen men
wounded—some of them very severely. My
friend Tommy Dott came on board a miser-
able object, his face and hair matted with
blood ; but when it was washed away, he
proved to be not so much hurt as was sup-
posed : the cut was severe, but the bones
were not injured.. He was very soon out
of his hammock again, and his chief plea-
sure was to put his tongue in his cheek and
make faces at the French lieutenant, who
at last became so annoyed, that he com-
plained to Captain Delmar, who ordered
Mr. Tommy to leave off these expressions
of national animosity, if he had any wish to
obtain his promotion. But to return.

As the breeze freshened, and the French
ship had the first of it, she rapidly gained
upon us, and in about an hour and a half
was about three miles from us. We had
now shoaled our water to three fathoms
and a half, which was quite near enough to
the ground, as it left but four feet between
our keel and the bottom ; the studding-sails
were taken in, and we ranged the cable.
A few minutes afterwards the French line-
of-battle ship. was seen to shorten sail, and
haul to the wind ; she had followed us into
as shoal water as she dared venture in, and
as she rounded to, out of spite, I presume,
she fired a gun. The evening was now
closing in, and as there was every appear-
ance of fine weather, we stood out till we
were again in four fathoms, and then
dropped our anchor.

The next morning, when the day broke,
the French line-of-battle ship was in the
offing about eight miles distant. It may
easily be imagined that the French were
very much annoyed at what had taken
place ; their prizes recaptured, three boats
lost, and their ship's company weakened,
and all by an inferior force close to them,
and without any prospect of their having
any revenge. But we, on the other hand,
were not very pleasantly situated. It is true
that we were safe, but, at the same time, we
were in prison, and could not hope for
escape, unless some vessel came down to
our assistance ; and how long we might be
compelled to remain where we were, Or
what the chapter of accidents might bring
about, no one could foresee.

About eight o'clock the French ship again
stood in, and when as closeas she dare come
to us, she ran up and down, trying for
deeper water on one side or the other, but
in vain. She was within gun-shot of us, &
is true, as we had run out into four fathoms ;Se RR PPR HN

inact nec APN RISE

 

  
    
  
  
  
  
  
 
 

Ii2

but we could always trip our anchor when
we pleased and stand further in. At last
she tried a shot at us, and it fell very close.
Captain Delmar did not, however, get under
weigh and stand further in, although he
ordered the capstern bars to be shipped,
and the messenger passed. A second and
a third shot were fired, and one went over
us. At last the Frenchman anchored, and
set to work in good earnest. He found
that he was within range, and as we did
not move, presumed that we were in as
shallow water as we could run into.

As the wind was still to seaward, we laid
head on to him, and one of his shot struck
us in the forefoot; Captain Delmar then
ordered the cable to be hove in and the
anchor tripped, by which means we drifted
in Shore, and increased our distance without
his being aware of it, and his firing still
continued, but without injury to us. The
reason for Captain Delmar’s doing this was
evident; he wished the French ship to
continue firing, as the report of her guns
might be heard, and bring down some
vessel to our assistance. ~ At all events,
such was not our good fortune on the first
day, and I began to be tired of our situation ;
so did Captain Delmar; for on the second
day he sent a boat to thé recaptured vessels,
which were at anchor in shore of us, direct-
ing them to heave up as soon as it was
dark, and make the best of their way to
Barbadoes, keeping well in shore till they
got more to the northward ; this they did,
and the following morning they were not
in sight.

The French ship still remained at anchor,
and it appeared that she had been lightening
so as to get further in ; for on that morning
she weighed, and stood in toa mile and a
half of us, and we were obliged to do the
same, and run in shore out of his reach.
To effect this, we anchored in three and a
quarter fathoms, so that we actually stirred
up the mud. Towards the evening the
wind fortunately shifted to off shore, and
as soon as it was dark the captain ordered
the anchor to be weighed, and we made all
sail to the northward, trusting to our heels ;
and the following morning we had run
seventy miles, and as the French ship was
not to be seen, it was to be presumed tha
she was not aware of our having so-done.

Ten days afterwards we dropped our
anchor in Carlisle Bay, Barbadoes. We
found two men-of-war, both captains junior
officers to our own, and I took. this oppor-
tunity of passing my examination, which
was a mere matter of form. Having
watered and taken in provisions, we then
sailed for Jamaica, to join the admiral, who,
upon Captain Delmar’s representation, im-
mediately confirmed the acting order of
lieutenant given to me by him,

PERCIVAL KEENE.

  

A few days afterwards a packet arrived
from England, and letters were received by
Captain Delmar, informing him of the
death of his elder brother, and his succeed-
ing to the title of Lord de Versely ; for his
elder brother, although married, had no
maleissue. Upon this intelligence, Captain
Delmar immediately resigned the command
of the A/anzlla, and another captain was
appointed to her. I did not much like this,
as I wished to remain with Captain Delmar,
and gain his goodwill. I was, however,
consoled by his sending for me, previous to
his sailing for England in a frigate ordered
home, and saying, ‘ Mr. Keene, my
duties in the House of Lords, and family
affairs, require«my presence in England,
and I think it most probable that I
now quit the service altogether; but I
shall not lose sight of you. You have
conducted yourself much to my satisfaction,
and I will take care of your advancement
in the service, if you only continue as you
have begun. I shall be happy to hear from
you, if you will write to me occasionally.
I wish you every success. Is there anything
that I can do for you?”

‘‘I am most grateful, my lord,” replied
I, ‘‘for all your kindness. I had hoped to
have been longer under your protection and
guidance ; but I am aware that your high
station must now prevent it. If I might be
so bold as to ask a favour, my lord?”

‘‘ Certainly, Keene,” replied his lordship.

Keene / not Mr. Keene, thought I.

‘Tt is, sir, that I think I should havea
better chance of doing something if I were
to obtain the command of the Firefly
schooner; the lieutenant commanding her
is about to invalide.”’

“I agree with you. I will speak to the
admiral this very day. Is that all?”

‘Yes, my lord; unless you think you
could ask for Cross, your coxswain, to be
appointed to her. I-should like to have a
man on board whom I knew and could
trust.’

‘‘T will see about it, and so good-bye.”

His lordship held out his hand. I took it
very respectfully ; he had never done so be-
fore, and the tears ran down my cheeks as
I was quitting him. His lordship observed
it, and turned away. _I left the cabin, quite
overcome with his kindness, and so happy,
that I would not have changed positions
with the grand sultan himself.

Lord de Versely was faithful to his pro-
mise: the next day I received from the
admiral my appointment to the firefly, and,
what was more unexpected, Bob Cross
received a warrant as her boatswain. ‘This
was a very kind act of Lord de Versely,
and I was as much delighted as Bob him-
self. J alsa received an invitation to dinner
with the admiral on that day, On myarrival at the house, a few minutes before
dinner, the admiral called me aside to the
verandah, and said to me, ‘‘Mr. Keene, I
have not forgotten your cruise in the’ pirate
schooner, and Lord de Versely has told me
of your good behaviour in many instances
since ; particularly of your conduct in the
boats off Berbice. In his despatches he has
given you great praise, and I have added
mine to back-it; so that if you only keep
steady, you will command a sloop of war
very soon. You have now been seven
months a lieutenant, for your commission
will be confirmed to your first appointment ;
a few months more, and I hope to see you
with a commander’s commission in your
pockets:

I replied, that I was very grateful, and
only hoped that he would send me out in
the schooner to where I might prove myself
deserving of his patronage.

‘“Never fear. I'll find something for you
to- do, Mir. Keene. 3y-the-by, Lord de
Versely told me last night, when we were
alone, the history of the duel at Martinique.
You did well} Mr. Keene; I thank you in
the name of our service ; it won’t do for the
soldiers to crow over us, though they are
fine fellows, it must be admitted. However,
that secret had better be kept.”

‘‘Most certainly, sir,’ replied I.

‘‘ Now, then, there's that black fellow
come up to tell us dinner is ready ; so come
along, or you'll be where the little boat was
—a long way astern.”’

CHAPTER XXI1TE

THe admiral was very kind to me, and
shook hands with me when I left him. I
returned on board of the Aanzlla, took
leave of the surgeon and master, and other
officers, and then of all my messmates, and
a woat was manned to take Bob Cross and
me on board of the #vref#ly. After the boat
shoved off, and was a little distance from
the frigate, the men suddenly tossed up
their oars.

‘What are you absut, men?” said I.

‘Took there, sir,”” said Bob Cross, point-
ing to the frigate.

I turned round, and perceived all the
men in the rigging, who gave me three
cheers from a pipe of the boatswain; a
compliment which I had not dreaint of,
and wkich moved me to tears. IJrose, and
took off my hat; the men in the boat
returned the cheers, dropped their oars in
the «ater, and rowed to the schooner. I
stepped on board, ordered the hands aft,
and read my commission, and then Cross's
warrant ; after which I went down into the
cabin, for I wished to be alone.

I was now ian command of a vessel, and

PERCIVAL KEENE.

not more than twenty years old: I reflected
what a career was before me, if I was for-
tunate, and never neglected an opportunity
of distinguishing myself ; and I vowed that
I never would, and prayed to Heaven to
assist my endeavours. Lord de Versely’s
kindness to me had struck deep into my
heart, and my anxiety was, that he should
be proud of me. And then I thought of
the chances for and against me; he might
marry and have children; that would be
the worst thing that could happen to me:
if he did not marry, his other brother had a
large family, and the title would go to the
eldest son ; but that was nothing to me.

While I was summoning up all these
contingencies in my mind, there was a knock
at the cabin, door. “‘Come in, ‘said k
“Oh! is it you, Cross? I’m glad to see
you. Sit down there. Yousee lcommand
a vessel at last, Bob.”

‘Yes, sir; and you'll command a larger
one before long, I hope; but as to your
being in command of a yessel—there’s
nothing very surprising in that; what is
surprising is, to find myself a warrant officer
— the idea never came into my head. 1
must write, and tell my little girl of my
good fortune; it will make her and her
mother very happy.’

‘‘T must dothe same, Cross. My mother
will be very much pleased to hearallI have
to tell her.”

“I havent. heard it myself yet, Mr.
Keene, and that’s why I came in,” replied
Bob. ‘‘I know you don’t want advice now ;
but [ can't help having a wish to know what
took place between you and his lordship.”

‘No one has a better right to know than
you, Cross, who have been such a Sincere
friend to me ; so now I'll tell-you.”

I then entered into a detail of all that had
passed between Lord de Versely and me,
and also what the admiral had said to me.

“hs moht., Vir. Keene, replied=Bob);
‘and let the admiral only give us some-
thing to do, and I think you'll believe me
when Isay that the boatswain of the /77efly
will back you as long as he hasa pin to
stand upon.”

“That I’m sure of, Bob ; you will ever be
my right-hand man. ‘There are two mid-
shipmen on board, I perceive : what sort of
lads may they be?’

‘‘T haven’t had time to find out ; but you
have a capital ship’s company—that the
gunner and carpenter both say.”

‘‘ Anda very fine vessel, Bob.”’

‘‘Ves, sir, and aregular flyer, they say, if
she is well managed. You haye never been
in a schooner, Mr. Keene, but J] have, and
for nearly three years, and I know how to
handle one as well as most people.”

‘‘Sa much the better, Cross, for I knewnothing about it. Come, I will ring the
bell ; I suppose some one will answer it.”
A lad made his appearance.

““Were you Mr. Williams's servant?”

coves. sir,

“Get me out a bottle of wine and some
glasses—there, that will do.

““Now, Bob, let's drink success to the
Firefly.”

‘‘Ffere’s success to the fuzrefy, Mr.
Keene, and success to the captain. May
you do well in her, and be soon out of
ete

“Thank you, Bob: here’s your health,
and may we long sail together.”’

Bob and I finished the bottle, and then
we parted.

The next day, Iwas‘ very busy in ex-
amining my vessel and my ship’s company.
The schooner was a beautiful model, very
broad in the beam, and very low in the
water; she mounted one long brass thirty-
two pounder forward on a circular sweep,
so that it could be trained in every direc-
tion ; abaft, she had four brass nine-pounder
carronades. My ship’s company consisted
of sixty men and officers ; that is, myself,
two mids, boatswain, gunner, and carpen-
ter. The mids were young lads of about
sixteen years of age, a Mr. Brown and a
Mr. Black, gawky tall boys, with their hands
thrust too far through the sleeves of their
jackets, and their legs pulled too far through
their trowsers; in fact, they were growing
lads, who had nothing but their pay to sub-
sist: upon, being both sons of warrant
officers. ‘They bore very good characters,
and I resolved to patronize them, and the
first thing which I did was to present them
each with a new set of uniform and a few
other necessaries, so as to make them look
respectable ; a most unheard-of piece of
patronage, and which it is, therefore, my
boast to record. ‘The fact is, I was resolved
that my schooner snould look respectable ;
my ship’s company were really a very fine
body of men, most of them tall and stout,
and I had received a very good character of
them from the officer who had invalided.
I had taken all his stores and furniture off
his hands, for I had plenty of money and to
spare.

As soon as I had examined my ship's
company, I made them a speech, the which,
although they were bound to hear it, I shall
not inflict upon the reader, and I then went
down and examined every portion of the
vessel, ascertained what there was in her
and where everything was. Bob Cross
accompanied me in this latter duty, which
was not over till dinner-time.

The next morning my signal was made,
and I went up to the admiral.

“Mr, Keene,” said the admiral, ‘ here

PER CIVAL KEENE:

  
 
  

are despatches to take down to the governor
of Curacoa. When can you be ready ?”’

‘*Now, sir, replied 1; “and if you will
make the signal for the Firefly to wélgh
anchor, there will be so much time gained.”

“Very good, Keene; tell them to make
the signal. You must make all the haste
you can, as they are important. Here are
your orders: after you have delivered your
despatches, you will be allowed’ to cruise
down in that quarter, as I understand there
are some very mischievous vessels in that
direction. I hope you will give me a good
account of one or two of them, if you fallin
with them.”

‘*T will do my best, sir,” replied I.

‘« Well, I send you on purpose, I have
ordered the senior officer at Curacoa to for-
ward the return despatches by the Mosqzzto,
that you may havea chance. J won't ask
you to stay dinner, as it is an affair that
presses, so of course you will carry a press
of sail. Good-bye, and I wish you success.”

I took my leave of the admiral and
hastened down to the town. In an hour
afterwards the /“refy was driving along
with a fine breeze on the quarter, and long
before night the vessels in the harbour were
not to be digtinguished. The breeze
freshened after the sun went down, and I
remained on deck, carrying on to the last
moment. Bob Cross once or twice ventured
to say that we had better reduce the sail ;
but I told Bob that the admiral was very
anxious that I should make a quick
passage.

= Yes, Mr; Keene, -but, turning the
turtle’ isnot making a quick passage, ex-
cept to the other world, and the admiral
does not wish his despatches to go there.
She is a fine boat, sir, but there may be
too much sail carried on a good vessel:
the men say she never has been so pressed
before.”’

‘‘Well, you are right, Bob, and so we
will take a little off her.”

‘Yes, sir; it’s my watch coming on now,
and I will carry all she can bear with safety,
and I think she will go quite as fast as she
does now. - We shall have more wind yet,
sir, depend upon it.”

‘““Well, so long as it is fair, I don’t mind
how much,” replied I. ‘Send the watch
aft.”

Wereduced the sail, and then I went down
to bed.

_At daylight I awoke and went on deck.
The carpenter had the watch, for the watches
were entrusted to the warrant officers, who
were all good seamen, and accustomed to
the schooner. I found that the wind had
freshened, but was steady from the same
quarter, and the schooner was darting
through the water at a tremendous rate, e

 

 

Si aa

iliacShe sails well, Mr. Hayter,” said I.

“Yes, sir, that: she does replied he;
‘fand never sailed better than she does
now. Iwasa little alarmed for my sticks
last night, until you shortened sail.”

‘‘ Admiral’s order to carry a press of sail,
Mr. Hayter.”

‘Well, sir, then by Jove you obey orders;
you half frightened the men, although they
have been so long in the vessel.”

I felt, by what the carpenter had said,
that I had been rash. Neither he nor Bob
Cross would have ventured so much if I
had not been so; and they understood the
vessel better than I did, so I resolved to be
guided by them until I felt able to judge for
myself. Notwithstanding that sail was
afterwards carried more prudently, we had
a most remarkably rapid passage; for we
took the breeze with us down the whole way,
not seeing a vessel during the run. I had
another cause of impatience, which ‘was to
ascertain if Mr. Vanderwelt and Minnie
had left the island.

On my arrival I went first to the naval
commanding officer, and then to the
governer’s, delivering my credentials. They
complimented me on my having been so
active. I accepted the governor's invitation
to dinner, and then went to inquire after
Mr. Vanderwelt. I walked first to his
house, but found it occupied by a Scotch
merchant; who, however, was very polite.
He stated that he was an old friend of Mr.
Vanderwelt, and could give me every infor-
mation, as he had received letters from him
very lately; and that in those letters Mr.
Vanderwelt had informed him that I had
said, in my last letter to them, that I was
again on the West India station, and re-
quested him, if I came to the island, to
show me every attention. ‘‘So, my dear sir,”
continued Mr. Fraser, ‘‘I trust you will en-
able me to comply with my friend Mr.
Vanderwelt’s injunctions, and consider this
house as-your home during your stay here.”’

I thanked Mr. Fraser and accepted the
offer. I sent for my portmanteau, and
slept there that night after I had dined with
the governor. At dinner I met Captain
G , who told me he had orders to send
me on a cruise, and asked when I would be
ready. — I replied that I should like a day or
two to lift my rigging and overhaul it, as I
had been very much strained in my passage
down.

‘“‘No wonder,’’ replied he; ‘‘you must
have flown—indeed, your log proves it.
Well, I will send you as soon as you are
ready. The Nazad sloop is out, and so is
the Driver brig, both in pursuit of three
vessels, which haye done a great deal of
mischief, One is a French brig of fourteen
guns, very fast, and full of men, She has

 

’

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

her consort, a large schooner, who js also #
regular clipper. The other vessel is a brigan-
tine, a very fine vessel, built at Baltimore
of course, under French colours—she cruises
alone. I don’t know how many guns she
carries, but I suspect that both she and the
brig will be too much for you: and unless
you could catch the schoonér away from her
consort, yeu will not be able to do much
with the £7refy.”

‘“‘T will do my best, sir,” Teplicd, [car
have a very fine set of men on board, and I
think very good officers.”

‘Well, at all events, if you can't fight,
you have a good pair of heels to run with,”
replied Captain C ; » Dut dinners an-
nounced,”

I left early, that I might have some con-
versation with Mr. Fraser. On my return
we sat down to some sangorie and cigars;
and then he told me that Mr. Vanderwelt
had left Curacoa about nine months before,
and that my last letter directed to him had
been forwarded to Holland. He had often
heard the history of my saving their lives on
board of the pirate vessel from Mr. Vander-
welt, who made it a constant theme of his
discourse; and, added Mr. Fraser, ‘“you do
not know what a regard he has for you.”

“And little Minnie, sir?’’ inquired I: “it
is now nearly five years since I saw her.”

“Little Minnie is no longer little Minnie,
Mr. Keene, I can assure you. She was

jifteen when she left the island, and had
grown a tall and very beautiful girl. All
the young men here were mad about her,
and would have followed her, not only to
Holland but to the end of the world, I
believe, if they thought that they had the
least chance: but, from my intimacy with
the family, I tell you candidly, that I think
if you were to meet again, you would not
have a bad one; for she talks incessantly of
you when alone with her father: but I must
not divulge family secrets.”

‘I fear there is little chance of my meet-
ing again with her,” replied I: ‘‘I have to
carve my way up in my profession, and this
war does not appear likely to be over soon.
That I should like to see her and her father
again, I grant; for I have made but few
friendships during my life, and theirs was
one of the most agreeable. Where is Mr.
Vanderwelt settled ?”

‘*He is not in Holland—he is at Ham-
burgh. Well, there is no saying ; accident
may bring you together again, as it did on
board of the pirate ; and I hope it may.”

Shortly afterwards we went to bed. I
must say, his description of Minnie, which
was given much more in detail than I have
narrated to the reader, did prevent my
going to. sleep fora long while. Woman,
as the reader may have seen, never oncecack a a

troubled my thoughts. I had fed upon one
sole and absorbing idea, that of being
acknowledged by Captain Delmar; this
was and had been the source and spring of
every action, and was fe only and daily
object of reverie ; it was my ambition, and
ambition in any shape, in whatever direction
it may be led, is so powerful as to swallow
up every other passion of the human mind ;
but still I had a strong affection for Minnie
—that is for little Minnie, as I saw her
first, with her beautiful large eyes and
Madonna countenance, clinging to her
father. With the exception of my own
relations, who were so much my seniors, I
had had nothing to bestow my affections
on; had not even made the acquaintance,
I may say, of a woman, unless my casual
intercourse with Bob Cross’s Mary, indeed,
might be so considered. A passion for the
other sex was, therefore, new to me; but
although new, it was pleasing, and, perhaps,
more pleasing, from being, in the present
ease, ideal ; for [ had only a description of
Minnie as she was, and a recollection of
what she had been. I could, therefore,
between the two, fill up the image with
what was to my fancy the ideal of perfec-
tion. I did so again and again, until the
night wore away; and tired out at last, I
fell fast asleep.

The next day, after I had been on board
of the schooner, and given my orders to
Bob Cross, I returned to Mr. Fraser, and
sat down to write to Mr. Vanderwelt; I
also wrote to Minnie, which I had never
done before. ‘That my night reveries had
an effect on me is certain, for I wrote her a
long letter; whereas, had IJ commenced
one before my arrival at Curacoa, I should
have been puzzled to have made out ten
lines. 1 told her I was sitting in the same
chair, that I was sleeping in the same room,
that I could not look around me without
being reminded of her dear face, and the
happy hours we passed together ; that Mr.
Fraser had told me how tall she had grown,
and was no longer the little Minnie that
used to kiss me. In fact, I wrote quite
romantically as well as affectionately ; and
when I read over my letter, wondered. how
it was that I had become so eloquent. I
begged Mr. Vanderwelt to write to me as
soon as possible, and tell me all about
their doings. I sealed my letter, and then
threw myself back in my chair, and once
more indulged in the reveries of the night
before. I had a new feeling suddenly
sprung up in my heart, which threatened
to be a formidable rival to my ambition.

In two days the /7refly was ready, and
I reported her as being so to Captain C :
He gave me my orders, which were to cruise
for six weeks, and then to rejoin the admiral

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

at Port Royal, unless circumstances should
make me think it advisable to return to the
island. The boats of the men-of-war were
sent to tow me out of the harbour, and I
was once more on the wide blue sea—the
schooner darting along like a dolphin.

For a fortnight we cruised without seeing
any vessel but the Mazad. I was very
much afraid that the captain would have
ordered me to keep company; but as he
considered his vessel quite a match for the
brig and schooner if he should fall in with
them, and did not want the prize-money to
be shared with the crew of the /77efly, he
allowed me to go my own way, saying to
me, laughingly, as I went over the side,
‘““They will certainly take you if they meet
you, and we shall have to recapture you.”

‘“Well, I hope you will not forget your
promise, sir,’ replied I; ‘‘I shall depend
upon you.”

During the fortnight that I had been out,
I had faken great pains in exercising the
men at their guns, the great gun particu-
larly ; and I had had an excellent sight put
on it, which it had not, and very much
required. During two or three days’ calm,
I had fired shot at a mark for three or four
hours each day, and I found that the men,
with this little practice, were very expert,
and could hit a very small object, now that
the sight was put on the gun. ‘The two
best shots, however, were the gunner and
Bob Cross.

The night after we parted from the
NVazad, 1 had run to the southward, having
heard from the captain that the Drzver was
more to the northward than he was. There
was nothing in sight on the next day, and
when the evening set in, the wind being
very light, and water smooth, I said to
Cross, ‘‘Suppose we furl sail at night—it is
just:as good as running about; we then
shall see them if they come in our way, and
they will not see us.”

‘‘A very good idea, Mr. Keene; we
must keep a good look-out, that’s all.”

I followed up my own suggestion ; we
furled the sails, and leaving two men with
the officer. of the watch to keep a sharp
look-out, allowed the rest of the ship's
company to remain in the hammocks during
the whole of the night.

When day broke’ we had two look-out
men at the mast-head, but remained with
our sails furled as before, for the same
reason, that we should discern a vessel by
her sails long before she could discover us.
The more I thought of it, the more con-
vinced I was of the advantage to be gained
by the following up this plan. I was on
the exact cruising ground I wished to be,
and therefore could not do better while the
weather remained so fine.CHAPTER XXIV.

Four nights and three days we remained in
this way, during which my men had nothing
to do but to exercise at the guns, and of
that I took care they should have a good
spell. On the fourth night the wind was a
little fresher, but the water quitesmooth. I
had turned in about twelve o'clock, and had
been asleep about an hour, when Cross
came, and called me.

“Nell, Cross, said I, ‘“what isutre |

‘« Here they are, sir.”

‘‘ What ?—the privateers?”

“‘Yes, sir; the brig and schooner both
coming down right before the wind; they
are on our weather quarter, and will pass us
within two miles, if not nearer.”

I left my bed-place, and was dressed in a
minute. I went on deck with my glass, and
directed it to the vessels, which were quite
plain to the naked eye.

‘©Put out the binnacle light, Cross,” said
I; ‘‘they might discover us.”’

The brig, which was the headmost of the
two vessels, was now nearly crossing our
stern. The schooner was about a mile
astern of her.

= tnt the hands up, Cross ; see all
ready for action and making sail.”

“Not yet, sir, surely !”’

‘No, not yet ; we will let them run two
or three miles dead to leeward, and then
follow them till daylight, or till they see us,
when, of course, they will be after us.”

‘«Tt’s very fortunate, sir, that we did furl
the sails ; for had they come down, and we
under sail, they would have seen us, and we
’ should have been to leeward of them, which
would have given us a poor chance against
such odds ; now we shall have the weather-
gage, and may choose, if our heels are as
good as theirs, which I expect they are, if
not better.”

‘‘T shalt fight them in some shape or
another, Bob, you may depend upon it.”

‘* Of course you will, Mr. Keene, or you ll
disappoint us all. The ship’s company
have every confidence in you, I can tell
you.”

“Thanks to your long yarns, Bob, I
presume.”

‘Thanks to my telling the truth, Mr.
Keene. ‘The schooner is right astern of us
now, so there’s the weather-gage gone—
thank God!”

We remained as we were till I considered
the two vessels sufficiently to leeward, and
the sails were then set upon the /zre#y, and
first running to the eastward, so as to get
right in the wind’s eye of them, I put the
helm up, and followed them. We had con-
tinued our course in their wake for about an
hour, when day dawned, and the schooner,

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
   

rr7

who had discoveréu ts, fired a gun as a
signal to her consort.

‘‘So you've found us out at last, have
you ?’’ said Bob Cross; ‘‘at all events, we
keep a better look-out than you do, old
fellow.”’

Shortly after the gun was fired, both
vessels hauled to the wind on the larboard
tack, and we did the same: being about
four miles to windward of the schooner,
and five or five and a half of the brig, we
could now examine our adversaries. The
schooner was, apparently, about the same
tonnage as the F7zrefy, a very beautiful
vessel, with her masts raking over her stern.
She was painted black, and we could not
ascertain, at first, how many guns she
carried, as her ports were shut ; but after a
short time she knocked out her half ports
to prepare for action, and then we dis-
covered that she carried twelve guns, but
not a long gun on a swivel, like the one on
board of the firefly. I observed this to
Cross, who replied,. ‘‘ Then, sir, all we have
to do now is to try our rate of sailing
with them, and if we are faster than they
are we have not much to fear—unless we
lose a spar, indeed; but luck’s all, Mr.
Keene. The schooner has more sail on
her than we have ; shall we set exactly the
same?”

‘No, Cross, for I think we have fore-
reached upon her already, and if we can
beat her with less sail set it will do just as
well. I think that the breeze is steady ; if
anything we shall have more than less of
it

For an hour we continued running on the
same tack with them, by which time we
found that we had not only brought the
schooner one point abaft our beam, but
had weathered her at least half a mile. We
therefore were fully satisfied that we had
sailed better than the schooner. With the
brig it was not so. Although we had
brought the schooner two points abaft our
beam, the brig was much in her former
position, being still half a point abaft our
beam, and moreover had come up much
closer to the schooner, proving that we had
neither weathered her, nor fore-reached
upon her. As near as we could judge, our
sailing with the brig was much upon a par.
Having ascertained this point more satis-
factorily by allowing another hour for trial,
I desired the men to get their breakfasts,
while I and the officers did the same; and
as soon as that was done, I ordered the
Firefly to be kept away—edging down to
within good range of our long brass thirty-
two-pound gun—that is, about one mile and
4 half—when we again hauled our wind and
hoisted the English colours.

The tri-colour was immediately thrown upSecon pmenpataee ET TI

 

by the two Frencamen, and a shot was fired
at us by the schooner ; it fell exhausted into
the water about half a cable’s length from
us.

‘“Now, Cross,” said’ I, ‘see if we can't
return the compliment with a little better
success.”

Cross, who had been training the gun,
and had his ‘eye on the sight, waited for a
second or two, and fired: we saw the shot
pass through the first reef of his mainsail,
and dash into the water to leeward of him.

“Very good that, Cross; but hull him if
you can,”

The schooner now returned the fire with
the whole broadside, apparently twelve-
pounders ; but they did not throw so far as
our long thirty-two-pounder, and no shot
went over us, although one fell close under
the stern. At the distance, therefore, that
we were, we had everything in our favour,
and my object was to dismantle the schooner
before any chance enabled the brig to assist
her. We continued to. fire at her, taking
the greatest pains in our aim, for the next
hour, during which we ascertained that we
had hulled her more than once, and had
very much cut up her spars and rigging.
She continued to return the fire, but without
effect. One or two shots hit us, but their
force was so much spent by the distance
they were propelled, that they did not enter
the sides. At last a shot fired by the gun-
ner did the job; it struck her foremast,
which shortly afterwards went by the board.
The Fireflies gave three cheers at the good
fortune.

‘‘She’s done for, sir,” said Cross. ‘‘ Now
for the brig—we must try what metal she
carries.”

“Stop a bit,” said I, ‘Cross ;"we must
give the schooner a little more before she
gets away. They have lowered down the
mainsail, and, I presume, intend getting
up some head-sail, so as to pay off, and run
under the lee of the brig for shelter. Put
the helm up, and run down so as to keep
the ‘schooner about two points on our lar-
board bow. Get the gun round, and pitch
it into her.”

As we had supposed, the schooner got a
stay up from her bowsprit and to her main-
mast head, and hoisted a fore and aft sail
upon it, that she might pay off and run
down to her consort for support ; but as we
ran three feet to her one, and now stood
directly for her, we were enabled to get
close to Her, and put several shot ‘into her
from our long gun as we advanced. She
did not attempt to round to, to give us her
broadside, and our raking shot must have
had great effect. When within half a mile
of her we rounded to, and gave her our
broadside ; for had we followed her any

PERCIVAL KEENE,

SESE Eeeereeren

further, we should have been ‘closer to the
brig than might be agreeable. Indeed, we
were nearer than we thought, for she had
continued to hug the wind, and was so
weatherly, that she was not more thana
mile to leeward of us when we rounded to
the wind again ; but as she had fore-reached
upon the schooner, she was distant from us
about two miles. As we rounded to, the
brig tacked, and. we immediately did the
same ; and we now had a fair trial of sailing
with her.

“Cross, let the men go down and get
what they can to eat,” said I, ‘‘and get
up the grog. _ We shall haye plenty of work
before the night is over, I expect.”

‘‘We mftist. make a running fight of it,
sir, I expect, for she is too heavy for us.”

‘‘I shall try her the same way as the
schooner, Cross,” replied I. ‘‘If.I can
only knock away some of her spars’ without
losing my own, I shall then be able to do
something ; if, on the contrary, we lose our
spars, and she gets alongside of us, why
then we must fight to the last.’’

‘‘T consider that schooner as our own,”

replied Bob; ‘‘she must haul down her
colours when no longer protected by the
brig.”

“Yes ; I was afraid that she would run
away to leeward altogether ; but I see she
has rounded to, and is no doubt getting up
a jury fore-mast.”’

I allowed the men to remain an hour at
their dinner, and then they were summoned
up. During the hour we found the rate of
sailing between us and the brig so nearly
balanced, that it was impossible to say
which had the best of it.

‘Now, my lads, we must wear round,
and get a little closer to this fellow, and see
what we can do with him.”

The men were full of spirits and hope,
and were as anxious to decide the question
as I was. Jn ten minutes we passed the
brig within a mile on opposite tacks, and
had given her our long gun three times, and
had received her broadside.

‘‘He has long twelve-pounders, I think,
Sis, Said (Cross) “asment guns, at all events.
There's a fore shroud and a back stay gone ;
but that’s no great matter.”

As soon as the brig was three points abaft
the beam, we tacked, and recommenced
firing. Nota shot was thrown away by my
men. I believe the brig wes hulled every
time ; nor was her fire without effect upon
us. Our rigging was much cut up ; several
of her shot had gone through our sails, and
we had two men hurt. I was annoyed. at
this, as we had no surgeon on board. The
assistant-surgeon who had belonged to the
schooner was at the hospital,*and there was
not one to replace him when we sailed,PERCIVAL KEENE.

However, we had one of the men belonging off till to-morrow morning ; but I'll not: so
to, the hospital--n sort of. dispenser, who get up the groep—make it pretty strong: and
knew very well how to manage anything I'll get something to eat myself, for I have
that was not very serious. had nothing to eat all day.”
. The breeze had gradually died away, and As soon as the ship’s company had had
we did not go more than three miles through their refreshment, I sent for them aft, and
the water ; and as our sails were much torn, said, ‘‘ My lads, you have behaved very well
we did not hold so good a wind. Thecon- and I am much obliged to you. We have
sequence was that the distance between us had hard work, and I daresay you are tired
and our antagonists was, by two o'clock, enough ; but I will tell you what my opinion
decreased to half.a mile, and the fight be- is: T think that we have peppered that
came very warm. Our broadside guns were Frenchman very well; and I am convinced
now called into play, and assisted us very that you have put a good many shots into
much, as we directed them chiefly at her him between wind and water. Now, that
sails and rigging, while our long thirty-two- he is anxious to leave off fighting till to-
pounder was fired at her hull, pointed be- morrow morning, that he may stop his leaks
low her water-line. She had the advantage and repair his damages, I have no doubt ;
in number of guns, certainly ; but our large indeed, he proves it by his having ceased to
shots from the long gun were more destruc- fire. For the very reason that he wants to
tive. leave off, I wish to go on; for he is much
About three we knocked away her foretop- heavier armed than we are, and sails as
mast, which enabled us to shoot ahead well; and if we permit him to get all right
about a quarter-of a mile, and increase our and all ataunt by to-morrow morning, he
distance, which was a boon to us, for we may prove a very awkward customer yet.
latterly had suffered very much. We had Now, what I propose is this, that we should
eight men, wounded and one of my poor first get up fresh sails, and bend them, and
middies killed ; and we had received several then renew the action through the night.
shot in thehull. Now that we had increased There will be no occasion for all of you to
our. distance, we had a better chance, as be on deck ; we will fight the schooner
our long gun was more effective than those watch and watch till daylight.”
of the brig. At five o'clock it fell dead calm, ‘That's my opinion, Mr. Keene,” said
and both vessels lay with their heads round Bob Cross.

the compass ; this was also in our favour, ‘And mine,” replied the carpenter.

as we could train our long gun on its cir- “And all of us, Mr. Keene,” replied the
cular bend in any direction we pleased ; but ship's company with one voice.

the brig contrived, by getting sweeps out of ‘‘Then, my lads, let’s work hard ; and

her bow ports, to bring her broadside to bear when we have settled that fellow, we shall
upon us, and the action continued till night have plenty of time to sleep.”

closed in. The men now set to with goodwill ; and

the spare sails were got up, and those which

were shattered by the enemy unbent and

3 replaced., The new sails which we had

CHAPTER XXV. bent we furled—it was a dead calm——and

As it may be supposed, my men were then we recommenced out fire ; for we were

completely worn out with the fatigue and nearer to her than when we ceased firing,

-excitement.of the day ; and Cross said, and could distinguish her very well.. We

“There's no saying how this will end, Mr. fired the long gun four times before she re-

Keéne ; but, at all events, we have not the turned a_ shot ; She then opened very

worst of it-at present.’ - briskly, but nore of her shots did us any
“No,-Bob,” replied. ...‘‘I wish the men. damage ; our sails being furled, prevented
were not so. knocked up.’ her distinguishing us so well as we could

‘‘Qh, as for that, sir, I'll answer for it, her, After a time, we manned the small
that if you serve out some more grog, make’ guns on our broadside, and worked them,
them eat half a biscuit at the tub before they for our large gun was so hot, that it was
drink it, and make them a little bit of a necessary to let it cool before we could
speech, that they'll go on for twenty-four reload it. At last one of their shots came
hours more.” in through the bulwarks; the’ splinters

‘‘ If that will have the effect, I’m sure I'll wounded me and the carpenter ; but I was
try it,” replied I. _ ‘‘ Which shall they have not so much hurt as to oblige me to leave

first?” the deck. I bound up my leg with my
‘‘Oh, biscuit first, grog next, and then a handkerchief; the carpenter, however, was
speech afterwards.” taken down below.

‘“That fellow has not fired for this last, ‘‘Are you much-hurt, sir?” said Bob
five minutes ; perhaps he wishes to pur it~ Cross,120 PERCIVAL KEENE,

‘Oh, no; the flesh is Jacerated a good
deal, but it is not very deep.”

“There's a little wind springing up, sir,
from the right quarter,” said Bob.

‘I'm glad to hear it,” replied I, ‘‘for it
will soon be daylight now.”

At this moment another shot struck the
hammock rail, and a piece of it about two
feet long was sent with great force against
Bob Cross’s head ; he was stunned, if not
worse, and fell immediately. This was a
severe blow to meas well asto poor Bob.
I desired two of the men who were abaft
to take him down into my cabin, and do all
they could for hina, and ordered the men to
quit the broadside guns, and renew their
fire with the long 32-pounder. In a quarter
of an hour afterwards, the breeze came
down very strong, and I resolved to shoot
ahead, farther off from my antagonist, as I
should have a better chance by using my
long gun at a greater distance. The sails
were set, and the schooner went fast through
the water, leaving the brig, who had also
the benefit of the breeze ; and for a time
the firing again ceased. On reflection, I
determined that I would wait till daylight,
which would appear in less than half an
hour, before I renewed the action.

I contrived with some difficulty—for my
leg was so numbed that I could scarcely feel
that I had one—to go down into the cabin
and see Bob Cross. He was recovering,
but very wild and incoherent, As far as I
could judge, his skull ‘was not injured,
although the splinter had torn off a large
portion of the scalp, and he was drenched
with his blood. At all events, he could be of
no further assistance to me at present, nor
could I be to him, so I regained the deck,
and sat down abaft, for my leg had become
so painful, that I could not stand but for a
few minutes.

At last the day dawned, and I could dis-
tinctly make out both brig and schooner.
I was about a mile and a half distant from
the brig; she had, since the wind sprung
up, driven a mile ahead of the schooner,
who had contrived to get up a jury-mast
during the night ; but as she could not stir
without reducing her after-sail, she had
close-reefed her mainsail, so that she could
make but little progress. The brig was
very much cut up in her sails and rigging,
and I saw at once that I had now the
advantage in sailing; I therefore wore
round and stood towards them ; the brig
did the same, and went down to the
schooner that she might have her support.
We immediately recommenced firing with
our long gun, and as soon as we were
within a mile, I hove to. The brig and
schooner then both bore up and gave us
their, broadsides ; they had just done so,

when the midshipman who was on deck
with me cried out, ‘A large sail coming
down before the wind, Mr. Keene.”

I caught up my glass. It was a sloop of
war; the cut of her sails and rigging
evidently English. ‘‘ It must bethe Vazad,”
said I. ‘‘ Well, I'm glad of it. We shall
lose some prize-money ; but at all events we
require her surgeon, and that is of more
consequence.”

My men, who were quite tired out, were
in great spirits at the appearance of a friend.
The brig had -set studding-sails; she had
evidently seen the vessel to windward, and
was now trying to escape, and the schooner
was following her as wellas she could, I im-
mediately kept away in pursuit, and when
I fired into the schooner she hauled down
her colours. I did not wait to take posses-
sion, but followed the brig, who appeared
to sail as well off the wind as she did when
close-hauled. Once or twice she rounded
to return my fire, but afterwards she con-
tinued running before the wind, having got
two of her guns aft, with which she
attempted to cut away my rigging. Inthe
meantime, the strange vessel to windward
had hoisted English colours, and was bring-
ing down with her a spanking breeze:
fortunately it was so, for my foretopmast
was knocked away by the fire of the brig,
and I now dropped fast astern.

We had scarcely got up a new foretopmast
and set sail again, when the /Vazad, who
had exchanged numbers with me, passed
the schooner without taking possession of
her, and was very soon not a mile from us.
In half an hour she was alongside, and,
hailing me to haul my wind and take pos-
session of the schooner, continued in chase
of the brig. I obeyed my orders, and by
the time I had put my men on board of the
schooner, the brig had hove to and hauled
down her colours to the Vazad.

We ran down to her in company with the
prize, and then sent a boat requesting im-
mediate surgical attendance. The Wazad's
surgeon and his assistant were brought ‘on
board in one of the sloop-of-war's boats,
and a lieutenant, to obtain from me the par-
ticulars of the action, which I. gave to him.
The lieutenant told me that they had heard
the firing about one o'clock in the morning,
and had in consequence bore up; but the
brig had so many shot in her, and was
making so much water, that they were
almost afraid that they would not be able to
gether into port. But I was now quite faint
with the pain of my wound and exhaustion,
and was carried below to have it dressed.
All our men had been attended to, and I
was gladto hear that Bob Cross was in no
danger, although his wound was _ very
severe, The surgeon's assistant was allawed

ios gSfo remain on board, and the captain of the
Vatad sent allmy men back and manned
the prizes, giving me orders to keep com-
pany with him. As soon as my wound was
dressed, and I was put into my bed, I felt
much relieved, and soon afterwards fell fast
asleep.

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE prizes proved to be the Déligente
brig, of fourteen guns, and two hundred and
ten men, and Caroline schooner, of eight
guns, and one hundred and twenty men ;
they had done a great deal of mischief, and
their capture was of importance. The cap-
tain of the Vazad's orders were to return to
Curacoa, and we all made sail before sun-
set. Our loss had been severe : command-
ing officer, boatswain, carpenter, and twelve
men wounded—midshipman and two men
killed.

The next morning our signal was made
to pass within hail, and the captain of the
Natiad inquired how I was. The surgeon's
assistant replied that I and all the wounded
were doing well, and there was no more
communication till we arrived at Curacoa
on the fourth day, by which time I was
rapidly recovering.

Mr, Fraser, as soon as he heard of my
being hurt, immediately came on board and
insisted upon my being taken on shore to
his house, and I gladly consented. The
next day I had a visit from Captain C., the
commanding officer, and the captain of the
WNatad. Captain C. asked me.if I was
well enough to write the account of the
action. I replied that I was, and that I
would send it the next day. He and the
captain of the Vazad both paid. me many
compliments for having fought a superior
force for so long a time, and Captain C.
said, that as soon as I was well enough he
would send me up to Jamaica, as bearer of
my own despatches to the admiral.

I requested, as a particular favour of Mr.
Fraser, that he would allow Bob Cross to
be sent ashore to his house, and Mr. Fraser
immediately consented. My friend Bob was
therefore brought up that evening, and was
soon established in very comfortable quar-
ters.

We had been a fortnight at the island,
during which my wound was _ healing
rapidly, and I was able to hop about witha
crutch. Cross also was out of bed, and able
cO sit up for an hour or two in the verandah,
in the cool of which I spent the best part of
the day, with my wounded limb resting upon
asofa. From the verandah we had a view
of the harbour, and one morning I perceived
that there were two additional vessels which

PERCIVAL KEENE,

  

  
    
   
  
   
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 

121

had anchored durit.g the night ; they proved
to be the Driver and the brigantine priva-
teer, which she had captured after a chase
and running fight of forty-eight hours. I
was glad of this, as I knew what pleasure it
would give to the admiral.

Inow again indulged in my dreams of
Minnie, who had been forgotten as soon as
I had left the harbour and been engaged in
active service. Stretched upon a-sofa, with
my wounded leg, I had nothing else to do,
or rather nothing else which was so agree-
able tome. I wrote to her again, and also
to my mother ; neither did I forget that Lord
de Versely had requested at parting that I
should write to him. I did so in a very
respectful manner, detailing what had
occurred,

When we had been three weeks at Cura-
coa, all our wounded, as well as myself, had
so far recovered, that there was no reason
for the /refly not proceeding to Jamaica.
The commanding officer sent an assistant-
surgeon to the schooner. I received my
despatches, took a grateful leave of Mr.
Fraser, and the /%refly was once more
skimming over the water. In three weeks
we arrived at Port Royal, and I took up my
despatches.

‘‘Happy to see you, Keene,” said the
admiral. ‘‘ Hollo! what makes you Kmp
inthat way? Haveyou hurt your leg?”

“Ves isir, replied. EB; fl ami not quite
well yet, but the despatches of Captain C.
will explain all.”

As no vessel had sailed from Curacoa, the
admiral had no idea of what had hap-
pened.

‘‘Well, then,” said he, ‘sit down on
that sofa, Mr. Keene, while I read the
despatches.”

I watched the admiral’s countenance, and
was delighted to witness the evident signs
of satisfaction which he expressed as he
read on.

‘‘ Excellent!’ said he, as he closed them.
‘ Keene, you have done me a great favour.
The remonstrances of the merchants, the
badgering I have received from the Admi-
ralty by every packet, relative to the depre-
dations on our commerce by these vessels,
have been enough to make a saint swear.
Now they are happily disposed of, and I
have chiefly to thank you forit. Captain C.
informs me that the brig is well adapted for
his Majesty’s service, but the schooner is an
old vessel.” The admiral then left the
room. Ina few minutes he returned, with
a paper in his hand, which he laid upon the
table, and, taking up a pen, he signed it
and presented it to me, saying— ——

‘‘ Captain Keene, I trust you will give me
the pleasure of your company to dinner ;
and, as you are still very lame, I think youhad better make a signal for your servant
and traps, and take up your quarters at the
Penn till you are quite recovered,”

Perceiving that I was too much agitated
to reply, he continued, ‘‘I must leave you
now ;' then extending his hand, he said,
‘* Allow me to be the first to wish ‘you joy
on your promotion, which you have so well
deserved.’’ He then went out of the room.
It really was so unexpected—so little dreamt
of, this sudden promotion, that I was con-
fused. I had hoped that, by a continuance
of good conduct, I might in a year or two
obtain it; but that I should receive it after
only one cruise in the schooner was beyond
all my imagination. I felt grateful, and as
soon as I was more composed, I returned
thanks to Heaven, and vowed eternal grati-
tude to the admiral. I felt that I was a
step nearer to Lord de Versely, and I
thought of the pleasure it would give my
mother and Minnie. I had been alone
about half an hour, when the admiral
returned,

“‘T have just sent for an old messmate of
yours, Captain Keene, who was severely
wounded in your action with the Dutch
frigate ; he has now passed, and Lord de
Versely recommended him to me as a de-
serving young officer—a Mr. Dott.”

“Oh, yes, admiral; he was my first
acquaintance when I went to sea. He has
been to sea longer than I have, but he lost
a good deal of his time.”

‘‘ Well, I am going to give him an acting
order for your brig. I hope he is a good,
smart Officer.”

‘Yes, admiral, he is a very good officer
indeed,” replied I, laughing. ‘Will you
oblige me by not telling him that I am to
be his captain, till after we have met?”

“‘Ah, some mischief, I suppose ; but if
we make captains of such boys as you, we
must expect that. Are your wounded men
all going on well?”

‘“ All, sit—even Bob Cross, the boatswain,
whose head was half knocked off, is quite
well again. He was Lord de Versely’s cox-
swain, sir, and you were kind enough to
give him his warrant.”

‘‘T recollect—a good man, is he not?”

“So good, sir, that the only regret I have
in leaving the schooner is, that I cannot
take him with me. He is my right-hand
man, and I owe much to him, and it will
be a sore blow to him as well as to me.”

‘‘T see, you want him made boatswain of
your brig—that’s it.”

‘T assure you, admiral, I should be most
grateful if you would have that kindness.”

‘“‘I am always ready to promote a good
man; your recommending him, and _ his
severe wound, are sufficient, He shall be
your boatswain, Keene,”

  
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
    
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
    
    
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
   

122 PERCIVAL KEENE,

“You are very kind, sir,” replied I. “1
hope I shall do justice to your patronage.”

‘‘T’ve no fear of that, Keene, and I know
that a man, to work well, should, as far as
he can, choose his own tools. Mr. Dott is
waiting now, and as soon as he has his
acting order I will send him in to you.”

About ten minutes afterwards Mr.
Tommy Dott made his appearance; he
extended his hand to me, saying, in a haw-
haw way, ‘‘ Keene, my dear fellow, I’m
glad toisee you.” He certainly did look
two or three inches taller, for he walked
almost on tiptoe.

‘Glad to. see you, Tommy,” said ‘I;
‘well, what's the news?”

‘Nothing, I believe, except what you
have brought. I hear you had a bit of a
brush, and got winged.”

‘Even so, Tommy,” replied I, pointing
to my wounded leg. ‘‘ Phe admiral has
kindly asked me to stay here until I’m
better.”

‘I. dine with him to-day,” replied
Tommy ; ‘‘but as for staying here, I should
think that rather a bore. By-the-by,
Keene, what sort of a craft is that Diligente
brig which the Vaéad and you took?”'

‘(Avery fine craft, Tommy : sails as well
as the Firefly,”

‘Oh, you of course swear by your own
vessel ; and there's nothing like the schooner
—that's natural enough : now, I must say,
I prefer something « little larger, and; there-
fore, I’m not:sorry that I have my commis-
sion for the new brig.”

“Indeed! Tommy ;'I wish you joy,”
replied I.

‘Thank ye, Keene,” replied Tommy,
very dignified. ‘“I wonder,” said he,
‘‘what sort of a skipper we shall have?
There's the first lieutenant of the Mazda
has a good chance. -I saw -him: a very
sharp sort of gentleman, and carries his
head remarkably high; but that won't do
forme. I'll not allow any captain to play
tricks in a ship that I’m aboard of. I know
the rules and regulations of the service as
well as any one, and that the captain shall
see, if he attempts to go beyond his tether.”

‘“Now, Tommy,” replied I, ‘“you know,
that although you talk so big, if you had
been appointed a lieutenant into a ship
commanded by Lord de Versely, you would
have been as much afraid of him: as a
lieutenant as you used to be as a tmidship-
man,”

‘‘ Lord de Versely,” replied Tommy, who
felt the truth of what I said: ‘he’s a peculiar
sort of man.”

“Take my word for it, Tommy, you'll
find all captains peculiarto one point ;. which
is, that they expect respectful behaviour, and
not cayilling, from their officers ; and ourservice is so peculiar, that it is absolutely
necessary that the officers should set this
example to the men.’

“Yes ; that may be very well; but who
knows but the’ captain of the brig may be
some'young fellow, who has seen no more
service than myself—perhaps, not been to
sea so long?”

““That is no reason that you should not
obey his orders ; indeed, if not experienced,
you ought to do all you can to support
him.”

‘Well,
deed

“But he may not require your advice,
Tommy ; he may prefer deciding for him-
self; Now, the first lieutenant of the Vazad
is a great Tartar, and I’m certain, if he is
your captain, that, on the first word, he
would have you under an arrest. There's
an old saying, Tommy, ‘It’s folly to kick
against tenpenny nails;’ and that every
officer does who kicks against his superior.
I can assure you, Tommy, that if ever I am
a captain, my officers shall obey me impli-
citly. Iwill have no cavilling at my orders.
T will always treat them as gentlemen, and
support their authority as they ought to
support mine ; but captain of my own ship
I would be, and I suspect that it would go
hard with any officer who ventured to dispute
my rights.”

“ Well, I daresay you will be a martinet,
or rather that you are one now, as you com-
mand a schooner. However, as I never
intend to sail with you, that’s nothing to me.
I’m sure, from what has passed, that you
and I should have a row before we were a
week on board; for I’m not to be played
with.”

‘“Well, Tommy, I’m very glad we have
had this explanation ; for now we both know
what toexpect. Iam resolved to be captain,
you to resist my authority.”

““No, no, I don’t say that—I only say
that I won’t be played with—I won't be
trifled with.’’

‘Tommy, I will neither play nor trifle
with you, nor will you ever play or trifle
with me. We have done that as midship-
men; in our new relative situations it is not
to be thought of fora moment. Read this.”
I handed him my appointment as com-
mander of the Dligente: Tommy cast his
eyes over it, and at once saw that his pro-
motion did not prevent his getting into
scrapes, as usual.

‘* You a commander! you captain of the
Diligente! Why, I came to sea before
you.”

‘‘T know you did, Tommy ; but, although
you. have been in the service longer, you
have not seen quite so much service as I
have, At all events, I’m now your captain,

if he was to ask my advice, ine

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

123

I flatter myself I shall make a very tolerable
one ; and what is more, I have an idea that
you will make a very good lieutenant, as
soon as the vanity, with which you have
been puffed up since your receiving your
promotion, will have settled down a little,
and that you will find it much pleasanter to
be on good terms with your captain than to
be eternally in hot water, especially with one
ae you know, is not a person to be played
with.”

Tommy looked very confused ; he said
nothing, butkept his eyes on my commission,
which he still held in his hand. I had no
idea that Tommy Dott’s being ignorant of
my being captain of the brig would have
occasioned such a conversation as this. I
only wished to amuse myself with him, and
surprise him at the last. Tommy perceived
that he had made a mess of it, and he stam-
mered out some explanation as he returned
me the commission; and I replied, «~ Phe
fact is, Dott, you were merely cutting a
caper upon your new promotion ; you never
meant what you said ; it was all talk. You
always have been very obedient to proper
authority since I have known you, and I am
sure that you always will; so let’s say no
more about it. I wish you joy upon your
promotion, and, what's more, I’m very glad
that we are to sail together.” Saying this,
I held out my hand, which Tommy took
very readily, and we then began to talk on
other subjects.

 

CHAPTER XXVIF.

I HAD written to Cross, informing him of
my promotion, and his being appointed to
the Dilivente.

I had been a fortnight. with the admiral
when the Waéad arrived with the prizes in
company, and, my wound being now cured,
I took leave of the admiral and went down,
that I might superintend the fitting out of
my new vessel. As there were..super-
numerary men expected out of England,
the admiral, at my suggestion, allowed me
to turn over the crew of the firefly to form
the nucleus of my ship’s company, and
made up my complement from. his own
ship.

In two months I was ready for sea, and
most anxious to be off. The admiral per-
ceived my impatience, but as there was no
other vessel in the harbour, he would not let
me go until another arrived, to be at his
disposal in case of an emergency. The
weariness of so long remaining in harbour
was, however, a little relieved by a circum-
stance which took place, and which pro-
bably will make my readers imagine that
my propensity. for playing tricks was not
quite eradicated.124.

I lodged at a sort of hotel, kept by a
mulatto woman of the name of Crissobella,
as the negroes termed her, originally Christo-
bella. She was of Spanish blood by the
father’s side, and had come down from the
Havannah. She was very portly; very
proud and dignified in her carriage, and
demanded as much attention from her
lodgers as a lady would who had received
us as her guests, so that, to gain and retain
admittance into her hostelry, it was necessary
not only to pay a large bill, but compliments
to an equalamount. She was very rich, pos-
sessed numerous slaves, and was perfectly
independent of keeping.an hotel. I believed
she preferred to have something for her
slaves and herself to do, and moreover, pro-
bably, she felt that if she retired she should
be thought a person of no consequence,
whereas in her present position she received
a great deal of attention. One thing was
certain, that if those who lodged and
boarded with her were very polite, and, on
their return from any other place, brought
her small presents, she was very indifferent
as to their paying their bill; nay, to those
who were her favourites, her purse was open,
and a handful of doubloons was freely ten-
dered, if required.

The living was the same as at a boarding-
house. Breakfast was ready in the large
hall by nine o'clock, and remained there
until everyone had come down at their own
hour. Dinner was always ready at five
o'clock, and then Crissobella presided at
the table. She admitted civilians, army
officers, and navy, down to midshipmen,
but warrant officers and captains of mer-
chant vessels were considered too low. On
the whole, it was a very pleasant establish-
ment, as the private rooms were well fur-
nished, the slaves numerous, and the attend-
ance very good. Considering the price of
most eatables on that island, it could not be
considered as very dear, although the wines,
&c., made up_a formidable bill at the end of
the month.

_This kind of exclusiveness on the part of
Signora Crissobella made the hotel quite
the fashion, and certainly it was by far the
best in the town. The inmates of it at this
time were, besides me, Lieut. Thomas Dott
and Lieut, William Maxwell, both appointed
to the Diligente; three or four young
civilians, on mercantile speculations from
New York; three midshipmen, who had
been left behind on account of fever, and
who were promising fair, by the life they
vere now leading, to be very soon sent to
the hospital again ; and one or two planters
from the other islands. The latter and I
were very well behaved, but the civilians
were noisy, drinking and smoking from
morning ti night. The midshipmen were

PERCIVAL KEENE.

  

equally troublesome ; and as for the newly-
made lieutenants, they were so authorita-
tive and so disagreeable, and gave them-
selves such consequential airs, that Mammy
Crissobella, as the slaves called her, was
quite indignant—she had never had sucha
disorderly set in her house.

She complained to me, and I spoke to
them, but that was of little use. I had no
power over the young merchants, and the
three midshipmen did not belong to my
ship. As for my lieutenants, I could not
say much at their giving themselves airs at
an hotel, where they paid for what they had.
It was not an offence that a captain could
remonstrate upon. I therefore merely said,
that Mammy Crissobella could not have
them in her house if they did not leave off
their treatment of the slaves, and if they
continued to give her so much trouble and
annoyance. At last our hostess would
stand their behaviour no longer, and
ordered them all to leave the hotel, sending
in their bills ; but they all were unanimous
in declaring that they would not go, and it
was not very easy to use force on such occa-
sions, I tried all I could to make matters
right, but my efforts were of little avail.
At last Mammy Crissobella became quite
furious. She did not make any alteration
in the meals, as that would be punishing all
of us; but she refused wine and spirits ;
this they did not. care for, as they sent.
for it elsewhere by their own servants,
and there was nothing but noise and con-
fusion all day along. Mammy often came
to appeal to me, and wished to go to the
governor, but I persuaded her not to do
so; and the mutiny continued, and every
day there was nothing but altercation at the
meals.

‘‘So help me God, gemmen, you no
gemmen. You make wish me dead, dat
you do. I tak obeah water some day. I
not live like this,” said Mammy Crissobella.
‘‘T take pepper-pot—I kill myself.”

‘“Pray don't do that,” replied Tommy
Dott; ‘‘we shall be put to the expense of
mourning.”

“‘And I shall weep my-eyes out,” con-
tinued one of the mercantile gentlemen.

‘‘Weep your eyes out—is that all? I
shall blow my brains out,” said another.

‘‘And I will lie down on your grave and
die,” said the third.

‘“Dat all very well, gemmen; you say
dat and laugh—but I no slave. "Pose I not
get you out my house, I ab vengeance, now
I tell you, so look to that. Yes,” continued
Mammy Crissobella, striking the table with
her fist, ‘‘ I ab revenge.”

‘‘T have been thinking,” said one of the
mids, ‘‘ what I shall do if Mammy Crissobella
takes pepper-pot ; I shall marry Leila, andkeep the hotel. Mammy, you'll leave me
the plate and furniture.”

Leila was the head female slave—a very
well-featured young mulatto girl, and a
great favourite, as she was always laughing,
always in good humour, and very kind and
attentive. At this remark Leila laughed,
and Mammy Crissobella, who observed her
showing her white teeth, ‘‘ You laugh, you
huzzy : what you laugh for, Leila? Get
away—get out of room. I give you nice
flogging by-by. You dare laugh—you take
side against me, you nigger.”

I must here observe that Mammy Crisso-
bella had been closeted with me for some
time previous to this scene, and that Leila
and the two planters were in the secret ;
this was of course unknown, and ~the
hostess's anger appeared now to be ex-
tended towards me and the two planters,
with whom she had been on good terms.

Shortly afterwards Mammy rose and left
the room, and then I spoke to the party,
and told them that they were driving the
poor woman to extremities. The planters
agreed with me, and we argued the case
with them, but the majority were, of course,
against us, and the young merchants ap-
peared to be inclined to be personal with
me. Atlast I replied. ‘‘ Very well, gentle-
men—as you please; but asI happen to
be well known both to the admiral and
governor, I give you fair warning that, if
this continues much longer, I will report
the affair. I should be very sorry to do
so; but the house is now very uncomfort-
able, and you have no right to remain
when the landlady insists upon your going.”

At this reply of mine the naval portion of
the guests were silent, but the civilians more
insolent than before. I did not wish to
come to open war, so I said nothing more,
and left the table. After I was gone, the
refractory parties made more noise than
ever. Just before the dinner hour on the
following day, Mammy Crissobella sent a
circular round to the young men, stating
that she could not receive them at dinner.
They all laughed, and went down to table
as before. The dinner was better than
usual, and they complimented Mammy
upon it. Mammy, who had taken her seat
with a scowl upon her brow, and had not
spoken a word, merely bowed her head in
reply to thew observations.

Dinner was. over, and then Mammy de-
sired Leila to bring her a goblet which was
on the sideboard, and a small white jug
which was in the dxufet. She appeared
much distressed, and hesitated a good deal,

putting the goblet to her lips, and then
putting it down on the table without tasting
it. This conduct induced us all to look
seriously at her, At last she took it up,

 

PERCIVAL KEENE,

  
   
 
  
    
 
  
  
    
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
  
   

125

sighed deeply, and drank the whole off at a
draught. For a few seconds she held her
hand over her forehead, with her elbows
resting on the table. At last she looked up
and said, ‘‘Gemmen, I gota little speech
to make—I very sorry dat I not drink your
health ; but it no use—dat why you see me
drink ; I tell plenty time you make me
mad—you make me drink obeah water—
make me kill myself. Now I ab done it—I
drink pison water just now. In two hour
I dead woman.”

At this communication, the truth of which
appeared confirmed by the woman's be- :
haviour, all the company started from their
chairs.

‘“Gemmen, I daresay you all very sorry ;
you be more sorry by-and-by. Captain, I
beg your pardon; Mr. W. 5 Vie G:
(the two planters), I beg your pardon; I
not mean hurt you, but could not help it.
Now I tell all company, all drink pison
water—because I not like to die on the
jibbit, I drink de pison water. Gemmen,
your dinner all pison, and you all pisoned.
Yes, all pisoned,” cried Mammy, Crissobella
at the highest pitch of her voice, and rush-
ing out of the room.

At this announcement, I started from my
chair and clasped my hands, as if in agony.
I looked round me—never did I witness
such a variety of horror as was expressed in
the different faces at the hotel. The old
planter, Mr. D., who sat next to me, and
who was in the secret as well as Mr. G., laid
his head on the table with a groan. ‘‘The
Lord have mercy on my sins,” exclaimed
Mr. G.; Mr. Lieutenant Maxwell looked
me in the face, and then burst into tears ;
Mr. Lieutenant Dott put his fingers down
his throat, and with three or four more
getting rid of their dinner as fast as they
could.

At last I sprang up to ring the bell ; no
one answered. I rang again more furiously.
At last a slave appeared.

‘‘ Where's my servant ?”’

m Not here csar:/

‘‘ Where's all the people of the house?”

‘‘All with missy, sar; Mammy Crisso-
bellardicn:

‘Run down, then, to the beach, and desire
the surgeon of the brig to come up imme-
diately.”

‘Yes, sar,’’ replied the negro, leaving the
room.

‘“Oh, I feel it now—it's all here,’ ex-
claimed I, putting my hand to my chest ;
‘I’m suffocating.”

‘“And so do I,” replied one of the mid-
shipmen, weeping.

The girl Leila now entered the room in
tears. ‘‘ Mammy dead,” said she. ‘‘Oh!
Captain Keene, I very sorry for you: you‘
‘
I
t
;
é

 

 

126

come with me, Ik give you something. I
know how stop pison.”’

‘‘Do you, Leila? then give it me—quick,
quick.”

‘Yes, yes ; give it us quick.”

‘“‘T not stuff enough, but I make more
when I gib what I ab to Captain Keene.
You all stay still, aot move ; ‘pose you move
about, make pison work. I comeback soon
as I can.”

Leila then took my arm and led me tot-
tering out of the room, when I went to
Mammy Crissobella,and laughed till I
cried ; but the punishment was not over.
After remaining about ten minutes looking
at each other, but neither speaking nor
moving, in pursuance of Leila’s direction,
with the utmost despair in their counten-
ances, they were gladdened by the return of
Leila with a large jug, out of which she
administered a glass of some compound or
another to each of them. I watched at the
door, and the eagerness with which they
jostled and pushed each other to obtain the
dose before the rest was very amusing, and
never did they swallow any liquor with so
much avidity, little imagining that, instead
of taking what was to cure them, they were
now taking what was to make them very
sick ; but so it was; and ina few~- minutes
afterwards the scene of groaning, crying,
screaming, writhing with pain was quite
awful.

After a time, the slaves came in and
carried them all to their respective beds,
leaving them to their own reflections, and
the violent effects of the drugs administered,
which left them no repose for that. night,
and in a state of utter exhaustion on the
following morning.

At daylight I went into Mr. Dott’s room
with the surgeon, to whom I had confided
the secret. Tommy was a miserable
object.

‘Thank Heaven! here is one still alive,”
said the surgeon to me.

‘‘Oh! Captain -Keene,”’ -said Tommy,
“‘T’m-glad to see that you are so well; but
you had the remedy given you long before
we had.”

joves, replied J, “it was given” me ii
good time ; but I hope it was not too late
with you.”

S 2 feel ven. bad, ; replied “Tommy:
“Doctor, do you think I shall live?”

The doctor felt his pulse, and looked very
grave ; at last he said, ‘‘ If you get over the
next twelve hours, I think you may.” —

-‘‘ How many are dead ?” inquired Tommy.

‘“T don’t know ; you are the first that I
have visited ; it’s a shocking business.”

‘‘T’ve been thinking that we were very
wrong, said ‘Tommy; ‘‘we ought not to
have driven the poor woman to desperation.

PERCIVAL KEENE.

    

If I do recover, lrer death will be on my
conscience.”

‘I’m glad to hear yousay that, Tommy,”
replied I; ‘‘but the doctor says you must
remain very. quiet, and therefore I shall
leave you. Good-bye ; I will sce. you again
this evening.”

‘‘Good-bye, sir, and I hope you'll for-
give me for not having been so respectful
as I should have been.”

‘« Yes, yes, Tommy ; we have been friends
too long for that.”

Mammy Crissobella’s dose had certainly
put an end to all Tommy’s spirit of resist-
ance. All the others who had been victims
to our plot were kept in the dark as to the
real facts, and, as soon as they were able to
be moved, paid their bills to Leila, and left
the house.

CHAPTER XX VELL

On the third day, Tommy Dott and Mr.
Maxwell went on board, imagining that
they had had a miraculous escape, and the
two old planters and I were left the only
inmates of the house to welcome the resur-
rection of Mammy Crissobella, who was
again as busy as before. She said to me,
‘“ Massy Keene, I really under great obliga-
tion to you; suppose you want two, three
hundred, five hundred pounds, very much
at your service ; never mind pay back.”

I replied that I did not want any money,
and was equally obliged to her. But the
affair had already made a great noise. It
was at first really supposed that Mammy
Crissobella had poisoned them as well as
herself, and I was obliged to refute it, or
the authorities would have taken it up. As
the admiral sent down to make inquiries, I
went up to him and told him the whole
story ; I was obliged to do the same to the
governor ; and it was the occasion of great
mirth alJ over the island, and of no small
mortification to those who had been the
sufferers. Mammy Crissobella was com-
plimented véry much upon her successful
stratagem to clear her house, and she was
quite in ecstasies at the renown that she
obtained.

One day the admiral sent for me, and
said, ‘‘Keene, I can wait no longer the
arrival of another vessel. -I must send you
to England with despatches: you must sail
to-morrow morning.”

As I was all ready, I took my leave of the
admiral, who promised me every assistance,
if on his station, and _ his good word with
the Admiralty, and said that he would send
down my despatches at daylight. I went
on board, gave the necessary orders, and
then returned to the hotel to pack up myportmanteau and pay my bill ; but Mammy
Crissobella would not hear of my paying
anything ; and as I found that she was
beginning to be seriously angry, I gave up
the point. So I gave the old lady a kiss as
a receipt-in-full, and another to Leila, as I
slipped a couple of doubloons into her hand,
and went on board. The next morning,
shortly after daylight, the despatches were
on board, and the Diligente was under all
the sail she could carry on her way to Eng-
land.

The Diligente sailed as well as ever, and
we made a very quick passage. I found
my ship’s company to be very good, and
had no trouble with my officers. Tommy
Dott was very well behaved, notwithstand-
ing all his threats of what he would do. It
was therefore to be presumed that he was
not very ill treated.

We were now fast approaching the end
of our passage, being about a hundred miles
to the S.W. of the Scilly Islands, with ‘a
light wind from the southward, when, in
the middle watch, Bob Cross, who had the
charge of it, came down and reported firing
in the S.E. I went up, but although we
heard the report of the guns, we could not
distinguish the flashes. Ialtered ourcourseé
to the direction, and we waited till daylight
should reveal what was going on. Before
daybreak we could see the flashes, and
make out one vessel, but not the other.
But when the sun rose the mystery was
cleared off. It was a French schooner
privateer engaging a large English ship,
apparently an East-Indiaman. ‘The ship
was evidently a good deal cut up in her
spars and rigging.

Bob Cross, who was close to my side
when I examined them with my glass, said,
‘“Captain Keene, that rascally Frenchman
will be off as soon as he sees us, if we hoist
English colours ; but if you hoist French
colours, we may get down and pin him
before he knows what we are.”

‘‘T think you are right, Bob,” said I.
“‘ Hoist French colours. He will make sure
of his prize then, and we shall laugh at his
disappointment.”

As Cross turned away to go aft, I per-
ceived a chuckle on his part, which I did
not understand, as there was nothing par-
ticular to chuckle about. I thought it was
on account of the Frenchman’s disappoint-
ment, when he found that we were not a
friend, as he might suppose.

‘«Fladn’t we better fire a gun, Captain
Keene, to attract their attention?”

“Yes, * replied I; ‘‘it will look as if we
really were Frenchmen.”

The gun was fired, and we continued to
stand towards them with a good breeze.
About sevea o'clock we were within two

PERCIVAL KEENE,

124

miles, and then we observed the Englishman
haul down her colours, and the schooner
immediately went alongside, and took
possession. I continued to run down, and
in half an hour was close to her. Calling
up the boarders, I laid the brig alongside
the schooner ; as half her men were on
board the Indiaman, they were taken by
Surprise, and we gained possession with
very trifling loss on our side, much to the
astonishment of the crew of the privateer,
as well as that of the Indiaman.

The captain, who was on deck, informed
me that they had engaged the schooner for
nine hours, and that he had some hopes of
beating her off, until he saw mecome down
under French colours, upon which he felt
that further resistance was vain. I told
him I was afraid the schooner would escape,
if I had not deceived him, and complimented
him upon his vigorous defence. The
Schooner was a very fine vessel, mounting
fourteen guns, and of three hundred tons
burthen. " In fact, she was quite as large as
the Delivente.

While we were handing the prisoners over
to the brig, and securing them, I accepted
the invitation of the captain of the Indiaman
to go into the cabin with him, where |
found a large party of passengers, chiefly
ladies, who were very loud in their thanks
for my rescue. In another hour we were all
ready. I left a party on board the Indiaman
to repair damages, and my surgeon to assist
the wounded men, and hauled off the brig
and schooner. The latter I gave into the
charge of Tommy Dott, and we all made
sail.

As I was walking the quarter-deck, de-
lighted with my success, Cross, who had the
watch, and was by my side, said, ‘‘I think,
Captain Keene, you did very right in
hoisting French colours.”’

‘“Why,. yes, Cross,’ replied I; ‘‘she is a
very fast sailer, that is evident, and she
might have escaped us.”

“That’s;not what I mean, Captain
ieeneia

‘What, then, Cross?”

‘‘ Why, sir, I would not tell you why I
wished you to hoist French colours at the
time, because. I was afraid that, if I did,
you would not:have done so ; but my reason
was, that it would make a great difference
in Our prize-money, and I want some, if you
do not.” :

Even then I could not imagine what
Cross meant, for’it never came into. my
head, and I turned round and looked at
him for an explanation.

‘* Why, Captain Keene, if we had hoisted
English colours, the schooner would have
made sail and gone off, and, evenif she had
not done so, the Indiaman would have held

eee ne128 PERCIV AL IGEN.

out till we came down; but ashe hauled
down his colours, and was taken possession
of by the enemy, he now becomes a re-
capture, and I expect the salvage of that
Indiaman will be of more value to us than
two or three of such schooners.”’

“That certainly did not enter my head
when I hoisted the colours, Cross, I must
confess.”

‘No, sir, that I saw it did not, but it did
mine.”

‘It's Nardly fair, Cross.’

‘‘ Quite fair, sir,’ replied Bobs. sweehe
Company is rich, and can afford to pay, and
we want it in the first place, and deserve it
in the next. At all events, it’s not upon
your conscience, and that schooner is sucha
clipper, that I really think we should have
lost her, if she had run for it ; besides, as
she is as strong as we are, we might have
lost a good many men before we took
Herts,

‘‘That’s very true, Bob,’ replied I, UF eh nya
satisfies me that I was right in what I

”

,

The wind had sprung up much fresher
from the westward, and we were now all
three running with a fair wind; and as it
continued, we did not put into Plymouth,
but continued our course for Portsmouth,
and on the third day at a very early hour in
the morning, anchored at Spithead.

CHAPTER XXIX.

AS it was too soon to present myself to the
admiral, I dressed, ready to go on shore,
and hoisted the number of the Dz/zgente as
given by the admiral at Jamaica; but, as I
expected, it was not known to the guard-
ship, and there was much surmise among
the early risers as to what might be the large
ship, schooner, and brig-of-war, which had
entered.

We had just finished the washing of the
decks, and I was standing aft with Cross,
who had the morning watch, when he
observed to me, ‘‘Captain Keene, we are
now at anchoras near as possible to where
the Calliope was when you went adrift in
the boat with poor Peggy. Some difference
between your situation now, and then.”

‘©Yes, Bob,’ replied I ; ‘‘I was thinking
the same when I was dressing this morning,
and I was also thinking that you would be
very anxious to go on shore—so you may
take a boat as soon as you please; I will
order one to be given to you.”

“Thankey, sir; I am a little anxious to
see the poor girl, and I think matters will go
smooth now.”

‘‘T hope so, with all my heart. Let the
gigs be all dressed and cleaned, and the

 

   

boats manned at six bells. Pass the word
for them to get their breakfast.”

As it was better that I should wait for the
admiral’s getting up, than that he should
wait for me, I was on shore, and up at the
office at half-past seven o'clock, and found
that the admiral was in his dressing-room.
‘The secretary was there, and I delivered my
orders and despatches, with which he went
up to the admiral. In about a quarter of
an hour he came down again, with the port-
admiral’s request that I would wait for him,
and stay to breakfast. ‘The secretary 1e-
mained with me, extracting all the West
India intelligence that I could give him.

As soon as the admiral made his appear-
ance, he shook me warmly by the hand.
‘‘ Captain Keene,’ said he, “1: wish you
joy: I see you are following up your career
in the West Indies. We know you well
enough by the despatches, and I am glad to
be personally acquainted with you. ‘This
Jast business will, I have no doubt, give you
the next step, as soon as you have been a
little longer as commander. Mr. Charles,
desire them to make the signal for the Dz/z-
gente and schooner to come into harbour.
The Indiaman may, of course, do as he
pleases. Now, then, for breakfast.”

The admiral, of course, asked me as many
questions as the secretary, and ended, as T
rose to take my leave, in requesting the
pleasure of my company to dinner on that
day. As the reader may suppose, I had
every reason to be satisfied with my recep-
tion.

As soon as I had left the admiral’s office,
I put into the post-office, with my own
hands, my letter to my mother, and one to
Lord de Versely. In the latter I told him
of my good fortune, and enclosed a copy of
my despatch to the Admiralty. Although
the despatch was written modestly, still the
circumstances in themselves—my having re-
captured an Indiaman, and carried, by
boarding, a vessel of equal force to my
own, and superior in men—had a very good
appearance, and I certainly obtained greater
credit than I really deserved. It was not
at all necessary to say that I hoisted French
colours, and, therefore, took the schooner
unawares, or that at the time most of her
men were on board of the Indiaman; the
great art in this world is, to know where to
leave off, and in nothing more than when
people take the pen in their hands.

As soon as I had finished my corres-
pondence—for I wrote a few lines to Mrs.
Bridgeman, at Chatham, and a postscript
to my mother’s letter—I went down to the
saluting battery, when I found that the two
vessels were just entering the harbour.
went up and reported it at the admiral’s
office, and the admiral went on board ofboth vessels to examine them himself, and
he ordered a dockyard survey. They were
both pronounced fit for his Majesty’s service,
with the necessary dockyard alterations.
The crew of the Dzdigente were turned over
to a hulk, preparatory to unrigging and
clearing her out for dock. As soon as I left
the admiral’s house, .I sat down at. the
George Hotel, where I had taken up my
quarters, and wrote a long letter to Minnie
Vanderwelt.

Cross called upon me the next morning.
I saw by his countenance that he had good
news to tell me. He had found his lady-
love as constant as he could wish, and
having explained to the blind old smuggler
that he had been offered and accepted the
situation of boatswain in his Majesty's
service during the time he was in the West
Indies, he had received his approbation of
his conduct, and a warm welcome to t
house whenever he could come on shore,

‘‘I have not put the question to the old
chap yet, Captain Keene,” said he, ‘‘but I
think I will very soon.”

“Don't be in too great a hurry, Bob,’
replied I. ‘‘Give the old fellow a little
more ‘baccy, and ask his advice as to what
you are to do with your prize-money. You
must also talk a little about your half-pay
and your widow’s pension.”

‘“That’s very good advice, Captain
Keene,’”’ replied Cross. ‘“Mercy on us!
how things are changed! It appears but
the other day that I was leading you down
to this very hotel, to ship you into the
service, and you was asking my advice, and
[ was giving it to you; and now Lam asking
your advice, and taking it. You have shot
ahead-in every way, sir, that’s Sartain ; you
looked up to me then, now I look up ‘to
you.

I laughed at Cross’s observation, which
was too true; and then we went into the
dockyard, and were very busy during the
remainder of the day.

The following morning I received an
answer from Lord de Versely, couched in
most friendly terms. He complimented me
on my success, and the high character I
had gained for myself during so short a
career, and added that he should be happy
to see me as soon as I could come to Lon-
don, and would himself introduce me to the
first lord of the Admiralty. He advised

me to request leave of absence, which
would be immediately granted, and con-
cluded his letter, ‘“ Your sincere friend and
well-wisher, De Versely,”

As soon as I had’ laid down the letter,
I said.to myself, ‘I was right —the true way
to create an interest in a man like Tord de
Versely, is to make him proud of you. I
have done well as yet; I will try to do

he

117

PERCIVAL KEENE.

129

more ; but how long will this success con-
tinue? Must I not expect reverses? May
not some reaction take place? and have T
not. in some degree deserved it? Yes, I
have used deceit in persuading him of my
mother’s death.” I began now to'think that
that was a false step, which, if ever dis-
covered, might recoil upon me. I remained
a long while in deep thought. I tried to
extenuate my conduct in this particular, but
I could not ; and to rid myself of melancholy
feelings, which I could not overcome, I
wrote a letter, requesting leave of absence
for a fortnight, and took it myself to the
admiral’s office. This depression of spirits
remained with me during the time that I
remained in Portsmouth, when having ob-
tained leave, I set off for London, and on
arrival, put up at a fashionable hotel in
Albemarle Street,

 

CHAPTER Sox:

THE next morning I called’ at Lord de
Versely’s and sent up my card. TI was im-
mediately ushered up, and found myself in
is presence. Lord de Versely rose from
sofa, and took my hand. “« Keene, I
am very glad to see you. Iam proud that
an ééve of mine should have done me so
much credit. You have gained all your
rank in the service by your own merit and
exertions.”

‘“ Not quite all, my lord,” replied T.

“Yes, all; for you are certain of your
next ‘step—they cannot well refuse it to
VOU,

cc

1

N1S
his

They will not refuse your lordship, I

ive no doubt,” replied I.

‘‘Sit down, Keene. We will have a little
conversation, and then we will go to the
Admiralty.”

His lordship then asked me many ques-
tions relative to what had passed; and I
entered into more detail than I had done in
my letters. After an hour’s conversation,
carried on by him in so friendly—I may
almost say affectionate—a style as to make
my heart bound with delight, the carriage
was announced, and I accompanied his
lordship down to the Admiralty. His lord-
ship sent up his card, and. was requested
immediately to go upstairs. He desired
me to follow him, and as soon as we were
in the presence of the first lord, and he and
ord de Versely had shaken hands, Lord de
Versely said, ‘‘ Allow me to introduce to you
Captain Keene, whose name, at least, you
have often heard of lately. I have brought
him with me because he is a follower of
mine : he entered the service under my pro-
tection, and continued with me-until his
conduct gave him his promotion. I have

*

edlanai

Snes leat sli

 

 

130 PERCIVAL KEEIVE.

taken this opportunity of introducing him foreman, who turned me round and round,
to assure your lordship that during the marking alterations with a piece of chalk,
whole time that he served with me as mid- when the waiter tapped at the bedroom
shipman, his gallantry was quite as con- door, and said Lord de Versely was in the

splcuous as it has been since.” sitting-room. | took off the coat which
The first lord took me by the hand, and _ was fitting as fast as I could, that I might

complimented me on my cozduct. not keep his lordship waiting, and put on
‘‘Captain Keene has strong claims, my my own.

lord. What can we do now for him?” Desiring the man to wait my return, I

‘‘T trust you will acknowledge that opened the door, and found his lordship on
Captain Keene has earned his post rank, the sofa, and then for the first time, when I
my lord,” replied Lord de Versely ; ‘‘and I again saw it, recollected that I had left the
shall take it as a particular favour to myself letter on the table. The very sight of it
if your lordship would appoint him to a took away my breath. I coloured up as 1
frigate, and give him an opportunity of approached his lordship. I had quite for-
doing credit to your lordship’s patronage.” gotten that I had addressed my grand-

‘T think I may promise you both,” replied mother. I stammered out, ‘‘This is an
the first lord ; ‘‘but when we meet in the honour, my lord.”

house to-night, I will let you know what I ‘‘T came to wish you joy of your pro-
can do.” motion and appointment to a fine frigate,
After a few minutes’ conversation, Lord Keene,” said Lord de Versely. ‘‘I have

‘de Versely rose, and we left the room. As just received this from the Admiralty ; and
soon as we were in the carriage his lordship as I have business unexpectedly come to
said, ‘‘ Keene, you may depend upon it, I hand, I thought I would be the bearer my-
shall have good news to tell you to-morrow; self of the good news. I leave you the
so call upon me about two o'clock. I dine letter, and shall of course see yon to
out to-day with the premier ; butto-morrow dinner.”’
you must dine with me.” ‘‘ Many thanks, my lord,’ replied I. ‘‘I
I took leave of his lordshipas soon as the am indeed grateful.”
carriage stopped; and as I wished to ‘‘T believe you are, Keene,” replied his
appoint an agent, which I had not yet done, lordship. ‘‘ By-the-by, you leave your
[ had begged of his lordship to recommend letters so exposed, that one cannot help
me one. He gave me the address of his seeing them. I see you are writing to your
own, and I went there accordingly. Having grandmether. I hope the old lady is well.”
made the necessary arrangements, I then My grandmother! Oh, what a relief to
employed the remainder of the day in fitting my mind it was when I then recollected that
myself out in a somewhat more fashionable it was to my grandmother that I had writ-
style than Portsmouth tailors were equal to. ten! I replied that she was very well when
The next morning I sat down to write to I last heard from her.

my mother; but somehow or another I “If I can be of any use in arranging
could not make up my mind to address her. your money affairs, Keene, let me know.”

1 had thought of it, over and over, and had ‘‘T thank yeu, my lord ; but I found that
made up my mind that in future I would my agent perfectly understands his busi-
always correspond with my grandmother; ness,” replied I. ‘I will not trouble your

and I now determined to write to her, ex- lordship, who has so many important affairs
plaining that such was my intention in to attend to.”

Tuture, and requesting that all answers ‘‘ Very good,” replied he. ‘‘Then now
should be also from my grandmother. I I'll leave you to read what I have given
commenced my letter, however, with in- you ; andI shall expect you at eight. Good-
forming her that I had, since I had last bye.” His lordship againshook me warmly
written, obtained leave of absence, and was_ by the hand, and left me.

now in London. I stated the kindness I was quite giddy with the reaction pro-
shown me in every way by Lord de Versely, duced upon my feelings. When his lordship
and how grateful I was to him. This con- left the room I dropped down on the sofa.
tinued down to the bottom of the first page, I forgot the letter in my hand and its
and then I said, ‘‘ What would I not give contents, and the tailor in the next room.
to bear the name of one I so much love and All I thought of was the danger I had
respect! Oh thatI wasa Delmar!” Iwas escaped, and how fortunate I was in not
just about to turn over the leafand continue, having addressed the letter to my mother,
when the waiter tapped at the door, and as I had at first intended. The agony
informed me that the tailor was come to try which I felt was very great, and as I
on the clothes which I had ordered. I remained with my hands covering my eyes,
went into the bedroom, which opened into I made a vow that nothing should induce
the sitting-room, and was busy with the me ever to use deceit again. I then readV7
CW

Pe
Leste

 

Pal
1th

t

over the letter. There was nothing but
gratitude to Lord de Versely, and a wish
that I had been borna Delmar. Well, if
his lordship had run his eyes over it, there
was nothing to hurt me in his opinion; on
the contrary, it proved that I was grateful ;
and I then recollected that when I expressed
my gratitude, he said he believed it. As
for my saying that I wished my name was
Delmar, it was nothing, and it let him
know what my wishes were. On the whole,
I had great cause for congratulation.

I was here interrupted by the tailor, who

1
L
s

put his head out of the bedroom door. I
went to him, and he finished his work, and

promised me that I should have a complete

suit at half-past seven o'clock in the evening,

in time for dinner. I then returned to the
sitting-room, and opened the letter which
Lord de Versely had put into my hands.
It was from the first lord, acquainting him
that I might call at the Admiralty the next
day, as my post-captain’s commission was
signed, and I was appointed to a thirty-two-
gun frigate, which would be launched in
two or three months. Well, then, thought
I, here I am, at twenty-three, a post-captain
in his Majesty's service, and commanding a
frigate. Surely, I have much to be thankful
for. I felt that I had, and I was grateful
to Heaven for my good fortune. Now I
had but one more wish in the world, and
that was, instead of being Captain Keene,
to be Captain Delmar.

Whe reader may Say,’ “What's (ina
name?’’ True ; but such was my ambition,
my darling wish, and it is ardent longing
for anything, the ardour of pursuit, which
increases the value of the object so much
above its real value. The politician, who
has been manceuvring all his life, does not
perhaps feel more pleasure in grasping the
coronet which he has been in pursuit of,
than the urchin does when he first possesses
himself of a nest which he has been watch-
ing for weeks. This would, indeed, be
dreary world if we had not some excitement,
some stimulus to lead us on, which occupies
our thoughts, and gives us fresh courage,
when disheartened by the knavery, and
meanness, and selfishness of those who
surround us. How sad is the analysis of
human nature—what contradictions, what
extremes! how many really brave men
have I fallen in with, stooping to every
meanness for patronage, court favour, or
gain; slandering those whose reputation
they feared, and even descending to false-
hood to obtain their ends! How many
men with splendid talents, but with little
souls !

Up to the present I had run a career of
prosperous success ; I had risen toa high
position without interfering, or being inter-

2
a

Be
VA

   
   
  
    
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
 
  
    
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 

DL hE ENG 131
fered with by others ; but now I had become
of sufficient consequence to be envied ; now
I had soon to experience, that as you
continue to advance in the world, so do
you continue to increase the number of
your enemies, to be exposed to the shafts
of slander, to be foiled by treachery,
cunning, and malevolence. But I must not
anticipate.

I remained in Lendon till my leave was
expired, and then went down to Portsmouth
to pay off the brig, which had been ordered
into dock, to be refitted for his Majesty's
service.

]

iL

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE Circe, thirty-two, to which I had been
appointed, was a small, but very beautiful
frigate, and, as far as I could judge by her
build as she lay on the stocks, had every
requisite for sailing well.

When I took my leave of Lord de Versely
he told me that he should come down on
the first of the following month (September)
to Madeline Hall, where his aunt, Miss de
Versely, was still flourishing at a green old
age. ‘‘Here isa letter of introduction to
her, Keene,” said he, ‘‘as she has not seen
you since you were a few months old, and
therefore it is not very likely that she will
recognize you. ‘Take my advice, and make
yourself as agreeable to the old lady as you
can ; you will find Madeline Hall a very
pleasant place, when you are tired of the
dockyard and the smell of pitch and tar.”

I thanked his lordship, and we parted
with much more cordiality shown by him
than I had before experienced.

I hardly need say, that the first person
who came to congratulate me on my arrival
at Portsmouth, was my old friend and
adviser, Bob Cross. “Well 3@Captain
Keene,” said Bob, as I shook him warmly
by the hand, ‘‘I’m delighted at your suc-
cess, and I know that you will not be sorry
to hear that I am getting on as well as I
could wish in my small way ; Jane and |
are to be married in a few days, and I hope
you will honour me by being present at the
wedding.”

‘‘That I will, Bob, with pleasure,” re-
pled 1; ‘‘let me hear all that has taken
place.”

‘‘Why, sir, it’s told in a few words. I
took your advice, and brought the old gen-
tleman presents, and I sat with him and
heard all his old stories at least fifty times
over, and laughed at his jokes as regularly

the last time as the first ; and he told Jane
and her mother that I was a very pleasant,
sensible, and amusing young man—although
he had all the talk, and Il hadnone. The fact

”{32

is, Sir, it was he who first brought up the
subject of my splicing his niece; that is to
say, he hinted how he should like to see her
well settled, and that if she married accord-
ing to his wishes, he would leave her all the
had.

“Well, sir, it was the opinion of Janeand
her mother, that, as he was a whimsical,
changeable old chap, it would be right for
her to refuse me at first and so she did,
very much to_the old man’s annoyance, who
then set his mind upon it, and swore that
if she did not marry me, he would not leave
her a farthing. Aftera few days of quarrel-
ling, Jane gave in, and the old chap swears
that we shall be married immediately, and
that he will give us half his property down
at once.”’

‘« Strike the iron while it’s hot, Bob,” re-
plied I. ‘‘Is the day fixed?”

‘Not exactly, sir; but we are to be put
up in church next Sunday, andit takes three
Sundays. I hope you won't part with me,
sir,’ continued Bob. ‘‘ The Diligenze will
be paid off on Tuesday, they say, and if you
eould get me appointed to the Circe 4

‘Why, Cross, you are thinking of going
to sea again, even before you are married.
I should advise you not to be in such a
hurry. You must not displease the old
gentleman ; besides, you must not leave a
young wife so soon,”

‘“ That's very true, Captain Keene ; but I
den’t think I should be comfortable if I
knew you were afloat without me.”

‘“‘T suppose you think I cannot take care
of myself.”

“Yes, I do, sir; but still I know that I
should fret ; and, sir, it will be four months
at least before the Czrce is ready for sea,
and I may just.as well be appointed to her,
and I can decide whether I do go to sea or
not when the time comes.”

“Well, Cross, I will certainly apply for
you ; but if you take my advice, you will
give up the sea altogether, and live on
shore.”

‘‘T have nothing to do, sir.”

“Yes, you have; you haye to cherish
your wife, and look after the old gentle-
man.”

“Well, he is rather shaky, they say,
sir; the old woman is often called out to
him at nights.”’

“Well, Cross, I will do as you wish, and
time will decide how you are to act. I am
going over to Southampton for a few days,
perhaps, and will take care to be back by
the wedding. By-the-by, have you- heard
anything about prize-money 2?”

‘' Yes, sir ; it’s payable for the Diligente
and schooner, and all our recaptures in the
West Indies when we were in the Firefly.
The Dutch frigate has been for distribution

 

 

FLLCCLV AL Tie Ne

  

some time ; but as I was only petty officer
then, it won’t come to much.”

““ Well, I can tell you that the Govern-
ment have taken the schooner which we
captured in the chops of the channel, and
the East India Company have given us
salvage for the ship. My agent has re-
ceivedalready £7,400 0n my account, which
I have ordered to be purchased into the
funds. As there were so few warrant
officers, your share will not be less than
£1,500, perhaps more. As you said, the
salvage of the Indiaman has proved more
valuable to us than all the rest of our prize-
money put together.”

‘““Well, Captain Keene, if my _prize-
money comes to.as much as that, I think I
shall be nearly as well off as my little Jane
will be. Will you have the kindness to let
your agent put it by for me in the same way
that you have done yours?”

‘Yes, Cross, I will see to it immediately ;
I shall write to him to-morrow, or the day
after.”’

After a little conversation, Cross took his
leave. The next day I took post-horses,
and went over to Madeline Hall, having two
or three days before received a note from
the Honourable Miss Delmar, saying how
glad she should be to see me as a friend
and shipmate of her nephew, Lord de
Versely ; so that it appeared that the old
lady had been written to by Lord de Versely
respecting me.

I arrived early in the afternoon, and the
post-chaise drove up the avenue of magnifi-
cent chestnut-trees which led to the mansion.

CHAPTER MEK.

I Must? say that I was very much excited .
I was now arriving at the site of my birth,
and it brought to my mind the details given
me by my poor mother, when, finding she
could no longer conceal the truth from me,
she entered into a narrative to extenuate
her conduct, pointing out her temptations,
and how fatal to her were opportunity and
seclusion. Her form was before me, with
the tears running down her cheeks as she
made her humiliating confession to her own
son, and I could not help exclaiming, as I
cast my eye upon the beautiful grounds,
‘“My poor mother !”’

The chaise stopped, and the boys dis-
mounted and rang the bell. In a minute
three or four servants made their appear-
ance, and on inguiring, I found that the
Honourable Miss Delmar was.at home, and
visible.

‘Colonel Delmar, I presume, sir?” said
the old butler.

“No,” replied I—" Captain Keene.”PERCIVAL KEENE. 133

The butler looked me full in the face, and her companion disappeared, we were then
earnestly ; and then, as if recollecting him- alone. She asked me many questions rela-
self, he bowed and went on. tive to Lord de Versely, and what had

‘‘Captain Keene, madam,” said he, as occurred during the time that I was serving
he introduced me into a large room, at the with him ; and this was a subject on which
end of which sat a venerable-looking old I could be eloquent. I narrated several of
lady very busy with her knitting-needle,-and our adventures, particularly the action with
another, almost equally ancient, sitting on the Dutch frigate, and other partictilars in
a low stool beside her. which I could honestly do credit to his

As I advanced, the old lady made mea lordship, and I often referred to his kind-
bow as she remained in her chair, and ness for me.
looked at me through her spectacles. She ‘‘Well, Captain Keene, my nephew has
certainly was the beau-ideal of old age, often spoken to me about you, and now you
Her hair, which was like silver, was parted have done him credit in proving that he had
in braid, and was to be seen just peeping made youa good officer ; and I have heard
from under her cap and pinners ; she was how much you have distinguished yourself
dressed in black silk, with a snow-white since you have left him.”
apron and handkerchief, and there was an ‘“Or rather he left me, madam,’’ replied
air of dignity and refinement about her I, “‘when he was summoned to the House
which made you feel reverence for her at of Peers.”
first sight. As I approached to take the ‘““Very true,” replied the old lady. “I
chair offered to me, the other person, who suppose you know that you were born in
appeared to be a sort of attendant, was this house, Captain Keene?”
shuffling her feet to rise; but as soon as ‘“‘T have been told so, madam.”

Mrs, Delmar had said, ‘‘ You are welcome, “Yes, I have no doubt your poor mother
Captain Keene ; sit still,” she continued, that’s gone must have told you. I recollect
‘“‘my child, thereisno occasion to go away." her-—a very clever, active, and pretty young
I could scarcely help smiling at the old woman (here the old lady sighed) ; and |
lady calling a woman of past sixty, if not held you in my arms, Captain Keene, when
even further advanced, a child; but the you were only a few days old.”

fact was, that Phillis had been her attendant “You did me great honour, madam,"
as lady's maid for many years, and sub- teplied I.

sequently promoted to the position of humble Here the conversation took another
companion. channel, which I was not sorry for.

As for Miss Delmar, as I afterwards found After tea, I rose to take my leave, and
out from her own lips, she was upwards of then I received an invitation from the old
eighty-seven years old, but still in perfect lady. to come and spend some time at
good health, and in full possession of all Madeline Hall, and to come a few days
her faculties ; Phillis therefore was much before the first of September, that I might
ounger, and as the old» lady had had her join the shooting party. ‘'I expect my
yn her employ ever since she was twenty-. nephew, Lord de Versely,” said she, ‘‘and
two, it was not surprising that she continued there is Colonel Delmar of the Rifles, a
to address her as she had done for so many cousin of Lord de Versely, also coming,
years, aS a young person compared to her- and one or two others. Indeed, I expect
self ; indeed, I have no doubt but that the the colonel every day. He is 2 very pleasant
old lady, following up her association of and gentleman-like man.”
former days, and forgetting the half-century I accepted the invitation with pleasure,
that had intervened, did consider her as a and then took my leave. ‘The chaise drove
mere child. The old lady was very chatty: off, and I was soon in a deep reverie ; I
and very polite, and as our conversation called to mind all my mother had told me,
naturally turned on Lord de Versely, of and I longed to return to the Hall, and
whom I spoke in terms of admiration and visit those scenes which had been referred

gratitude, I had soon established myself in to in my mother’s narrative ; and more than
her good graces. Indeed, as I subsequently that, I wished to meet Lord de Versely on
discovered, her nephew was the great object the spot which could not fail to call to his
of her affections. His younger brotherhad mind my mother, then young, fond, and
neglected her, and was never mentioned confiding ; how much she had sacrificed for
except .when she regretted that Lord de him, how true she had proved to his inte-
Versely had no children, and that the title rests, and how sacred the debt of obligation,
would descend to his brother. which he could only repay by his conduct

She requested me tostay dinner, whichI towards me.

did not refuse ; and before dinner was over On my return. to Portsmouth, I found
I had made great progress.in the old Jady’s that orders had come down for the paying
esteem. As, when dinner was announced, off the Déligente, and recommissioning herPE RCLVAL

immediately. As the men would now be
free (until again caught by the impress,
which would not be long), I turned up the
ship's company, and asked how many of
them would enter for the Circe. I pointed
out to them that they would be impressed
for other vessels before long, but that I
could give them each three months of
absence, upon which they would not be
molested; and that by three months all
their money would be gone, and if it were
gone before that time, the guardship would
receive them when they had had enough of
the shore. By this method I proposed to
myself to obtain the foundation of a good
ship’s company. I was not disappointed.
Every man I wished to take with me volun-
teered, and I wrote leave-of-absence tickets
for three months for them all as belonging
to the Czrce, reporting what I had done to
the Admiralty. The brig was then paid off,
and the next day recommissioned by a
Captain Rose, with whom:I had some
slight acquaintance.

As I was now my own master again—for
although appointed to the Cuzrce, I had
nothing but my pennant to look at—I
thought that, by way of a little change, I
would pass a few days at the Isle of Wight ;
for this was the yachting season, and I had
made the acquaintance of many of the
gentlemen who belonged to the club. That
I had no difficulty in getting into society
may easily be imagined. A post-captain’s
commision in his Majesty's navy isa certain
passport with all liberal and really aristo-
cratical people ; andas it is well known that
a person who has not had the advantage of
interest and family connections to advance
in the service, must have gained his promo-
tion by his own merits, his rank is sufficient
to establish his claims to family connections
or personal merit, either of which is almost
universally acknowledged; I say almost
universally, because, strange to say, for a
succession of reigns, the navy never has
been popular at court. In that region,
where merit of any kind is seldom permitted
to intrude, the navy have generally been at
a discount. Each suceession of the House
of Hanover has been hailed by its members
with fresh hopes of a change in their favour,
which hopes have ended in disappointment ;
but perhaps it is as well. The navy require
no prophet to tell it, in the literal sense of
the word, that one cannot touch pitch with-
out being defiled; but there is a moral
pitch, the meanness, the dishonesty, and
servility of Court, with which, I trust, our
noble service will never be contaminated.

I have, however, somewhat wandered
from my subject, which was brought up in
consequence of a gentleman who had paid
me every attention at a large club down at

 

 

TERN,

Cowes, to which I had been invited,
inquiring of me, across the table, if I were
connected with the Keenes of 2 My
reply was ready: ‘‘I did not-think that I
was ; my father had died a young man in
the East Indies. I knew that he was of
Scotch descent (which he was), but I was
too young to know anything about his con-
nections, whom he had quitted at an early
age ; since that I had been educated and
brought forward by Lord de Versely, who
had, since the death of my mother, treated
me as if I were his own son.” This was said
openly, and being strictly true, of course
without hesitation on my part. It was
quite sufficient; I had noble patronage,
and it was therefore to be presumed that I
was somebody, or that patronage would
not have been extended. I mention this,
because it was the only time that I was ever
questioned about my family ; it was there-
fore to be presumed that my reply was con-
sidered satisfactory.

I accepted an invitation on board of the
yacht, and sailed about for several days,
very much amused and flattered by the
attention shown me by the noble commo-
doreand others. One day I fell in with an
old acquaintance. A small vessel, of about
twenty tons, cutter rigged, came down
under the stern of the commodore’s yacht.
It was then very smooth water, very light
wind, and, moreover, very hot weather ; and
one of the squadron, who was standing by
me on the taffrail, said, ‘‘ Keene, do look
at this craft coming down under our stern
—there’s quite a curiosity {In it. “It is a
yacht belonging to an Irish Major O’Flinn,
as he calls himself; why the O, I don't
know ; but he’s a good fellow, and very
amusing ; there he is abaft; he has the
largest whiskers you ever saw ; but it is not
ofhim I would speak. Wait a little, andas
soon as the square sail is out of the way,
you will see his wife. Such a whapper! I
believe she weighs more than the rhinoceros
did which was at Post-down Fair.”

As the vessel neared, I did behold a
most enormous woman in a sky-blue silk
dress, and a large sky-blue parasol over her
head ; the bonnet having been taken off, I
presume, on account ofthe heat. ‘‘She is a
monster,’ replied I ; ‘‘ the major was a bold
man ; I think I have seen the face before.”

‘‘T am told that she was the daughter of a
purser, and had a lot of money,” continued:
my friend.

I recollected then, and I replied, ‘‘ Yes ;
I know now, her name was Culpepper.”

‘That was the name,” said he; ‘‘I recol-
lect now.”

The reader may probably recollect Miss
Medea, who knew so well how to put that
and that together ; and her mother, who IPERCIVAL KEENE. 135

presumed had long ago been suffocated in o'clock, I dressed and breakfasted, and then
her own fat, a fate which I thought that took a wherry over to Gosport, and in half
Mrs. O’Flinn would meet with as well as an hour was at the house, which was full of
her mother. The lady did not recognize people with white favours, and in such a
me, which I was not sorry for. I certainly bustle that it reminded me of a hive of bees
Should have cut her dead. I walked just previous to a swarm.

forward, and my thoughts reverted to the ‘“ Here’s the captain come, sir,” said Bob,
time when my mother first brought me down who had received me; for the bride was
to embark, and I was taken care of by Bob still in her room with her mother.

Cross. This recollection of Bob Cross ‘Happy to see you, sir; I wish you joy,
reminded me that I had promised to be at Mr. Waghorn,”’ replied I, taking his hand.
his wedding, and that it was to take place ‘You're Captain Keene, then, whose

om the following day, which I had quite letters to the Admiralty Jane has so often
forgotten. So that Mrs. O’Flinn did mea read to me in the newspapers. Wherehave
good turn at last, as I should have neglected we met? I’ve heard that voice before.”

my promise if she had not made her appear- ‘Indeed, sir,” replied I, rather confused.
ance, sailing along like an elephantine “Yes, I have; I always know a voice
Cleopatra. again ; let me see—why, captain, you were
here with Cross, the first time I ever heard
him ; you were an agent, and now you're a

 

CHAPTER XXXIII captain,” continued the old man, looking
as ce ; very grave.
{ HAD not called upon old Waghorn, the ‘‘Hush, sir,” replied I; ‘pray don’t

uncle of Jane; as I was fearful that he might speak so loud. Do you recollect what I
recognize the pretended agent of former came about? Do you suppose that when I
days with the now captain of the Circe. was a party to the escape of a prisoner I
The blind are very acute in all their other could let you know, being a perfect stranger,
senses—a species of reparation made by that I was an officer in his Majesty's ser-
nature by way of indemnification for the vice p>”

severe loss which they have sustained. ‘‘Very true,” replied the old man; “I

As I grew older I grew wiser, and I could cannot blame you for that. But was Cross

not help remarking that the acts of deceit an officer in the service at that time?”
which, as a midshipman, I thought not only ‘*No, sir, he was not,” replied I;.‘‘he
very justifiable, but good fun, were invariably was appointed boatswain to my ship by the
attended with unpleasant results. Even in admiral in the West Indies.”

this trifle my heart misgave me, whether on ‘I'm glad to hear that. I thought Cross
my appearance at the wedding I might not might have deceived me also; everyone
be recognized, and be the cause of creating tries to cheat a blind man—and the blind
a breach, by raising suspicions on the part are suspicious. I’m glad that Cross didnot
of the blind man, which might prevent the deceive me, or I would have seen my niece
wedding ; and I had stated my fears to Bob in her coffin before—but say no more about
Cross. ‘‘ Well, Captain Keene, it was all it ; you could not do otherwise ; all’s right,
done with good intentions, and I do not sir, and I'm glad to see you, and tohave the
think that there is much to fear. It'salong honour of your company. Sit down, sir, I
while back, and you were not so much of a beg. By-the-by, Captain Keene, have you
man as you are now. They do say that heard of the girl since?”

cheating never thrives, and I believe that it ‘‘ My dear sir,’ replied I, glad to give him
seldom does in the long run. Jane will be my confidence, ‘there are no secrets
very much disappointed if you do not come.” between us now ; it was no girl, but the son

‘There is no help for it, Bob; I must. of the captain of the Dutch frigate, and an

disguise my voice ; I must cheat a little now officer, whose éscape you assisted in,”

to hide the first cheat. That's always the ‘I don't wonder, then, at your’ not
ease in this world,” making yourself known,” replied the old
‘I don’t call it cheating, sir; my ideas man, ‘' Why, if I had known it had been

are, that if you cheat to get an advantage an officer, I never would have had a hand

for yourself, then you do cheat; but when in the job; but a poor girl, it was mere

you do so to help another, there’s no great charity to assist her, and I thought I was

cheating in the case.”’ acting the part of a Christian, poor blind
‘I cannot agree with you, Bob; but let sinner that I am.”

us Say no more about it. Iwill be with you ‘You did a kind act, sir, and Heaven

at ten o'clock, which you say isthe hour that. will reward you,”

you go to church,”’ ‘“We are sad wicked creatures, Captain
This conversation took place on the Keene,” replied he. ‘‘I wish this day was

morning of the wedding, About eight over, and my poor Jane made happy ;' andsina atime

 

 

then I should have nothing to do but to
read my Bible, and prepare for being called
away; it’s never too soon, depend upon it,
sire!
The appearance of the bride with her

bridesmaids put an end to our conversation,

which I was not sorry for. The order of
march was arranged, and we started off for
the church on foot, making avery long and
very gay procession. In half an hour it was
all over, and we returned. I then had an

opportunity of telling Cross what had passed
between me and old Waghorn.

“‘Tt was touch-and-go, sir, that’s sartin,”’
replied Bob ; ‘‘ for if the old gentleman had
not been satisfied, heis so obstinate that the
match would have been broken off at the
church door. Well, sir, I always said that
you were the best to get out of a scrape
that I ever knew when you were a middy,
and you don’t appear to have lost the talent ;
it was well managed.”

‘‘ Perhaps so, Bob; but in future I do not
intend to get into them, which will be
managing better still.” I then left Cross,
and went to talk to Jane, who certainly
looked very handsome. The tables for
dinner were laid out in the garden, for it
was a beautiful warm autumnal day. We
sat down about twenty, and a merrier party
I never was at. Old Waghorn was the only
one who got tipsy on the occasion, and it
was very ridiculous to hear him quoting
scraps of Scripture in extenuation, and then
calling himself a poor blind old sinner. It
was not till eight o'clock in the evening that
the party broke up, and I had then some
difficulty to persuade some to go away. As
for the old man, he had been put to bed an
hour before. I stayed‘a few minutes after
all were gone, and then kissing Jane, and
shaking hands with Bob, I went back to

Portsmouth.

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.

As soon as I was at home again, the events
of the day, from association of ideas, natu-
rally brought Minnie Vanderwelt into my
head, and I recollected that. I had not
written to her since my promotion and ap-
pointment to the Czrce; I therefore sat
down and indited a long letter, ending with
expressing my regret at not having received
an answer from the many I had written,
especially the last, which informed them of
my arrival in England, and gave them the
knowledge where to address me. I also
requested to know what had become of
young Vangilt, whose escape’ I had con-
trived. Having enclosed that letter to the
agent, and begged him to have it forwarded

Hamburg, I went to bed, and after the

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

  
 
 
    
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  

excitement of the day, had a variety of
dreams, in which Minnie’s form was con-
tinually making its appearance.

The following morning brought mea long
letter from my aunt, Mrs. Bridgeman, very
lively and very amusing: the only news in
it was the marriage of Lieutenant Flat toa
tavern-keeper’s daughter, which had given
great offence to the marine corps, as she
was said to be rather light of earriage. She
begged me very much to pay them a visit,
but that was not all to my wishes, I most
candidly confess. My pride revolted at it ;
I even doubt if I would have fitted out a
ship at Chatham, where people could point
their finger at» me and say, ‘‘ That. post-
captain’s father was a marine in those
barracks.” Another letter from Lord de
Versely, announcing his arrival at Madeline
Hall, and requesting me to join him as ,
soon as possible, was infinitely more to my
taste, and I resolved to start next day,
which I did. Iwas very cordially received
by his lordship, and very graciously by the
old lady, who expressed a hope that I would
now make a long visit. About an hourafter
I had arrived, Colonel Delmar made his
appearance: he was a cousin of Lord de
Versely, but I certainly should not, from
his appearance, have supposed him to. be a
Delmar; for he was short, round-shouldered,
and with a. fat; rubicund face, apparently
about forty years of age. I, observed, after
our introduction, that his eyes were very
often directed towards me; but his manner
was courteous, and, although his appear-
at first sight was not prepossessing, his con-
versation was very agreeable, and he was
very gentleman-like. Before dinner was
over, I felt a great liking for him.

As the first of September had: not yet
arrived, the birds had still two days of peace
and quietness, leading their broods through
the stubbles, and pointing out to them the
corn which had spilled on the ground for
their food. That the old birds had some
idea of a gun, it is to be supposed, from
their having escaped the season before; but
the young coyeys had still that pleasure to
come; in two days more they were to be
initiated into the astonishing fact, that fast
as feathers could fly, lead could fly faster,
and overtake them.

The two or three days before the shooting
season begins are invariably very tedious in
the country, and, I passed my morning
chiefly in roving through the park and
pleasure grounds, and. I hardly need say,
that during those rambles my thoughts were
chiefly occupied with the intimacy which
had taken place between my mother and
Lord de Versely. On the third morning
after my arrival I had been strolling for
more than two hours, when 1 came toavery retired sort of Gothic cell, formed of
the distended limbs of an old oak, inter-
mixed with stones and grass. It faced
towards the park, and was built up on the
green lawn amidst clumps of laurel and
other evergreens. I threw myself on the
benches. It was just the place for a man
to select for a rendezvous : just the secret
spot where a maiden could listen without
trembling at intruders ; and it struck me
that this must have been the trysting-place
of my parents. For an hour I remained
there, castle-building for the future, and
musing on the past, when I heard .a voice,
close to me on the other side of the cell, the
back of which was turned towards the
hall.

I knew the voice to be that of the old lady,
who, it appears, had, as usual, come out in
her garden chair, and was dragged by her
attendant, Phillis: the wheels had made no
noise on the velvet lawn, and, until roused
by her voice, 1 was not aware of their
approach.

““ Nonsense, Phillis -

es

why, child, what
should you know about such things?”’ said
the old lady.

“If you please to recollect, maam,’’
replied Phillis, who certainly was old enough
to recollect all the passages in a woman's
life, ‘‘I was your maid at the time that it
happened, and I was constantly in company
with Bella Mason. She was very respectful
towards you, but you did not know what
her temper was ; there never was so proud
a young woman, or who considered herself
of such consequence as she did—so much
So that she treated even Mr. Jonas, the
butler, and Mrs. Short, the housekeeper,
with disdain.”

‘‘ Well, well, I know that she was proud ;
her mother was always a proud woman.
Mr. Mason,:in his younger days, held
property of his own, at least his father did,
but he ran through it, revelling and horse-
racing ; but what does that prove ?”’

‘““I only say, madam, what was said at
the time by everybody, that Bella Mason
never would have married that marine,
whom she looked upon with contempt,
although he certainly was a good-looking
young man, if she had not been obliged to
do so.”

“‘ But why obliged, Phillis?”

‘To conceal her shame, madam ; for, if
you recollect, the child was born three
months after marriage.”

“I recollect that, very well,” replied
Miss Delmar; ‘‘it was a sad thing, and, as
my nephew said, I ought to have looked
out sharper after Bella than I did, and not
have allowed her to be so much in company
with that marine.’’

‘‘ That marine, ma’am! he was innocent

PERCIVAL KEENE.

  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
  
 

137

enough ; Bella was not likely to listen to
one like him.”

‘‘Who can you mean, then, Phillis?”

‘“Why, Lord de Versely, madam, to be
sure. Everybody in the Hall was sure the
child was his ; he and Bella were for ever
together for months before her marriage. '

‘‘ Phillis, Phillis, you don’t know what
you are saying ; it’s impossible ; indeed, I
recollect talking the matter over with Lord
de Versely, who was then Captain Delmar,
and he was more shocked at the impropriety
than even I was, and offered to give the
marine a good whipping.”

‘“That may be, madam, but still Captain
Delmar was the father of that boy ; for, if
you recollect, old Mrs. Mason came to the
Hall, and went away almost immediately.”

‘Well, what of that? she was displeased,
no doubt.”

‘Yes, indeed she was, madam ; but she
had a private meeting with Captain Delmar ;
and Mrs. Short, the housekeeper, over-
heard what passed, and I understand that
the captain did not deny it to her. One
thing is certain, that Mrs. Mason, as she
was going away, in her rage made use of
language about Captain Delmar, which
otherwise she never would have dared.
And then madam, only look at Captain
Keene—why, he is the very image of his
lordship.”

‘“He is very like him, certainly,” said
the old lady, musing.

‘“And then, madam, do you think his
lordship would have brought the boy up in
the service, and made him a post-captain,
if he had been the son of a marine? And
then, madam, see how fond his lordship is
of him; why, he dotes upon him; and
would he ask the son of his own servant to
come down to Madeline Hall, as fit com-
pany for you? No; so, madam, depend
upon it, Captain Keene is a Delmar, and
no wonder his lordship is so fond of him,
madam ; for he is his only child, and I dare-
say his lordship would give him his right
hand if he could leave him the barony and
éstates, instead of them going away, as they
will, to his younger brother’s children.”

‘“ Well, well,’ Phillis, it may be so, I
don't know what to think of it. I shall
speak to Lord de Versely about it; for if
Captain Keene is a Delmar, he must be

looked to. Heisa Delmar, although with
the bar sinister. I feel a little cold, Phillis,
so drag me to the terrace, that I may get a
little sunshine.”

‘« Phillis, I thank thee,” said I to myself,
as the chair wheeled away. ‘‘ Your love of
chatting may be useful to me. Perhaps
his lordship may now acknowledge my
birth to his aunt, and good may come ofit.”
I waited till the chair wheels were heard onAe sittings Se

 

the gravel walk, and then quitted the grotto,
and bent my steps away from the Hall, that
I might commune with my own thoughts
without chance of interruption.

I had quitted the park, and was now
pacing over several fields, one after another,
walking as if I had some important busi-
ness in hand, when,in fact, my legs were
only trying to keep pace with my thoughts,
when I vaulted over a gate, and found my-
self in a narrow lane, sunk deep between
two hedges. Indifferent as to the path I
took, I turned to the right, and continued
on my way, walking as fast as before, when
I heard the low bellowing of an animal.
This induced me to raise my eyes, and I
witnessed a curious scene in front of me,
which I will narrate in the next chapter.

 

CUA PASE IR: SRO

As I said before, the lane was very narrow,
not admitting more than one vehicle to go
along it, and was sunk between the hedges
on each side, so as to render it not very
easy to climb up the bank. ‘The parties
who presented themselves were, first a cow
with her tail turned towards me, evidently a
wicked one, as she was pawing and bellow-
ing in a low tone, and advancing towards
two people who were the object of her
attack. One was a very little man, dressed
in black; the other a stout, burly young fel-
low in a shooting-jacket; but what amused
me most was that the stout young fellow,
instead of being in the advance to defend
one so much smaller than himself, not only
kept behind the little man, but actually now
and then held him by the shoulders before
his own person, as a Shield to ward off the
expected attack of the vicious animal. It
is true that the little person expostulated,
and spoke several times in a tone of com-
mand to his companion; but his words were
unheeded, and the cow advanced, and they
retreated in the order which I have
described.

I quickened my pace so as to gain rapidly
upon them, and was soon but a few yards
from the animal. I had no stick or weapon
of any kind, but still I knew how to manage
unruly cattle, as sailors do when they are
sent on board ship alive. Indeed, I had
more than once put it into practice myself ;
and, although with a bull it was not a very
easy matter, with a cow I felt certain that I
could effect my purpose.

The animal appeared now determined to
come to close quarters; and I, therefore,
approached her until I was about a couple
of feet from her flank, all ready for a spring,
in case she should see me, and turn round.
But she was too busy with the parties in

ee

PERCIVAL KEANE.

front of her, and at last she made a run.
The stout young man pushed the little man
towards the cow, and then ran forit. ‘The
little one, in his attempt to recoil, fell on
the turf, and the cow made at him. I sprang
forward, and catching the horn of the animal
farthest from me in my right hand, at the
same time put my left knee on the horn
nearest to me, threw all my weight upon it,
so as to turn the animal’s nose up in the
air, and seizing it by the nostrils with the
other hand, I held her head in that position,
which, of course, rendered the animal harm-
less. In that position the cow went over
the prostrate man without doing him any
injury, plunging and capering, so as to
extricate herself from my weight. I re-
mained clinging to her for about ten yards
further, when I perceived the stout fellow
ahead, who hallooed out, ‘‘ Hold her tight!
hold her tight!’’ but that I would no longer
do, as it was fatiguing work; so, as a
punishment for his cowardice, I let go the
animal, springing clear off, and behind it,
the cow galloping away as fast as she could
down the lane, and the fellow screaming and
running before as fast as he could.

Having thus rid myself of the cow and the
coward, I turned back to where the other
party had been left on the ground, and found
him standing up, and looking at what
Was passing. ‘‘Youre not hurt, sir?”
said I.

‘“*No, thanks to you; but no thanks to
that rascally clerk of mine, who wanted to
shove me on the cow’s horns to save him-
Selig

‘* He has a run for it now, at all events,”
replied I, laughing, ‘‘and I let the cow
loose on purpose ; for if I had held on, and
used all my strength, I could have brought
her down on her side, and kept her down.
Oh! there’s a break in the bank, and he has
climbed up it, so he is safe for a good
fright,’ continued I; “‘and now we had
better get away ourselves; for the animal
may come ‘back, and although one can pin
her in that way from behind, it is not to be
done when she comes stem on to you.”

‘‘ Well, sir, I have heard of taking the
bull by the horns as not being a very wise
thing ; but taking a cow by them has pro-
bably saved my life. I thank you.”

‘“We manage them that way on board
ship,” replied I, laughing.

““You are a sailor, then, sir,’’ replied the
little man. ‘‘ Probably I have the pleasure
of addressing Captain Keene?”

‘“That is my name,” replied I; ‘‘but
here is the cow coming back, and the sooner
we get to the gate the better. I’m not
ashamed to run for it, and I suppose you
are not either.” So saying, I took to my
heels, followed by my new companion, andwe very soon put the barred gate between

us and our enemy.

‘“‘T will wish you good day now, sir,” said

‘‘I am going to the Hall.”

I am also bound there, Captain Keene,”

replied my companion, ‘‘and, with your
permission, will accompany you. Egad,
we may meet another cow,” said he, laugh-
ing, ‘‘and I prefer being in your company.”

He then informed me that he was the
solicitor and agent of the Honourable Miss
Delmar, and had been sent for about some
new leases, and that his name was Warden.
During our walk I found him a very
cheerful, merry little man, anda very good
companion.

On our arrival at the Hall, Mr. Warden
was informed that Miss Delmar was not able
to receive him just then, as she was very
busy with» Lord de Versely, who was with
her in her private room. I therefore re-
mained with Mr, Warden for about an hour,
when Lord de Versely came down and joined
us. He appeared to beina remarkably gay
humour, and shook me warmly by the hand
when he came in.

‘‘ Now, Mr. Warden, you are to go up
and receive your instructions, and recollect,
the sooner everything is executed’ the
better.”

Mr. Warden left the room, and I narrated
to his lordship the adventure with the cow.
Just as I had begun it, Colonel Delmar came
in, and listened to my narration.

In about half an hour Mr. Warden came
downstairs, and with a very smiling face.

‘‘ Well, Mr. Warden,” said his lordship,
‘‘ have you your instructions?”

“Yes, my lord, and I assure you that I
never shall execute any with so much
pleasure. Has Captain Keene told you how
he saved my life this morning?”

“No, she did not say that,” replied his
lordship ; ‘‘ but he has told me about the
cow, and your clerk putting you foremost in
the breach,”’

*“‘She would have made a breach in me,
[ expect, if it had not been for the captain,”
replied Mr. Warden ; ‘‘and you may there-
fore believe me, my lord, when I say that [
shall obey my instructions with pleasure.
I wish you good morning. Good morning,

Captain Keene; Colonel, your most obe-
dient." So saying, Mr. Warden left the
room. Iwas very much struck with Mr.
Warden's observation, that he would ex-
ecute his instructions with so much pleasure ;
and when I turned round, I perceived that
Colonel Delmar was looking very grave;
but the first dinner-bell rang, and we all
went to ourrooms to dress. ‘‘Well,”’ thought
I, as I was dressing myself, ‘‘ I-presume the
old lady has left me a thousand or two in
her will.” I cared little about that, and then

J .

?
sc

PERCIICA L

    
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 

KEENE, 139
I dismissed the subject from my thoughts ;
but as I sat by Miss Delmar after dinner, I
could not help thinking that her manner
towards me was more affectionate than it
had been before; the hauteur with which
her civility and kindness had hitherto been
blended appeared to have been thrown
aside. I presumed that Lord de Versely
had been speaking in my favour, and felt
grateful to him for his kindness. Perhaps,
thought I, he has revealed to her the secret
of my birth, and she now considers meas a
relation; perhaps she may have left me
more than I supposed. However, it is of
little consequence.

 

CHAPTER ec

THE next day being the first of September,

we were all very busy, and we continued to

shoot every day for a week, when I thought

it time to return to Portsmouth. I men-

tioned my intentions to Lord de Versely, —
and was pressed to stay until the following
Saturday, it being then Tuesday. On

Wednesday Mr. Warden made his appear-

ance, attended by his clerk, who carried a
bag of papers. He remained half an hour,

and then went home; but before he went,

he asked me to dine with him on the fol-

lowing day, and I consented.

After we returned from shooting, the next
day, 1 changed my clothes, and, leaving
werd with the butler that I dined out, I took
my way across the fields. I was walking
very quietly on the grass, by the side of a
high hedge, when I perceived two other men
on the opposite side ; one I recognised as
Colonel Delmar ; the other I could not at
first make out; but, as I approached them,
I perceived that the colonel was talking with
the clerk of Mr. Warden. I passed them
without notice, for they were very earnestly
engaged in conversation. What they said
I did not know ; but I thought it singular
that so proud a person as Colonel Delmar
should be so engaged with an inferior ; a
little reflection, however, made me consider
that there was nothing very surprising in
Colonel Delmar's entering into conversation
with a man in the country. They might be
talking about the game, or a hundred other
things.

[Thad a very friendly dinner with Mr.
Warden, who, after dinner, gave me a hint
that [ should not be the worse for the papers
signed the day before. He did not, how-
ever, say anything positive, asit would have
been a breach of trust. When I spoke of
my soon being afloat again, he said that he
would not fail to watch over my interests at
the Hall during my absence; and he re-
quested that I would write to him, and con-140

 

sider him as my sincere friend. ‘‘ Of course,
my dear Captain Keene, I do not expect
that you will at present give me your entire
confidence ; but I trust you will when you
know me, and at all events that you will not
fail to do so when my advice may be of use
to you. I.have a debt of obligation to
pay, and I shall be most happy to do so, if
it is in my power.” I thanked Mr. Warden
for his kind offers, and promised to avail
myself of them, and we parted great
friends.

The next day, Friday, we had a large
addition to our shooting party, I had not
been out more than an hour, when, as I was
standing near Lord de Versely, who was
reloading his gun, a report, close to us, was
heard, and I fell down close to his feet,
apparently dead. A keeper, who was with
us, ran to see who had discharged the gun,
and found that it was Colonel Delmar, who
now ran up to us, stating in hurried terms,
to Lord de Versely, that his gun had gone
off accidentally as he was putting on a
copper cap, and bitterly lamenting the cir-
cumstance. Lord de Versely was at the
time kneeling down by my side (as I was
afterwards informed), showing the greatest
anxiety and grief. My hat had been taken
off ; it was full of blood, and the back of
my head was much torn with the shot. I
remained insensible, although breathing
heavily ; a gate was taken off its hinges,
and I was laid upon it, and carried to the

all.

Before the surgeon had arrived, I had re-
covered my senses. On examination, I had
had a very narrow escape ; the better part
of the charge of shot had entered the back
part of my head, but fortunately not any
had penetrated through the skull. After a
tedious hour, employed in extracting this
load, my head was bound up, and I was
made comfortable in my bed. I must say
that Lord de Versely and Colonel Delmar
vied with each other in their attentions to
me ; the latter constantly accusing himself
as the author of the mischief, and watching
by my bed the major part of the day.

This accident delayed my departure, and
it was not until three weeks afterwards, that
I was sufficiently recovered to leave my
room. Inthe meantime, Lord de Versely,
assured that I was out of danger, went back
to London. The colonel, however, re-
mained. His kindness and attention had
given me great pleasure, and we had be-
come very intimate. He had offered to go
with me to Portsmouth, and I had expressed
the pleasure I should have in his company.
The Honourable Miss Delmar had shown
the greatest feeling and anxiety for me
during my illness; so had Mr. Warden,
who often called to see me ; in fact, I found

 

PERCTVAL KEENE.

  

myself so surrounded by well-wishers and
friends, that I hardly regretted my accident.

At the end of the fifth week, I was suffi-
ciently recovered to beable to return to
Portsmouth, where I was now very anxious
to arrive, as the Czrce had been launched,
and already received her lower masts. I
took my leave of Miss Delmar, who re-
quested my early return to Madeline Hall,
and, accompanied by Colonel Delmar, was
once more established at Billett’s Hotel.

Bob Cross was the first who made his
appearance ; for I had written to him to
acquaint him with my intended return. He
had heard of my narrow escape, as it had
been put into the newspaper ; his informa-
tion was trifling, but to the purpose. All
was right as to the frigate ; she sat on the
water like a duck ; the rigging was far ad-
vanced, and the officers seemed of the right
sort. All was right, also, as to his matri-
monial affairs; his wife was everything he
wished ; the old gentleman was as sweet as
molasses, and he had laid the keel of a
young Cross. We then entered upon busi-
ness, and I gave him some directions as to the
rigging, and he left me.

The next morning, the first lieutenant
called to pay his respects, and his appear-
ance and conversation proved him to be,
what he had been recommended as, a good
seaman anda brave man. I went with him
to the dockyard to look at the frigate in the
basin, and afterwards on boara the hulk to
see the other officers and the men, who had
been entered. I had every reason to be
satisfied, and I then returned to the hotel,
to dine with Colonel Delmar. This officer
appeared to have taken a strong interest in
me ; and ever since the accident of his gun
going off, which had so nearly been fatal to
me, was unbounded in his professions of
regard. I must say that a more gentle-
man-like or more amusing companion I
never met with. A great intimacy was
established between us; he was constantly
making me presents of value, which I would
fain have prevented his doing ; occasionally,
when we were alone, he would hint some-
thing about my family and parentage; but
this was a subject upon which I was in-
variably silent, and I immediately changed
the conversation ; once only I replied, that
my father and mother were both dead.

On my arrival at Portsmouth, I found
several letters waiting for me, and among
them two or three from my mother, who
had seen the report in the newspaper of the
escape that I had had, and, of course, was
excessively anxious to hear from my own
hand how I was. Had I thought that it
would have come to her knowledge, I cer-
tainly should have sent to my grandmother
from Madeline Hall; but I imagined thatshe knew nothing about it until my return
to Portsmouth, when her anxious letters
proved the contrary ; for in her anxiety she
had quite forgotten her promise that all
communication should be through my grand-
mother.

As soon as I had read the letters, I locked
them up in my desk, and hastened to reply
to them, assuring my mother of my perfect
restoration to health, and cautioned her not
to break through the agreement we had
made for the future, pointing out to her
that had these letters been forwarded to
Madeline Hall, her handwriting would have
been recognized. I said, in conclusion, ‘‘I
must say, my-dear mother, that I now
heartily repent that we should have resorted
to the step we have done in pretending that
you are’dead. That some advantage was
gained by it at the time, I really believe ; but
{ have a feeling that eventually some mis-
chief may occur from it. I hope I may be
mistaken ; but if I am not, it will only be
the punishment which I deserve for an act
of duplicity which I have repented of ever
since.

CHAPTER XXXVIL

My time was now fully employed during
the day in fitting out the frigate ; but in the
evening I generally dined out at the admiral
or the officers’ mess. I received several
invitations from the marine mess to dine
with them; but I always contrived to be
engaged, for I was fearful that something
might be said relative to my putative father,
Ben, which might hurt my pride. Not that
I had any reason to suppose that any of the
officers would have been guilty of any such
rudeness ; but as a great deal of wine was
drunk when company wereat the mess, and
there were many young men there, it was
possible that, having the knowledge, they
might in their cups say something which
they never would have done when they were
sober. The colonel very often dined there,
and constantly asked me why I refused.
My reply was certainly not the truth, for I
said that I was not very partial to marine
officers.

We had been three weeks at Portsmouth,
when Colonel Delmar received a letter from
a friend of his, a Major Stapleton, which
he read aloud to me at breakfast. It stated
that the major would be down at Ports-
mouth the next: day, and requested the
colonel to procure him good rooms. ‘‘ He
is an excellent fellow, the major,” continued
the colonel, ‘‘and will be a great addition
to our society. I will prevail upon him to
stay a week or ten days.’

On my return from the dockyard on the
following day, I found the colonel and

PERCIVAL KEENE,

I4I

Major Stapleton in our sitting-room, and
was introduced to him. He was a small,
neatly-made man, with handsome features,
very well dressed, and of very fashionable
appearance. Still there was something in
his eye which did not please me; it was
unsettled and wandering, and never fixed
upon you for more thanasecond. Hemetme
with great warmth and empressement, shook
me by the hand, and declared what pleasure
he had in making my acquaintance. We
sat down to dinner, and were very merry.

The major had been with us a week,
when we had a large party to dinner. The
wine was passed freely, and we all were
more or less elated. “The major appeared
particularly so, and very much inclined to
be quarrelsome ; and as he constantly
addressed himself to me, I was very cautious
in what I said, as I perceived that he was in
the humour to take offence at anything.
Several very offensive remarks were made
by him, as if to pick a quarrel between us ;
but I parried them as well as I could, and I
was making an observation, when the major
started up, and told me that what I said
was a lie, and that I was a scoundrel for
having said so.

Now, as my observation was to my first
lieutenant, and was in reference to the hold
of the frigate, there could be no cause for
this insult, and it could only be ascribed to
his being in a state of intoxication. My
reply was very cool and quiet: ‘Major,
you do not know what you are saying ; but
we will talk about it to-morrow morning.”
I then rose and went to my bedroom, and
the whole party broke up immediately.

Shortly afterwards, Colonel Delmar came
into my room, and blaming the major very
much for his conduct, aseribed it to intoxi-
cation, and said that he would make him
send a proper apology, which he had no
doubt, the next morning, when the major
was informed of what he had done, he
would be most anxious to offer himself.

[ replied, that I presumed so; and he
quitted my room. Indeed, so fully was I
convinced of this in my own mind, that I
gave it no further thought, and was soon
fast asleep, and did not wake until Colonel
Delmar entered my room at a late hour.

‘“Well, Colonel ?”’ said 1,

‘‘ My dear Keene,” said he, ‘‘I have been
to the major, and, to my surprise, when I
stated to him what had passed at the table
last night, his reply was that he perfectly
remembered all about it, and that he would
not retract what he had said. I remon-
strated with him, but in vain. He says,
that it is cowardly to retract, and that he
will never make an apology.”

‘‘'Then,”’ replied I, ‘‘ there is but one step
for me to take.”a
q
:
;
:

 

 

142 PERCTVAL GER ENE, ;

‘As your friend, I told. him so, and
pressed him very hard to acknowledge his
error, but he continued stedfast in his
refusal. I then took upon myself to say
that I was there as your friend, and begged
he would name an officer to whom I might
address myself. Did I not right, my dear
Keene? 4

‘ Certainly ; and I am very much obliged
to you,” replied I, putting on my dressing-
gown.

‘“‘He must be mad, utterly and positively
mad!" exclaimed Colonel Delmar. ‘‘I
regret very much that he has ever come
here, I know that some years ago, when
he was younger, he fought two or three
duels rather than make an apology; but
in this instance it was so unprovoked, and
Thad hoped that he had got over all that
nonsense and obstinacy. Are youa good
shot, Keene? because he is a notorious
one.”

“JT can hit my man, colonel; it is true
that I have only fought one duel in my life,
and would make a great sacrifice rather than
fight another; but no alternative is left
me in this case; and if blood is shed, it
must be on the head of him who provoked
its

‘‘Very true,” replied Colonel Delmar,
biting his lip; ‘I only hope you will be
successful.”

‘“‘I have no particular animosity against
Major Stapleton,” replied I ; ‘but as he is
such a good shot, I shall in my own defence
take good aim at him. At all events, I
have sufficient acquaintance with firearms,
and have passed through too many bullets
not to be cool and collected under fire, and
I therefore consider myself quite a match
for the major. Now, colonel, if you will
order the breakfast, [ will be down in ten
minutes or a quarter of an hour.”

As the colonel was going out of the room,
his servant knocked at the door, and said
that Captain Green wished to speak to him
on particular business; I therefore did not
hurry myself, but proceeded quietly with
my toilet, as I was well aware what the
particular business was, and that the con-
ference might last some time. On my
descending into the sitting-room I found
the colonel alone.

‘““Well, Keene,’’ said he, “everything is
arranged, for the major is deaf to all ex-
postulation ; you are to meet this evening ;
and, to avoid interference, Captain Green
and I have agreed to say that the major has
apologised, and all is madeup.” Of course

I had no objection to make to that, and we
parted for the present, I walking to the
dockyard, and he remaining at the hotel
to write letters.

‘The reader may think that I took matters

 

 

very coolly ;, but the fact was, I had no
preparations to make in case of accident,
having no wife or family; and as to any
other preparations at such a time, I con-
sidered them, as mockery. I knew that I
was about to do what was wrong—to offend
my Creator—and knowing that, and sinning
with my eyes open, much as I regretted
that I was compelled to do so, I was still
resolved upon doing it. How great may be
the culpability in such cases when you are
called upon to sacrifice all. your worldly
interests, and to be despised among men,
or tun the risk of involuntarily taking
another person’s life, I could not pretend to
judge ; but one thing was certain, that,
however it may be judged in the next
world, in this, among soldiers and sailors,
it will always be considered as venial. I
did, therefore, what most in my profession
would have done under the same cir
cumstances: I drove it from my thoughts
as much as possible, until the time came to
decide my fate. I considered that I must
be judged by the tenor of my whole life,
and that repentance, under chance of death,
was of about the same value as death-bed
repentance,

As soon as the dockyard men were
mustered out, I returned to the hotel, and
sat down to dinner with the colonel. We
had scarcely finished a bottle of claret when
it was time to be off. Wewalked out of
the town, to the place appointed, where I
found my adversary and his second. The
ground was marked out by the colonel, and,
when I took my station, I found that the
setting sun was in my eyes. I pointed it
out to him, and requested my position might
be changed. The other second heard me
do so, and very handsomely agreed that I
was entitled to what I asked, and the colonel
immediately apologised for his remissness
to my interests. The ground was then
marked out in another direction, and the
colonel took me to my place, where I ob-
served that one of the whitewashed posts
was exactly behind me, making mea sure
mark for my antagonist. ‘‘I am not used
to these things, Keene,’ replied Colonel
Delmar, ‘‘and I make strange mistakes.”
{ then pointed out a direction which would
be fair for both parties. The pistols were
then loaded, and put into our hands. We
fired at thesignal. I felt that I was hit, but
my adversary fell. I was paralyzed; and
although I remained on my feet, I could
not move. Captain Green and the colonel
went up to where my adversary lay: the
ball had passed through his chest.

‘He is dead,” said Captain Green—
““ quite dead.”

“Yes,” replied Colonel Delmar. ‘My
dear Keene, I congratulate you : you havekuled the greatest scoundrel that ever dis-
graced his Majesty's uniform.”

“Colonel Delmar,” replied Captain
Green, ‘‘the observation might well be
spared : our errors and our follies die with
us.

“Very true, Captain Green,” replied I.
‘‘IT can only express my surprise that the
colonel should have introduced to me a
person whose memory he now so bitterly
assails."" Somehow or another, from the
commencement of the duel, Colonel Del-
mar’s conduct had excited my suspicions,
and a hundred things crowded into my
memory, which appeared to be illumined
like a flash of lightning. I came suddenly
to the conviction that he was my enemy,
and not my friend. But I was bleeding
fast: some marines, who were passing,
were summoned, and the body of Major
Stapleton was carried away by one party,
while I was committed to another, and
taken back to the hotel. The surgeon was
sent for, and my wound was not dangerous.
The ball had gone deep into my thigh, but
had missed any vessel of magnitude. It
was soon extracted, and I was left quiet in
bed. Colonel Delmar came up to me as
before, but I received his professions with
great coolness. I told him that I thought it
would be prudent of him to disappear until
the affair had blown over; but he declared
to me that he would remain with me at
every risk. Shortly afterwards, Captain
Green came into my room, and said, ‘‘I’m
sure, Captain Keene, you will be glad to
hear-that Major Stapleton is not dead. He
had swooned, and is now come to, and the
doctor thinks favourably of him.”

‘‘T am indeed very glad, Captain Green ;
for I had no animosity against the major,
and his conduct tome has been quite incom-
prehensible.”’

After inquiry about my wound, and ex-
pressing a hope that I should soon be well,
Captain Green left ; but I observed that he
took no further notice of Colonel Delmar
than a haughty salute as he quitted the
room; and then, to my surprise, Colonel
Delmar said that, upon consideration, he
thought it would be advisable for him to go
away for a certain time.

‘“T agree with you,” replied I; ‘‘it would
be better.” I said this, because I did not
wish his company ; for it at once struck me
as very strange that he should, now, that
Major Stapleton was alive and promising to
do well, talk of departure, when he refused
at the time that he supposed him to be
killed. I was therefore very glad when, in
an hour or two afterwards, he took his leave,
and started, as he said, for London.

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 
 
  
   
   
  
  
 
    
  
  
   
 
   
  
  
  
  
   
    
 
   
 
  
   
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  

143
CHAPTER XXXVIII.

My recovery was rapid : in less than a fort-
night I was on the sofa. The frigate was
now rigged, and had taken in her water and
stores, and was reported ready for sea ina
month, as we still required about forty men
to make up our complement. I saw a great
deal of Captain Green, who paid me a
visit almost every day ; and once, when our
conversation turned upon the duel, I made
the same remark as I did when Colonel
Delmar used such harsh language'over the
body of Major Stapleton. ‘‘ Yes,” replied
Captain Green, ‘‘I thought it was my duty
to tell him what Colonel Delmar had said.
He was very much excited, and replied,
“The greatest scoundrel, did he say ?—then
is the devil better than those he tempts ;
howeyer, we are both in each other's power.
I must get well first, and then I will act.’
‘There certainly is some mystery, the attack
was so unprovoked, the determination so
positive. Have you any reason to suppose
that Colonel Delmar is your enemy, Captain
Keene? for certainly he did appear to me to
do all he could at the time of the duel to give
your adversary the advantage.”

‘‘T really have no cause to suppose that
that he has grounds for being an enemy ;
but I cannot help’ suspecting that, for some
reason or reasons unknown, he is so.”

When Captain Green had left me, I tried
all I could to find out why Colonel Delmar
should be inimical to me. That he was the
supposed heir to Miss Delmar, I knew ; but
surely her leaving mea few thousands was
not sufficient cause for a man to seek my
life. Lord de Versely had nothing to leave ;
I could come to no conclusion that was at
all satisfactory. I then thought whether I
would write to Lord de Versely, and tell
him what had happened ; but I decided that
I would not. ‘The initials had been put in
the papers at the announcement of the duel,
and had he seen them, he certainly would
have written down to inquire about the
facts. My mother had so done, and [I re-
solved that I would answer her letter, which
had hitherto remained on the table. I sent
for my desk, and when my servant brought
itme, the bunch of keys was hanging to
the lock. I thought this strange, as I had
locked my desk before I went out to meet
Major Stapleton, and had never sent for it
since my return ; my servant, however, could
tellme nothing about it, except that he found
it as he brought it to me; but after a little
time, he recollected that the doctor had
asked for a pen and ink to write a prescrip-
tion, and that the colonel had taken the keys
to get him what he _ required. This
accounted for it, and nothing more was
said upon the subject. Ofcourse, althouf
i

 

  
  
  
   

 

 

 

  

144
it was known, no notice was taken of what
had passed by the Admiralty. I had not even
but myself down in the sick-report, but si gned
my daily papers, and sent them in to the
admirals office as if nothing had happened.

In six weeks I was able to limp about a
little, and the Circe was at last reported
ready for sea. My orders came down, and
1 was to.sail with the first fair wind to join
the squadron in the Texel and North Sea.
I had taken up my quarters on board, and
was waiting two days, while the wind still
blew hard from the eastward, when my
promise to write to Mr. Warden occurred to
me; and, as I had closed all my despatches
to Lord de Versely, the Honourable Miss
Delmar—to whom I made my excuses for
not being able to, pay my respects before
my departure—my mother, and my aunt
Bridgeman, I resolved that I would write
him.a long letter previous to my sailing. I
did so, in which I entered into the whole
affair of the duel, the conduct of Colonel
Delmar, and my suspicions relative to him ;
stating, at the same time, that I could not
comprehend why hé should have sought to
injure me. I finished this letter late in the
evening, and the next morning, the wind hav-
ing come round, we sailed for ourdestination.

Once more on the water, all my thoughts
were given to the service. We soon fell in
with the North Sea squadron, and the day
afterwards the Circe was directed to go on
shore in company with the Dryad, and
watch the flotillas of gunboats which had
been. collecting in the various rivers and
ports ; to sink, burn, and destroy ‘to the
utmost of our power. .This was an active
and dangerous service, as the enemy had
every advantage in the sands and shoals,
and hardly a day passed in which we were
not engaged with the flotillas and batteries.
It was, however, now. fine weather, for
the winter had set in early, and had passed
away, and for two months we continued in
the service, during which my ship's company
were well trained. One morning a cutter
from the fleet was reported from the mast-
head, and we expected that we should’soon
have our letters from England, when the
Dryad threw out the signal for six sail of
praams in shore.

The two frigates made all sail in chase,
leaving the cutter to follow us how she could.
Our masters were well acquainted with the
shoals on the coast, and we threaded our
way through them towards the enemy. We
were within gunshot, and had hanged
broadsides with the batteries, when the

 

 

   

flotillas gained a small harbour, which pre-
vented our making any further attempts.
The Dryad made the signal to haul off: it
was quite time, as we had not more than

our hours’ daylight, and were entangled

 

PERCIVAL KEENE:

  

among the shoals. The breeze, which
had been fresh, now increased very rapidly,
and tltere was every appearance of a gale.
We worked out as fast as we could, and
by nine o'clock in the evening we were
clear of the sands, and in the open sea ; but
the gale had sprung up so rapidly that we
were obliged: to reduce our sail to close-
reefed topsails. With the sands under our
lee, it was. necessary to draw off as fast as
we could, and we therefore carried a heavy
press of sail all the night—at last, the wind
was so strong that we could only carry
close-reefed maintop-sail and reefed foresail,
and with a heavy sea, which had risen up,
ve felt that we were in extreme danger.

Daylight onee more made its appearance.
Jur first object was to ascertain the posi-
tion of the Dryad. For along time we looked
in-vain ; at last, a partial clearing up of the
horizon on the lee bow discovered her, loom-
ing through the heavy atmosphere, more like
a phantom ship than the work of mortal
hands. She was a deep grey mass upon a
lighter grey ground. Her top-masts were
gone, and:she was pitching and rising with-
out appearing to advance under her courses
and storm staysails.

‘“There she is, sir,” said Mr. Wilson:
“and if the gale lasts, good-bye to her.”

“Tf the gale lasts, Mr. Wilson,” said I.
in a low voice, ‘‘I suspect you may sing
our requiem as well, ; but we must trust to
Heaven and our own exertions. Pass alongs
the lead-line; Mr. Hawkins.”

‘““Aye, aye, sit,” replied the officer of the
watch ;‘‘how much out, sir?”

‘* Forty fathoms.”’

The men ranged themselves along the 1
bulwarks, chains, and gangway, and pass
the deep sea-lines from aft to the anchor-
stock forward. The deep sea-lead was
taken forward, and as soon as it was bent
and ready, the ship was thrown up to the
wind, so as to check her way. ‘‘ Heave,”’
and the lead was thrown; and as it
descended, the line was dropped fre

”

from the
hands of the men, one after another, as the
line drew. aft; but when it came -to the
hands of the master, who was on the
quarter, instead of finding, as he expected,
forty fathoms of water, he had to haul-in
the slack line for such a length of time, that
the lead was astern, and no proper sound-
ings could be obtained.

One thing was, however, certain, which
was, that we were in much shallower water
than we had any idea of ; and the master,
much alarmed, desired the quarter-master
to go into the chains and see if he could get
soundings with the hand-lead while the men
were hauling in the deep sea-line. The
quarter-master was forestalled by Bob Cross,

who, dropping into the chains, cleared the

)PERCIVAL

ice
iCe

line, and, swinging it but twice. or thrice,
for there was little or no way in the vessel,
let it go.
ne anxiety with which the descent of
e line was watched by me, the master,
i other of the officers who were hanging
over the hammock rails, it would be difficu
to describe. When sixteen fathoms were
out, the leadsounded. Cross gathered up
the slack line, and fourteen and half
fathoms was announced.
+ Mir biiliver,’, said. I
coming down into the cabin.
follow ed me immediately.

5¢

a

“olal

lige me by
‘The master
The chart was

on the table in the fore-cabin.

‘“We must have gone to leeward dread-
fully, sir.”

“Yes,” replied.I ; ‘‘ but ‘the sweep, of the
currents in heavy gales is so ti ‘emendous,
and so un certain on this: coast, that L.am
not surprised. We must have had a S.E.

    
 

?

current, and. probably we are hereabouts,’
continued I, putting the point of the com-
pass upon the spot.

‘“It seems hardly poss
the master ; ‘‘but still I
and if so,’ continued he
sigh, ‘I’m afraid it’s
out a miracle in our

66

ible, sir,’’ replied
r it must be so ;
2 dy awing deep
ull over with us, with-
favour.”

I am of your opinion, Mr.
say nothing about it,” replied I

Ca

9
a

a
«

? Aull Wels Hut

30;

us

fore

on the

our
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ca

   

> “the gal
may moderate, the wind May
e telling bad news too, soon, and. PReTer

raie
Shift,, and
we may be saved. At all events, it’s no
> you ‘ll ot lige me by nots
subject. A few

sayll

1tin an hour, with
on shore

certain, 3
hope it.may be so thick

a
Shue

the
Soa
Ge;

eso ra pidly,
is ginder, s
has no ise
“‘T only
‘not see h
“Nat ok will be say
the master, shuddering.
‘‘T should say it wer
Hillyer ; but we all owe Heaven a death
and if they go first and -we go af them,
at all even let us do our di uty the
time comes—but never despair. As long as
there is life, there is hope ; so now let 1
, and put as good a face on ot as we can.

 

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presume the gale will br
o.clock.”
‘‘ lam. clad to. hear
have quite enough of it,’

4

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»..on deck, followed the
The barometer is rising,” said
to the first howtenans ak
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KEENE: 145

‘Do:you see the Dryad 2"

“No, sir; it’s quite thick again to lee-
ward : we have not seen her. these ten
minutes.’

Thank God for that, thought I, for they

will never see her again. ‘“ Ww hat sound-
ings had you last?”’

a Fourteen fathoms, sir,’

“<I expect, we shall cross the tail of the
bank in much less,” replied I; ‘‘but when
once clear, we shall have sea-room.”’

As the captain is an oracle in times of
danger, the seamen caught every word
which was uttered from my mouth; and
what they gathered from what I had said
satisfied them that they were in no im-
mediate danger. Nevertheless, the master
walked the deck as if he was stupified with
the impending crisis. No pended poor
fellow ; with a wife and family depending
upon him for support, it is not to be ex-
pected that a man can look upon immediate
dissolution without painful feelings. A
sailor should never ae or if he does,
for the benefit of the service, his marriage
should prove an unhappy one, and then he
would become more reckless than before.

As for my own thoughts, they may be given
in a few wore Is —they were upon the vanity

f human wishes. Whatever I had done
W with the one object [had in view—whatever
might have been my success had I lived—
whether I might have been wedded to
Minnie some future day, or what may have
resulted, good, bad, or indifferent, as to
future, all was to be, in a few hours, cut
short by the will of Heaven. In the next
world there was neither marriage nor giving
in marriage—in the! next world, name,
titles, wealth, everything worldly was as
naught—and all [had to do was to die like
aman, and do my duty to the last, trusting
to a merciful God to forgive me my sins and
offences ; and with this philosophy I stood
prepared for the event.

About noon it again cleared up to lee-
ward, but the Dryad was no longer to be
seen: this was reported to me. As it was
nearly three hours since we last had a sight
of her, I knew her fate too well—she had
plenty of time to go on shore, and to be
broken up by the he: avy seas. I did, how-
ever, point my glass in the direction, and
coolly observed, “She has rounded the tail of
the bank, I presume, and has bore up. It
was the best thing she could do.” I then
asked the master if he had wound up his
chronometers, and went down into the
cabin. I had not, however, been examining
the chart more than a minute, when the
officer of the watch came down, and re-

ported that we had shoaled to twelve
fathoms.

‘«Very good, h

)

AY
vt

¢. Hawkins; we shall beie ihe oli esi i

 

 

 

in shallower water yet. Let me know if
there is any change in the soundings.”

As soon as the cabin door was again shut,
I worked up the tide to see when it would
change against us; I found that it had
changed one hour at least. ‘‘ Then it will be
sooner over,’ thought I, throwing down the
pencil,

‘‘Mr. Cross, the boatswain, wishes to
speak to you, sir,’’ said the sentry, opening
the cabin door.

‘Tell him to come in,” replied I. “ Well,
Cross, what’s the matter?”

‘‘I was speaking to the first lieutenant
about getting up a runner, sir—the fore-stay
is a good deal chafed ; that is, if you think
it's of any use.”

‘“ How do you mean of any use, Cross?”

“Why, sir,although no one would suppose
it from you—but if the face of the master
(and he is not a faint-hearted man neither)
is to be taken as a barometer, we shall all
be in ‘kingdom come’ before long. I've
cruised in these seas so often, that I pretty
well guess where we are, Captain Keene.’

‘“Well, Cross, it’s no use denying that
we are in a mess, and nothing but the wind
going down or changing can get us out of it.”

‘Just as I thought, sir; well, it can’t be
helped, so it’s no use fretting about it. I
think myself that the gale is breaking, and
that we shall have fine weather by to-morrow
morning.”’

‘That will be rather too late, Cross; for
I think we shall be done for in three or four
hours, if not sooner,”

“Eleven fathoms, sir,” said the officer of
the watch, coming in hastily.

“Very well, Mr. Hawkins; let her go
through the water,” replied I.

As soon as the cabin door was again shut,
T said, ‘‘ You see, Cross, the tide is now
against us, and this will not last long.”

‘“No, sir; we shall strike in five fathoms
with this heavy sea.”

“IT know we shall; but I do not wish to
dishearten the men before it is necessary,
and then we must do our best.”

‘“You won't be offended,I am sure, by my
asking, Captain Keene, what you think of
doing?”

“Not at all, Cross; it is my intention to
explain it to the ship's company before I do
it. I may as well take your opinion upon it
now. As soon as we are in six fathoms, I
intend to cut away the masts, and anchor.”

‘‘@Phat's our only chance, sir, and if it is
well done, and the gale abates, it mayjsave
some of us; but how do you intend to
anchor?”

‘“‘I shall back the best bower with the
sheet, and let go the small bower at the
same time that I do the sheet, so as to ride
an even strain.”

 

 

PERCIVAL FERLN FF.

   

“You can't do better, sir; but that will
require time for preparation, to be well
done. Do you think that we shall have
time, if you wait till we are in six fathoms?”

‘“‘I don't know but that you are right,
Cross, and I think it would be better to
commence our preparations at once.”

“Ten fathoms, sir,” reported the officer
of the watch.

“‘ Very well; I will be on deck directly.”

‘Well, sir, we must now go to our duty;
and as we may chance not to talk to one
another again, sir,” said Cross, ‘‘I can
only say God bless you, and I hope that if
we do not meet again in this world, we
shall in Heaven, or as near as possible.
Good-bye, sir.”

‘“Good-bye, Cross,” replied I, shaking
him by the hand: “we'll do our duty, at all
events. So now for my last dying speech.”

Cross quitted the cabin, and I followed
him. As soon as I was on deck, I desired
the first lieutenant to turn the hands up,
and send them aft. When they were all
assembled, with Cross at their head, I stood
on one of the carronades, and said: ‘‘ My
lads, I have sent for you, because I consider
that, although the gale is evidently breaking,
we are shoaling our water so fast that we
are in danger of going on shore before the
gale does break. Now, what I intend to
do as our best chance, is to cut away the
masts, and anchor as soon as we are in six
fathoms water; perhaps we may then ride
it out. At all events, we must do our best,
and put our trust in Providence. But, my
lads, you must be aware, that in times of
difficulty it is important that we should be
all cool and collected; that you must adhere
to your discipline, and obey your officers to
the last; if you do not, everything will go
wrong instead of right. You have proved
yourselves an excellent set of men, and I’m
sure you will continue so to do. It is pos-
sible we may not have to cut away our
masts, or to anchor; still we must make
every preparation in case it is necessary,
and I have, therefore, sentfor you to explain
my intentions, and to request that you will
all assist me to the best of your abilities;
and I feel convinced that you will, and will
do your duty like British seamen. That's
all I have to say, my lads, Pipe down,
Mr, ‘Gross. -

The ship's company went forward in
silence. They perceived the full extent of
the danger. The first lieutenant and boat-

swain employed a portion in backing the
best bower anchor with the sheet; the
others roued up the cables from the tiers,
and coiled them on the main-deck, clear
for running. All hands were busily em-
ployed, and employment made them forget
their fears,

The wox was done silently,but orderly and steadily. In the meantime
we had shoaled to eight fathoms, and it
was now nearly three o'clock ; but as it was
summer time, the dayswerelong. Indeed,
when the weather was fine, there was little
orno night, and the weather was warm,
which was all in our favour.

When everything was reported ready, I
went round to examine and ascertain if the
cables would run clear. Satisfied that all
was right, I then picked out the men, and
appointed those who were most trustworthy
to the stations of importance ; and, having
so done, I then xeturned to the quarter-
deck, and called up the carpenter andsome
of the topmen to be ready with the axes to
cut away the masts and lashings of the
booms and boats. Just as these orders
were completed, the gale blew fiercer than
ever. We were now in seven fathoms water,
and pressed heavy by the gale.

I stood at the break of the gangway, the
first lieutenant and master by my side, and
Cross a little forward, watching my eye.
The men in the chains continued to give
the soundings in a clear, steady voice,
““By the mark seven,” ‘“‘Quarter less
Seve = and a half six. At last the
man in the chains next to me, a fine old
forecastle man, gave the sounding, ‘‘ By
the mark, six,” and he gave it with a louder
voice than before, with a sort of defiance,
as much as to say, ‘‘ The time is come; let
the elements do their worst.”

The time was come. ‘‘Silence, fore
and aft. Every man down under the half
deck, except those stationed. Cut away
the boom lashings, and clear the boats.”
This was soon done, and reported. ‘‘ Now,
then, my lads, be steady. Cut away the
lanyards in the chains,”’

One after another, the lanyards and back-
stays were severed ; the masts groaned and
creaked, and then the foremast and main-
mast were over the side almost at the same
time ; the mizzen followed, as the frigate
broached to and righted, leaving the ship’s
deck a mass of wreck and confusion ; but
no one was hurt, from the precautions which
had been taken, the mast having been cut
away before we rounded to, to anchor, as,
otherwise, they would have fallen aft, and
not gone clear of the ship.

‘«Stand by the best bower.
of the cable. Let go the anchor.

As soon as the best bower cable was
nearly out, the sheet anchor and small
bower. were let go at the same moment,
and the result was to be ascertained.

Stand clear

”

CHAPTER XL.

THE frigate was head to wind, rising and
pitching with the heavy sea, but not yet

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

147

feeling the strain of the cables: the masts

lay rolling and beating alongside.

The ship's company had most of them
returned on deck, to view their impending
fate, and the carpenters, who had already
received their orders, were battening down
the hatchways on the main deck. In a
minute the frigate rode to her anchors, and
as soon as the strain was on the cables, she
dipped, and a tremendous sea broke over
her bows, deluging us fore and aft, nearly
filling the main-deck, and washing the car-
penters away from their half-completed
work, A second and a third followed,
rolling aft, so as to almost bury the vessel,
sweeping away the men, who clung to the
cordage and guns, and carrying many of
them overboard.

I had quitted the gangway, where there
was no hold, and had repaired to the main
bitts, behind the stump of the mainmast.
Even in this position I should not have
been able to hold on, if it had not been for
Bob Cross, who was near me, and who
passed a rope round my body as I was
sweeping away; but the booms and boats
which had been cut adrift, in case of the
ship driving on shore broadside, were driven
aft with the last tremendous sea, and many
men on the quarter deck were crushed and
mangled.

After the third sea had swept over us,
there was a pause, and Cross said to me,
‘“We had better go down on the main-
deck, Captain Keene, and get the half-
ports open, if possible.” We did so, and
with great difficulty found the people to
help us; for, as it may be imagined, the
confusion was now very great; but the
carpenters were again collected, and the
half-ports got out, and then the battening
down was completed ; for, although she
continued to ship seas fore and aft, they
were not so heavy as the first three, which
had so nearly swamped her.

I again went on deck, followed by Cross,
who would not leave me. Most of the men
had lashed themselves to the guns and
belaying pins, but I looked in vain for the
first lieutenant and master ; they were stand-
ing at the gangway at the time of the first
sea breaking over us, and it is to be pre-
sumed that they were washed overboard, for
[ never saw them again.

We had hardly been on deck, and taken
our old position at the bitts, when the heavy
seas again poured over us; but the booms
having been cleared, and the ports on the
main-deck open, they did not sweep us
with the same force as before. ;

‘«She cannot stand this long, Bob,’’ said
I, as we clung to the bitts. ,

‘“No, sir, the cables must part ; with such
a heavy strain ; or if they do not, we shallir tn alte mieten

 

drag our anchors till we strike on the
sands.”

‘“‘And then we shall go to pieces?”

“Yes, sir ; but do not forget to get to the
wreck of the masts, if you possibly can.
‘The best chance will be there.”

““Bad’s the best, Cross ; however, that
was my intention.”

The reader will be surprised at my having
no conversation with any other party but
Cross ; but the fact was that although it
was only occasionally that a heavy sea
poured over us, we were blinded by the con-
tinual spray in which the frigate was
enveloped, and which prevented us not
only from seeing our own position, but even
a few feet from us; and, as if anyone who
had not a firm hold, when the seas poured
over the deck, was almost certain to be
washed overboard, every man clung to
where he was; indeed, there were not fifty
men on deck ; for those who had not been
washed overboard by the first seas had
hastened to get under the half-deck ; and
many had been washed overboard in the
attempt.

The most painful part was to hear the
groaning and cries for help of the poor
fellows who lay jammed under the heavy
spars and boats which had been washed aft,
and to whom it was impossible to afford any
relief without the assistance of a large body
ofmen. But all I have described since the
anchors were let go occurred in a few
minutes,

On a sudden, the frigate heeled over to
starboard, and at the same time a sea broke
over her chestree, which nearly drowned us
where we were clinging. As soon as the
pouring off of the water enabled us to re-
cover our speech, “She has parted, Cross,
and all is over with us,” said I.

‘*« Yes, sir; aS soon as she strikes, she will
break up in ten minutes. We must not stay
here, as she will part amidships.”

I felt the truth of the observation, and,
waiting until a heavy sea had passed over
us, contrived to gain the after ladder, and
descend. As soon as we were on the main-
deck, we crawled to the cabin, and seated
ourselves by the after-gun, Cross having
made a hold on to a ring-bolt for us with his
silk neck-handkerchief.

There were many men in the cabin,
silently waiting their doom. They knew
that all was over, that nothing could be
done ; yet they still contrived to touch their
hats respectfully to me as I passed.

‘“My lads,” said I, as soon as I had
secured my hold, ‘‘the cables have parted,
and the ship will strike, and go to pieces in
a very short time ; recollect that the masts to
leeward are your best chance.”

Those who were near me said, ‘‘ Thank

 

PERCAVAL KEAN fF.

you, Captain Keene ;” but the words were
scarcely out of their mouths, when a shock
passed through the whole vessel, and com-
municated itself to our very hearts. The
ship had struck on the sand, arid the beams
and timbers had not ceased trembling and
groaning, when a sea struck her larboard
broadside, throwing her over on her beam-
ends, so that the starboard side of the main-
deck and the guns were under water.

It would be impossible after this to detail
what occurred, ina clear and correct manner,
as the noise and confusion were so terrible.
At every sea hurled against the sides of the
vessel, the resistance to them became less.
What with the crashing of the beams, the
breaking up of the timbers, and the guns to
windward, as their fastenings gave way,
tumbling with a tremendous crash to lee-
ward, and passing through the ship’s sides,
the occasional screams mixed with the other
noise, the pouring, dashing, and washing of
the waters, the scene was appalling. At
last, one louder crash than any of the former
announced that the vessel had yielded to the
terrific force of the waves, and had parted
amidships. After this there was little de-
fence against them, even where we were
clinging, for the waters poured in, as if
maddened by their success, through the
passage formed by the separation of the
vessel, and came bounding on, asif changing
their direction on purpose to overwhelm us.
As the two parts of the vessel were thrown
higher up, the shocks were more severe, and
indeed the waves appeared to have more
power than before, in consequence of their
being so increased in weight from the quan-
tity of sand which was mixed up with them.
Another crash ! the sides of the after-part of
the vessel had given way, and the heavy
guns, disengaged, flew to leeward, and we
found ourselves without shelter from the
raging waters.

The part of the wreck on which Cross and
I were sitting was so completely on its
beam-ends, that the deck was within a trifle
of being perpendicular. To walk was im-
possible: all that we could do was to slide
down into the water to leeward ; but little
was to be gained by that, as there was no
egress. We therefore remained for more
than an hour in the same position, wearied
with clinging, and the continual suffocation
we received from the waves, as they deluged
us. We perceived that the wreck was
gradually settling down deeper and deeper
in the sand; it was more steady in conse-
quence, but,at the same time, thewaves had
more power over the upper part; and so it
proved ; for one enormous sea came in,
blowing up the quarter-deck over our heads,
tearing away the planking and timbers, and
hurling them to leeward. This, at allevents, set us free, although it exposed us
more than before ; we could now see about
us ; that is, we could see to leeward ; and
Cross pointed out to me the main-mast toss-
ing about in the boiling water, with the
main-top now buried, and now rising out
clear. I nodded my head in assent. He
made a sign to say that he would go first
after the next wave had passed over us.

I found myself alone, and assoon as I had
cleared my eyes of the salt-water, I perceived
Cross in the surge to leeward, making for
the floating mast. He gained it, and waved
hishand. I immediately followed him, and,
after a short buffet, gained a place by his
side, just behind the main-top, which afforded
us considerable shelter from the seas. In-
deed, as the main-mast was in a manner
anchored by the lee rigging to the wreck of
the vessel, the latter served as a breakwater,
and the sea was, therefore, comparatively
smooth, and I found my position infinitely
more agreeable than when I was clinging on
the wreck. I could now breathe freely, as
it was seldom I was wholly under water;
neither was it necessary, as before, to cling
for your life.

On looking round me, I found that about
twenty men were hanging on to the mast.
Many of them appeared quite exhausted,
and had not strength left to obtain a more
favourable berth: The position taken by
Cross and myself was very secure, being
between the main-top and the cat-harpings,
and the water was so warm that we did not
feel the occasional immersion ; five other
men were close to us, but not a word was
said—indeed, hardly a _ recognition ex-
changed. At that time we thought only of
immediate preservation, and had little feel-
ing for anybody else.

CHAPTER "XLT.

THE nigh was now coming on; the rolling
waves changed from the yellow tinge given
by the sand to green, and then to purple:
at last all was black except the white foaming
breakers.

Exhausted with fatigue, it had not been
dark more than two hours, when I felt an
irresistible desire to sleep, and I have no
doubt that I did slumber in this position,
half in and half out of the water, for some
time ; for when I was roused up by losing
my balance, I looked above and perceived
that the sky was clear, and the stars shining
brightly. I then looked around me, and it
was evident that the water was not so
agitated as it had been; the wind too had
subsided : its roaring had ceased, although
it still whistled strong.

PERCIVAL KEENE,

 
 
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
 

149

‘“Cross!” said I.

‘‘HereI am, Captain Keene, close under
your lee.”

‘“The gale is broke; we shall have fair
weather before the morning.”

‘Yes, sir; I have thought so some time.’

“Thank God for his mercy; we must
trust that He will not leave us here to perish
miserably.”

‘“No, I hope not,” replied Cross; ‘‘let
us trust in Him; but I confess I see but little
chance,”’

‘So have many others, yet they have
been saved, Cross,” replied I.

“Very true, sir,” replied he: ‘‘1 wish it
was daylight.”

We had, however, three or four hours to
wait; but during that time the wind
gradually subsided, and then went down to
a light and fitful breeze. At dawn of day
the mast rose and fell with the swell of the
sea, which still heaved after the late com-
motion, but without any run in any particular
direction, for it was now calm, I had been
sitting on the mast with my back against
the futtock-shrouds ; I now rose up with
difficulty, for I was sorely bruised, and stood
upon the mast clear from the water, to look
around me., About thirty yards from us
was the wreck of the foremast with many
men clinging to it. The mizzen-mast had
broken adrift. The fore-part of the frigate
was several feet above water, and the bow-
Sprit steeved in the air; of the after-part
there were but three or four broken timbers
to be seen clear of the water, so deep had it
been buried in the sand.

Cross had risen on his feegt, and was
standing by me, when we were hailed from
the wreck of the foremast, ‘‘ Mainmast,
a-hoy !”’

‘«Halloo !” replied Cross,

‘‘ Have you got the captain on board ?”

““Yes,"" replied Bob; “‘all alive ‘anda
hearty ;’’ a faint huzzah, which was the
return, affected me sensibly. That my men
should think of me when in such a position
was soothing to my feelings ; butas I looked
at them on the other mast and those around
me, and calculated that there could not be
more than forty men left out of such a
noble ship's company, I could have wept.
But it was time for action: ‘‘ Cross,” Said
I, “ now that it is calm, I think we shall be
better on the fore-part of the frigate than
here, half in and half out of water. The
forecastle is still remaining, and the weather
bulwarks will shelter the men; besides, if
any vessels should come in sight, we should
more easily be able to make signals, and to

attract their attention.”

‘“Very true, sir,” réplied “Cross: “and
as there are many men here who cannot
hold on much longer, we must try if we

?Seine pre eahanenin << -eatieties

 

cannot haul them on board. Do you feel
strong enough to swim to the wreck ?”’

“* Yes, quite, Cross.”

“Then, we'll start together, sir, and see
how matters are.”’

I dropped into the sea, followed by
Cross ; and as the distance from us was not
forty yards, we soon gained the wreck of the
fore-part of the frigate ; the lee gunnel was
just above the water ; we clambered over it,
and found the deck still whole ; the weather
portion as white as snow, and quite dry ;
we gained the weather bulwarks, and looked
in the offing in case there should be any
vessel, but we could see nothing.

‘““Now, sir, we had better hail, and tell
all those who can swim to come to us.”

We did so, and six men from the main-
mast and nine from the fore-mast soon
joined us.

‘““ Now, my lads,” said I, ‘“we must look
after those who cannot get here, and try to
save them. Get all the ends of ropes from
the belaying pins, bend them on one to
another, and then we will return and make
the men fast, and you: shall haul them on
board.”

This was soon done; Cross and I took
the end in our hands, and swam back to the
main-mast. One of the top-men, with a
broken arm, was the first that was made
fast, and when the signal was given, hauled
through the water to the wreck ; six or seven
more followed in succession. Two men
swam back every time with the rope, and
accompanied those who were hauled on
board, that they might not sink. There
were many more hanging to different parts
of the main-mast, but on examination they
were found to be quite dead. We sent on
board all that showed any symptoms of life,
and then we swam to the fore-mast, and as-
sisted those who were hanging to it. In
about two hours our task was completed,
and we mustered twenty-six men on the
wreck.

We were glad to shelter ourselves under
the bulwark, where we all lay huddled up
together ; before noon, most of the poor
fellows had forgotten their sufferings in a
sound sleep. Cross, I, and the man with
the broken arm were the only three awake ;
the latter was in too much pain to find re-
pose, and, moreover, suffered from extreme
thirst.

A breeze now sprang up from the south-
ward, which cheered our spirits, as without
wind there was little chance of receiving any
assistance. Night again came on, and the
men still slept. Cross and I lay down, and

were glad to follow their example : the night
was cold, and when we lay down we did not
yet feel much from hunger or thirst; but
when the morning dawned, we woke in suf-

 

 

FLIER OVALS: IE LNE,

  

fering, not from hunger, but from thirst.
Everybody cried out for water. I toldthe men
that talking would only make them feel it
more, and advised them to put their shirt
sleeves in their mouths, and suck them; and
then I climbed upon the bulwarks to see if
there was anything insight. I knew that
the greatest chance was that the cutter
would be looking after us; but, at thesame
time, it was not very likely that she would
come so near to the sands.

I had been an hour on the gunnel, when
Cross came up to me. ‘It’s banking up,
sir, to the southward: I hope we are not
going to have any more bad weather.”

“I have no» fear of a gale, although we
may have thick weather,” replied I: “that
would be almost as bad for us, as we should
perish on the wreck before we are dis-
covered. ’’

“Iam going to lower myself down into
the galley, Captain Keene, to see if I can
find anything.”’

“I fear you will not be successful,”’
replied I, ‘‘for the coppers and ranges are
all carried away.”

“‘I know that, sir; but I have been
thinking of the cook’s closet we had built
up above the bowsprit. I know that he used
to stow away many things there, and per-
haps there may be something. I believe
the shortest way will be to go to leeward,
and swim round to it.”’

Cross then left me, and I continued to
look out. About an hour afterwards he
returned, and told me that he had easily
opened it with his knife, and had found
eight or nine pounds of raw potatoes, and
a bucketful of slush. ‘“ We are not hungry
enough to eat this now, sir; but there is
enough to keep the life in us all for three or
four days at least ; that is, if we could get
water, and I expect we shall feel the want
of that dreadfully in a shorttime. I would
give a great deal if I could only find a drop
to give that poor fellow Anderson, with his
broken arm ; it is terribly swelled, and he
must suffer very much.”

‘“Did you find anything in the closet to
put water into, Cross, in case we should
get any?”

‘Yes ; there's two or three kids, and some
small breakers, Captain Keene.”

‘“Well, then, you had better get them
ready ; for those clouds rise so fast that we
may have rain before morning, and if so,
we must not lose the chance,”’

‘“Why, it does look like rain, sir,’ re-
plied Cross. ‘I'll take one or two of the
men with me, to assist in getting them
1p.

I watched the horizon till night again set
in. We were all very faint and distressed
for water, and the cool of the evening some-

aiwhat relieved us ; the breeze, toc, was fresh.
The men had remained quietlyin the shade,
as 1 had advised them; but, although
patient, they evidently suffered much. Once
more we all attempted to forget ourselves in
repose. I was soundly asleep, when I was
woke up by Cross.

““Captain Keene, it is raining, and it will
soon rain much harder ; now, if you will
order the men, they will soon collect water
enough.”

“Call them up immediately, Cross; we
must not lose this providential succour. It
may save all our lives.’

The men were soon on the alert : the rain
came down in a steady shower ; and as soon
as they were wet through, they took off
their shirts, and dabbling them into the
water as it ran down to leeward, squeezed
it out into their mouths, until. their wants
were satisfied, and then, under the direction
of Cross, commenced filling the three
breakers and four tubs which had been
brought up. They had time to fill them,
and ta spare, for the rain continued till the
morning: The tubs and breakers were
securely slung under the fore-bitts for future
use, and they then continued to drink till
they could drink no more.

CHAPTER] Suir

THE sun rose.and chased away the clouds,
and the heat was overpowering. What
would have been our situation if it had not
pleased Heaven to refresh us?

The consequence of their thirst being
appeased made the demand for food
imperative; and a raw potato was given to
each man. The day passed, and so did a
third and fourth, and our hopes began to
fail us, when at daylight the next morning I
spied a sail to the westward. The breeze
was light, but the vessel was evidently
coming down towards us, and before noon
we made it out to be the cutter.

We then sat on the bulwarks, and held
out a white shirt, as a signal to attract their
attention. When about three miles from
us, the cutter rounded to, not appearing to
notice us, and for two hours we were left in
this state of maddening anxiety and sus-
pense, when at last we perceived her bows
pay off, and she again stood towards us.
They had at last seen us, and as soon as
they had run down to within three cables’
length, the boat was lowered and sent to
take us off. In three trips we were all on
board, and devoutly thanked Heaven for
our preservation.

The lieutenant of the cutter said that at
first the sun prevented his seeing us, which
I beheve was the fact ; but he acknowledged

PERCIVAL KEENE,

151

that he had no idea that we had been
wrecked, although he thought that the
Dryad was, as he had seen a mast floating,
and, sending a boat tolook at it, found her
name on the cross-trees. We were, how-
ever, too much exhausted to enter into much
conversation. As soon as we had been
supplied with food, we were all put to bed
in their hammocks; the first lieutenant re-
signed his standing bed-place to me. A
long sleep recovered me, and I felt little the
worse for what I had suffered, and sat down
to a breakfast at noon omthe following day
with a good appetite. The cutter had, by
my directions, shaped a course for the island
of Heligoland, where we should find means
of returning to England.

‘‘T have letters for you, Captain Keene,’’
said the lieutenant, “if you are well enough
to read them.”

‘Thank you, Mr. D I am now
quite well, and will be happy to have
them.”

“The lieutenant brought me a large
packet, and I took a position on the sofa to
read them comfortably while he went on
deck. I first opened those on service—
those, of course, had little interest for me,
now that I had lost my ship—I skimmed
them over, and then threw them on the table
one after another. ‘here were three pri-
vate letters from England, one of which was
in Lord de Versely’s handwriting ; I opened
it first. It was very kind, but short, com-
plaining that he had not been very well
lately. The second was from my mother.
I readit; it contained nothing of import-
ance ; and then I took up the third, which
had a blackseal. I opened it; it was from
Mr. Warden, acquainting me that Lord de
Versely had expired very suddenly, on his
return from the House of Lords, of an ossifi-
cation of the heart. ci

In my weak state this blow was too much
for me, and I fainted. How long I remained
in that state I cannot say ; but when I came
to my senses, I found myself still down in
the cabin. I rallied as well as I could ; but
it was some time before I could take up the
ietter again, and finish it. He stated that
his lordship had left me all his personal
property, which was all that he could leave
—that the library and wines were of some
value, and that there would be about a
thousand pounds left at the banker’s, when
the funeral expenses and debts had been
paid. ‘‘Oh! if he could but have left me
his family name!” cried I; ‘‘it was all I
coveted. My father! my kind father! I
may really say, who will lament your loss as
Ido?” I threw myself on the pillow of the
sofa, and for a long while shed bitter tears,
not unmixed, I must own; for my grief at
his death was increased by my disappoint-ment in having for ever lost the great object
of my wishes,

The lieutenant of the cutter came down
into the cabin, and I was compelled to hide
my emotion. I complained of headache
and weakness, and collecting the letters, I
again lay down in the standing bed-place,
and drawing the curtains, I was left to my
own reflections. But there was asad tumult
in my mind. I could not keep my ideas
upon one subject for a moment. I was
feverish and excited, and at last my head
was so painful that I could think no more.
Fortunately, exhaustion threw me againintoa
sound sleep, and I did not wake till the next
morning. When I did, I had to recollect
where I was, and what had happened. I
knew that there was something dreadful
which had occurred ; again it flashed into
my memory. Lord de Versely was dead. I
groaned, and fell back on the pillow.

‘‘ Are you very ill, Captain Keene?”’ said
a voice close to me. I opened the curtains,
and perceived that it was Cross, who was
standing by my bedside.

“‘T am, indeed, Cross, very ill; I have
very bad news. Lord de Versely is dead.”

‘“That is bad news sir,” replied Cross—
““very bad news ; worse than losing the fri-
gate. But, Captain Keene, we must have
our ups and downs in this world. You
have had a long run of good fortune, and
you must not be surprised at a change. It
is hard to lose your frigate and your father at
the same time ; but you have not lost your
life, which is a great mercy to be thankful
for.”’

I turned away, for my heart: was full of
bitterness. Cross perceived my mood, left
me, and I 1emained ina state of sullen in-
difference, never rising from the bed-place
during the remainder of the time that I was
on board.

On the second day we arrived at Heligo-
land, and I was requested by the governor
to take up my quarters with him, until an
Opportunity occurred for my return to Eng-
land, My spirits were, however, so much
weighed down, that I could not rally. I
brooded over my misfortunes, and I thought
that the time was now come when I was to
meet a reverse of the prosperity which I had
so long enjoyed.

The sudden death of Lord de Versely, at
the age of fifty-six, left me without a patron,
and had destroyed all my hopes centred in
him. The object of my ambition was, I
considered, for ever lost to me. There was
now no chance of my being acknowledged as
a member of his family. Then the loss of so
fine a frigate, and such a noble ship's com-
pany. That I should be honourably ac-
quitted by a court-martial I had not a
doubt; but I had no chance of future

PERCIVAL KEENE.

employment ; for, now that Lord de Versely
was dead, 1 had no one to support my
claims. My prospects, therefore, in the
service were all gone, as well as the visions
I had indulged in. I dwelt with some
pleasure upon the idea that Lord de Versely
had left me his personal property—it proved
his regard ; but I wanted his family name,
and I preferred that to thousands per
annum. The second day after our arrival,
Cross called, and was admitted. He found
me in bad spirits, and tried all he could to
rouse me. At last he said, ‘‘ As for the loss
of the frigate, Captain Keene, no human
endeavour could have saved her, and no one
could have done his duty better than you
did, as the court-martial will prove ; but,
sir, I think it would be proper just now to
show that your zeal for the service is as
strong as ever.”

‘“‘ And how am I to do that, Cross?”

““Why, sir, you know as well as we all do
how the Frenchmen are going to the wall;
that they have been thrashed out of Russia,
and that they are retreating everywhere.
They say that they have left Hamburg, and
I understand that the gun-brigs here are
going on an expedition from this island,
either to-morrow or next day, to storm the
batteries of Cuxhaven, and. so create a
diversion, as they call it—and very good
diversion it is—licking those French rascals.
Now, Captain Keene, if I may take the
liberty of saying so, would it not be as well
to take as many of your men as are able
to go, and join the storming party? Much
better than sitting here all day, melancholy,
and doing nothing.”

“It's: the: first I’ve heard ‘of it, Cross ;
are you sure you are correct?”

‘““ How should you hear it, sir, shut up
here, and seeing nobody? It’s true enough,
sir ; they were telling off the men as I came
up, and I think they start at daylight to-
morrow.”

‘* Well, Cross, I will think of it; and let
you know my decision if you call here in
half an hour.”’

Cross left me, and I was still undecided,
when the governor called to pay me.a visit.
After the first exchange of civilities, I asked
him if the report was true that there was an
expedition about to proceed to Cuxhaven.
His reply was, that the Russians had en-
tered Hamburg, which the French had
evacuated on the rzth, and that the French
garrisons at Cuxhaven were reported to be
in a very distressed state, and, in conse-
quence, the Blazer and another gun-brig
were about to proceed to attack the forts,

Hamburg! thought I; why, Minnie
Vanderwelt is at Hamburg with her father.
I will go, and try if I cannot get to Ham-
burg. The remembrance of Minnie gave aspur to my energies, and created a new
stimulus. I then told the governor that I
had a few men doing nothing ; that I would
join them to the expedition, and serve as a
volunteer. The governor thanked me for
my zeal, and I left him to go down and
communicate my intentions to the com-
manding officer of the gun-brig, who
expressed himself most happy at my assist-
ance and co-operation.

 

CHAPTER nL.

As neither my men nor I had any luggage
to hamper us—for we had just the clothes
we stood in—vwe were not long getting ready.
We started next morning, and on entering
the river, found that the French had de-
stroyed their flotilla, and soon afterwards we
were invited by the people to come on shore
and take possession of the batteries which
the French had evacuated. I remained
with Cross and my men on shore at Cux-
haven, while the brigs went up the river,
in pursuit of a privateer.

After a day or two, tired of inactivity, and
anxious to arrive at Hamburg, I proposed
to Cross that he should accompany me,
which he cheerfully acceded to. I had
drawn a bill at Heligoland, so that we were
in no want of money, and we set off on
our expedition. We had not, however, pro-
ceeded far before we were informed that the
road to Hamburg was so full of French
troops, scattered about, that it would be
impossible to gain the city without we made
a detour. As we knew that our throats
would be cut by these disorganised parties,
we followed the advice given to us, walking
from village to village, until we had put
Hamburg between us and the river. But
when there, we found that we could not
approach the imperial city, but were obliged
to direct our steps more inland. At last,
we heard that the inhabitants of the town
of Lunenburg had risen, and driven out the
French garrison, and I resolved to proceed
there, as it was more advisable than pare
continually in danger of being picked up by
the French strag eglers, who were committing
every enormity that could be imagined.

We arrived safe; stated who we were to
the authorities, and were well received : but
we had not been there more than two days,
when the rejoicings and braggings of the
towns people, on account of the late victory
over the French garrison, were turned to
consternation by the _ intelligence that
General Moraud was advancing with a con-
siderable force to retake the town. The
panic was so great, that all idea of defence
was in vain; and at the very time that I
was entreating them to make a stand, the
French troops poured in, and two cuirassiers

FERRCIVAL KEENE.

    
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
    
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
    

153

galloped up, and seized upon Cross and
me. <A few minutes afterwards, General
Moraud came up, and inquired, in a rough
tone, who we were. I replied in French,
that we were English officers.

“Take them away,” said he, ‘‘ and secure
them well; I'll make an example here that
shan’t be forgotten.”

We were taken to the guard-room,
where we remained shut up for the night.
The next morning one of the cuirassiers
looked into our cell. Iasked him whether
we could not have something to eat.

““Cela ne vaut pas la piene. ._Mon ami,
vous n’aurez Pe le temps pour la digestion ;
dans un demi-heure vous serez fusillés.”

‘‘May I ask the English of that, Captain
Keene?” replied Cross.

‘Yes, it's very pleasant. : He says that
it’s not worth while eating anything , as. we
shall be shot in half an hour.

‘Well, I suppose they'll shoot us first.
and try wus afterwards,’’ replied Cross.
Won't they give us a reason?”

wesuspect not, Cross. mm somy tha tal
have got you into this scrape ; as for my Ue
I care little about it.’

‘‘T am sorry fos poor Jane, sir,” replied
Cross; ‘‘but we all owe Heaven a death; and,
after all, it’s not worth making a fuss
about.”

Our conversation was here interrupted by
a party of French soldiers, who opened the
door and ordered us to follow them. We
had not far to ‘go, for we were led out to the
Grand Place, before the prison, where we
found the French troops drawn up, and
General Moraud, with his officers round
him, standing m the centre. At twenty
yards’ distance, and surrounded bythetroops,
which did not amount to more than three
hundred, were thirty of the principal inhabi-
tants of the town, pinioned, and handker-
chiefs tied over their eyes, preparatory to
their being shot; this being the terrible
example that the governor had threatened.

‘(Tiook, Cross,” Said I, ““whata handiimlk
of men these Frenchmen have retaken the
town with. Why, if we had resisted, we
might have laughed at them.”

‘“They won't laugh any more, I expect,”
replied Bob.

‘« Allons,” said the corporal to us.

“Where?” replied T.

‘Tio-tyour “friends, ‘there, “replied: fe;
pointing to the townspeople, who were
about to be shot.

‘TI wish to speak to the general,”
I, resisting.

‘‘No, no ; you must go.”

‘T will speak to the general,” replied I,
pushing the corporal on one side, and walk-
ing to where the general was standing.
‘(Well ?” said the general, fiercely,

”

replied$
t
'
é

 

~ | wish to know, sir,” replied I, ‘‘by
what law you are guided in shooting us.
We are English officers, here on duty to
assist against the French, and at the most
can only be prisoners of war. Upon what
stounds do you order us to be shot?”

‘As spies,” replied the general.

“Tam no spy, sir; I am a post-captain
in the English navy, who joined with the
seamen saved from the wreck of my frigate
in the attack upon Cuxhaven, and there is
my boatswain, who came up with me to go
to Hamburg. At all events, I am fully
justified in siding against the French : and
to shoot us will bea murder, which will not
fail to be revenged.”

“You may pass yourself off as the cap-
tain of a frigate, but your dress disproves
it, and I have better information. You are
two spies, and snaugglers, and therefore you
will be shot.”

‘“‘T tell you before all your officers that I
am Captain Keene, of the Circe frigate,
belonging to his Britannic Majesty, and
no spy: if you choese to shoot me now, I
leave my death to be revenged by my
country.”

At this moment an officer in naval uniform
stepped forward and looked me in the
face.

‘“General Morau7," said he, ‘‘ what that
officer says is true: he is Captain Keene,
and I was prisoner on board of his vessel
and I also know the other man as well.”’

‘Captain Vangilt, I do not request your
interference,” replied the general.

‘‘ But, general, as an officer in the marine
of the emperor, it is my duty to state to

you that you are deceived, and that this
officer is the person that he states himself to
be. Messieurs,” continued Captain Vangilt,
addressing those about the Reneraly so
assure you it is true, and I am under the
greatest obligation to this officer for his
kindness and humanity when [ was_ his
prisoner.”

“IT recognize you now, Mr. Vangilt,”’
replied I; ‘‘and I thank you for your
evidence.”

‘You see, general, he knows me by name:
I must demand the life of this British officer.’

The other ofticers then spoke to the
general, who heard all they had to say, and
then, with a sardonie grin, replied—

‘“Gentlemen, he may be an officer, but
still he is a spy.”

At that moment an orderly came up on
horseback, and, dismounting, gavea note to
the general,

““Sacré bleu!” cried he; ‘‘then we'll
have our revenge first, at all events. Soldiers,
take these two men, and put them in the
centre, with the others.”

Vangilt pleaded and entreated in vain:

154 PRE OITA.

Fey er Nie
Le ALE EY Las

at last, in his rage, he called the general ‘a
coward, and a madman.”

“Captain Vangilt, you will answer’ that
at some other time,” replied the general ;
“at present we will Carry our will into
execution. Lead them away.”

Vangilt then covered his face with his
hands, and all the other officers showed
signs of great disgust.

‘« Fareweil, Vangilt,”’ said I, in French ;
“I thank you for your interference, although
you have not succeeded with the scoundrel,”

“Take them away !” roared the general.

At that moment the report of musketry
was heard in dropping shots.

“Well, if -.ever I saw stich a bloody
villain,” said Cross. ‘Take that, at ‘all
events,’ continued Bob, shying his hat
right into the general's face, «| only wish
it was a 32-pounder, you murdering thief!”

The rage of the general may easily be
imagined. Once more he gave his orders,
drawing his sword in a menacing way at
his own soldiers, who now forced us towards
the part of the square where the other
victims were collected. As soon as we were
there, they wanted to blind our eyes, but
that both I and Bob positively refused, and
a delay was created by our resistance. dive
musketry was now approaching much nearer ;
and a few seconds afterwards the general
gave the word for the party to advance who
\Were to execute the sentence.

The other prisoners kneeled down ; but I
and Cross would not ; and while we were
resisting, the general repeated his’ order to
fire; but the men were confused with the
advance of the enemy, and the impossibility
to fire while Cross and I not only resisted
the soldiers, but held them so fast that had
the party fired they must have shot them as
wellasus. A cry ‘‘To arms" was given,
and the troops all wheeled reund in front
to repel the enersy. A loud hurrah was
followed by an inpouring of some hundred
Cossacks, with their long spears, who in a
few seconds charged and routed the French,
who retreated in the greatest confusion by
the different streets which led into the Grand
lace.

“Hurrah! we are saved,’’ cried Cross,
snatching up a musket that had been
dropped by a soldier. I did the same, and
pursued the retreating French, till a bullet
through my leg put a stop to my progress,
I called to Cross, who came to my assist-
ance, and he helped me back to the Grand
Place, which was now clear of troops,

 

CHAPTER XLIV.
THE Cossacks having divided, and gone in
pursuit of the French, T pointed out to Crossan hotel, and requested him to help me
there. As we crossed the square, strewed
with the dead and wounded, we passed
close to general Moraud, who was breathing
his last.

‘*See,* Cross,’’ said I, “there is retri-
bution. He intended that we should fall
where he now lies.”’

The general recognized us, gave a heavy
groan, and, turning on his back, fell dead.

As soonas I gained the hotel, I was taken
up into a room, and made as comfortable
as I could be until my wound could be
dressed.

‘“We're well out of it this time, sir,’
Cross.

‘Yes, indeed, Bob ; this has indeed been
a miraculous preservation, and we ought to
thank Heaven for it.”

‘“Why, Captain Keene, I thought just
now you did not care whether you lived or
died.”

‘*No more I did at that time, Cross; but
when we are so wonderfully preserved, we
cannot think but that we are preserved for
better things; and as Providence has
interfered, it points out to us that it is our
duty to live.”’

‘“Well, I'm glad to hear you say that,
sir. There's all the troops coming back.
What queer-looking chaps they are, with
their long lances and long beards !”’

‘‘Yes ; they are Cossacks—Russian irre-
gular cavalry.”

‘“Trregular enough, I don’t doubt but
they spitted the Frenchmen nicely. They
look exactly what I thought the Pope of
Rome was like.”

‘Cross, call the master of the hotel, and
tell him to come here.” When the man
came, I desired him to let the commander
of the allied troops know that an English
captain was wounded, and required surgical
assistance. ‘The master of the hotel went
to the burgomaster, who was one of those
who had been ordered to be shot ; and the
burgomaster, who was now in company
with the Russian commander, made known
what I required. In about an hour a sur-
geon came, and my wound was dressed.
The burgomaster called soon afterwards,
and expressed his obligation to me ; ‘‘ For,
said he, ‘if you had not created the delay
—which you did by your resistance—it
would have been all over with us by this
time.” |

‘"You have to thank a Dutch naval
officer of the name of Vangilt,” replied I ;
‘it is he who saved us all ; and, if he is not
hurt, you must be kind to him, and bring

,

said

him to me. I will get him his parole, if he
is a prisoner. Will you see to it, burgo-
master.”

‘‘T will,” replied he, ‘‘as soon as we are

 

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
    
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 

155
a little more tranquil ; but what with fright
and confusion, none of us know what we
are about. You were right, sir, in per-
suading us to defend ourselves. We might
easily have beaten off the small force of
General Moraud ; but we thought he had
ten thousand men, at least. We will do
better another time; but the French are
now in full retreat everywhere.”

That night, after dusk, Captain Vangilt
came into my room: he had been q
prisoner; but the burgomaster made in-
quiries, and let him out, which, as chief
magistrate, he had the power to do. Van-
gilt embraced me with much warmth, and
expressed his regret that he could not
persuade that wretch Moraud from _ his
murderous intentions.

‘““It came to the same thing, Vangilt ; I
owe you my life ; for if you had not created
the delay, we should have been shot.”

“That's true,” replied he. ‘‘ How for-
tunate it was, that, as my squadron of gun-
boats were destroyed, I consented to jour
Moraud with what men I could collect, to
Surprise thetown. Are you badly wounded ?’””

‘“No, not seriously, I believe ; J hope to
be able to get to Hamburg in a few days.”

‘“There is more than one there who wil?
be delighted to see you.”

‘“Is Mr. Vanderwelt alive and well?”

‘‘Oh, yes ; and Minnie, my pretty cousin,
is still unmarried.” Vangilt smiled as he
made this reply,

“I must ask for your pardole, Vangilt,
and then you can go to Hamburg with us.”

‘“ With all my heart,” replied he ; ‘‘for we
are tired of war, and asl ama Dutchman,
and not a Frenchman, I care little for the
reverses we have met with; all I hope is,
that Holland may becomea kingdom again,
and not a French state, as it is now.”

The next day, I was visited by the Rus-
sian commandant, who very willingly
granted me the parole of Vangilt. In a
week I was well enough to travel by slow
journeys to Hamburg, lying on mattresses
ina small covered waggon, and escorted by
Cross and Vangilt. A few hours before my
arrival, Vangilt went ahead to give notice of
my coming, and on the evening of the
second day I found myself in a luxurious.
chamber, with every comfort, in the com-
pany of Mr. Vanderwelt, and with the
beaming eyes of Minnie watching over me.

The report of Minnie’s beauty was fully
warranted. When she first made her
appearance, the effect upon me was quite
electrical : her style was radiant and almost
dazzling—-a something you did not expect
to find in the human countenance. Their
reception of me was all that I could desire >
their affection shown towards me, their
anxiety about my wound, and joy at onceje cae cae teens daar, eee

ipa lahat Riise

more having me under their roof, proved
that I had not been forgotten. After a short
time, Vangilt left the room, and I remained
on the sofa, one hand inthe grasp of Mr.
Vanderwelt, the other holding the not un-
willing one of Minnie. That evening I
made known to them all that had taken
place since I last wrote to them, winding up
with the loss of my frigate, the death of
Lord de Versely, and my subsequent capture
and rescue.

‘““And so it was in attempting to come
and see us that you were wounded and
nearly murdered?”

“Yes, Minnie ; I had long been anxious
to see you, and could not help availing my-
self of the first opportunity.”

“Thank God you are here at last!” said
Mr. Vanderwelt, ‘‘and that there is now
every prospect of a conclusion to the war.”

‘““And you won't go to sea any more—

will you, Percival?’ said Minnie.

‘““They won't give me a ship, Minnie,
after having lost the one I commanded ; to
be unfortunate is to be guilty, in those who
have no interest.”

‘“‘T’m very glad to hear it ; then you'll re-
main quietly on shore, and you will come
and see us.”

As I. had been rendered feverish by
travelling, and my wound was, a little angry,
as soon as it was dressed for the night, they
left me to repose ; but that I could not
the form of Minnie haunted me; to sleep
was impossible, and I lay thinking of her
till day dawned. The fact was, that I was
for the first time in love, and that in no
small degree—before morning I was des-
perately so. Indeed, there was excuse
sufficient, for Minnie was as winning in her
manners as she was lovely in her person,
and I was not at all surprised at hearing from
Vangilt of the numerous suitors. for her
hand.

 

 

CHAP EER XY.
‘THE, next morning I was pale and feverish,
which they observed with concern. Minnie
was, Sitting by me, and Mr, Vanderwelt had
left the room, when she said, ‘‘ How very
pale you are, and your hand is so hot; I
wish the doctor would come.”

‘‘T could not sleep last night, Minnie—
and it was.all your fault.”’

‘(My fault |”

““Yes, your fault ; for lcould not sleep for
thinking of ‘you; I thought you were look-
ing at meas you'do now the wholenight.”

Minnie blushed, and I kissed her hand.

As soon as my wound was dressed, I
requested writing materials, and, wrote to
the Admiralty, giving an account of what
had occurred since I quitted Heligoland (I

156 PERCIVAL KEENE:

had written to inform them of the loss of
the frigate when I was on the island). I
Stated in my despatches that my wound
would probably confine me for some weeks ;
but as soon as I was able to be moved I
should return to England to await their
orders. I also wrote to my mother and
Mr. Warden. I informed the latter of
what had passed, and the delay which
would be occasioned by my wound, and
requested him to write to me more fully as
to the death of Lord de Versely, and any
other particulars which might interest me.

Having sealed these despatches, and en-
trusted them to the care of Mr. Vanderwelt,
my mind was relieved, and I had nothing to
do but to think of and talk to Minnie. That
my progress in her affections was. rapid,
was not to be wondered at, her attachment
to me having commenced so early ; and as
her father was evidently pleased at our in-
creasing intimacy, in a fortnight after my
arrival at Hamburg, Minnie had consented
to be mine, and her father had joined our
hands, and given us his blessing.

As I now had no secrets from them, I
detailed my whole history, the cause of Lord
de Versely’s patronage, and ‘the mystery of
my birth. I opened the sealskin pouch to
shew them Lord de Versely’s letter to my
mother, and stated what hdd been the
object of my ambition through life, and how
great was my disappointment at my hopes
being over thrown by the death of his lordship.

‘‘My dear Percival,’ said old Mr. Van-
derwelt, after I had concluded my narrative,
‘““ you've been pursuing a shadow, although
the pursuit has called forth all yonr energies,
and led to your advancement. Yow have
the substance. You have wealth more
than sufficient, for you know how rich
I am. You have reputation, which is
better than wealth, and you have now,
I trust, a fair prospect of domestic happi-
ness ; for Minnie will be.as good a wife as
she has been a daughter. What, then, do
you desire? A name, And what is. that?
Nothing. Ifyou do not like your present
name, from its association with your puta-
tive father of low origin, change it to mine.
You will receive the fortune of an heiress,
which will fully warrant your so doing. At
all events, let not your pride stand in the
way of yourhappiness. We cannot expect
everything inthis world. You have much
to be thankful to Heaven for, and you must
not repine because you. cannot obtain all.”

‘‘T have so ardently desired it all my’ life ;
it has been the sole object of my ambition,”
replied I; ‘‘and I cannot. but severely feel
the disappointment.”

‘Granted ; but you must bear the dis-
appointment, or rather you must forget it ;
regret for what cannot be obtained is’ notonly unavailing, but I may say it is sinful.
You have much to thank God for.”

“IT. have, indedd, sir,”’ replied I, as: I
kissed his daughter, ‘‘and 1 will not repine.
[ will take your name when you give me
Minnie, and I will think no more about
that-of Delmar.”’

After this conversation, the subject was
notrenewed. I felt too happy with Minnie’s
love to care much about anything else ; my
ambition melted away before it, and I looked
forward to the time when I might embrace
her as my own.

My wound healed rapidly ; I had been a
month at Hamburg, and was able to limp
about a little, when one day Cross came in
with a packet of letters from England.

There was one from the Adiniralty,
acknowledging the receipt of my two letters,
one announcing the loss of the Cérce, and
the other my subsequent adventures, desiring
me to come home as soon as my wound
would permit me, to have the cause of the
loss of the Czrce investigated by a court-
martial: that of course; one from my
mother, thanking Heaven that I had
escaped so many dangers with only a bullet
in my leg, and stating her intention of going
up to town to see me as soon as she heard
of my arrival ; the third was. a voluminous
epistle from Mr. Warden, which I shall
give to the reader in his own words :-—

‘“My DEAR CAPTAIN KEENE,—I re-
ceived your two letters, the first, acquainting
me with your miraculous preservation after
the loss of your frigate, and the other with
your subsequent adventures on ferra firma.
You appear to me to have a charmed life,
and as there is now every prospect of a
speedy termination to this long and devas-
tating war, I hope you will live many days.
I did not enter into many particulars as to
Lord de Versely's death, as it was so
sudden; the property left you is not
perhaps of so much value lin itself, as it is
as a mark of his regard and esteem.
Nevertheless, if ever you sit down quietly and
take a wife, you will find that it will save
you a few thousands in furnishing and
decorating ; the plate, pictures, and objects
de wertu, as’ they are termed, are ‘really
valuable, and I know that you will not part
with them, bequeathed as they have been
by your friend and patron.

“T must now refer to particulars of more
consequence. You know that, as a legal
adviser, my lips are supposed to be sealed,
and they would have remained so now, had
it not been that circumstances have occurred
which warrant my disclosure; indeed, I
may say that I have permission to speak
plainly, as you have to repel charges
against you which, if not disproved, may

PERCIVAL KEENE.

 

 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
     
 
  
 
  
 
   
   
  
   
  
 
 
   
     
   
  
   
  
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  

157
seriously affect your future interests. Know,
then, that when you were last at Madeline
Hall, I was sent for to draw up the will of
the Honourable Miss Delmar, and I then
discovered that the will which had been
made in favour of Lord de Versely, to
whom Miss Delmar had _ left everything,
was by his express desire to be altered in
your favour; and at the same time the
secret of your birth was confided to me.
You will see, therefore, that Lord de
Versely did not neglect your interests. The
de Versely property he could not. leave
you, but he did what he could in your
favour. This will was signed, sealed,
attested, and is now in my possession ; and
as the old lady is very shaky, and some-
thing approaching to imbecile, I considered
that in a short time I should have to~con-
gratulate you upon your succession to this
fine property, which is a clear £8000 per
annum.

““You must also know, that Colonel
Delmar, whom you also met here, and who
accompanied you to Portsmouth, has always
hoped that he would be the heir of the old
lady ; and, indeed, had you not stepped in,
I have no doubt but eventually such would
have been the case. It appears that he has,
by some means, discovered that you have
ousted him, and since you sailed he has
returned to Madeline Hall, and has so
unsettled the old lady, by reporting that
you are an impostor, and no relation by
blood, that she has given me instructions
to make a new will in his favour. By what
means he has prevailed upon her I cannot
tell ; the chief support of his assertion rests
upon some letters, which he has. either
surreptitiously obtained or forged, written
by your mother, and addressed to you.
Now, that your mother has been supposed
to be dead many years I knew well, for
Lord de Versely told me so. The old lady
has shown me these letters, which certainly
appear authentic ; and she says, that if you
have deceived her and Lord de Versely as
to your mother’s death, you have deceived
them in everything else, and that she does
not now believe that you are the son of her
nephew. As I hinted before, the old lady
is almost in her dotage, and cannot well be
reasoned with, for she is very positive. I
argued as long as I could with her, but in
vain. At last she consented to, stop pro-
ceedings until I heard from you, saying, ‘if
I can have any proof under my nephew's
own hand that Percival is his son, I will be
content ; but without that I sign the new
will.’

‘“Such is the state of affairs; that you
have little chance if such a document cannot
be produced, I feel certain ; at all events, I
have gained delay, which we lawyers alwaysaim at. I only wish the old lady would
take a sudden departure, and leave the
question as unsettled as it is. Had Lord
de Versely not been so suddenly called
away, this would never have happened ; as
it is, we must make the best fight we can.
At present the colonel has it all his own
way. Pray write immediately, and explain
as much as you can of this strange affair,
and let me know what steps you think it
advisable to be taken.—Yours very truly,
fF. WARDEN.”

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE receipt of this letter was extremely
mortifying to me. I could not help feeling
that if I lost the fine property which had
been intended for me, I lost it chiefly by
the deceit practised relative to my mother’s
supposed death, and that if I did lose the
estate in consequence, it was a proper
punishment. At the same time, I felt not
a little indignant at the conduct of Colonel
Delmar. I now understood why it was
that he was talking with Mr. Warden's
clerk when I passed by them; and I also
felt certain that he must have taken advan-
tage of my situation at- Portsmouth, and
have opened my desk, and stolen the letters
from my mother. For this I resolved to
call him to account, under any circumstances
(that is, whether he or I became the heir to
the old lady), as soon as I could fallin with

im. Although I was far from despising
the property which I was now likely to lose,
yet I was more actuated in my wish to
regain it by my enmity towards him, and I
immediately resolved upon what I would do.

As I was still unfit to travel, and, more-
over, was resolved not to leave Hamburg
without Minnie as my wife, I sent for Cross,
and telling him, in few words, what had
taken place, asked him if he would im-
mediately start for England, which he
gladly consented to do. ‘‘ The old lady
requires, it seems, proof from Lord de
Versely’s own hand that I am his son ;
fortunately, that is in my power to give; so
do you take this, and as soon as you arrive
in England make all haste to Mr. Warden
and put it into his own hands.” I then
took off the sealskin pouch containing Lord
de Versely’s letter to my mother, and con-
fided it to his care. At the same time I
wrote a long letter to Mr. Warden, explain-
ing as far as I could the means which the
colonel had used to get possession of the
letters, and the reason which induced me
to make his lordship believe that my mother
was dead. _ I did not attempt to extenuate
my conduct; on the contrary, I severely
blamed myself for my deception, and

ETOR CL ALE TEE BINGE.

  

acknowledged that if I lost the estate it was
nothing more than I deserved.

Cross made all haste, and sailed the next
morning. Having put this affair in train,
I had nothing to do but to give all my
thoughts to Minnie. In another fortnight
I was completely recovered, and then I
mentioned to Mr. Vanderwelt my anxiety
that the marriage should take place. No
difficulties were raised; and it was settled
that on that day week I should lead my
Minnie to the altar. I thought that the
week would never expire; but, like all
other weeks, it died a natural death at last,
and we were united. The /e¢e was over,
the company had all left us, and we were
again alone, and I held my dearest Minnie
in my arms, when Mr. Vanderwelt brought
me in a letter from England. It was from
Mr. Warden, and I hastily opened it.
Minnie shared my impatience, and read
over my shouldex ‘The contents were as
follows :—

““MY DEAR CAPTAIN KEENE,—Most
fortunate it was for you that you have
preserved that letter ; but I must not anti-
cipate. On receiving it from Cross, I
immediately went with it to the old lady,
and presented it to her. I did more,—I
read over your letter in which you stated
your reasons for making Lord de Versely
believe that your mother was dead. The
old lady, who is now very far gone in her
intellect, could hardly understand me.
However, her nephew’s handwriting roused
her up a little, and she said, ‘ Well, well—
I see—I must think about it. I won't
decide. I must hear what the colonel
says.’ Now, this is what I did not wish
her to do ; but she was positive, and I was
obliged to leave her. The colonel was sent
for ; but I do not know what the result was,
or rather might have been, as fortune stood
your friend in a most unexpected way.

As I went out, I perceived two gentlemen
arrive in a post-chaise. One of them ap-
peared very ill and feeble, hardly able ta
walk up the steps. They inquired for
Colonel Delmar, and were shown into a
sitting-room, until he came out of Mrs.
Delmar’s apartment. I saw him come out ;
and there was so much satisfaction in his
countenance, that I felt sure that he had
gained over the old lady. And I went
home, resolving that I would burn the new
will, which had not been signed, if it were
only to gain the delay of having to make it
over again. But the next morning an ex-
press arrived for me to go immediately to the
Hall. Ididso; but I did not take the new
will with me, as I felt certain that if I had
so done, it would have been signed that day.
But I was mistaken ; I had been sent for onaccount of the death of Colonel Delmar,
who had that morning fallen in a duel with
Major Stapleton, the officer who fought with
you. It appears that Captain Green had
informed the major of the language used by
the colonel when Major S, was supposed to
be dead; and that the major, who has been
very ill ever since, only waited till he was
able to stand to demand satisfaction of the
colonel. It was the major with his friend
whom I metas I left the Hall the day before.
They fought at daylight, and both fell. The
major, however, lived long enough to ac-
knowledge that the duel with you had been
an arranged thing between him and the
colonel, that you might be put out of the
way, after the information the colonel had
received from my clerk, and that the colonel
was to have rewarded him handsomely if he
had sent you into the other world. I
suspect, after this, that the fowling-piece
going off in the cover was not quite so ac-
cidental as was supposed. However, the
colonel is out of your way now, and the old
lady has received such a shock, that there is

no fear of her altering her will ; indeed, if

she attempted it, I doubt if it would be

PERCIVAL KEENE,

   
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   

valid, as she is now quite gone in her
intellect. I have, therefore, destroyed the
one not signed ; and have no doubt, but that
in a very few weeks [| may have to con-
gratulate you upon your succession to this
property. I think that the sooner you can
come home the better, and I advise you to
take up your quarters at Madeline Hall, for
possession is nine points of the law, and
you can keep off all trespassers,—Yours
most truly,
“EY, WARDEN.”

“Well, Minnie, dearest, I may con-
gratulate you, I believe, as the lady of
Madeline Hall,” said I, folding up the
letter.

‘‘Yes, Percival ; but there is a postscript
overleaf, which you have not read.”

I turned back to the letter.

‘“‘P.S.—I quite forgot to tell you that
there is a condition attached to your taking
possession of the property, which, as it was
at the particular request of Lord de Versely,
I presume you will not object to, which is—
tat you assume the arms and name of
Delmar.’

THE END.

 

J. OGDEN AND CO., PRINTERS, 172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C.The Travels and Adventures

OF
Monsieur Violet

IN

CALIFORNIA, SONORA, AND WESTERN TEXAS

BY

CAPTAEN MARRY AE

AUTHOR OF ‘‘ PETER SIMPLE.”

AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS

THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE

NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET,THE TRAVELS A
OF MONSIE

 

ND ADVENTURES
UR VIOLET,

————~<}——___

; CHAPTER. 1.

THE Revolution of 1830, which deprived
Charles the Tenth of the throne of France,
like all other great and sudden changes,
proved the ruin of many individuals, more
especially of many ancient families who were
attached to the Court, and who would not
desert the exiled monarch in his adversity.
Among the few who were permitted to share
his fortunes were my father, a noble gentle-
man of Burgundy, who at a former period
and during a former exile, had proved his un-
changeable faith and attachment to the legiti-
mate owners of the crown of France.

The ancient royal residence of Holyrood
having been offered, as a retreat, to ‘his un-
happy master, my father bade an eternal
adieu to his country ; and with me. his only
son, then but nine years of age, followed in
the, suite of the monarch, and established him-
self in Edinburgh.

Our residence in Scotland was not long.
Charles the Tenth decided upon taking up his
abode at Prague. My father went before
him to make the necessary arrangements;
and as soon as his master was established
there, he sought by travel to forget his griefs.
Young as I was, I washis companion. Italy,
Sicily, Greece. Turkey, Egypt, and the Holy
Land were ali visited in, the course of three
years, after which time we returned to Italy ;
and being then twelve years old, I was placed
for my education in the Propaganda at Rome.

For an exile who is ardently attached to
his country there is no repose. Forbidden to
return to his beloved France, there was no
retreat which could make my father forget his
gtiefs, and he continued as restless and as un-
happy as ever. ; 2

Shortly after that I had been placed in the
Propaganda, my father fell in with an old
friend, a friend of his youth, whom he had
not met with for years,.once as gay and
as happy as he had been, now equally suffer-
ing and equally restless. This friend was the
Italian Prince Seravalle, who also had drank

deep of the cup of bitterness. In his youth,
feeling deeply the decadence, both moral and
physical, of his country, he had attempted to
strike a blow to restore it to its former splen-
dour ; he headed a conspiracy, expended a
large portion of his wealth in pursuit of his
object, was betrayed by his associates, and for
many years was imprisoned by the authorities
in the Castle of San Angelo.

How long his confinement lasted I know
not, but it must have been a long while, as in
after-times, when he would occasionally revert
to his former life, all the incidents he related
were for years ‘‘ when he was in his dungeon,
or in the court-yard prison of the Capitol,”
where many of his ancestors had dictated
laws to nations,

At last the Prince was restored to freedom,
but captivity had made no alteration in his
feelings or sentiments. His love for his
country, and his desire for its regeneration,
were as strong as ever, and he very soon
placed himself at the head of the Carbonari,
a sect which, years afterwards, was rendered
illustrious by the constancy and sufferings of a
Maroncelli, a Silvio Pellico, and many others.

The Prince was again detected and
arrested, but he was not thrown into prison,
The government had been much’ weakened,
and the well-known opinions and liberality of
the Prince had rendered him so popular with
the Trasteverini, or northern inhabitants of
the Tiber, that policy forbade either his
Captivity or destruction. He was sentenced
to be banished for (I think) ten years.

During his long banishment, the Prince
Seravalle wandered over various portions of
the globe, and at last found himself in
Mexico. Afier a residence at Vera Cruz, he

travelled into the interior, to examine the
remains of the ancient cities of the Western
World ; and impelled by his thirst for know-
ledge and love of adventure, he at last
arrived on the western coast of America, and
passing through California, fell in with the
Shoshones, or Snake Indians, occupying alarge territory extending from the Pacific to
nearly the feet of the Rocky Mountains.
Pleased with the manners and customs and
native nobility of this tribe of Indians, the
Prince remained with them for a considerable
time, and eventually decided that he would
return once more to his country, now that his
term of banishment had expired ; not to re-
settle in an ungrateful land, but to collect his
property and return. to. the Shoshones, to
employ it for their benefit and advancement.

There was, perhaps, another feeling, even
more powerful, which induced the Prince
Seravalle to return to the Indians with whom
he had lived so long. I refer to the charms
and attraction which a wild life offers to the
man of civilization, more particularly when he
has discovered how hollow and heartless we
become under refinement.

Not one Indian who has been brought up
at school, and among the pleasures and
luxuries of a great city, has ever wished to
make his dwelling among the pale faces;
while, on the contrary, many thousands of
white men, from the highest to the lowest
stations in civilization, have embraced the
life of the savage, remaining with and dying
among them, although they might have accu-
mulated wealth, and returned to their own
country.

This appears strange, but it is neverthe-
less true. Any intelligent traveller, who has
remained a few weeks in the wigwams of
well-disposed Indians, will acknowledge that
the feeling was strong upon him even during
so short a residence. What must it then be
on those who have resided with the Indians
for years?

It was shortly after the Prince’s return to
Italy to fulfil his benevolent intentions, that
my father renewed his old friendship—a
friendship of early years, so strong that their
adverse politics could not weaken it. The
Prince was then at Leghorn; he had pur-
chased a vessel, loaded it with implements of
agriculture, and various branches of the
domestic arts; he had procured some old
pieces of artillery, a large quantity of car-
bines from Liege, gunpowder, etc. ; materials
for building a good house, and a few articles
of ornament and luxury. His large estates
were all sold to meet these extraordinary
expenses. He had also engaged masons,
smiths, and carpenters, and he was to be
accompanied by some of his former tenants
who well understood the cultivation of the
olive-tree and vine.

It was in the autumn of 1833 when he was
nearly ready to start, that he fell in with my
father, told him his adventures and his future
plans, and asked him to accompany him.
My father, who was tired and disgusted with
everything, blasé au fond, met the Prince
more than half way.

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

 

Our property in France had all been dis-
posed of at a great sacrifice at the time of the
Revolution. All my father possessed was in
money and jewels. He resolved to risk all,
and to settle with the Prince in this far dis-
tant land. Several additions: were conse-
quently made to the cargo and to the members
composing the expedition.

Two priests had already engaged to act
as missionaries. Anxious for my education,
my father provided an extensive library, and
paid a large sum to the Prior of a Dominican
convent to permit the departure with us
of another worthy man, who was well able
to superintend my education. Two of the
three religious men who had thus formed
our expedition had been great travellers, and
had already carried the standard of the cross
east of the Ganges in the Thibetian and Bur-
man empires.

In order to avoid any difficulties from
the government, the Prince Seravalle had
taken the precaution to clear the vessel out
for Guatemala, and the people at Leghorn
fully believed that such was his object. But
Guatemala and Acapulco were left a long
way south of us before we arrived at our
destination.

At last everything was prepared. I was
sent for from the Propaganda—the stock of
wines, etc., were the last articles which were
shipped, and the ‘‘ Esmeralda” started on her
tedious, and by no means certain voyage.

 

CHAPTER II.

I was very young then—not thirteen years
old; but if I was young, I had travelled
much, and had gained that knowledge whieh
is to be obtained by the eye—perhaps the
best education we can have in our earlier
years. I shall pass over the monotony of the
voyage of eternal sky and water. I have no
recollection that we were in any imminent
danger at any time, and the voyage might
have been styled a prosperous one.

After five months, we arrived off the coast,
and with some difficulty we gained the
entrance of a river falling into Trinity Bay, in
lat. 41° north and long. 124° 28' west.

We anchored about four miles above the
entrance, which was on the coast abreast of
the Shoshones’ territory, and resorted to by
them on their annual fishing excursions. In
memory of the event, the river was named
by the Indians—‘‘ Nu elejé sha wako,” or
the Guide of the Strangers.

For many weeks it was astrange and busy
scene. The Prince Seravalle had, during his
former residence with the Shoshones, beer
admitted into their tribe as a warrior and'a
chief, and now the Indians flocked from the
interior to welcome their pale-faced chief,
who had not forgotten his red children.They helped our. party to unload’ the vessel,
provided us with game of all kinds, and
under the directions of the carpenter, they
soon built a large warehouse to protect our
goods and implements from the effects of the
weather.

As soon as our cargo was housed, the Prince
and my fether, accompanied by the chiefs
and elders of the ‘tribe, set off.on an explor-
ing party, to select a spot fit for the settle-
ment. During their absence, I was entrusted
to the care of one of the chief's squaws, and
had three beautiful children for my play-
mates. In three .weeks the party returned ;
they had selected a spot upon the western
banks of the Buona Ventura River, at the
foot of a high circular mountain, where rocks,
covered with indurated lava and. calcined
sulphur, proved the existence of former vol-
canic eruptions. The river was lined with
lofty timber ; immense quarries of limestone
were close at hand, andthe minor streams
gave us clay, which produced. bricks of an
excellent quality.

The Spaniards had before visited. this
spot, and had given the mountain the name
of St. Salvador ; but our settlement took the
Indian appellation of the Prince, which was
—‘ Nanawa ashta jueri é,’’ or the Dwelling
of the Great Warrior. As the place of. our
landing was a great resort of the Indians
during the fishing season, it was also
resolved that a square fort and store, with a
boat-house, should be erected there ; and for
Six or seven months all was bustle and acti-
vity, when an accident occurred which threw
a damp upon our exertions.

Although the whole country abounds in
cattle, and some other tribes, of which I shall
hereafter make mention, do possess them in
large herds, the Shoshones did not. possess
any. Indeed, so abundant was the game in
this extensive territory, that they could well
dispense with them; but as the Prince’s
ambition was to introduce agriculture and
more domestic habits among the tribe, he
considered it right that they should be intro-
duced. He therefore dispatched the ‘‘ Esme-
ralda’’ to obtain them either at Monterey
or Santa Barbara. But the vessel was never
more heard of : the Mexicans stated that they
had perceived the wreck of a vessel off Cape
Mendocino, and it was but natural to sup-
pose that these were the remains of our un-
fortunate brig.

All hands on board perished, and the Joss
was very heavy to us. The crew consisted
of the captain, his son, and twelve men ; and
there were also on board five of our house-
hold, who had been dispatched upon various
commissions, Giuseppe Polidori, the youngest
of our missionaries, one of our gunsmiths,
one of our masons, and two Italian farmers.
Melancholy as was this loss, it did not abate

Of MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

 

the exertions of those who were left. Fields
were immediately cleared—gardens prepared;
and by degrees the memory of this sad
beginning faded away before the prospect of
future happiness and comfort.

As soon as we were completely established,
my education commenced. It was novel, yet
still had much affinity to the plan pursued
with the students of the Military Colleges in
France, inasmuch as all, my play hours
were employed in the hardier exercises.
To the two excellent missionaries I owe
muck, and with them I passed many happy
hours. ,

We had brought a very extensive and
very well selected library with us, and under
their care I soon became acquainted with the
arts and sciences of civilization ; I studied his-
tory generally, and they also taught me
Latin and Greek, and I was soon master of
many of the modern languages. And as my
studies were particularly devoted to the his-
tory of the ancient people of Asia, to enable
me to understand their theories and follow up
their favourite researches upon the origin of
the great ruins in Western and Central
America, the slight knowledge which I had
gained at the Propaganda of Arabic and San-
scrit was now daily increased.

Such were my studies with the good
fathers ; the other portion of my education
was, wholly Indian. I was put under the
charge of a celebrated old warrior of the
tribe, and from him I learned the use of the
bow, the tomahawk, and the rifle ; to throw
the lasso, to manage the wildest horse, to
break in the untamed colt ; and occasionally
I was permitted to accompany them in their
hunting and fishing excursions.

‘Thus for more than three years did I con-
tinue to acquire knowledge of various kinds,
while the colony gradually extended its fields,
and there appeared to be every chance of
gradually reclaiming the wild Shoshones to a
more Civilized state of existence.

But ‘‘l’homme propose et Dieu dispose.’
Another heavy blow fell upon the Prince,
which eventually proved the ruin of all his
hopes. After the loss of the vessel, we had
but eight white men in the colony, besides
the missionaries and ourselves; and the
Prince, retaining only my father’s old ser-
vant, determined upon sending the remainder
to purchase the cattle which we had been so
anxious to obtain.

‘They departed on this mission, but never
returned. In all probability, they were mur-
dered by the Apaches Indians ; although it is
not impossible that, tired of our simple and
monotonous life, they deserted us to establish
themselves in the distant cities of Mexico.

This second catastrophe weighed heavy
upon the mind of the good old Prince. All
his hopes were dashed to the ground—the” wore Ze O Oy

Se denis Silica senior

 

 

 

illusions of the latter part of his life were
destroyed for ever. His proudest expecta-
tions had been to redeem his savage friends
from their wild life, and this only could be
effected by commerce and agriculture.

The farms round the settlements had for
now nearly four years been tilled by the
squaws and young Indians, under the direc-
tion of the white men; and although the
occupation was by no means congenial to
their‘nature, the Prince had every anticipation
that with time and example, the Shoshones
would perceive the advantages, and be in-
duced to till the land for themselves. '

Before our arrival, the winter was always
aseason of great privation to that portion of
the Indians who could not repair to the hunt-
ing grounds; while now, Indian corn, pota-
toes, and other vegetables were in plenty, at
least for those who dwelt near to the settle-
ment. But now that we had lost all our
white cultivators and mechanics, we soon
found that the Indians avoided the labour.

All our endeavours proved useless: the
advantages had not yet been sufficiently
manifest : the transition. attempted had been
too short; and the good, although proud
and lazy, Shoshones abandoned the tillage,
and relapsed into their former apathy and
indifference.

Mortified at this change, the Prince and
my father resolved to make an appeal to the
whole nation, and try to convince them how
much happier they would be if they would
cultivate the ground for their support. A
great feast was given, the calumet was
smoked ; after which the Prince rose and ad-
dressed them after their own fashion. As I
had, a short time previous, been admitted as
a chief and warrior, I, of course, was pre-
sent at the meeting. ‘The Prince spoke :—

‘“Do you not want to become the most
powerful nation in the West? You do. If
then such is the case, you must ask assistance
from the earth, which is your mother. ‘True,
you have prairies abounding in game, but the
squaws and the children cannot follow your
path when hunting.

‘“Are not the Crows, the Bonnaxes, the
Flat Heads, and the Umbiquas, starving dur-
ing the winter? They have no buffalo in
their land, and but few deer. What have
they to eat ?
bear; and the stinking flesh of the otter or
beaver they may trap. during the season.

“Would they not be too happy to ex-
change their furs against the corn, the tobacco,
and good dried fish of the Shoshones? Now
they sell their furs to the Yankees, but the
Yankees bring them no food. The Flat
Heads take the fire water and blankets from
the traders, but they do so because they can-
not get anything else, and their packs of ‘furs
would spoil if they kept them. —

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

A few lean horses, perchance a -

    

“Would they not like better to barter
them with you, who are so near to them, for
good food to sustain them and their children
during the winter—to keep alive their squaws
and their old men during the long snow and
the dreary moons of darkness and gloom?

‘©Now if the Shoshones had corn and
tobacco to give for furs, they would become
rich. ‘They would have the best saddles from
Mexico, and the best rifles from the Yankees,
the best tomahawks and blankets from the
Canadians: Who then could resist the Sho-
shones ? When they would go hunting, hun-
dreds ‘of ‘the other natives would: clear for
them the forest path, or tear with their hands
the grass out of ‘their track in the prairie. I
have spoken.”

All the Indians acknowledged that the
talk was good’and full of wisdom ; but they
were too proud to work. An old chief
answered for the whole tribe.

‘“Nanawa ‘Ashta is a great chief; he is
a brave!- The Manitou speaks softly to. his
ears, and tells him the secret which makes the
heart of a warrior hig or small ; but Nanawa
has a pale face—his blood isa strange blood,
although his heart is ever with his red friends.
It is only the white Manitou that speaks to
him, and how could'the white Manitou know
the nature of the Indians ? He hasnot made
them ; he don’t call them to him; he gives
them nothing; he leaves them poor and
wretched ; he keeps all for ‘the pale faces.

“Tt is right he should do so,.. The pan-
ther will not feed the young of the deer, nor
will the hawk sit wpon'the eggs of the dove.
Tt is life, it is order, it is nature. Each has
his own to ‘provide for and no more. Indian
corn is good, tobaccois good, it gladdens the
heart of the old men when they,are in sorrow ;
tobacco is the present:of chiefs to chiefs. The
calumet speaks of war and death; it dis-
courses also of peace and friendship. The
Manitou made the tobacco expressly for man
—it is good.

“But corn and tobacco must be taken
from the earth; they must be watched for
many moons, and nursed like children. This
is work fit only for squaws and slaves. The
Shoshones are warriors and free ; if they were
to dig in the ground, their sight would become
weak, and their enemies would say they were
moles and badgers.

‘“Does the just Nanawa wish the Sho-
shones to be despised by the Crows or the
horsemen of the South? No !,he had fought
for them before he went'to see if the bones of
his father were safe: and since his return,
has he not given to them rifles and powder,
and long nets to catch the salmon and. plenty
of iron to render their arrows feared alike by
buffaloes and the Umbiquas?

‘“Nanawa speaks well, for he loves. his
children’ : ‘but the ‘spirit/that whispers to himOF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

is a pale face spirit, that cannot see tinder the
skin of a red-warrior ; itis too tough: nor in men ; their words are sweet, they speak to
his blood : it is too dark, the heart; they know everything and make

“Yet tobacco is good, and corn too. men better, Nanawa is a great chief, very

The hunters of the Flat Heads and Pierced wise ; what ‘he Says is tight, what he wishes
Noses would come in winter to beg for it; must be ‘done, for he is our father, and he
their furs would make warm the lodges of gave us strength to fight our enemies,

the Shoshones. _ And my. people would be- ‘He is right, the Shoshones must have
come rich and powerful ; they would be mas- their lodges full of corn and tobacco. The
ters of all the country, from the salt waters to Shoshones must ever be what they are, what
the big mountains ; the deer would come and they were, a great nation. But the chief of
lick their hands, and the wild horses would many winters hath said it ; the hedge-hogs
gtaze around their wigwams. ’Tis-so that and the foxes may dig the earth, but the eves
the pale faces grow rich and strong ; they of the Shoshones are always turned towards
plant corn, tobacco, and sweet melons ; they their enemies in the woods, or the buffaloes
have trees that bear figs and peaches ; they in the plains.

feed swine and goats, and tame buffaloes, ‘Yet the will of Nanawa must be done
They are a great people. . but not by a Shoshone: “We will give him

‘‘ A red skin warrior is nothing but a war- plenty of squaws and dogs; we will bring
rior; he is strong, but he is poor; he is nota him slaves from the Umbiquas, the Cayuses,
wood-chunk, nor a badger, nora prairie dog; and ‘the Wallah Wallahs. They shall grow
he cannot dig the ground ; he is a warrior, the corn and the tobacco while we hunt ;
and nothing more. "I have spoken.” while we go to fetch more slaves, even in the

Of course the tenor of this speech was too big mountains, or among the dogs of the
much in harmony with Indian ideas not to be south, the Wachinangoes. 1 will send the
received with admiration. ‘The old man took vermilion||.to my young warriors, they’ will
his seat, while another rose to speak in his paint their faces and’ follow me on the war
turn. path. I have spoken.”

‘" The great chief hath spoken : his hair Thus énded the hopes of making agricul-
is white like the down of the swan ; his win turists the ‘wild people among whom we
ters have been many ; he is wise » why should lived ; nor did‘ I wonder such as they were,
I speak after him, his words were true? The they felt happy. What could they want be-
Manitou touched my ears and my eyes when Sides their neat conical skin lodges, their
he spoke (and he spoke like a warrior) ; I dresses, which were good, comfortable, and
heard his war cry. ‘I saw the Umbiquas elegant, and their women, who were virtuous,
running in the swamps, and crawling like faithful and pretty? Had they not the un-
black snakés under the bushes I spied limited range of the prairies? were they not
thirty scalps on his belt, his leggings and lords over millions of elks and’ buffaloes?
mocassins were sewn with the hair of the they wanted nothing, except tobacco. And
Wallah Wallahs. * yet it was a pity we could not succeed in

“‘T should hot speak ; I am young yet giving them a taste for civilization. The
and have no wisdom : my words are few, | were gentlemen by nature ; as indeed almost
should not speak, But in my vision I heard all-the Indians are, when not given to drink-
@ spirit, it came upon the breeze, it entered ing. THey are extremely well bred, and

Konayas§, to teach’ wisdom to our -young

within me. stamped with the indubitable seal of nobility
“‘Nanawa is my father, the father to all, he on their brow, —
loves us, we are his children ; he has brought The council was ‘broken up, as both

with him a great warrior of the pale faces, Christianity, and his own peculiar sentiments,
who was a mighty chief in his tribe; he has would not permit the Prince Seravalle to en-
given us a young chief whois a great hunter; tertain the thought of extending slavery. Iie
ina few years he will be a great warrior, bowed meekly to the will of Providence, and
and lead our young men in the war path endeavoured by other means to effect his ob-
on the plains of the Wachinangoes, + for ject of enlightening the minds of this pure
Owato Wanishat is a Shoshone, though his and noble, yet savage race of men.
skin is paler than the flower of the mag-
nolia.
___ ** Nanawa has also given to us two Makota CHAPTER aad.

This breaking up, for the time, of our
agricultural settlement took place in the year

 

* Indians living on the Columbian River, two hun-
dred miles ahove Fort Vancouver; allied to the Nez

‘ 1838. Till then, or a few months before, I

Percés, and great supporters of the Americans. \ }
+ Name given to the half breeds by the Spaniards, § Two priests, literally two black gowns, :
but by Indians comprehending the whole Mexican race, |, When a chief wishes to go to war, he sends to hie

f The “spirit of the young beaver;’? a name given ‘warriors some leaves of tobacco covered with vermilion,
to me when I-was‘made a warrior, It is a‘sign that they must soon be prepared.Apt tcl Deep ei

 

had passed my time between my civilized and
uncivilized instructors. But although edu-
cated, I was an Indian, not only in my dress
but in my heart.

I mentioned that in the council called by
the Prince I was present, haying been ad-
mitted as. a chief, being then about seventeen
years old. _My admission was procured in
the following manner : when we received in-
telligence of the murder, or disappearance, of
our seven white men, whom the Prince had
sent to Monterey to procure cattle, a party
was sent out on their track to ascertain what
had really taken place, and at my request the
command of that party was confided to me.

We passed the Buona Ventura, and fol-
lowed the track of our white men for upwards
of 200 miles, when we not only could trace it
no further, but -found our small party of fif-
teen surrounded by about eighty of our impla-
cable enemies, the Crows.

By stratagem, we not only broke through
them, but. succeeded in surprising seven of
their party. » My companions would have put
them to death, but I would not permit it. We
secured them on their own horses, and made
all the haste we could, but the Crows had
discovered us and gave chase.

It was fifteen days travelling to our own
country, and we were pursued by an enemy
seven or eight times superior to us in numbers.
By various stratagems which I shall not dwell
upon, aided by the good condition of our
horses, we contrived to escape them, and to
bring our prisoners safe into the settlement.
Now, although we had no fighting, yet ad-
dress is considered a great qualification. On
my return I was therefore admitted as a chief,
with the Indian name Owato Wanisha, or
‘‘ spirit of the beaver,’’as appropriate to my
cunning and address. To obtain the rank of
a warrior chief, it was absolutely requisite
that I had distinguished myself on the field of
battle

Before I continue my narration, I must
say a little more relative to the missionaries,
who were my instructors. One of them, the
youngest, Polidori, was lost in the ‘‘ Esme-
ralda,'’ when she sailed for Monterey to pro-
cure cattle. The two others were Padre Marini
and Padre Antonio. ‘They were both highly
accomplished and learned. ‘Their knowledge
in Asiatic lore was unbounded, and it was my
delight to follow them in their researches and
various theories concerning the early Indian
emigration across the waters of the Pacific.

They were both Italians by birth. They
had passed many years of their lives among
the nations west of the Ganges, and in their
advanced years had returned to sunny Italy,
to die near the spot where they had played
as little children. But they had met with
Prince Seravalle, and when they heard from
him of the wild tribes with whom he had

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

dwelt, and who knew not God, they con-
sidered that it was their duty to go and in-
struct them.

Thus did these sincere men, old and
broken, with one foot resting on their tombs,
again encounter difficulties and danger, to
propagate among the Indians that religion
of love and mercy, which they were appointed
to make known.

Their efforts, however, to convert the
Shoshones were. fruitless. Indian nature
would seem to be a nature apart and distinct.
The red men, unless in suffering or oppres-
sion, will not listen to what they call ‘‘the
smooth honey words of the pale-faced sages ;.’
and even when they do so, they argue upon
every dogma and point of faith, and re-
main unconvinced. ‘The missionaries, there-
fore, after a time, contented themselves with
practising deeds of charity, with alleviating
their sufferings when able, from their know-
ledge of medicine andsurgery, and by moral
precepts, softening down as much as they
could the fierce and occasionally cruel tempers
of this wild untutored race.

Among other advantages which the Sho-
shones derived from our missionaries, was
the introduction of vaccination. At first it
was received with great distrust, and indeed
violently opposed, but the good sense of the
Indians ultimately prevailed; and I do not
believe that there is one of the Shoshones
born. since the settlement was formed who
have not been vaccinated; the process
was explained by the Padres Marini and
Polidori to the native medical men, and is
now invariably practised by them.

I may as well here finish the histories of
the good missionaries. When I was sent
upon an expedition to Monterey, which I
shall soon have to detail, Padre Marini ac-
companied me. Having failed with the
Shoshones, he considered that he might
prove useful by locating himself in the
Spanish settlements of California. . We
parted soon after we arrived at Monterey,
and I have never seen-or heard of him since.
I shall, however, have to speak of him again
during our journey and sojourn at that town.

The other, Padre Antonio, died at the
settlement previous to my journey to Mon-
terey, and the Indians still preserve his robes,
missal, and crucifix, as the relics of a good
man. Poor Padre Antonio! I would have
wished to have known the history of his
former life. A deep melancholy was stamped
upon his features, from some cause of heart-
breaking grief, which even religion could but
occasionally assuage, but not remove.

After his'death, I looked at his missal.
The blank pages at the beginning and the
end were filled up with pious reflections,
besides some few words, which spoke volumes
as to one period of his existence. The firstOF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

Words inscribed were : “Julia, obiit Ap;
1799.. Virgo purissima, Maris Stella. Ora
pro me.” On the following leaf.was written:
“* Antonio de Campestrina, Convient. Do-
minicum, in Roma, A.D. 1800.”

Then he had embraced a monastic life
upon the death of one dear to him—perhaps
his first and only love, Poor man! many a
time have I seen the big burning tears rolling

fast down his Withered cheeks. But he is dant, principally near the Tivers and in the
Sone, and his sorrows are at rest. On the low flat bottoms; while the general land-
last page of the missal were also two lines, Scape is agreeably relieved from the mono-
written in a tremulous hand, probably a short tony of too great uniformity by numerous .
time previous to his death: ‘J, nunc anima mountains of fantastical shapes and appear-
anceps ; sitque tibi Deus misericors.” ance, entirely unconnected’ with each other,

The Prince Seravalle did not, however, and all varying in the primitive matter of their
abandon his plans: having failed in Per- conformation.
suading the Shoshones, at the suggestion of Masses of native Copper are found at
my: father, it was resolved that an attempt almost every step, and betwixt two moun-
Should be made to procure a few Mexicans tains which spread from east to. west in the
and Canadians to carry on the agricultural parallel of the rivers Buona Ventura and
labours ; for I may here as well observe, that Calumet, there are rich beds of galena, even
both the Prince and my fatherhad long made at two or three feet under ground : sulphur
up their minds to live and die among the and magnesia appear plentiful in the north-
Indians. ern districts ; while in the sand of the creeks

This expedition was to be undertaken by to the south, gold dust is occasionally col-
me. My trip was to bea long one. Incase fected by the Indians. The land is admirably
I should not succeed in Monterey in enlisting watered by three noble streams—the Buona
the parties required, I was. to proceed on to Ventura, the Calumet, and the Nu eleje sha
Santa Fé, either with a party of Apaches wako, or River of the Strangers, while twenty
Indians, who were always at peace with the rivers of inferior size rush with noise and im-
Shoshones, or else with’ one of the Mexican petuosity from the mountains, — until they
caravans. enter the prairies, where they glide smoothly
in long serpentine courses between banks
covered with flowers and shaded by the thick
foliage of the western magnolia. ‘The plains,
as I have said, are gently undulating, and are
covered with excellent natural pastures of
moskito-grass, blue gtass, and cloyer, in
which innumerable herds of buffaloes, and
mustangs, or wild horses, graze, except
during the hunting season, in undisturbed
security,

The Shoshones* are indubitably a very
ancient people. It would be impossible to
say how long they may have been settled on

which there extend themselves n
parallel of 125° west longitude. The land is
rich and fertile, especially by the sides of
numerous streams, where the soil is some-
times of a deep red colour, and at others
entirely black. The aspect of this region is
well diversified, and though the greatest part
of it must be classified under the denomination
of rolling Prairies, yet woods are very abun-

early to the

In Santa Fé: there was always a great
number of French and Canadians, who came
every year from St.. Louis, hired by the Fur
Companies; so that we had some chance: of
procuring them. . If, however, my endeavours
should prove fruitless, as I should already
have proceeded too far to return alone, I was
to continue on from Santa Fé with the fur
traders, returnipg to St. Louis, on the Missis-
sippi, where I was to dispose of some valu-
able jewels, hire men to form a strong cara-
van, and return to the settlement by the
Astoria trail.

As my adventures may be said but to ; .
commenceeat my departure upon this com- 5 eS a travellers Sab op rant vee is
Le give de aes gece BBN mparas’ Repeal gre ave eae cmaken the cy
tive, give the reader some insight mto the

: s this tribe as ‘* the Indians who inhabit that part of the
history and records of the Shoshones, Or Rocky’ Mountains which lies on the Grand and Green
Snake Indians, with whom I was domiciled, River branches of the Colorado of the West, the valley

and over whom, although so young, I held’ of Great reaseuesd a ae hospitable re ue

itv Great Salt Lakes.’? t 1s a great error, at the
auphonity and.commanc, Shoshones. may have been seen in the above-mentioned
Places is likely enough, as they are a great nation, and
CHAPTER IV often send expeditions very far from their homes; but

their own country lies, as I have said, betwixt the Pacific
The Shoshones, or Snake Indians, are a Ocean and the rr6th degree of west longitude “As to

brave and numerous people, occupying a the “ hospitable ” shores of the ae ee don’t
large and beautiful tract of country, 540 miles know what it means unless it be a modern ‘ankee ex-

yes o pression for a tract of horrid swamps with deadly
from east to west, and nearly 300 miles’ from effluyia, tenanted by millions of snakes and other ‘such
north to south — It lies betwixt 38° and 42° hospitable teptiles.” The lake is situated on the western
north latitude, and from long. 116° west of i

country of the Crows, and I doubt if it hus ever been
Greenwich to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, visited by any Shoshone,oi ile ii ls Bbam si ia as

  
   
 
 
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  

   

oL LRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

this portion of the continent. Their cast of
features proves them to be of Asiatic origin,
and their phraseology, elegant and full of
metaphors, assumes all the graceful variety
of the brightest pages of Saadi.

A proof’ of their antiquity and foreign ex-
traction is, that but. few of their records and
traditions are lacal ; they refer to countries
on the other side of the sea, countries where
the summer is perpetual, the‘population num-
berless, and the cities composed of great
palaces, like the Hindoo traditions, ‘‘ built by
the good genii long before the creation of man.’

‘There is no doubt, indeed it is admitted
by the other tribes, that the Shoshone is the
parent tribe of the Comanches, Arrapahoes,
and Apaches—the Bedouins of the, Mexican
deserts. They all speak the same beautiful
and harmonious language, have the same
traditions ; and indeed so recent have been
their subdivisions, that they point out the
exact periods by connecting them with the
various events of Spanish inland conquest in
the northern portion of Sonora.

It is not my intention to dwelllong upon
speculative theory, but I’ must observe, that
if any tradition is to be received with confi-
dence it must proceed from nations, or tribes,
who have long been stationary. That. the
northern continent of America was first
peopled from Asia, there can be little doubt,
and if so, it is but natural to suppose that
those who first came over would settle upon
the nearest and most suitable territory. The
emigrants who, upon their landing, found
themselves in such a climate and sucha
country as California, were not very likely to
quit it in search of a better.

That such was the case with the Shoshones,
and that they are descendants from the
earliest emigrants, and that they have never
quitted the settlement made by their ances-
tors, I have no doubt, for all their traditions
confirm it.

We must be cautious how we put faith in
the remarks of missionaries and travellers,
upon a race of people little known. They
seldom come into contact with the better and
higher classes, who have all the information
and knowledge ; and it is only by becoming
one of them, not one of their tribes, but one
of their chiefs, and received into their aristo-
cracy, that any correct intelligence can be
gained,

Allow that a stranger was to arrive at
Wapping, er elsewhere in Great Britain, and
question those he met insuch a localityas to the
religion, laws, and history of the English, how

‘unsatisfactory would be their replies ; yet mis-

sionaries and travellers among these nations
seldom obtain farther access. It is therefore
among the better classes of the Indians that
we must search for records, traditions, and
laws. As for their religion, no stranger will

   

ever obtain possession of its tenets, unless he
is cast among them in early life and becomes
one of them.

Let missionaries say what they piease in
their reports to their societies, they make no
converts to their faith, except the pretended
ones of vagrant and vagabond drunkards, who

‘are outcasts from their tribes.

The traditions of the Shoshones fully
bear out my opinion, that they were among
the earliest of the Asiatic emigrants; they
contain histories of subsequent emigrations,
in which they had to fight hard to retain their
lands ; ofthe dispersion of the new emigrants
to the north and south; of the increase of
numbers, and breaking up of portions of the
tribes, who travelled away to seek subsistence
in the East.

We find, as might be expected, that the
traditions of the Eastern tribes, collected as
they have occasionally been previous to their
extinction, are trifling and absurd ; and why
so? because, driven away to the east, and
finding other tribes of Indians, who had
been driven there before them, already settled
there, they have immediately commenced a
life of continual hostility and change of domi-
cile. When people have thus been occupied
fer generations in continual warfare and
change, it is but natural to suppose that in
such a life of constant action, they have had
no time to transmit their traditions, and that
ultimately they have been lost to the tribe.

We must then look for records in those
quarters where the. population has remained
stationary for ages. It must be in the south-
west of Oregon, and in the northern parts of
Upper California and Sonora, that the philo-
sopher must obtain the eventful history of
vast warlike nations, of their rise and of their
fall, ‘The western Apachesor the Shoshones,
with their antiquities and ruins of departed
glory, will unfold to the student's mind long
pages of a thrilling interest, while in their
metaphors and rich phraseology, the linguist,
learned in Asiatic lore, will easily detect ‘their
ancient origin.

It is remarkable to observe, how generally
traditions and records will spread and be
transmitted among nations destitute of the
benefits of the art of printing. In Europe,
the mass were certainly better acquainted with
their ancient history before this great dis-
covery than they are in our days, as tradi-
tions were then handed down from family to
family—it was a duty, a sacred one, for a
father to transmit them to his son, unadul-
terated, such, in: fact, as he had received
them from his ancestors. It is the same case
with the Indians, who have remained sta-
tionary fora long pericd. It is in the long
evenings of February, during ‘the hunting
season, that theelders of the tribe will reveal
to the young warriors all the records of theirassist at one of these
quity,”’

be surpassed.
The Shoshones. have

emigrated... They do no

gles they had

to. sustain against
emigrants.

Often beaten,

ginning.

Unlike the great families of the Dahcotahs
and Algonquins, who yet retain. the: predo-
i of the wandering nations
the. Shoshones seem. to
a nation warlike, though
It is evident that they never were
a wealthy people, nor possessed any great
Their
speak of rich
with balmy breezes,
sweet and. beautiful
fruits ; but when they mention large cities,
it-is always
whom they
and these traditions
would induce us to believe that they are de-

minant characteristics
of South-west Asia,

have been in.all ages
Stationary,

knowledge of the arts and sciences.
records of a former country
mountainous districts,
and trees covered with

palaces, temples, and gardens,
in reference to other nations, with
were constantly at war ;

scendants of. the Mancheoux ‘Tartars,

They have in-their territory on-both sides
of the Buona Ventura river many magnificent

but although
connected with a former period of their his-

remains of devastated cities’;

tory, they were not erected by the Shoshones.
he | fowntains;
domes, and the long,
at the feet of massive pyramids, show indu-
bitably the long presence of a highly civilized
people; and the Shoshones' account of these
mysterious relics may serve to philosophers.as

a key to the remarkable facts of thousands of

similar ruins found everywhere upon. the.con-
tinent of America, ‘The following is a-de-
Scription of events at a very remote period,
which was related byan old Shoshone sage,
in, their evening encampment in the prairies,
during the hunting season :—

“‘It is a long, long while! when the wild
horses were unknown in the country,* and
when the. buffalo. alone ranged the vast
prairies ; then huge and: horrid. monsters ex-
isted.. The approaches of the mountains and
forests. were guarded by the evil spirits, +

* Horses were unknown until the arrival of the Spa-
niards, :

+ Skeletons of the mammoth are ‘often found whole
at the foov of the Grand Serpent, a long rugged moun-
tain which ‘runs’ for 30 miles under the parallel of 409
north latitude, . It extends ftom the centre of the Sho-

OF MONSIEUR. VIOLET.

history ; and were a learned European to
‘lectures upon anti-
he would admit that, in harmony,
-eloquence,, strength of. argument, and. deduc-
~ tion, the red-coloured orator could not easily

a clear and lucid, re-
collection of the far countries whence they-have
t allude. to any par-
ticular period, but they must have been among
the first comers, for they relate. with great
topographical accuracy all. the bloody strug-
newer
they were never
conquered, and have always occupied the
ground which they had-selected from the. be-

aqueducts, the. heavy
graceful obelisks, rising

  
  
 
 
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
   
  
 
 
   
    
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 

It

while the seashore, tenanted by immense
lizards, } was often the scene of awful conflicts
between man, the oldest son of light, and the
mighty. children of gloom and darkness.

hen, too, the land we now live in had
another form ;. brilliant stones were found in
the'streams ; the mountains had -not yet vo- )
mited their burning bowels, and. the great
Master of Life was not angry with his red
children.

“One summerand. it was a dreadful
one—the moon (z.e., the sun) remained sta-
tionary fora long time; it was of a red blood
colour, and gave. neither night nor days.
‘Takwantona, the spirit of evil, had conquered
Nature, and the Sages of the Shoshones fore-
Saw Many dire calamities. The great Mede-
¢ines declared that the country would soon
be drowned in the blood of their nation.

shone territory’ to thé very country of the Crows
to say, from the -119th
tude. It-is possible that
quite extinct in the middle of the 17th century; for, indeed,
in their family tecords, aged warriors will often speak of
awful encounters, in, which their great-grandfathers had
fought against the monster. Some of them have still in
their possession, among other trophies of days gone by,
teeth and bones highly polished, which belong indubitably
to this animal, of which so. little is known, Mr. Ross
Cox, in the relation of his travels across. the Rocky
Mountains, says, ‘* that the Upper Crees, a tribe who
inhabit the country in the vicinity of the Athabasca river,
fave a curious tradition with Tespect to these animals.
They allege ‘that these animals were of frightful magni-
tude, that they formerly lived in the plains, a great dis-
tance in the south, where they had destroyed: all the
game, after which they retired to the mountains. . They
killed everything, and if their agility had been equal to
their size and ferocity, they would ‘have destroyed all the
Indians,’ One mai asserted that his great- grandfather
told him he saw one’of those animals in a mountain- pass,
where he was hunting, and that on hearing it roar, which
he compared. to loud thunder, the sight almost left his
eyes, and his heart became as small as that of a child’s.? ”
£ A few miles from the Pacific Ocean, and at the foot
of a mountain called by the Shoshones the Dwelling of
the Monster, were found the Temains of an immense
lizard belonging to an extinct family of the saurian
species, Within a few inches of the surface, and: buried
in a bed of shells and petrified . fish, our old Missionary,
Padre Antonio, digged up fifty-one vertebra quite whole
and well preserved. They were mostly from twelve to
eighteen inches in length, and ftom eight to fourteen inches
in diameter, measuring in all more than fifteen feet in
length. Of the tail and neck but few vertebra were found,
but there were many fragments of the ribs and of the leg-
bones. All the vertebrae were discovered in a continuous
line, nearly joined together. The head, to correspond with
the other parts of the animal, must have been twelve or
fourteen feet long, which would have given to the mon-
ster the almost incredible length of eighty feet.

The Prince Seravalle, while digging, in the fall of the
year 1834, for an ammunition store on the western banks
of the Buona. Ventura, picked up. a beautiful curved
ivory tusk, three feet long, which, had it not been for its
Jet black colour, would have been amazingly alike to that
of a large elephant. ‘

Some pieces’ of it (for unhappily it was sawn into
several: parts) are now in the possessiom of the’ Governor
of Monterey, and Mr, Lagrange,a Canadian trader, who
visited the territory in 1840.sie nee Pre

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2 TRAVELS AND

They prayed in vain, and offered, without any
success, two hundred of their fairest virgins
in sacrifice on the altars of Takwantona. ‘The
evil spirit laughed, and answered to them
with his destructive thunders. The earth was
shaken and rent asunder, the waters ceased
to flow in the rivers, and large streams of fire
and burning sulphur rolled down from the
mountains, bringing with them terror and
death. How long it lasted none is: living to
say; and who could? There stood the
bleeding moon; ‘twas neither light nor ob-
scurity ; how could man divide the time and
the seasons? It may have been only the life
of a worm; it may have been the long age of
a snake.

‘The struggle was fearful, but at last the
good Master of Life broke his bonds. The
sun shone again. It was too late! the Sho-
shones had been crushed, and their heart had
become small; they were poor, and had no
dwellings; they were like the deer of the
prairies, hunted by the hungry panther.

“ And a strange and numerous people
landed on the shores of the sea; they were

rich and strong; they made the Shoshones -

their slaves, and built large cities, where they
passed all their time. Ages passed: the
Shoshones were squaws ; they hunted for the
mighty strangers; they were beasts, for they
dragged wood and water to their great wig-
wams ; they fished for them, and they them-
selves starved in the midst of plenty. Ages
again passed : the Shoshones could bear no
more; they ran away to the woods, to the
mountains, and to the borders of the sea ;
and, lo! the great Father of Life smiled again
upon them ; the evil genii were all destroyed,
and the monsters buried in the sands,

‘They soon became strong, and great
warriors ; they attacked the strangers, de-
stroyed their cities, and drove them like buffa-
loes, far in the south, where the sun is always
burning, and: from. whence they did never
return.

‘Since that time, the Shoshones have
been a great people. Many, many times
strangers arrived again ; but, being poor and
few, they were easily compelled to go to the
east and to the north, in the countries of the
Crows, Flatheads, Wallah Wallahs, and Jal
Alla Pujees (the Calapooses).”

I have selected this tradition out of many,
as, allowing for metaphor, it appears to be a
very correct epitome. of the history of the
Shoshones in former times. The very circum-
stance of their acknowledging that they were
for a certain period slaves to that race of
people who built the cities, the ruins of which
still attest their magnificence, is a strong
proof of the outline being correct To the
modern Shoshones, and their manners and
customs, I shall refer in a future portion of
my narrative.

    

ADVENTURES

CHAPTER V.

Every point having been arranged, I re-
ceived my final instructions, and letters for
the Governor of Monterey, to which was
added a heavy bag of doubloons for my ex-
penses. I bade farewell to the Prince and
my father, and with six well-armed Indians
and the Padre Marini, I embarked in a: long
canoe on the Buona Ventura river, and, car-
ried away by the current, soon lost sight of
our lonesome settlement.

We were to follow the stream to the
southern lakes of the Buona Ventura, where
we were to leave our Indians, and join some
half-bred Wachinangoes, returning to Mon-
terey with the mustangs, or wild horses,
which they had captured in the prairies,

It was a beautiful trip, just at the com-
mencement of the spring ; both shores of the
river were lined with evergreens; the grass
was luxuriant, and immense herds of buffaloes
and wild horses were to be seen grazing in
every direction. Sometimes a noble stallion,
his long sweeping mane and tail waving to
the wind, would gallop down to the water's
edge, and watch.us as if he would know our
intentions. When satisfied, he would walk
slowly back, ever and anon turning round to
look at us again, as if not quite so convinced
of our peaceful intentions.

On the third night, we encamped at the
foot of an obelisk in the centre of some noble
ruins. It was a sacred spot with the Sho-
shones. Their traditions told them of another
race, who had formerly lived there, and which
had been driven by them to the south. It
must have been ages back, for the hand of
time, so lenient in this climate, and the hand
of man, so little given to spoil, had severely
visited this fated city.

We remained there the following day, as
Padre Marini was anxious to discover any
carvings or hieroglyphics from which he might
draw some conclusions ; but our endeavours
were not successful, and we could not tarry
longer, as we were afraid that the horse-
hunters would break up their encampment
before we arrived: We, therefore, resumed
our journey, and many were the disquisitions
and conjectures which passed between me
and the holy father, as to the high degree of
civilization which must have existed among
the lust’race who had been the architects of
such graceful buildings.

Four days more brought us to the southern
shore of the St. Jago lake. We arrived in
good time, dismissed our Indians, and hav-
ing purchased two excellent mules, we pro-
ceeded on our journey, in company with the
horse-hunters, surrounded) by hundreds of
their captives, who were loudly lamenting
their destiny, and showed their sense of theOF MONSIEUR. VIOLET.

injustice of the whole proceeding by kicking welcome you on. your arrival ; but the fact is,
and_ striking with their fore-feet at whatever that every traveller carries a bag of salt at his
might come within the reach of their hoofs. saddle-bow, and by their rubbing their noses
Notwithstanding the very unruly conduct of against it, it is clear that they come to beg a
the prisoners, we arrived at Monterey on the little salt, of which they are very fond. Every
sixth evening. £ body and every animal is familiar with you,
The reader will discover, as he proceeds, and, strange to say, the English who réside
that my adventures are about to commence there are contented, and still more strange,
from this journey to Monterey ; I there- the Americans are almost honest. Whata
fore wish to remind him that I was at this beautiful climate it must beat Monterey !
time not eighteen years old. I had a remem- Their hospitality is unbounded. ‘The
brance of civilization previous to my arrival holy Virgin bless thee,” said an old man,
among the Indians, and as we enjoyed every who watched our coming; ‘ tarry here and
comfort and some luxuries at the settlement, honour my roof.” Another came up, shook
I stili had a remembrance, although vague, us by the hand, his eyes sparkling with ‘kind
of what had -passed in Italy and elsewhere. feelings. A third took. our mules by the
But I had become an Indian, and until I bridles and led us to his own door, when
heard that I was to undertake this journey, I half-a-dozen pretty girls, with flashing dark
had recollected the former scenes of my youth eyes and long taper fingers, insisted on un-
only to despise them. doing our leggings and taking off our spurs.

That this feeling had been much fostered Queen city of California! to me there is

by the idea that I should never again rejoin poetry in thy very name, and so would it be
them, is more than probable; for from the to all who delight in honesty, bon-hommie,
moment that I heard that I was to. proceed to simplicity, and the dolce far niente.
Monterey, my heart beat tumultuously, and Notwithstanding the many solicitations we
my pulse was doubled in its circulation. I received, Padre Marini went to the convent,
hardly know what it was that I anticipated, and I took up my quarters with the old
but certainly I had formed the idea of a governor,

terrestrial paradise. All was new to me, and pleasant too, for

If not exactly a paradise, Monterey is I was not eighteen ; and at such a time one
certainly a sweet place ; tis even nowa fairy has strange dreams and fancies of small waists,
spot in my recollection, although sobered and pretty faces, smiling cunningly. My
down, and, I trust, a little wiser than I was at mind had sometimes reverted to former scenes,
that time. There certainly is an air of happi- when I had a mother and a sister. I had
ness spread over this Small town. Every one sighed for a partner to dance or waltz with
is at their ease, every body sings and smiles, .on the green, while our old servant was play-
and every hour is dedicated to amusement or ing on his violin some antiquated en avant
repose. deux.

None of your dirty streets and sharp Now I had found all that, and a merry
pavements ; no manufactories with their timelhad ofit. True, the sack of doubloons
eternal smoke; no policemen looking like so helped me wonderfully. Within a week after
many knaves of clubs; no cabs or omnibusses my arrival, I had a magnificent saddle em-
splashing the mud to the right and to the left; bossed with silver, velvet breeches instead of
and, above all, none of your punctual men cloth leggings, a hat and feathers, glossy
of business hurrying to their appointments, pumps, red sash, velvet round-about, and the
blowing like steam-engines, elbowing every- large cape or cloak, the eternal, and some-
body, and capsizing the apple-stalls. No; times the only, garment of a western Mexican
there is none of these at Monterey. grandee, in. winter or in summer, by night or

There is a bay, blue and bottomless, with by day. I say it was a merry time, and it
shores studded with tall beautiful timber. agreed well with me.

There is a prairie lawn, spread like a carpet Dance I did! and sing and court. too.
in patterns composed, of pretty wild flowers. My old travelling companion, the missionary,
Upon it stand hundreds of cottage-built tene- remonstrated a little, but the girls laughed at
ments, covered with the creeping vine. In him, and I clearly pointed out to him that he
the centre, the presidio, or government-house ;_ was wrong. If my English readers only knew
on one side the graceful spire of a church, on what a sweet, pretty little thing is a Monterey
the other the massive walls of a convent, girl, they would all pack up their wardrobes
Above, all is a sky of the deepest cobalt blue, to go there and get married. It would be a
richly contrasting with the dark green of the great pity, for with your mistaken ideas of
tall pines; and the uncertain and indescribable comforts, with your love of coal-fire and raw
tints on the horizon of these western prairies. beef-steak, together with your severe notions

Even the dogs are polite at Monterey,and of what is proper or improper, you would
the horses, which are always grazing about, soon spoil the place, and render it as stiffand
run up to you, and appear as if they would gloomy as any sectarian village of the United14 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

States, with its nine banks, eighteen chapels,
its one ‘‘a-b-c’’ school, and its immense
stone jail, very. considerately made large
enough to contain its whole population.

The governor was General Morreno, an old
soldier of the genuine Castilian stock ; proud
of his blood, proud of his daughters, of himself,
of his dignities, proud of every thing—but,
withal, he was benevolence and hospitality
personified. His house was open to all (that
is to say, all who could boast of having white
blood), and the time passed there in continual
fiestas, in which pleasure succeeded to plea-
sure, music to dancing; courting with the
eyes to courting with the lips, just as lemon-
ade succeeded to wine, and creams to grapes
and peaches. But unhappily, nature made a
inistake in our conformation, and, alas ! man
must repose from pleasure as he does from
labour. It is a great pity, for life is short,
and repose is so much time lost; at least so
thought I at eighteen.

Monterey is a very ancient city; it was

founded in the seventeenth century by some

Portuguese Jesuits, who established a mission
there. To the Jesuits succeeded the Fran-
ciscans, who were a good, lenient, lazy, and
kind-hearted set of fellows, funny yet moral,
thundering against vice and love, and yet
giving light penances and entire absolution.
These Franciscans were shown out of doors
by the government of Mexico, who wished
to possess their wealth. It was unfortunate,
as for the kind, hospitable, and generous
monks, the government substituted agents
and officers from the interior, who, not pos-
sessing any ties at Monterey, cared little for
the happiness of. the inhabitants.. he con-
sequence is, that the Californians are heartily
tired of these agents of extortion ; they have
a natural antipathy against custom-house
‘officers ; and, above all, they do not like the

idea of giving their dollars ‘to carry on the.

expense of the Mexican’ wars, in which they
feel no interest. Some morning (and they
have already very nearly succeeded in so
doing) they will haul down the Mexican flag
from the presidio, drive away the commis-
sarios and custom-house receivers, declare
their independence of Mexico, and open their
ports to all nations.

Monterey contains about three thousand
souls, including the half-breeds and Indians
acting aS servants in the different dwellings.
The population is wealthy, and not having
any opportunity to throw away their money,
as in the eastern cities (for all their pleasures
and enjoyments are at no expense), they are
fond of ornamenting their persons, and their
horses and saddles, with as much wealth as
they can afford. A saddle of £ roo in value is
a common thing among the richer young men,
who put all their pride in their steeds and
accoutrements.

  
  
 

 

The women dress richly’ and with an ad-
mirable taste ; the unmarried girls in white
satin, with their long black’ hair falling upon
their shoulders; their brows ornamented with
rich jewels when at home, and’ when: out,
their faces covered with a long white veil,
through which their dark eyes’ will shine
like diamonds.

The married women prefer gaudy colours,
and keep their hair confined close to their
head by alargecomb. They have also another
delightful characteristic, which, indeed, the
men share with them. I mean a beautiful
voice, soft and tremulous among the women,
rich, sonorous,;and majestic among their lords.
An American traveller has said: ‘‘ A common
bullock driver on horseback, delivering a
message, seemed to speak like an ambassador
to an audience. In fact, the Californians
appear to be a people on whom a curse had
fallen, and stripped them of every thing but
their pride, their manners, and their voices.”

There is always much amusement in
Monterey ; and what betwixt cock-fighting,
racing, fandangoing, hunting, fishing, ‘sailing,
and so forth, time passes quickly away. Its
salubrity is remarkable ; there has never been
any disease—indeed sickness of any kind is
unknown. No toothache nor other malady,
and no spleen; people die by accident or
from old age ; indeed, the Montereyans have
an old proverb, ‘‘ El que quiere morir que se
vaya del pueblo ”—that is to say, *‘ He who
wishes to die’ must leave the city.”

While remaining there I had rather a
perilous adventure. I had gone with some of
my friends to a great fishing party at -the
entrance of the bay, which, by the by, is one
of the finest in the world, being twenty-four
miles in length and eighteen in breadth. The
missionary, Padre Marini, not being very
well, had an idea that the sea-air would do
him good, and joined our company. We
had many boats ; the one in which the Padre
and I embarked was a well-shaped little thing;
which had belonged to some American
vessel. It was pulled with two oars, and had
a small mast and sail.

Our fishing being successful, we were all
in high glee, and we went on shore to fry
some of our victims for our afternoon’s meal.
During the conversation, somebody spoke of
some ancient ruins, fifteen miles north, at the
entratice of a small creek. The missionary
was anxious to see them, and we agreed that
our companions should return to Monterey;
while he and I would pass the night where we
were, and proceed the next morning on an
exploring expedition to the rus. We ob-
tamed from another boat a large stone jug
of water, two blankets, and a double-barrelled
gun. As soon as our companions quitted us,
we pulled the boat round to the northern
point of the bay, and having selected properquarters for the night, we ‘made a kind of
shelter on the beach with the oars, mast, and
sail, and lighted a fire tomake ourselves more
comfortable. It was one of those beautiful
mild evenings which can be found only in
the Bay of Monterey ; the gentle and per-
fumed breeze softly agitated the foliage
around and above us, and as night came on,
with its myriads of stars and its silvery moon,
the missionary having, for some time, raised
his. eyes above in silent contemplation, re-
verted to scenes of the past, and of other
climes.

He spoke of Hurdwar, a far distant
mission in the north of India, close to the
Himalayas. The Hindoos call it the ‘‘ City
of a Thousand Palaces;” they say it was
built by the genii on the very spot where
Vishnu had reposed himself for a few weeks
after one of his mystic transmutations, in
which he had conquered Siva, or Sahavedra,
the spirit of evil. Though notso well known,
Hurdwar is a place still more sacred than
Benares ; people assemble there once a year
from all parts, and consecrate several days to
their ablutions in the purifying waters of the
Ganges. In this noble city is also held one
of the greatest fairs of India, indeed of all the
world ; and as its time is fixed upon the same
month as that in which the Hindoo devotees
arrive at the city, numerous caravans from
Persia, Arabia, Cashmere, and Lahore repair
to the spot, and erect their bazaars along the
banks of the river, forming a street of many
miles. The concourse collected at these times
has been ascertained to number more than
one million of souls.

There the Padre Marini had remained as
a missionary for some years, all alone. His
flock of converts was but a small one; he had
little to do, and yet his mind could not be
arrested by the study of all the wonders
around him; his heart was sad; for years he
had had a sorrow which weighed heavily upon
him, and he was wretched. Before he had
embraced the solitude of a monastic life, he
had with him a younger brother, of whom he
was very fond. The young man was a stu-
dent in medicine,’with fair capacity and an
- energy which promised to advance him in his
profession. When Marini entered the con-
vent, his brother went to Turkey, where men
of his profession were always certain of a good
reception, and for a long time was never
heard of. At last; when the missionary was
ready to start for a distant mission, he learned
that which proved so destructive to his peace
of mind. From Constantinople, his brother
had gone to Persia, where he was residing in
easy circumstances ; but, ambitious of ad-
vancement, he had abjured the faith of his
fathers, and become a follower of Mahommed.

It was a melancholy intelligence, and many
were the tears of the good monk. The first

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

year of his arrival at Hurdwar, he met with a
Jewish merchant who had accompanied a
Persian caravan. That man knew his bro-
ther, the renegade, and informed the Padre
that his brother had fallen into disgrace, and,
as a punishment of his apostacy, was now
leading a life of privation and misery.

Deep and fervent were-now the monk's
prayers to heaven; he implored forgiveness
for his brother, and offered penance for him.
Poor man! he thought if he could but see
him and talk to him, he would redeem him
from his apostacy ; but, alas! his duty was
in Hurdwar, he was bound there and could’
not move. One day (it was’ during thé fair)
he had wandered at a distance from: the
river, that he might not witness the delusions
of paganism, and his mind was intensely
absorbed in prayer. Anon, unusual sounds
broke on his ears ; sounds well known, sounds
reminding him of his country, of his beauti-
ful Italy. ‘They came from a little bower ten
steps before him ; and as past scenes rushed
to his memory, his heart beat tremulously in
his bosom ; the monk recognized a barcarole
which he had often sung in his younger days;
but, although the air was lively, the voice
which sung it was mournful and sad. Step-
ping noiselessly, he stood at the entrance of
the bower. ‘The stranger started and arose.
Their separation had been a long cne, but
neither the furrowed cheeks and sallow com-
plexion of the one, nor the turbaned head of
the other, could deceive them, and the two
brothers fell in each other’s arms.

On its return, the Persian caravan had'
one driver the less, for the apostate was on
his death-bed in the humble dwelling of his
brother. Once more a Christian, again re-
conciled to his God, he calmly awaited his
summons to a better world. For two weeks
he lingered on, repenting his error and pray-
ing for mercy. He died, and in the little
jessamine bower where he had met with the
Mussulman, the monk buried the Christian;
he placed a cross upon his grave and mourned
him long ; but a hea: y load had been removed
from his breast, and since that time he had
felt happy, having no weight on his mind to
disturb him in the execution of his sacred
ministry.

Having narrated this passage in his his-
tory, the Padre Marini bid me good night
and we prepared to sleep. I went to the
boat, where, stretching myself at the bottom,
with my face turned towards the glittering
canopy above, I remained pensive and reflect-
ing upon the narrative of the monk, until at
last I slept. ;

see ee

CHAPTER. VI.

I felt chilly, and I awoke. It was days
light. I stood on my feet and looked aroundii:
t

 

me. I found myself floating on the deep sea,
far from the shore, the outline of which was
tinged with the golden hues of morn. The
rope and stick’ to which the boat had been
made fast towed through the water, as the
land-breeze, driving me gently, increased my
distance from the land. For some moments
I was rather scared; the oars were left on
shore, and I had no means of propelling my
little skiff.

In vain did I paddle with my hands and
the stick which I had taken on board. I
turned and turned again round to all the
points of the compass, but to no purpose.
At last I-began to reflect. The sea was
smooth and quiet ; so I was in no immediate
danger. The Padre, when he awoke in the
morning, would discover my accident, and
perhaps see the boat; he would hasten to
town, but he would not arrive till the even-
ing ; for he was an old man, and had to walk
twenty-five miles. Boats would be dispatched
after me; even the Mexican schooner which
lay in the bay. The next morning I was
certainly to be rescued, and the utmost of my
misfortune would amount to a day of fast and
solitude. It was no great matter; so I sub-
mitted to my fate, and made a virtue of
necessity.

Happily for me, the boat belonged to an
American exceedingly fond of fishing; and
consequently it contained many necessaries
which I had before overlooked. Between the
foremost thwart and the bow there was half
a barrel filled with ashes, some pieces of
charcoal, and some dried wood ; under the
stern-sheets was a small locker, in which I
discovered a frying-pan, a box with salt in it,
a tin cup, some herbs used instead of tea by
the Californians, a pot of honey, and another
full of bear's grease. Fortunately, the jar of
water was also on board as wellias my lines,
with baits of red flannel and white cotton. I
threw them into the water, and prepared to
smoke my cigarito. In these countries no
one is without his flint, steel, tinder, and
tobacco.

Hours passed on. My fishing being suc-
cessful, I lighted a fire, and soon fried a few
fine mackerel ; but by and by the sun reached
its highest position, and the scorching became
so intolerable that I was obliged to strip and
spread my clothes, and.even my shirt, upon
the benches, to obtain a shelter. By that
time I had lost sight of land, and could only
perceive’ now and then some small black
points, which were the summits of the tall
pines.

As soon as my meal was finished, I don't
know why, but instead of sleeping a decent
siesta of two hours, the Spanish tonic to
digest a dinner, I never awoke before sunset ;
and only then, because I began to feel a
motion that was far from being pleasant. In

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

fact, the waves were beginning to rise in
sharp ridges, covered with foam; the mild
land-breeze had changed into a cool sharp
westerly wind.

A fair wind, however, was a comfort, and
as I put on my clothes, I began to think that
by making a proper use of the helm and
standing upright in the boat, my body would
serve aS a small sail, when ‘‘ He, he, hoe!’’
shouted twenty voices, on the larboard side
of me. I started with astonishment, as may
be imagined, and turning round, perceived,
fifty yards from me, a large boat driving
before the waves, impelled on by ten oars.
It was filled with men, casks, and kegs, and
one at the helm was making signals, appa-
rently inviting me to stop. A few minutes
after, we were close to’ each other; and I
dare say our astonishment was mutual,—
theirs to see me alone and without oars;
mine, to behold such a wretched spectacle.
They were evidently the crew of a wrecked
vessel, and must have undergone frightful
privations and fatigues, so emaciated was
their appearance.

No time, however, was to be lost. All of
them asked for water, and pointed to the
horizon, to know in which direction they
should go. My stone jug was full; I handed
it to the man at the helm, who seemed to be
the captain ; but the honest and kind-hearted
fellow, pouring out a small quantity in the
cup, gave some to all his companions before *
he would taste any himself. The jug was a
large one, containing two gallons or more,
but of course was soon emptied.

I gave them a fried mackerel, which I had
kept for my supper; they passed it to the
captain, and, in spite of his generous denial,
they insisted upon his eating it immediately.
Seeing which, I showed them nine or ten
other raw fishes, two or three of which were
heavy, and proposed to cook them. They
sang and laughed: cook the fish! No;
little cooking is wanted when men are starv-
ing. They divided them brotherly ; and this
supply, added to the honey for the captain
and the bear's grease for the sailors, seemed
to have endowed them with new life.

The captain and four of the men, with -
oars, stepped into my skiff. At that moment
the stars were beginning to appear; and
pointing out to him one in the east as a
guide, we ploughed our way towards the
shore, greatly favoured both by the wind and
the waves. In a singular mixture of English,
French, Italian, and Latin, the captain made
me comprehend that his vessel had been ‘a
Russian Brig, bound from Asitka, in Russian
America, to Acapulco, in Mexico, for a
supply of grain, tallow, and spirits; that it
had been destroyed by fire during the night,
scarcely allowing time for the men to launch
the long-boat. No provisions could be pro-cured ; the boxes and kegs that had been
taken in the hurry were of no use; that they
had been rowing forty-eight hours without
food or water, and’ were ignorant of their
distence from the shore; and, finally, that
they had perceived my skiff a good half-hour
before I awoke; thought it at first empty,
but saw me rising, and called to me; in the
hope that I would guide them to a landing-
place. In return I explained to him my
adventure as well as I could, and made him
promises of plenty for the next day; but I
might have talked for ever to no purpose;
the pocr fellow, overpowered with fatigue,
and now feeling secure, had sunk into a deep
sleep.

At the break of day we made the land, at
the entrence of a small river and close to
some fine old ruins. It was the very spot
where I had intended to go with the Padre.
There were a few wild horses rambling in the
neighbourhood ; I cleaned my gun, loaded it
again, and killed one; but not before the
tired and hungry crew, stretched on the
strand, proved by their nasal concerts. that
for the present their greatest necessity was
repose after their fatigues. There were
twenty of them including the captain.

I had led too much of an Indian life, not
to know how to bear fatigue, and to be rapid
in execution. The sun was not more than
three hours high, when I had already cooked
the best part of the horse. All the unfortu-
nates were still asleep, and I found it was no
easy Matter to awake them. At last, I hit
upon an expedient which did not fail ; I stuck
the ramrod of my gun into a smoking piece
of meat, and held it so that the fumes should
rise under their very noses. No fairy wand
was ever more effective; in less than two
minutes they were all chewing and swallow-
ing their breakfast, with an energy that had
anything but sleep in it. It is no easy matter
to satisfy twenty hungry Russians; but still
there is an end to everything. One of them
knelt before me, and kissed my feet. Poor
fellow! he thought that I had done a great
deal for him and his companions, forget-
ing that perhaps I owed my own life to
them.

The men were tired : but when they heard
that they could reach a city in the afternoon,
they made preparation for departure’ with
great alacrity. We pulled slowly along the
coast, for the heat was intense, and the
rowers fast losing their strength. At one
o'clock I landed at my former encampment.
The Padre had, of course, left the oars, sail,
and blankets. My skiff was rigged in a
moment; and out of the blankets, those in
the long-boat managed to make a sail, an oar
and a long pole tied together answering for a
mast. In doubling the northern point of the
bay, I perceived the Mexican schooner and

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

17
many boats, pretty far at’ sea. No doubt
they were searching for me.

At six o'clock in the evening we landed at
Monterey, amidst the acclamations of a
wondering crowd.

I was a general favourite, and my loss
had occasioned much alarm ; so that when I
landed, I was assailed with questions from
every quarter. ‘The wamen petted me, some
kissed me (by the by, those were d'un cer-
tain age), and all agreed that I should burn
half a dozen of candles on the altar of the
Virgin Mary. ‘There was one, however, who
had wept for me; it was Isabella, a lovely
girl of fifteen, and daughter to the old
Governor. The General, ‘too, was glad to
see me ; he liked me very much, because we
played chess while smoking our cigars, and
because I allowed him to beat me, though I
could have given him the queen and the
move. I will confess, sotto voce, that this
piece of policy had been hinted to me by his
daughters, who wished. me to find favour in
his sight.

‘*Diose te ayuda nino,” said the Governor
to me; *‘ I feared we should never play chess
any more.” ‘‘Que tonteria, andar a dormir
in una barca, quando se lo podia sobre tierra
firma!” (What folly to go sleep in a boat,
when it can be done upon solid ground ! )

I told him the story of the poor Russians,
and in spite of his pride, the tears started in
his eye, for he was kind-hearted: He took
the captain into his own house, and gave
orders concerning the accommodation of the
crew; but the universal hospitality had not
waited for commands to show itself, and the
poor fellows, loaded with attention and com-
forts, soon forgot the dangers which they had
escaped. Fifteen days after they were sent
on board the Mexican schooner to the bay
of St. Francisco, where a Russian brig of
war, bound to Asitka, had just arrived.
However, they did not part from us with
empty hands. The Montereyans having dis-
covered their passionate love for tallow and
whiskey, had given them enough. of these
genteel refraichissements to drown care and
sorrow fora long while. As to the captain,
he received the attention which his gallant
conduct entitled him to, and on the eve of his
departure he was. presented with a trunk, of
tolerable dimensions, well filled with linen
and clothes.

A merry night was passed to celebrate my
escape. Guns had been fired, flags hoisted
to recall the boats, and at ten o'clock in the
night, the whole population was gambolling
on the lawn, singing dancing, and feasting,
as if it was to have been our last day of plea-
sure during life.

Thus passed away four weeks, and I must
admit to my shame, I had willingly missed
two chances of going to Santa Fé. Onechile Tad decane caeal peta bie

 

18 TRAVELS, AND

 

morning, however, all my dreams of) further
pleasure’ were dispelled. I was just medi-
tating upon my fitst declaration of love, when
our old servant arrived with four Indian
guides. He had left the settlement seven
days, and had come almost all the way
by water. He had been dispatched by my
father to bring me home, if had not yet left
Monterey. His intelligence was disastrous ;
the Prince had been murdered by the Crows ;
the Shoshones had gone on a war expedition
to revenge the death of the Prince; and my
father himself, who had been daily declining,
expected in a short time to rejoin his friend
in a better world. Poor Isabella! I would
have added, poor me! but the fatal news
brought had so excited me, that I had but
few thoughts to give to pleasure and to love.
My immediate return was a sacred duty, and,
besides, the Shoshones expected me to join
with them on. my first war-path. The old
Governor judged it advisable that I should
return home by ‘sea, as the Arrapahoes
Indians were at that moment enemies of the
Shoshones, and would endeavour to cut me
off if I were to ascend the Buona Ventura.
Before my departure, I received a visit from
an Irishman, a wild young fellow of the
name of Roche, anative of Cork, and full of
fun and activity. He had deserted on the
coast from one of the American vessels, and
in, spite .of the promised reward of forty
dollars, he was never discovered, and his
vessel sailed without him,

General Morreno was at first angry, and
would have sent the poor devil to jail, but
Roche was so odd, and made so many artful

_ representations of the evils he had suffered on

board on account of his being a Catholic, that
the clergy, and, in fact, all Monterey, inter-
fered. Roche soon became a valuable ac-
quisition to the community; he was an
indefatigable dancer, and a good fiddler.
Besides, he had already accustomed. himself
to the Mexican manners and language, and
ina horse or buffalo. hunt none were more
successful. He would tell long stories to the
old women about the wonders of Erin, the
miracles of St. Patrick, and about the stone
at Blarney. In fact, he was a favourite with
every one, and would have become rich and
happy could he have settled. Unfortunately
for him, his wild spirit of.adventure did not
allow him_.to enjoy the quiet of a Montereyan
life, and hearing that there was ‘a perspective
of getting his head broken in the ‘‘Settle-
ment of the Grandees,”’ he asked permission
to join my party.

I consented that Roche should accompany
me: with my servant and the Indians, we
embarked on board of the schooner, | Many

were the presents I received from the good
people ; what with. pistols, powder, horses,
fusils, knives, and. swords,

I could have

 

   
  
    
   
 
 
  
  

ADVENTURES

armed a whole legion. The Governor, his
daughters, and all those that could. get rogm
in the boats, accompanied me. as far. asthe
northern part of the bay, and it was with a
swelling heart that I bade my farewell to
them all.

CHAPTER VII.

Nothing could have been more fortunate
than our proceeding by sea. On thefourth
day we were lying to, at a quarter of a mile
from the shore, exactly under the parallel
of 39° north latitude, and at the southern
point of a mountain called the Crooked Back-
bone.. The Indians first landed inj a small
canoe we had provided ourselves with, to see
if the coast was-clear; and in the) evening
the schooner was far on her way back, while
we were digging a cachette to conceal the
baggage which we could not carry., Even
my saddle was wrapped up in a piece of can-
vas, and deposited in a deep bed of shale.
Among other things presented to me in Mon-
terey, were two Jarge boxes covered with tin,
and containing English fireworks, which, in
the course of events, performed prodigies,
and saved many scalps when all hope of
succour had been entirely given up, The
Montereyans are amazingly fond of these
fireworks, and every vessel employed in the
Californian trade for hides has always a large
supply of them.

When all our effects were concealed, we
proceeded first in an easterly, and next ina
north westerly direction, in the hope of com-
ing across some of the horses belonging to
the tribe. We had reckoned right. At the
break of day we entered a natural pasture of
clover, in which hundreds of them were sleep-
ing and grazing ; but as we had walked more
than thirty miles, we determined to take
repose before we should renew our journey.

I had scarcely slept an hour when I was
roused by a touch on my shoulder. At first,
I fancied it was a dream, but as I opened my
eyes, I saw one of my Indians with his fingers
upon his lips to enjoin me to silence, while
his eyes were turned towards the open prairie.
1 immediately looked in that direction, and
there was a sight that acted as a prompt anti-
soporific. About half a mile from us stood a
band of twenty Indians, with their war-paint
and accoutrements, silently and quietly occu-
pied in tying the horses. Of course, they
were not of our tribe, but belonged to the
Umbiquas,“ a nation of thieves on our
northern boundary, much given to horse-
stealing. especially when it was not accom-
panied by any danger. In the present in-
stance they thought themselves safe, as the
Shoshones had. gone out against the Crows,
and they were selecting at their leisure our
best; animals.. -Happily for us, we had en-camped amidst thick bushes, upon a spot
broken and difficult of access to quadrupeds,
otherwise we should have been discovered,
and there would have been an end to my
adventures.

We awoke our companions, losing no
time in forming a council of war. Fight
them we could not; let them depart with the
horses was out of the question. The only
thing to. be done was to follow them, and wait
an opportunity to strike a decisive blow. At
mid-day, the thieves having secured as many.
of the animals as they could well manage,
turned their backs to us, and went on west-
ward, in the direction of the fishing station
where we had erected our boat-house; the
place where we had. fitst landed on coming
from Europe.

We followed them the whole day, eating
nothing but the wild plums of the prairies.
At evening one of my Indians, an experienced
warrior, started alone to spy into their camp,
which he was successful enough to penetrate,
and learn the plan of their expedition, by cer-
tain tokens which could not deceive his
cunning and-penetration. The boat house
contained a large sailing boat, besides seven
or eight skiffs. There also we had in store
our stock of dried fish and fishing apparatus,
such as nets, etc. As we had been at peace
for several years, the house, or post, had no
garrison, except that ten or twelve families of
Indians were settled around it.

Now, the original intention of the Umbi-
quas had been only to steal horses ; but hav-
ing discovered that the half a dozen warriors
belonging to these families, had gone to the
settlement for. fire-arms and ammunition,
they had arranged to make an attack upon
the post, and take a few scalps before return-
ing home, by sea and by land, with our nets,
boats, fish, etc. This was a serious affair. Our
carpenter and smith had disappeared, as I
have said before ; and as our little fleet had
in consequence become more precious, we
determined to preserve it at any sacrifice. To
send an Indian to the settlement would have
been useless, inasmuch as it would have
materially weakened our little force, and, be-
sides, help could not arrive in time. It was
better to try and reach the post before the
Umbiquas ; where under the shelter of thick
logs, and with the advantage of our rifles, we
should bean equa! match for our enemies, who
had but two fusils among their party, the
remainder being armed with lances, and bows
and arrows. Our scout had also gathered,
by overhearing their conversation, that they
had come by sea, and that their canoes were
hid somewhere on the coast, in the neigh-
bourhood of the post.

By looking over the map, the reader will
perceive the topography of the country.
Fifty miles north from us were the forks of

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

the Nu-eleje-sha-wako river, towards which
the Umbiquas were going, to be near to
water, and also to fall upon the path from
the settlement to the post. ‘Thus they would’
intercept any messenger, in case their expedi-
tion should have been already discovered.
‘Their direct road to the post was considerably
shorter, but after the first day’s journey, no
sweet grass nor water was to be found. The
ground was broken, and covered with thick
bushes, which would not, allow, them to pass
with the horses. Besides this reason, an
Indian always selects his road where he thinks
he has nothing to fear. We determined to
take the direct road to the post, and chance
assisted us in a singular manner. The
Indians and my old servant were asleep, while
I was watching with the Irishman Roche. I
soon became aware that something was mov-
ing in the prairie behind us, but what, I
could not make out. ‘The buffaloes never
came so far west, and it was not the season
for the wolves. I crawled out of our bush,
and:after a few minutes found myself in the
middle of a band of horses who had not
allowed themselves to be taken, but had fol-
lowed the tracks of their companions, to
know what had become of them. I returned,
awoke the Indians, and told them; they
started with their lassoes, while I and Roche
remained to sleep.

Long before morn the Indian scout guided
us to fhree miles westward, behind a swell of
the prairie. It was an excellent precaution,
which prevented any Umbiqua straggler from
perceiving us, a rather disagreeable event,
which would have undoubtedly happened, as
we were camped only two miles from them,
and the prairie was flat until you came to the
sweil just mentioned. There we beheld seven
strong horses, bridled with our lassoes. We
had no saddles; but necessity rides without
one. ‘The Indians had also killed a one-year-
old colt, and taken enough of the meat to
last us two days; so that when we started
(and we did so long before the Umbiquas
began to stir) we had the prospect of reach-
ing the fishing-post thirty hours before
them.

We knew that they would rest two hours
in the day, as they were naturally anxious to
keep their stolen horses In good condition,
having a long journey before them ere they
would enter into their own territory. With.
us, the case was different; there were but
forty miles, which we could travel on horse-
back, and we did not care what became of
the animais afterwards, Consequently, we did
not ‘spare their legs; the spirited things,
plump as they were, having grazed two
months without any labour, carried us fast
enough. When we halted, on the bank of a
small river, to water them and let them
breathe, they did- not appear much tired,ee

| met

  
   
 
  
  
  

 

    

20 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

although we had had a run of twenty-eight
miles,

At about eleven o’clock we reached the
confines of the rocky ground; here we rested
for three hours, and took a meal, of which we
were very much in want, having tasted nothing
but berries and plums since our departure
from the schooner, for we had been so much
engrossed by the digging of the cachette that
we had forgotten to take with us any kind of
provision.

Our flight, or, to say better, our journey,
passed without anything remarkable. We
arrived, as we had expected, a day and a half
before the Umbiquas; and, of course, were
prepared for them. The squaws, children,
and valuables were already in the boat-house
with plenty of water, in case the enemy should
attempt to fire it. The presence of a hostile
war party had been singularly discovered two
days before ; three children having gone to a
little bay at a short distance from the post, to
catch some young seals, discovered four
canoes secured at the foot of a rock, while,
a little farther, two young men were seated
near a fire, cooking comfortably one of the
seals they had taken. Of course the children
returned home, and the only three men who
had been left at the post (three old men) went
after their scalps. They had not returned
when we arrived; but in the evening they
entered the river with the scalps of the two
Umbiquas, whom they had surprised, and
the canoes, which were safely deposited in the
store.

Our position was indeed a strong one.
Fronting us to the north, we had a large and
rapid river ; on the south we were flanked by
a ditch forty feet broad and ten feet deep,
which isolated the building from a fine open
ground, without any bush, tree, or cover;
the two wings were formed by small brick
towers twenty feet high, with loopholes, and
a door ten feet from the ground ; the ladder
to which, of course, we took inside, The
only other entrance, the main one in fact, was
by water ; but it could be approached only by
swimming. The fort was built of stone and
brick, while the door, made of thick posts,
and lined with sheets of copper, would have
defied for a long time, the power of their axes
or fire. Our only anxiety was about the in-
flamable quality of the roof, which was
covered with pine shingles. Against such an
accident, however, we prepared ourselves by
carrying water to the upper rooms, and we
could at any time, if it became necessary,
open holes in the roof, for the greater facility
of extinguishing the fire. In the meantime

we covered it with a coat of clay in the parts
which were most exposed.

We were now ten men, seven of us armed
with fire-arms and pretty certain of our aim;
we had also sixteen women and nine children,

 

 

boys and girls,‘to whom various posts were
assigned, in case of a night attack. ‘The six
warriors who had gone to the settlement for
fire-arms would return in a short time, and
till then we had nothing to do but to be
cautious, to wait for the enemy, and even
bear their first attack without using our fire-
arms, that they might not suspect our strength
inside. One of the old men, a cunning
fellow, who had served his time as a brave
warrior, hit upon a plan which we followed.
He proposed that another man should accom-
pany him to the neighbourhood of the place
where the canoes had been concealed, and
keep up the fires, so that the smoke should
lull all suspicion. The Umbiquas, on their
arrival before the post, would indubitably send
one of their men to call the canoe-keepers ;
this one they would endeavour to take alive,
and bring him to the post. One of the
canoes was consequently launched in the
river, and late in the evening the two Indians
well armed with fusils started on this expedi-
tion.

_—__——

CHAPTER VIIL.

The Umbiquas came at last; their want
of precaution showed their certainty of suc-
cess. At all events, they did not suspect
there were any fire-arms in the block-house,
for they halted within fifty yards from the
eastern tower, and it required more than per-
suasion to prevent Roche from firing. The
horses were not with them, but before long
we Saw the animals on the other side of the
river, in a little open prairie, under the care
of two of their party, who had swam them
over, two or three miles above, for the double
purpose of having them at hand in case of
emergency and of giving them the advantage
of better grazing than they could possibly find
on our side. This was an event which we
had not reckoned upon, yet, after all, it
proved to be a great advantage to us.

The savages making a very close inspec-
tion of the outer building, soon became con-
vinced of the utter impossibility of attacking
the place by any ordinary means. They shot
some arrows and once fired with a fusil at the
loop-holes, to ascertain if there were any men
within capable of fighting ; but as we kept
perfectly quiet. their confidence augmented ;
and some followed the banks of the river, to
see what could be effected at the principal
entrance. Having ascertained the nature of
its material, they seemed rather disappointed,
and retired to about one hundred yards, to
concert their plans.

It was clear that some of them were for
firing the building; but, as we could dis-
tinguish by their gestures, these were com-
paratively few. Others seemed to represent
that, by doing so they would indubitablyconsume the property inside, which they were
not willing to destroy, especially as there was
so little danger to be feared from within. At
last one who seemed to be a chief, pointed
first with his fingers in the direction where
the canoes had been left: he pointed also
to the river, and then behind him to the
point. of the horizon where the sun rises.
After he had ceased talking, two of his men
tose, and went away to the south-west.
Their plan was very evident. These two
men, joined with the two others that had been
left in charge, were to bring the canoes
round the point and enter the river. It
would take them the whole night to effect
this, and at sunrise they would attack and
destroy the front door with their tomahawks.

With the darkness of night, a certain
degree of anxiety came over us, for we knew
not what devilish plan the Indians might hit
upon ; I placed sentries in every corner of the
block-house, and we waited in silence ; while
our enemies, having lighted a large fire,
cooked their victuals, and though we could
not hear the import of their words, it was
evident that they considered the post as in their
power. Half of them, however, laid down to
sleep, and towards midnight the stillness was
uninterrupted by any sound, whilst their half-
burnt logs ceased to throw up their bright
flames. Knowing how busy we should be in
morning, I thought that till then I could not
then do better than refresh myself with a few
hours ’repose ; I was mistaken.

{ had scarcely closed my eyes, when I
heard the dull regular noise of the axe upon
trees. I looked cautiously ; the sounds pro-
ceeded from the distance, and upon the
shores of the river, and behind the camp of
the savages, dark forms were moving in every
direction, and we at last discovered that the
Umbiquas were making ladders to scalé the
upper doors of our little towers. This, of
course, was to us a matter of little or no con-
sideration, as we were well prepared to re-
ceive them; yet we determined not to let
them know ourstrength within, until the last
moment, when we should be certain, with our
fire-arms, to bring down five of them at the
first discharge. Our Indians took their bows
and selected only such arrows as were used by
their children when fishing, so that the hostile
party might attribute their wounds and the
defence of their buildings to a few bold and
resolute boys.

At morn, the Umbiquas made their
appearance with two ladders, each carried by
three men, while others were lingering about,
and giving directions more by sign than
word: They often looked toward the loop-
holes, but the light of day was yet too faint
for their glance to detect us ; and besides they
were lulled into perfect security by the dead
silence we had kept during the whole night.

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET,

 

 

2r

Indeed, they thought the boat-house had
been deserted, and the certain degree of
caution with which they proceeded was more
the effect of savage cunning and nature than
the fear of being seen or of meeting with any
kind of resistance.

The two ladders were fixed against one of
the towers, and an Indian ascended upon
each ; at first they cast an inquisitive glance
through the holes upon both sides of the
door, but we concealed ourselves. Then all
the Umbiquas formedin a circle round the
ladders, with their bows and spears, watching
the loopholes. At the chief's command, the
first blows were struck, and the Indians on
the ladders began to batter both doors with
their tomahawks. While in the act of striking
for the third time, the Umbiqua on the
eastern door staggered and fell down the
ladder; his breast had been pierced by an
arrow. At the same moment a loud scream
from the other tower showed that there also
we had had the same success.

The Umbiquas retired precipitately with
their dead, uttering a yell of disappointment
and rage, to which three of our boys, being
ordered so to do, responded with a shrill war-
whoop of defiance. This made the Umbi-
quas quite frantic, but they were now more
prudent, The arrows that had killed their
comrades were children’s arrows ; still there
could be no doubt but that they had been shot
by warriors. ‘They retired behind a projecting
rock on the banks of the river, only thirty
yards in .our front, but quite protected from
our missiles. There they formed a council of
war, and waited for their men and canoes,
which they expected to have arrived long
before. At that moment the light fog which
had been hovering over the river was dis-
persed, and the other shore became visible,
and showed us a sight which arrested our
attention. There, too, the drama of destruc-
tion was acting, though on a smaller scale,

Just opposite to us was a canoe; the
same in which our two Indians had gone
upon their expedition the day before. ‘The
two Umbiquas keeping the stolen horses
were a few yards from it ; they had appar-
ently discovered it a few minutes before, and
were uncertain what course to pursue; they
heard both the. war-whoop and the yell of
their own people, and were not a litt'e puzzled ;
but as soon as the fog was entirely gone, they
perceived their party, where they had shel-
tered themselves, and, probably in obedience
to some signals from it, they prepared to
cross the river. At the very moment they

were untying the canoe, there was a flash and

two sharp reports; the Indians fell down—
they were dead. Our two scouts, who were
concealed behind some bushes, then appeared,
and began cooly to take the scalps, regardless
of a shower of arrows from the yelling anddisappointed Umbiquas. Nor was this all;
in their rage and anxiety, our enemies had
exposed themselves beyond the protection of
the rock; they presented a fair mark, and
just as the chief was looking behind him to
see if there was any movement to fear from
the boat-house, four more ‘of his men fell
under our fire.

‘The horrible yells which followed, I can
never describe, although the events of this,
my first fight, are yet fresh in my mind. The
Umbiquas took their dead, and turned to the
east, in the direction of the mountains, which
they believed would be their only means of
escaping destruction. They were now re-
duced to only ten men, and their appearance
was melancholy and dejected. They felt
that they were doomed never more to return
to their own home.

We gathered from our scouts opposite,
that the six warriors of the post had returned
from the settlement, and lay somewhere in
ambush ; this decided us. Descending by
the ladders which the Indians had left behind
them, we entered the prairie- path, so as to
bar their retreat in every direction.

Let me wind up this tale of slaughter.
The Umbiquas fell headlong on the ambush,
by which four more of them were killed ; the
remainder dispersed in the prairie, where
they tried in vain to obtain a momentary
refuge in the chasms. Before mid-day they
were all destroyed, except one, who escaped
by crossing the river. _ However, he never saw
his home again ; for, a long time afterwards,
the Umbiquas declared that not one ever
returned from that fatal horse-stealing expe-
dition.

Thus ended my first fight ; and yet, I had
not myself drawn a single trigger, Manya
time I took a certain aim ; but my heart beat
quick, and I felt queer at the idea of taking
the life of aman. This did not prevent me
from being highly complimented; . hence-
forward Owato Wanisha was a warrior.

The next day I left the boat-house with
my own party, I mean the seven of us who
had come from Monterey., Being all well
mounted, we shortly reached the settlement,
from which I had been absent more than
three months.

Events had turned out better than I had
anticipated. My father seemed to recover
rapidly from the shock he had received. Our
tribe, in a fierce inroad upon the southern
country of the Crows, had inflicted upon them
a severe punishment. Our men returned
with a hundred and fifty scalps, four hundred
horses, and all the ‘stock of blankets and

tobacco which the Crows had a short time ~

before obtained from the Yankees in exchange
for their furs. For a long time, the Crows
were dispirited and nearly broken down, and
this year they scarcely dared to resort to their

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

own hunting-grounds. ‘The following is a
narrative of the death of the Prince Seravalle,
as I heard it from individuals who were
present. ;

The year after we had arrived from Eu-
rope, the Prince had an opportunity 6f send-
ing letters to St. Louis, Missouri,’ by a
company of traders homeward bound. More
than three years had elapsed without’ any
answer; but a few days after my departuré
for Monterey, the Prince having heard from a
party of Shoshones, on their return from Fort
Hall, thatalarge caravan was expected there,
he resolved to proceed to the fort himself,
for the double purpose of purchasing several
articles of hardware, which we were in need
of, and also of forwarding other instructions
to St. Louis.

Upon his arrival at the fort, he was
agreeably surprised at finding not only letters
for him, together with various bales of goods,
but also a French savant, bound to California,
whither he had been sent by some scientific
society. He was recommended to-us by the
Bishop, and the President of the college at
St. Louis, and had brought with him’ as
guides five French trappers, who had passed
many years of their lives rambling from the
Rocky Mountains to the southern shores of
Lower California.

The Prince left his Shoshones at the fort
to bring on the goods at a fitting occasion,
and, in company with his new guests, re-
traced his steps towards oar settlement. On
the second day of their journey they met with
a strong war-party of the Crows, but as the
Shoshones were then at peace with all their
neighbours, no fear had been entertained.
‘The faithless Crows, however, unaware, as
well as the Prince, of the close vicinity of a
Shoshone “‘hunting-party, resolved not to let
escape an opportunity of obtaining a rich
booty without much danger. They allowed
the white men to pursue their way, but fol-
lowed them at a distance, and in the evening
surprised them in their encampment so sud-
denly that they had not even time to seize -
their arms.

The prisoners, with their horses and lug-
gage, were conducted to the spot where their
captors had halted, and a council was formed
immediately. The Prince, addressing the
chief, reproached him bitterly with his trea-
chery ; little did he know of the Crows, who
are certainly the greatest rascals among the
mountains. ‘The traders and all the Indian
tribes represent them as ‘thieves never
known to keep a promise or to do an
honourable act.”

None but a stranger will ever trust'them.
‘They are as cowardly as cruel. Murder and
robbery are the sole occupation of their exis-
tence, and woe to the traders or trappers
whom they may meet with during theirexcursions, if they arenotat least one tenth of
their own number. A proof of their cowardice
is that once Roche, myself, and a young
Parisian named Gabriel, having by chance
fallen upon a camp of thirteen Crows and
three Arrapahoes, they left us their tents,
furs, and dried meats ; the Arrapahoes alone
showing some fight, in which one of them
was killed. But to return to our subject. The
chief heard the Prince Seravalle with a con-
temptuous air, clearly showing that he knew
who the Prince was, and that he entertained
no good will towards him, His duplicity,
however, and greediness, getting the better
of his hatred, he asked the prisoners what
they would give to obtain their freedom.
Upon their answer that they would give two
rifles, two horses, with one hundred dollars,
he said that all which the prisoners possessed
when taken, being already his own, he expec-
ted much more than that. He demanded
that one of the Canadians should go to Fort
Hall, with five Crows, with an order from the
Prince to the amount of sixty blankets,
twenty rifles, and tenkegs of powder. Inthe
meantime the prisoners were to be carried
into the country of the Crows, where the
goods were to follow them as, soon as ob-
tained ; upon the reception of which, the
white men should be set at liberty. Under-
standing now the intention of their enemies,
and being certainthat ence in the strongholds
of the Crows, they would never be allowed to
return, the Prince rejected the offer ; wishing,
however, to gain time, he made several others,
which, of course, were not agreed upon.
When the chief saw that he was not likely to
‘obtain anything more than that which he had
already become master of, he threw away his
mask of hypocrisy, and, resuming at once his
real character, began to abuse his victims.
‘““The Pale-faces.’’ he said, ‘‘ were base
dogs, and too great cowards to fight against
the Crows. They were less than women, con-
cealing themselves in the lodgings of the
Shoshones, and lending them their rifles, so
that having now plenty of arms and ammuni-
tion, that tribe had become strong, and feared
by all. But now they would kill the Pale-
faces, and they would see what colour was
the -blood of cowards. When dead, they
could not give any more rifles, or powder, to
the Shoshones, who would then bury them-
selyes like prairie-dogs in their burrows
and. never again dare to cross the path of a
Crow.”
The Prince replied to the chief with scorn.
-4« The Crows,” he said, ‘‘ ought not to speak
so loud, Jest they should be heard by the
Shoshone braves, and, lies should never’ be
uttered in open air. What were the. Crows
before the coming of the white men, on the
shores of the Buona Ventura? They had no
country of their own, for one part of it had

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

been taken by the Black-feet, and the other
by the Arrapahoes and the Shoshones. Then
the Crows were like doves hunted by the
hawks of the mountains. They would lie
concealed in' deep fissures of the earth, and
never stir but during night, so afraid) were
they of encountering a Shoshone. But the
white men assembled the Shoshones around
their settlements, and taught them to remain
at peace with their neighbours. They had
been so for four years; the Crows had had
time to build other wigwams. Why did they
act like wolves, biting their benefactors in-
stead of showing to them their gratitude?

The Prince, though an old man, had
much metal in him, especially when his blood
was up. He had becoine -a Shoshone, in all
except ferocity; he heartily despised the
rascally Crows. As to the chief, he firmly
grasped the handle of his tomahawk, so much
did he feel the bitter taunts of’ his captive.
Suddenly, a rustling was heard, then the
sharp report of a rifle, and one of the Crows,
leaping high in the air, fell down a corpse,

‘The chief hath spoken too loud,’ said
the Prince, ‘‘I hear the step of a Shoshone ;
the Crows had better run away to the moun-
tains, or their flesh will fatten the dogs of our
village.”

An expression of rage and deep hatred
shot across the features of the chief, but he
stood motionless, as did all his men, trying
to eatch the sounds, to ascertain in which
direction they should fly from the danger,

‘Fear has turned the Crows into stones,”
resumed the Prince, ‘‘ what has become of
their light feet?. I see the Shoshones.”’

‘“The dog of a Pale-face will see them no
more,’ replied the savage, as he buried his
tomahawk in the skull of the unfortunate
nobleman, who was thus doomed to meet
with an inglorious death in a distant land.

The other prisoners, who were bound,
could. of course offer no resistance. The
French savant and two of his guides were
butchered in an ‘instant, but before the. re-
mainder of the party could be sacrificed, a
well-directed volley was poured upon the com-
pact body of the Crows, who rushed imme-
diately to the woods for cover, leaving behind
them twenty dead and wounded, besides their
cruel chief. Then from the thickets behind
appeared thirty Shoshones, who immediately
gave chase, leaving only one of their men to
free the three remaining trappers, and watch
over the body of their murdered friend and
legislator, f f

A sharp tiralleur fire from their respective
covers were carried on between the Shoshones
and Crows for half an hour, in which the
Crows Jost ten more scalps, and having at
length reached a rugged hill full of briars and.
bushes, they took fairly to, their heels, with-.-
out even attempting to answer the volleys

ei i Sa ahh ae Di

poured after them. The victims were carried

eto the settlement, and the very day they were
consigned to their grave, the Shoshones
started for the land of the Crows. The
results of the expedition I have mentioned
already.

With my father I found the three trap-
pers ; two of whom were preparing to start
for California, but the third, a young Parisian,
who went by the name of Gabriel, preferred
remaining with us, and never left me until a
long time afterwards, when we parted upon
the borders of the Mississippi, when I was
forcing my way towards the Atlantic Ocean.
He and Roche, when I parted with them,
had directed their steps back to the Sho-
shones ; they delighted too much in the life of
wild and perilous adventure to leave it so
soon, and the Irishman vowed that if he ever
returned within the pale of civilization, it
would be to Monterey, the only place where,
in his long wanderings, he had founda people
congenial to his own ideas.

When, in the meeting of a great council,
I apprized the tribe of the attack made upon
the boat-house by the Umbiquas, and of its
results, there was a loud burst of satisfaction.
I was made a war-chiefon the spot; and it
was determined that a party should imme-
diately proceed to chastise the Umbiquas.
My father did not allow me to join it, as
there was much to be done in settling the
affairs of the Prince, and paying the debts he
had contracted at Fort Hall; consequently, I
led a clerk's life for two months, writing ac-
counts, etc.—rather a dull occupation, for
which I had not the smallest relish. {uring
this time, the expedition against the Umbi-
quas had been still more successful than that
against the Crows, and, in fact, that year was
a glorious one for the Shoshones, who will
remember it a long while, as a period in
which leggings and mocassins were literally
sewn with human hair, and in which the
blanched and unburied bones of their ene-
mies, scattered on the prairie, scared even
the wolves from crossing the Buona Ventura.
Indeed, that year was so full of events, that
my narration would be too much swelled if I
were to enumerate’ them all.

I had not forgotten the cachette at our
Janding-place.' Everything was transferred
to the boat-house, and the hot days of
summer having already begun to render the
settlement unpleasant, we removed to the
sea-shore, while the major part of the tribe
went to hunt in the rolling prairies of the
south.

The presents of the good people of Mon-
terey proved to bea great acquisition to my
father. ‘There were many books, which he
appropriated to himself ; being now too aged
and infirm to bear the fatigues of Indian life,
he had become fond of retirement and read-

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

ing. As to Gabriel and Roche, we became
inseparable, and though in some points we
were not on an equality, yet the habit of
being constantly together and sharing the
same tent united us like brothers. !

As my readers will eventually discover,
many daring deeds did we perform together,
and many pleasant days did we pass, both in
the northern cities of Mexico and western
prairies of Texas, hunting with the Coman-
ches, and occasionally unmasking some ras-
cally Texians, who, under the paint of an
Indian, would commit their murders and
depredations upon the remote settlements of
their own countrymen.

CHAPTER TEX:

In the remarks which I am about to make
relative to the Shoshones, I may as well
observe that the same observations will
equally apply to the Comanches, Apaches,
and Arrapahoes, as they are but subdivisions
and offsets from the original stock—the Sho-
shones. ‘The Wakoes, who have not yet been
mentioned, or even seen, by any other tra-
vellers, I shall hereafter describe.

I may as well here observe, that although
the Shoshones are always at peace with the
Comanches and Apaches, they had for a long
while been at war with their descendants, the
Arrapahoes, as well as the whole of the
Dacotah and Algonquin tribes, as the Crows
and’ Rickarees, Black-feet, Nez-percés, and
others.

First, as to their religion—a + question
highly interesting, and perhaps throwing
more light upon their origin than can be col-
lected from tradition, manners, and customs.
From my knowledge. of the Indians, I be-
lieve them, if not more religious, most cer-
tainly to be more conscientious, than most
Christians. They all believe in one God—
Manitou, the author of good, and worship him
as such ; but believing that human nature is
too gross to communicate with the Arbitrator
of all things, they pray generally through
the intervention of the elements cr even of
certain animals, in the same manner that
the Catholics address themselves to their
saints. ‘

The great Manitou is universal among this
family, and indeed among all the savage
tribes of North America. The interceding
spirit alone varies, not with the tribe and
nation, but according to individual selection,
Children are taught to know ‘‘ Kishe Manito”
(the Almighty), but no more. When the boy
is verging upon manhood, he selects his own
personal deity, or houSehold god, which is
made known to him in his dreams. When
he states. his intention of seeking the spirit,
the parents of the young man order him té
fast for three days ; then they take away hisbow and arrows, and send him far into the
woods, the mountains, or the prairies, to wait
for the visitation.

An empty stomach and .naction in the
jone wilderness are certain to produce reveries
and waking dreams. If the young man is
thirsty, he thinks of water; of fire or sun-
shine, if he feels cold; of buffalo or fish, if
he is hungry. Sometimes he meets with
some reptile, and upon any one of these or
other natural causes or productions, his im-
agination will work, until it becomes wholly
engrossed by it.

‘Thus fire and water, the sun or the moon,
a star, a buffalo, or a snake—any one of them,
will become the subject: of his thoughts, and
when he sleeps, he naturally dreams of that
object which he has been brooding over.

He then returns home, engraves upon a
stone, a piece of wood, or askin, the form of
this ‘‘spirit’’ which his dream has selected
for him, wears it constantly on his person,
and addresses it, not asa god, but as an in-
tercessor, through which his vows must pass
before they can reach the fearful Lord of all
things.

Some men among the Indians acquire,
by their virtues and the regularity of their
lives, the privilege of addressing the “reator
without any intervention, and are admitted
into the band, headed by the masters of cere-
monies and the presidents of the sacred lodges,
who receive neophytes and confer dignities.
Their rites are secret; none but a member
can be admitted. These divines, as of old
the priests of Isis and Osiris, are deeply
learned ; and truly their knowledge of natural
history is astonishing... They are well ac-
quainted with astronomy and botany,and keep
the records and great transactions of the
tribes, employing certain hieroglyphics, which
they paint in the sacred lodges, and which
none but their caste or order can decipher.

Those few who, in their journey in the
wilderness, have ‘‘ dreamt’ of a snake and
made it their ‘‘spirit,”) become invariably
‘Medecines.”’ This reptile, though always
harmless in the western countries (except in
some parts of the mountains on the Columbia,
where the rattle-snake abounds), has ever
been looked upon with dread by the Indians,
who associate it with the evil spirit. When
‘‘ Kishe Manito " (the good God) came upon
earth, under the form ofa buffalo, to alleviate
the sufferings of the red man, ‘‘kinebec.’” (the
serpent), the spirit of evil, gave him battle.
This part:of their creed alone would almost
establish their Brahminic origin.

The ‘‘Medecine’’ inspires the Indian
with awe and dread ; he is respected, but he
has no friends, no squaws, no children. He
is the man of dark deeds, he that) communes
with the spirit of evil: he takes his know-
ledge from the earth, from the’fissures of the

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

25

rocks, and knows how to combine poisons ;
he alone fears not ‘‘Anim Teki” (thunder).
He can cure disease with his spells, and with
them he can kill also ; his glance is that of
the snake, it withers the grass, fascinates birds
and beasts, troubles the brain of man, and
throws in his heart fear and darkness.

The Shoshone women, as well as the Apache
and. Arrapahoe, all of whom are of the Sho-
shone race, are very superior to the squaws of
the Eastern Indians. ‘They are more graceful
in their forms, and have more personal beauty.
I cannot better describe them than by saying
that they have more similitude to the Arabian
women than any other race. They are very
clean in their persons and in their lodges ; and
all their tribes having both male and female
slaves, the Shoshone wife is not broken down
by hard labour, as are the squaws of the
Eastern tribes ; to their husbands they are
most faithful, and I really believe that any
attempt upon their chastity would prove un-
availing. They, ridé as bravely as the ‘men,
and are very expert with the bow and arrow.
I once saw a very beautiful little Shoshone
girl, about ten years old, the daughter of a
chief, when her horse was at full speed, kill,
with her bow and arrow, in the course of a
minute or two, nine out of a flock of wild
turkeys which she was in chase of.

Their dress is both tasteful and chaste.
It is composed of a loose skirt, with tight
sleeves, made of soft and well-prepared doe-
skin, almost always dyed. blue or red; this
skirt is covered from the waist by the toga,
which falls four or six inches below the knee,
and is made either of swan-down, silk, or
woollen stuff; they wear leggings of the same
material as the skirt, and cover their pretty
little feet with beautiful-worked mocassins 3
they havealso a scarf, of a fine rich texture,
and allow their:soft and long raven hair to
fall luxuriantly over their shoulders, usually
ornamented with flowers, but sometimes with
jewels of great value ; their ancles and wrists
are also encircled by bracelets ; and indeed to
see one. of these young and graceful creatures,
with her eyes sparkling and her face ani-
mated with the exercise of the chase, often
recalled to the mind a nymph of Diana, as
described by Ovid *

Though women participate not in the
deeper mysteries of religion. some of them
are permitted to consecrate themselves to the
divinity, and to make vows of chastity, as the
vestals of Paganism or the nuns of the Catho-
lic convents. But there isno seclusion. ‘They
dress aS men, covered with leather from head
to foot, a painting of the sun on the* breasts.
These women are warriors, but never go out

* The Comanches women very much resemble the
common squaws, being short and broad in figure, This
arises from the Comanches secluding the women, and not
permitting them air and exercise,with the parties, remaining always behind to
protect the villages. They also live alone, are
dreaded, but not loved. The Indian hates
anything or anybody that usurps power, or
Oversteps those bounds which appear to him
as natural and proper, or who does ‘not fulfil
what he considers as their intended destiny.

The fine evenings of summer are devoted,
by the young Indian, to courtship. When
he has made his choice, he communicates it
to his parents, who take the business into
their hands. Presents are carried to the
door of the fair one's lodge; if they are not
accepted, there isan end to the matter; and
the swain must look somewhere else; if they
are taken in, other presents are returned, as a
token of agreement. These generally consist
of objects of women’s workmanship, such as
garters, belts, mocassins, etc. ; then followsa
meeting of the parerits, which terminates by
a speech from the girl’s father, who mentions
his daughter as the ‘‘dove,” or ‘‘lily,” or
‘“whisper of the breeze,” or any other pretty
Indian name which may appertain to her.
She has been a good daughter, she will be a
dutiful wife ; her blood is that of a warrior’s ;
she will bear noble children to her husband,
and sing to them his great deeds, etc., etc.
The marriage-day arrives at last; a meal of
roots and fruits is prepared; all are present
except the bridegroom, whose arms, saddles,
and property are placed behind the fair one.
The door of the lodge is open, its threshold
lined with flowers ; at'sunset the young man
presents himself, with great gravity of deport-
ment. As soon as he has taken a: seat near
the girl, the guests begin eating; but in
silence ; but soon a signal is given ‘by the
mothers, each guest rises, preparatory to re-
tiring. At that moment, the two lovers cross
their hands, and the husband speaks for the
first time, interrogatively :—'‘‘ Faithful to the
Iddge, faithful to the father, faithful to his
children?’’ She answers softly: ‘‘ Faithful,
ever faithful, in joy and in sorrow, in life and
in death’’—*‘Penir, penir-asha, sartir nu
cohta, lebeck -nu tanim.’’ It is the last
formula,—the ceremony: is accomplished.
This may seem very simple and ridiculous;
to me it appeared almost sublime. Opinions
depend upon habits and education.

The husband remains a whole year with
his father-in-law, to whom belongs by right
the produce of his hunting, both skins and
flesh. The year expired, his bondage is over,
and he may, if he wishesit, retire with his
wife to his own father’s, or construct a lodge
for his own use. The hunter brings his game
to his door, except when a heavy animal;
there ends his task; the wife skins and cuts
it, she dries the skin and cures the meat. Yet
if the husband is a prime hunter, whose time
is precious, the woman herself, or her female
relations, go out and seek the game where it

TRAVELS AND AD VENTURES

has been killed. When aman dies, his widow
wears mourning during two or four years ; the
same case happens with the male widower, only
his duties are not so strict as that of a
woman ; and it often happens that, after two
years, he marries his sister-in-law, if there is
any. The Indians think it a natural thing ;
they say that a woman will have more care of
her sister's children than of those of a stranger.
Among the better classes of Indians, children
are often affianced to each other, even at the
age of a few months. These engagements
are sacred, and never broken. ;

The Indians in general have very severe
laws against murder, and they are pretty
much alike among the tribes ; they are divided
into two distinct sections—murder committed
in the nation and out of the nation.

hen aman commits a murder upon his
own people, he runs away from his tribe, or
delivers himself to justice. In this latter
case, the nearest relation of the victim kills
him openly, in presence of all the warriors.
In the first case, he is not pursued, but his
nearest relation is answerable for the deed,
and suffers the penalty, if by a given time he
has not’ produced the assassin. ‘The death is
instantaneous, from the blow of a tomahawk.
Often the chief will endeavour to make the
parties smoke the pipe of peace: if he suc-
ceeds, all ends here’; if not, a victim must.
be sacrificed. It isa’stern law, which some-
times brings with its execution many great
calamities. Vengeance has often become
hereditary, from generation to generation ;
murders have succeeded murders, till one of
the two families has deserted the tribe.

It is, no doubt, owing to such circum-
stances that great families, or communities of
savages bearing the same type and speaking
the same tongue, have been subdivided into
so many distinct tribes. ‘Thus it has been
with the Shoshones, whose emigrant families
have formed the Comanches, the Apaches,
and the Arrapahoes. The Tonquewas have
since sprung from the Comanches, the Le-
pans and the Texas * (now extinct) from the
Apaches, and the Navahoes from the Arra-
pahoes. Among the Nadowessies or. Dah-
cotahs, the subdivision has been still greater,
the same original tribe having given birth to
the Konsas, the Mandans, the Tetons, the
Yangtongs, Sassitongs, Ollah-Gallahs, the
Siones, the Wallah Wallahs, the Cayuses, the
Black-feet, and lastly the Winnebagoes.

The Algonquin species, or family, pro-
duced twenty-one different tribes; the Mic-
macs, Etchemins, Abenakis, Sokokis, Paw-
tucket, Pokanokets, Narragansets, Pequods,
Mohegans, Lenilenapes, Nanticokes, Pow-

* Formerly there was’a considerable tribe of Indians
by the name of Texas, avho have all disappeared, from
continual warfare,atans, Shawnees, Miamis, Illinois, Chippewas,
Ottawas, Menomonies, Sacs, Foxes, and the
Kickapoos, which afterwards subdivided
again into more than a hundred nations.

But, to return to the laws of murder :—
It often happens that the nephew or brother
of the murderer will offer his life in expiation,
Very often these self-sacrifices are accepted,
principally among the poorer families, but the
devoted is not put to death ; he only loses his
relationship and connéction with his former
family ; he becomes a kind of slave or bonds-
man for life, in the lodges of the relations of
the murdered.

Sometimes, too, the guilty man’s life is
saved by a singular and very ancient law: it,
however, happens but rarely. If the murdered
leaves a widow with children, this widow
may claim the criminal as her own, and he
becomes her husband nominally ; that is to
say, he must hunt and provide for the sub-
Sistence of the family.

When the murderer belongs to a hostile
tribe, war is immediately declared ; if, on the
contrary, he belongs to a friendly nation, the
tribe will wait three or four months, till the
chiefs of that nation come to offer excuses and
compensation. When they do this, they bring
presents, which they leave at the door of the
council lodge, one side of which is occupied
by the relations of the victims, the other by
the chiefs and warriors of the tribe, and the
centre by the ambassadors. One of these
opens the ceremony by pronouncing a speech
of peace, while another offers the pipe to the
relations. If they refuse it, and the great
chief of the tribe entertains a particular regard
for the other nation, he rises and offers him-
self to the relations the calumet of concilia-
tion. If refused still, all the children and
babes of the murdered one’s family are called
into the lodge, and the pipe passed a third
time in that part of the lodge. Then, if a
child even two or three months old touches it,
the Indians consider the act as a decision of
the great Master of Life, the pipe goes round,
the presents are carried in, and put at the
feet of the plaintiffs. When, on the contrary,
the calumet passes untouched, the murderer’s
life alone can satisfy the tribe.

When the chiefs of the tribe of the mur-
derer leave their village to come and offer
excuses, they bring with them the claimed
victim, who is well armed. If he is held in
high estimation, and has been a good warrior
and a good man, the chiefs of his tribe are
accompanied by a great number of their own
warriors, who paint their faces before entering
the council lodge ; some in black, with green
spots ; some all green (the pipe of peace is
always painted green).

The relations of the murdered man stand
on one side of the lodge, the warriors of the
other tribe opposite to them, In the centre

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

is the chief, who is attended by the bearer of
the pipe of peace on one side of him, and the
murderer on theother. The chief then makes
a, speech, and advances with the pipe-bearer
and the murderer towards the relatives of the
deceased ; he entreats them, each man sepa-
rately, to smoke the pipe which is offered by
the pipe-bearer, and when refused, offered to
the next of the relatives.

During this time the murderer, who is well
armed, stands by the chief's side, advancing
slowly, with his arrow or his carbine pointed,
ready to fire at any one of the relations who
may attempt to take his life before the pipe
has been refused by the whole of them. When
such is the case, if the chiefs want peace, and
do not care much for the murderer, they
allow him to be killed without interference ;
if,,on the contrary, they value him, and will
not permit his death, they raise the war-
whoop, their warriors defend the murderer's
life, and the war between the two tribes may
be said to have commenced.

Most usually, however, the pipe of peace
is accepted, in preference to proceeding to
such extremities.

I will now mention the arms and accoutre-
ment of the Shoshone warriors, observing, at
the same time, that my remarks refer equally
to the Apaches, the Arrapahoes, and the Co-
manches, except that the great skill of the
Shoshones turns the balance in their favour.
A Shoshone is always,.on horseback, firmly
sitting upon a small and light saddle of his
own manufacture, without any'stirrups, which
indeed they prefer not to have, the only In-
dians using them being chiefs and celebrated
warriors, who have them as a mark of dis-
tinction, the more so that.a saddle and stirrups
are generally trophies obtained in battle from
a conquered enemy.

_ They Have too good a taste to ornament
their horses as the Mexicans, the Crows, or
the Eastern Indians do; they think that the
natural grace and beauty of the animal are
such that anything gaudy would, break its
harmony; the only mark of: distinction they
put upon their steeds (and the chiefs only can
do so) is a rich feather or two, or three quills
of the eagle, fixed to the rosette of the bridle,
below the left ear ; and as a Shoshone treats
his horse as a friend—always petting him,
cleaning him, never forcing or abusing him—
the animal is always in excellent condition,
and h's proud eyes and majestic bearing pre-
sent to the beholder the deau z¢deal of the
graceful and the beautiful. The elegant dress
and graceful form of the Shoshone cayalier
harmonizes. admirably with the wild and
haughty appearance of the animal.

The Shoshone allows -his. well-combed
locks to undulate with the wind, only pressed
to his head by a small metal coronet, to which
he fixes feathers or quills, similar to those_ of the horse,

put to his horse’s rosette. This coronet is
made either of gold or silver, and those who
cannot afford to use these metals make it with
swan-down or deer-skin, well prepared and
elegantly embroidered with porcupine-quills :
his arms are bare, and his wrists encircled
with bracelets of the same material as the
coronet ; his body, from the neck to the waist,
is covered with a small, soft deerskin shirt,
fitting him closely without a single wrinkle ;
from the waist to the knee he wears a many-
folded toga, of black, brown, red,. or white
woollen or silk stuff, which he procures at
Monterey or St. Francisco, from the Valpa-
raiso'and China traders; his leg, from the
ankle to the hip, is covered by a pair of leg-
gings of deer skin, dyed red or black with
some vegetable acids, and sewed with human
hair, which hangs flowing, or in tresses, on
the outward side. These leggings are fas-
tened a little above the foot by other metal
bracelets, while the foot is encased in an ele-
gantly-finished mocassin, often edged with
small beautiful round crimson shells, no
bigger than a pea, and found among the
fossil remains of the country.

Round his waist, and to sustain the toga,
he wears a sash, generally made by the squaws
out of the slender filaments of the silk-tree, a
species of the cotton-wood, which is always
covered with long threads, impalpable, though
very strong. ‘These are wove together and
richly dyed. I am sure that in Paris or in
London, these scarfs, whieh are from twelve
to fifteen feet long, would fetch a large sum
among the ladies of the faut ton. I have
often had one of them shut up in my hand,
so that it was scarcely to be perceived that I
had anything enclosed in my fist.

Suspended to this scarf, they have the
knife on the left side, and the tomahawk on
the right. The bow and quiver are suspended
across their shoulders by bands of swan-down
three inches broad, while their long lance,
richly carved, and with a bright copper or
iron point, is carried horizontally at the side
Those who possess a carbine
have it fixed on the left side by a ring and a
hook, the butt nearly close to the sash, and
the muzzle protruding a little before the
knee.

The younger warriors, who do not possess
the carbine, carry in its stead a small bundle
of javelins (the jerrid of the Persians), with
which they are very expert ; for I have often
seen them, at a distance of ten feet, bury one
more than two feet deep in the flanks of a
buffalo. To complete their offensive weapons,
they have the lasso, a leather rope fifty feet
long and as thick as a woman’s little finger,
hanging from the pommel of their saddles.
This is a terrible arm, against which there is
but little possibility of contending, even if
ihe adversary possess a rifle; for the casting

  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
   

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

of the lasso is done with the rapidity of
thought, and an attempt to turn round and
fire would indubitably seal his fate. The only
means to escape the fatal noose is, to raise
the reins of your horse to the top of your head,
and hold anything diagonally from your body,
such as the lance, the carabine. or anything
except the knife, which you must hold in your
right hand, ready for use.

The chances then are: if the lasso falls
above your head, it must slip, and then it isa
lost throw: but, if you are quick enough to
pass your knife through the noose, and cut it
as it is dragged back, thea the advantage
becomes yours, or, at least, is equally divided,
for then you may turn upon your enemy,
whose bow, lance, and rifle, for the better
management of his lasso, have been left be-
hind, or too firmly tied about him to be dis-
engaged and used in so short a time. Hecan
only oppose you with the knife and toma-
hawk, and if you choose you may employ your
own lasso. In that case the position is re-
versed ; still the conquest belongs to the most
active of the two.

It often happens that, after having cut the
lasso and turned upon his foe, an Indian,
without diminishing the speed of his horse,
will pick up from the ground, where he has
dropped it, his rifle or his lance; then, of
course, victory is in his hands. I escaped
once from being lassoed in that way. I was
pursued by a Crow Indian; his first throw
failed, so did his second and his third; on
the fourth, I cut the rope, and wheeling
round upon him, I gave chase, and shot him
through the body with one of my pistols. The
noose at every cast formed such an exact
circle, and fell with such percision, the centre
above my head, and the circumference reach-
ing from the neck to the tail of my horse, that
if I had not thrown away my rifle, lance, bow,
and quiver, I should immediately have been
dragged to the ground. All the western In-
dians and Mexicans are admirably expert in
handling this deadly weapon.

Before the arrival of the Prince Seravalle,
the Shoshones had bucklers, but they soon
cast them aside as an incumbrance ; the skill
which was wasted upon the proper manage-
ment of this defensive armour being now ap-
plied to the improved use of the lance. I
doubt much whether, in the tournaments of
the days of chivalry, the gallant knights could
show to their ladye-love greater skill thana
Shoshone can exhibit when fighting against
an Arrapahoe or a Crow.*

But the most wonderful feat of the Sho-

* The Crows, our neighbours, who are of Dacotah
race, are also excellent horsemen, most admirably dressed,
and fond of show, but they cannot be compared to the
Shoshones; they have not the same skill. and, moreover,
they abuse and change their horses so often, that the poor
brutes are never accustomed to their masters,shone, and also of the Comanche and Apache,
is the facility with which he will hang himself
alongside his horse ina charge upon an enemy,
being perfectly invisible to him. and quite in-
vulnerable, except through the body of his
horse. Yet in that difficult and dangerous
position he will use any of his arms with pre-
cision and skill. The way in which they keep
their balance is very simple : they’ pass their
right arm, to the very shoulder, through the
folds of the lasso, which, as I have said, is
suspended to the pommel or round the neck
of the horse ; for their feet they find a support
in the numerous loops of deer-skin hanging
from the saddle; and thus suspended, the left
arm entirely free to handle the bow, and
the right one very nearly so, to draw the
arrow, they watch their opportunity, and
unless previously wounded, seldom miss their
aim.

I have said that the Shoshones threw away
their bucklers at the instigation of the Prince

Seravalle, who also taught them the European

cavalry tactics. They had sense enough to
perceive the advantage they would gain from
them, and they were immediately incorpo-
tated, as far as possible, with their own.

The Shoshones now charge in squadrons
with the lance, form squares, wheel with won-
derful precision, and execute many difficult
Manoeuvres ; but as they combine our Euro-
pean tactics with their own Indian mode of
warfare, one of the most singular sights is to
witness the disappearance behind their horses,
after the Indian fashion, of a whole body of
perhaps five hundred horse, when in full
charge. The effect is most strange ; at one
moment you see the horses mounted by gal-
lant fellows, rushing to the conflict; at a
given signa] every man has disappeared, and
the horses in perfect line appear as if charg-
ing without riders, and of their own accord,
upon the ranks of the enemy.

I have dwelt perhaps too long upon the
manners and habits of these people. I can-
not help, however, giving my readers a proof
of the knowledge which the higher classes
among them really possess. I have said that
they are good astronomers, and I may add
that their intuitive knowledge of geometry is
remarkable. I once asked a young chief what
he considered the height of a lofty pine. It
was in the afternoon, about three o'clock. He
walked to the end of the shadow thrown by
the pine-tree, and fixed his arrow in the
ground, measured the length of the arrow,
and then the length of the shadow thrown by
it ; then measuring the shadow of the pine, he
deducted from it in the same proportion as the
difference between the length of the arrow
and the length of its shadow, and gave me
the result. He worked the Rule of Three
without knowing it.

But the most remarkable instance oc-

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

29

curred when we were about to cross a wide
and rapid river, and required a rope to be
thrown across, as a stay to the men and
horses. The question was, what was the
length of the rope required ; z.e., what was
the width of the river? An old chief stepped
his horse forward, to solve the problem, and
he did it as follows :—He went down to the
side of the river, and fixed upon a spot as the
centre ; then he selected two trees, on the
tight and left, on ‘the other side, as near as
his eye could measure equidistant from where
he stood. Having so done, he backed his
horse from the river, until he came to where
his eye told him he had obtained the point of
an equilateral triangle. Thus, in the dia-
gram, he selected the two trees, A and Bs
walked back to E, and there fixed his lance.
He then fell back in the direction E D, until
he had, as nearly as he could tell, made
the distance from A E equal to that from
E D, and fixed another lance. The same
was repeated to E C, when the last lance
was fixed. He then had a parallelogram ;
and as the distance from’ F to E was
exactly equal to the distance from’ E to
G, he had but to measure the space between
the bank of the river and E, and deduct it
from E G, and he obtained the width of
the river required.

 

 

A BE B
E
C G D

I do not think that this calculation, which
proved to be perfectly correct, occupied the
old chief more than three minutes ; and it
must be remembered that it was done in the
face of the enemy; but I resume my own
history.

pee ee

CHAPTER X.,

In narrating the unhappy death of the
Prince, I have stated that the Crows bore no* among the Shoshones.

 

BO. TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

good-will to the white men_ established
That feeling, how-
€ver, was not confined to that tribe; it was
shared by all the others within two or three
hundred miles from the Buona Ventura river,
and it was not surprising! Since our arrival,
the tribe had acquired a certain degree of
tactics and unity of action, which was suffi-
cient in itself to bear down ail their enemies,
independent of the immense power they had
obtained from their quantity of fire-arms and
almost inexhaustible ammunition. All the
other nations were jealous of their strength
and resources, and this jealousy being now
worked up to its climax, they determined to
unite and strike a great blow, not only to
destroy the ascendency which the Shoshones
had attained, but also to possess. themselves
of the immense wealth which they foolishly
supposed the Europeans had brought with
them to the settlement.

For a long time previous to the Crow and
Umbiqua expedition, which I have detailed,
messengers had been passing between tribe
and tribe, and, strange to say, they had
buried all their private animosities, to form a
league against the common enemy, as were
considered the Shoshones. It was, no doubt,
owing to this arrangement that the Crows
and Umbiquas showed themselves so hardy ;
but the prompt and successful retaliation of
the Shoshones cooled a little the war spirit
which was fomenting around us. However,
the Arrapahoes having consented to join the
league, the united confederates at once opened
the campaign, and broke upon our country
in every direction.

We were taken by surprise; for the first
three weeks they carried everything before
them, for the majority of our warriors were
still hunting. But having been apprised of
the danger, they returned in haste, and the
aspect of affairs soon changed. ‘The lost
ground was regained inch by inch. The
Arrapahoes having suffered a great deal, re-
tired from the league, and having now nothing
to fear from the south, we turned against our
assailants on our northern boundaries. Not-
withstanding the desertion of the Arrapahoes,
the united tribes were still three times our
number, but they wanted union, and did not
act in concert. “They mustered about fifteen
thousand warriors, from the Umbiquas,
Callapoos, Cayuses, Nez-percés, Bonnaxes,
Flatheads, and some of the Crows, who had
not yet. gained prudence from their last
‘‘brushing.” The superiority of our arms,
our tactics, discipline, and art of intrench-
ment, together with the good service of two
clumsy old Spanish four-pounders, enabled
us not only in.a short time to destroy the
league, but also to crush and annihilate for
ever some of our treacherous neighbours.
As it would he tedious to a stranger to follow

the movements of the whole campaign, I will
merely mention that part of it in which I
assisted.*

We. were divided into four war parties :
one which acted against the Bonnaxes
and the Flat-heads, in the north east ; the
second, against the Cayuses and Nez-percés,
at the forks of the Buona Ventura and Calu-
met rivers ; the third remained near the setule~
ment, to protect it from surprise ; while the
fourth, a very small one, under my father’s
command, and to which I was attached,
remained in or about the boat-house, at the
fishing-station. Independent of these four
parties, well-armed bands were despatched
into the Umbiqua country, both by land and.
sea.

In the beginning, our warfare on the
shores of the Pacific amounted merely to

_ * The system of prairie warfare is so different from
ours, that the campaign I have just related will not be
easily understoed by those acquainted only with Euro-
pean military tactics.

When a European army starts upon an expedition,
it is always accompanied by waggons, catrying stores
of provisions and ammunition of ‘all kinds. There is a
Commissariat appoirted for the purpose of feeding the
troops. Among the Indians there is no such thing, and
except a few pieces of dried yension, a pound weigint of
powder, and a correspording quantity of lead, if he has a
rifle, but if not, with his lance, bow, arrows, aud toma-
hawk, the warrior enters the war-path.. In the closer
country, for water and fuel, ‘he trusts to the streams and
to the trees of the forests or mountaiis; when in the
prairie, to the mud-holes and chasms. for water, and to
the buffalo dung for his fire, His rifle and arrows will
always give him enough of food.

But these supplies would not, of course, be sufficient
fora great number of men; ten thousand, for example.
A water-hole would be drained by the first two'or three
hundred men that might arrive; and the remainder would
be obliged to go without any. Then, unless perchance
they should fall upon a large herd of buffaloes, they
would never be able to find the means of sustaining life.
A buffalo, or three or four deer, can be killed every day,
by hunters out of the: track of an expedition; this supply
would: suffice for a small war-pariy, but it. would never
do for an army :

Except in the buffalo ranges, where the Comanches,
the Apaches, and the Southern Shoshones will often go
by bands of thousands, the generality of the Indians enter
the path in a kind of echelonage ; that is to say, supposing
the Shoshones to send two thousand men against the
Crows, they would be divided into fifteen or twenty
bands, each commanded by,an inferior chief. ° The first
party will start for reconnoitring. The next day the
second band, accompanied by the great chiefs, will
follow, but in another track; and so on with a third, till
three hundred or three hundred and fifty are united to-
gether. Then they will begin’ their operations, new
parties coming to take the place of those who have sufe
fered, till they themselves retire to make room for others.
Every new comer biings a supply of provisions, the pro=
duce of their chase in coming, so that those who are
fighting need ‘be in no fear of wanting the necessaries of
life, By this the reader will seet hat of a band of two
thousand warriors, only four or five hundred are effec-
tually fighting, unless the number. of warpiors agreed
upon by the chiefs prove too small, when new reinforce.
ments are sent forward,skirmishes, but by and by, the Callapoos
having joined the Umbiquas with a numerous
party, the game assumed more interest. We
not only lost our advantages in the Umbiqua
country, but were obliged little by little to
retire to the post; this, however, proved to
be our salvation. We were but one hundred
and six men, whilst our adversaries mustered
four hundred and eighty, and yet full one-fifth
of their number were destroyed in one after-
noon, during a desperate attack which they
made. upon the post, which had been put
into an adinirable state of defence.

The roof had been covered with sheets of
copper, and holes had been opened in varions
parts of the wall forthe useof the cannon of our
possession, of which the enemy was ignorant.
The first assault was gallantly conducted, and
every one of the loopholes was choked with
their balls and arrows. On they advanced, in
a close and thick body, with ladders and
torches, yelling like a million of demons.
When at the distance of sixty yards, we
poured upon them the contents of our two
guns: they were heavily loaded with grape-
shot, and produced a most terrible effect.
‘The enemy did not retreat ; raising their war-
whoop, on they rushed, with a determination
truly heroical.

The guns were again fired, and also the
whole of our musketry, after which a party of
forty of our men made.a sortie. This last
charge was sudden and irresistible ; the enemy
fled in every direction, leaving behind their
dead» and wounded. That evening we
received a reinforcement of thirty-eight men
from :the settlement, with a large supply of
buffalo meat and-twenty fine young fat colts.
This was a great comfort ‘tous, as, for several
days; we had been obliged’ to live upon our
dried fish. ;

During seven days we saw nothing of the
enemy ; but our scouts scoured in every direc-
tion; and. our long-boat surprised, in a bay
opposite George Point, thirty-six large boats,
in which the Callapoos had come: from their
territory. The boats were destroyed, and
their keepers scalped. As the heat was very
intense, we resolved not to confine ourselves
any more within the walls of the post ; we
formed a spacious camp, to the east of the
block-house, with breastworks of uncommon
strength. This plan probably saved us from
some contagious disease ;) indeed the bad
smell of the dried fish, and the rarified air in
the building, had already begun to affect
many of our men, especially the wounded.

At the end of a week, our enemy re-
appeared, silent and determined. They had
returned for revenge or for death; the
struggle was to be a fearful one. They
encamped in the little open prairie on the
other'side of the river, and mustered about
six hundred men.

   

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

_ The first war-party had overthrown and
dispersed the Bomnaxes, | as they were on
their way to join the Flat-heads: and the
former tribe not being able to effect the in-
tended junction, threw itself among the
Cayuses and Nez-pereés. These three com-
bined nations, after a desultory warfare, gave
way before the second war-party; and the
Bonnaxes, being now rendéred desperate by
their losses and the certainty that they would
be exterminated if the Shoshones should con-
quer, joined the Callapoos and Umbiquas to
make one more attack upon ourlittle garrison.

Nothing could have saved us, had the
Flat-heads held out any longer; but the
Black-feet, their irreconcilable enemies, seiz-
ing the opportunity, had entered. their terri-
tory. They sued to us for peace, and then
detachments from both war-parties hastened
to ourhelp. Of this we were apprised by our
runners ; and having previously concerted
measures with my father, I started alone to
meet these detachments, in the passes of the
Mineral Mountains. The returning warriors
were seven hundred strong, and had not lost
more than thirteen men in their two expedi-
tions ; they divided into three bands, and
succeeded, without discovery, in surrounding
the prairie in which the enemy were en-
camped; an Indian was then sent to cross
the river, a few miles to the east, and carry a
message to my father.

The moon rose at one in the morning. It
was arranged that, two hours before its rising,
the garrison of the block-house, which had
already suffered a great deal, during four
days of a close siege, were to let off the fire-
works that I had received from the Mexicans
at Monterey, and to watch well the shore on
their side of the river; for we were to fall
upon the enemy during their surprise, occa-
sioned by such an unusual display. All
happened as was intended. At the. first
rocket, the Bonnaxes, Callapoos, and Umbi-
quas were on the alert; but astonishment and
admiration very soon succeeded their fear of
surprise, which they knew could not be
attempted fiom their opponents in front.
The bombs burst, the wheels threw their large
circles of coloured sparks, and the savages
gazed in silent admiration. © But their asto-
nishment was followed by fear of super-
natural agency; confusion spread among
them, and their silence was at last broken
by hundreds of loud voices! The moment
had now come, the two Shoshone war-parties
rushed upon their terrified victims, and an
hour: afterwards, when the-moon rose and
shone above the prairie, its mild beams were
cast upon four hundred corpses. The whole
of the Bonnax and Umbiqua party were
entirely destroyed. The Callapoos. suffered
but little, having dispersed; and run towards
the sea-shore at the beginning of the affray.32 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

Thus ended the great league against the
Shoshones, which tradition will speak of in
ages yet to come. But these stirring events
were followed by a severe loss to me. My
father, aged as he was, had shown a great
deal of activity during the last assault, and he
had undergone much privation and fatigue:
his high spirit sustained him to the very last
of the struggle; but when all was over, and
the reports of the rifles no Jonger whizzed
to his. ears, his strength gave way, and, ten
days after the last conflict, he died of old age,
fatigue, and grief.

On the borders of the Pacific Ocean, a
few miles. inland, I have raised his grave,
The wild flowers that grow upon it are fed by
the clear waters of the Nu elege sha wako,
and the whole tribe of the Shoshones will
long watch over the tomb of the Pale-face

' from a distant land, who was once their in-

Structor and their friend.

As for my two friends, Gabriel and Roche,
they had been both seriously wounded, and
it was a long time before they were recovered.

We passed the remainder of the summer in
building castles in the air for the future, and
at last agreed to go to Monterey to pass the
winter. _ Fate, however,. ordered otherwise,
and a succession of adventures, the current of
which I could not oppose, forced me through
many wild scenes and countries, which I have
yet to describe.

_—.

CHAPTER XI:

At the beginning of the fall, a few months
after my father’s death, I and my two com-
rades, Gabriel and Roche, were hunting in
the rolling prairies of the south, on the eastern
shores of the Buona Ventura. One evening
we were in high spirits, having had good
sport. My two friends had entered upon a
theme which they could never exhaust; one
pleasantly narrating the wonders and sights
of Paris, the other describing with his true
native eloquence the beauties of his country,
and repeating the old local Irish legends,
which appeared to me quaint and highly
poetical.

Of a sudden we were surrounded by a
party of sixty Arrapahoes ; of course, resist-
ance or flight was useless. Our captors,
however, treated us with honour, contenting
themselves with watching us closely and pre-
venting our escape. They knew who we
were, and, though my horse, saddle, and
rifle were in themselves 'a booty for any chief,
nothing was taken from us. I addressed the
chief, whom I knew:

‘What have I done to the Morning Star
of the Arrapahoes, that I. should be taken
and watched like a skeep of the Watchin-
angoes ?””

The chief smiled and put his hand upon
my shoulders. ‘‘The Arrapahoes,” said ‘he,
“Jove the young Owato Wanisha and his
pale-faced brothers, for they are great warriors,
and can beat their enemies with beautiful
blue fires from the heavens, The Arrapahoes
know all ; they are a wise people. They will
take Owato Wanisha to their own tribe, that
he may show his skill to them, and make
them warriors. He shall be fed with the
fattest and sweetest dogs. He will become a
great warrior among the Arrapahoes. So
wish our prophets. I obey the will of the
prophets, and of the nation.”

‘‘ But,” answered I, ‘my Manitou will
not hear me if I ama slave. The Pale-face
Manitou has ears only for’ free warriors: He
will not lend me his fires unless space and
time be my own.”

The chief interrupted me: ‘‘Owato
Wanisha is not a slave, nor can he be one.
He is with his good friends, who will watch
over him, light his fire, spread their finest
blankets in his tent, and fill it with the best
game of the prairie. His friends love the
young chief, but he must not escape from
them, else the evil spirit would make the
young Arrapahoes drunk as a beastly Crow,
and excite them in their folly to kill the Pale-
faces.

As nothing could be attempted for the
present, we submitted to our fate, and were
conducted by a long and dreary journey to
the eastern shores of the Rio Colorado of the
West, until at last we arrived at one of the
numerous and beautiful villages of the Arra-
pahoes. ‘There we passed the winter in a kind
of honourable captivity. An attempt to escape
would have been'the signal of our-death, or,
at least, of a harsh captivity. We were sur-
rounded by vast sandy deserts, inhabited by
the Clubs (Piuses), a cruel race of people,
some of them cannibals. Indeed, I mayvas
well here observe that most of the tribes in-
habiting the Colorado are men-eaters, even
including the Arrapahoes, on certain occa-
sions. Once we fell in with a deserted camp
of Clubmen, and there we found the remains
of about twenty bodies, the bones of which
had been picked with apparently as much

relish as the wings of a pheasant would have.
been ‘by a European epicure. This winter
passed gloomily enough, and no wonder.’
Except a few beautiful groves, found here and
there, like the oases in the sands of the
Sahara, the whole country is horribly broken
and barren. Forty miles above the Gulf of
California, the Colorado ceases to be navi-
gable, and presents from its sources, for
seven hundred. miles, nothing: but an unin=
terrupted series of ‘noisy and tremendous
cataracts, bordered on each side by a chain of
perpendicular rocks, five or six hundred feet
high, while the country all around seems tohave been shaken to its very centre by violent
volcanic eruptions.

Winter at length passed away, and with
the first weeks of spring were renovated our
hopes of escape. The Arrapahoes, relenting
in their vigilance, went so far as to offer us to
‘accompany them in their expedition eastward.
To this, of course, we agreed, and entered
very willingly upon the beautiful prairie of
North Sonora. Fortune fayoured us;.,one
day, the Arrapahoes, having followed a trail
of Apaches and Mexicans, with an intent to
surprise and destroy them, fell themselves
into a snare, in which they were routed, and
Many perished.

We made no scruples of deserting our late
masters, and, spurring our gallant steeds, we
soon found that our unconscious liberators
avere a party of officers bound from Monterey to
Santa Fé, escorted by two-and-twenty Apaches
and some twelve or fifteen families of Cibo-
Jeros. [I knew the officers, and was very glad
to have intelligence from California. Isa-
bella was as bright as ever, but not quite so
dight-hearted. Padre Marini, the missionary,
had embarked for Peru, and the whole city of
Monterey was still laughing, dancing, sing-
ing, and love-making, just as I had left
them.

The officers easily persuaded me to ac-
company them to Santa Fé, from whence I
could readily return to Monterey with the next
caravan.

A word concerning the Ciboleros may not
be uninteresting. Every year, large parties
of Mexicans, some with mules, others with
-ox-carts, drive out into these prairies to pro-
cure for their families a season’s supply. of
buffalo meat. They hunt chiefly on horse-
back, with bow and arrow, or lance, and
-sometimes the fusil, whereby they soon load
carts and mules. They find no difficulty in
curing their meat even in mid-summer, by
slicing it thin, and spreading or suspending
it in the sun; or, if in haste, it is slightly
‘barbacued, During the curing operation,
they often follow the Indian practice of beat-
ing the slices of meat with their feet, which
they say contributes to its preservation.

Here the extraordinary purity of the at-
mosphere -of these regions is remarkably
exemplified. A line is stretched from corner
to corner along the side of the waggon body,
and strung with slices of beef, which remain
from day to day till they are sufficiently cured
to be packed up. This is done without salt,
and yet the meat rarely putrefies.

The optic deception of the’ rarified and
transparent atmosphere of these elevated
plains is truly remarkable. One might al-
most fancy oneself looking through a spy-
glass ; for objects often appear at scarce one-
fourth of their real distance—frequently much
magnified, and more especially much elevated.

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

   
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
    

33

I have often seen flocks of antelopes mistaken
for droves of elks or wild horses, and when at
a great distance, even for horsemen ; whereby
frequent alarms are occasioned. A herd of
buffaloes upon a distant plain often appear so
elevated in height, that they would be mis-
taken by the inexperienced for a large
grove of trees.

But the most curious, and at the same
time the most tormenting phenomenon occa-
sioned by optical deception, is the ‘‘ mirage,””
or, as commonly called by the Mexican tra-
vellers, ‘‘the lying waters.’’ Even the ex-
perienced prairie hunter is often deceived by
these, upon the arid plains, where the pool of
water is in such request. The thirsty way-
farer, after jogging for hours under a burning
sky, at length espiesa pond—yes, it must be
watér—it looks too natural for him to be
mistaken, He quickens his pace, enjoying in
anticipation the pleasures of a refreshing
draught, but, as he approaches, it recedes or
entirely disappears ; and standing upon its
apparent site, he is ready to doubt his own
vision, when he finds but a parched sand
under his feet. It is not until he has been
thus a dozen times deceived, that he is willing
to relinquish the pursuit, and then, perhaps,
when he really does see a pond, he will pass
it unexamined, from fear of another disap-
pointment.

The philosophy of these false ponds f
have never seen satisfactorily explained.
They have usually been attributed to a re-
fraction, by which a'section of the bordering
sky is thrown below the horizon; but I am
convinced that they are the effect of reflection.
It seems that a gas (emanating probably from
the heated earth and its vegetable matter)
floats upon the elevated flats, and is of suffi-
cient density, when viewed obliquely, to re-
flect the objects beyond it ; thus the opposing
sky being reflected in the pond of gas, gives
the appearance of water.

Asa proof that it is the effect of reflection,
I have often observed the distant knolls and
trees which were situated near the horizon
beyond the mirage, distinctly inverted in the
‘‘Dond.” Now, were the mirage the result
of refraction, these would appear on it erect,
only cast below the surface. Many are the
singular atmospheric phenomena observable
upon the plains, and they would afford a
field of interesting researches for the curious
natural philosopher.

We had a pleasant journey, although
sometimes pressed pretty hard by hunger.
However, Gabriel, Roche, and I were too
happy to complain. We had just escaped
from a bitter and long slavery, besides which,
we were heartily tired of the lean and tough
dogs of the Arrapahoes, which are the only
food of that tribe during the winter. The
Apaches, who’ had heard of our: exploits,

2nail

ra: adie

 
   
     

   

   

34 TRAVELS AND: ADVENTURES

showed us great respect ; but what still more
Captivated their good graces, was the Irish-
man’s skill in playing the fiddle. "It so hap-
pened that a Mexican officer having, during
the last fall, been recalled from Monterey to
Santa Fé, had left his violin. It was a very
fine instrument, an old Italian piece of work-
manship, and.worth, I.am convinced, a great
deal of money.

At the request of the owner, one of the
present officers had taken charge of the violin
and packed it up, together with his trunks,
in one of the Cibolero’s waggons. We soon
became aware of the circumstance, and when
we could not get anything to eat, music be-
came our consolation. ‘Tired as we were, we
would all. of us, at least the ‘‘ Pale-faces,”
dance merrily for hours together, after we
had halted, till poor Roche, exhausted, could
no longer moye his fingers,

We were at last relieved of our obligatory
fast, and enabled to look with contempt upon
the humble prickly pears, which for many a
long day had been our only food. Daily now
we came across herds of fat buffaloes, and
great was our sport. in pursuing the huge
lord of the prairies. Cne of them, by the by,
gored my horse to death, and would likely
-haye put an end to. my adventures, had it not
been for the certain aim of Gabriel. I had
foolishly substituted my bow and arrows for
the rifle, that I might show my skill to my
companions. My vanity cost me dear; for

though the bull was a fine one, and had

seven arrows driven through his neck, I lost
one of the best horses of the West, and my
right leg was considerably hurt.

Having been informed that there was a
large city or commonwealth of prairie dogs
directly in our route, I started on ahead with
my two companions, to visit these republicans.
We had a double object in view : first, a desire
to examine one of the republics about which
prairie travellers have said so much ; and,
secondly, to obtain. something to eat, as the
flesh of these animals was said to be ex-
cellent.

1% road for six or seven miles wound up
the sides of a gently ascending mountain.
On arriving at the summit, we found a beau-
tiful table-land spread out, reaching for miles
in every direction before us. The soil ap-
peared to be uncommonly, rich, and was
covered with aluxurious growth of musqueet
trees. The grass was of the curly musquito
species, the sweetest and most nutritious of
all the different-kinds of that grass, and the

dogs never locate their towns, or cities except
Where it grows in ‘abundance, as it is their

only food. :

We had proceeded but a short distance
after reaching this beautiful prairie, before
we came upon the outskirts of the common-
wealth.. A few scattered dogs were seen

scampering in, and, by their short and sharp
yelps, giving a general alarm to the whole
community.

The first cry of danger from the outskirts
was soon taken up in the! centre of the city,
and now nothing was to be seen’ in’ any
direction but a dashing and scampering of
the mercurial’ ‘and excitable ‘citizens of the
place, each to his lodge or burrow. Far as
the eye could reach was spread the city, and
in every direction the scenewas the same:
We rode leisurely along until we had reached
the more thickly settled’ portion of the city,
when we halted, and after taking. the bridles
from our horses to allow them to graze, we
prepared for a regular attack upon its in-
habitants. Bart |

The burrows were not more than fifteen
yards apart, with well-trodden paths leading
in different directions, and I even thought 1
could discover something like a regularity mm
the laying out of the streets. We sat dowm
upon a bank under the shade of a musqueet.
tree, and leisurely surveyed the scene before
us. Our approach had driven every one in
our immediate vicinity to his home, but some
hundred yards off, the small mound of earth:
in front of a burrow was each occupied by 2
dog sitting straight up on his hinder legs,
and coolly looking about him to ascertain the
cause of the recent commotion. Every now
and then some citizen, more venturous than
his neighbour, would leave his lodge on a fly-
ing visit to a companion, apparently to ex-
change a few words, and then scamper back
as fast as his legs would carry him.

By and by, as we kept perfectly still, some
of our nearer neighbours were seen cautiously
poking their heads from out their holes and
looking cunningly, and at the same time in-
quisitively, about them, After some time, a
dog would emerge from the entrance of his
domicile, squat upon his looking-out place.
shake his head, and commence yelping. i

For three hours we remained watching
the movements of these animals, and occa-
sionally picking one of them off with our
rifles. No less than nine were obtained by
the party. One circumstance I will mention
as singular in the extreme, and which shows
the social relationship which exists among
these animals, as well as the regard they have
for one’ another.

One of them had perched himself directly
upon the pile of earth in front of his hole,
sitting up, and offering a fair mark, while a
companion’s head, too timid, perhaps, to ex-
pose himself farther, was seen poking out of
the entrance. A well-directed shot carried
away the entire top of the head of the first
dog, and knocked him some two or three feet
from his post, perfectly dead. While reload-
ing, the other daringly came out, seized his
companion by one of his legs, and before wecould arrive at the hole, had drawn him
completely out of reach, although we tried
to twist him out with a ramrod.

‘There was a feeling in this act—a some-
thing human, which raised the animals in my
estimation ; and never after did I attempt. to
kill one of them, except. when driven by
extreme hunger,

The prairie dog is about. the size of a
rabbit, heavier perhaps, more compact, and
with much shorter: legs. In appearance, it
resembles. the ground. hog of the north,
although, a trifle smaller than that animal.
in their habits, the prairie dogs are social,
never live alone like other animals, but are

' always found in villages or large settlements.
‘They are a wild, frolicsome set of fellows
when undisturbed, restless, and ever on the
move. They seem to take especial delight in
chattering away the time, and visiting about,
from hole to hole, to gossip. and talk over
one another's affairs ; at least, so their actions
would indicate. Old hunters} say that, when
they find. a good location. for a-viliage, and
no water is handy, they dig. a well to supply
the wants of the community.

On several occasions, I have crept up closé
to one of their villages, without being ob-
served, that I might watch their moyements.
Directly in the centre of one. of them, I par-
ticularly noticed a very large dog,,sitting in
front of his door, or entrance to his burrow,
and by his own actions and those of his neigh~
bours, it really looked as though he was the
president, mayor, or chief; at all events, he
was the ‘‘big dog’’ of the place,

For at least an hour, I watched the move:
ments of this little community ; during that
time, the large dog I have mentioned received
at least a. dozen. visits from: his fellow-dogs,
who- would stop and, chat with him a. few
moments, and then run off to their domi-
ciles.. All this while. he-never left his. post for
asingle minute, and I thought; I. could dis-
cover a gravity in his deportment, not discern-
ible in those by whom he was addressed. Far
be.it from me to say that the visits he re-
ceived were upon business, or having any-
thing to do with the local government of the
village ; but it certainly appeared as if such
was the case. Ifany animal is endowed with
reasoning powers, or has any system of laws
regulating the body politic, it is the prairie
dog.

In different parts of, the village the mem-

bers. of it were seen gambolling, frisking, and
visiting about, occasionally turning heels over
head into their holes, and appearing to have
all sorts of fun among themselves. °» Owls of

a singular species were also seen among

them; they did not appear to join in their

Sports in any way, but still seemed to be on

good terms, and as they were constantly en-
tering and coming out of the same holes, they

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

might be considered as membersof the same
family, or, at least, guests. Rattlesnakes,
too, dwell among them; but the idea gene-
rally received among the Mexicans, that they
live upon terms of companionship. with the
dogs, is quite ridiculous, and without any
foundation.

The snakes I look upon as doafers, not
easily shaken off by the recular inhabitants,
and they make use of the dwellings of the
dogs as more comfortable quarters than they
could find eisewhere. We killed one a short
distance from) a burrow, which had made a
meal of a little pup ; although I do not think
they can master full-grown dogs.

This town which we visited, was several
miles in length and at least a mile in width.
Around and in ‘the vicinity; were smaller
villages, suburbs to the town. We kindled a
fire, and cooked three of theanimals we had
shot; the meat. was exceedingly sweet,
tender, and juicy, resembling that of the
squirrel, only that there was more fat upon
it.

 

CHAPTER XII.

Among these Apaches, our companions,
were two Comanches, who, fifteen years
before, had witnessed the death of the cele-
brated Overton. As this wretch, for a short
time,-was employed as an English agent by
the Fur Company, his wild and romantic
end will.probably interest the many readers
who have known him ; at all events, the nar-
rative will serve as,a specimen of the lawless
career of many who resort to the western
wilderness. ‘

Some. forty-four years ago, a Spanish
trader had settled, among:a tribe of the Ton-
quewas*, at the foot of the Green Mountains.
He had taken an Indian squaw, and was
living there. very comfortably, paying no
taxes, but occasionally levying some, under
the shape of black mail, upon: the settlements
oi the province of Santa Fé.. Im one excur-
sion, however, he was taken and hung, an
event soon forgotten both by Spaniards and
Tonquewas. He had left behind him, besides
a child and a squaw, property to a respectable
amount ; thetribe. took his wealth for their
own use, but cast away the widow and her
offspring. . She fell by chance into the hands
of a jolly though solitary Canadian trapper,
who, not haying the means of selecting his
spouse, took the .squaw for better and for
worse.

In the meantime the young’ half-breed
grew to manhood, and early displayed a
wonderful capacity for languages. The squaw
died, and the trapper, now thinking of the
happy days he had; passed among the civi-

* The Tonquewas tribe sprung from the Comanches
many years ago,4: aliatnche Selec bla RnB pee aae

lized people of the East, resolved to return
thither, and took with him the young half-
breed, to whom by long habit he had become
‘attached. They both came to St. Louis,
where the half-breed soon learned enough of
English to make himself understood, and
one day, having gone with his ‘‘father-in-
law” to pay a visit to the Osages, he mur-
dered him’on the way, took his horse, fusil,
and sundries, and set up for himself.

For along time he was unsuspected, and
indeed, if he had been, he cared very little
about it. He went from tribe to tribe, living
an indolent life, which suited his taste per-
fectly ; and as he was very necessary to the
Indians as an interpreter during their barter-
ing transactions with the Whites, he was
allowed to dojust as he pleased. He was,
however, ford of shifting from tribe to tribe;
and the traders seeing him now with the
Pawnies or the Comanches, now’ with the
Crows or the Tonquewas, gave him the sur-
name of ‘‘ Turn-over,” which name, making

-2 summerset, became Over-turn, and by cor-

ruption, Overton.

By this time everybody had discovered
that Overton was a great scoundrel, but as he
was useful, the English company from Canada
employed him, paying him very high wages.
But his employers having discovered that he
was almost .always tipsy, and-not at all back-
ward in appropriating to himself that to which
he had no right, dismissed him from their ser-
vice, and Overton returned to his former
life. By and by, some! Yankees made him
proposals, which he accepted; what was
the nature of them no one can exactly say,
but everybody may well fancy, knowing that
nothing is considered more praiseworthy than
cheating the Indians in their transactions
with them, ‘through the agency of some
rascally interpreter, who, of course, receives
his tantum quantum of the’ profits of his
treachery. For some time the employers and
employed agreed amazingly well, and as
nothing is cheaper than military titles in the
United States, the half-breed became Colonel
Overton, with boots and spurs, a laced coat,
and a long sword.

Cunning as were the Yankees, Overton
was still more so; cheating them as he had
cheated the Indians. The unholy alliance was
broken up ; he then retired to the mountains,
protected by the Mexican government, and
commenced a system of general depredation,
which for some time proved successful. His
most ordinary method was to preside over a
barter betwixt the savages and the traders.
When both parties had agreed, they were of
course in good humour, and drank freely.
Now was the time for the Colonel. To the
Indians he would affirm that the traders only
waited till they were asleep, to butcher them
and take back their goods. The same story

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

   

was told to the traders, and a fight ensued,
the more terrible as the whole party was more
or less tipsy. Then, with some rogues in his
own employ, the Colonel, under the pretext
of making all safe, would load the mules with
‘the furs and goods, proceed to Santa Fé, and
dispose of his booty for one-third of its
value. None cared how it had been ob-
tained; it was cheap, consequently it was
welcome.

His open robberies and tricks of this de-
scription were so numerous, that Overton
became the terror of the mountains. The
Savages swore they would scalp him; the
Canadians vowed that they would make him
dance to death; the English declared that
they would hang him ; and the Yankees, they
would put him to Indian torture. The Mexi-
cans, not being able any moreto protect their
favourite, put a price upon his head. Under |
these circumstances, Overton took an aver-
sion to society, concealed himself, and during
two years nothing was heard of him ; when,
one day, as a party of Comanches and Ton-
quewas were returning from some expedition,
they perceived a man on horseback. They
knew him to be Overton, and gave chase
immediately,

The chase was a long one. Overton was
mounted upon a powerful and noble steed,
but the ground was broken and uneven ; he
could not get out of the sight of his pur-
suers. However, he reached a_ platform
covered with fine pine trees, and thought
himself safe, as on the other side of the
wood there was a long level valley, extend-
ing formany miles ; and there he would be
able to distance his pursuers, and escape.
Away he darted like lightning, their horrible
yell'still ringing in his ears; he spurred his
horse, already covered with foam, entered the
plain, and, to his horror and amazement,
found that between him and the valley, there
was a horrible chasm, twenty-five feet in -
breadth and two hundred feet in depth, with
acute angles of rocks,‘as numerous as the
thorns upon‘a prickly pear. What could he
do? His tired horse refused to take the
leap, and he could plainly hear the voices of
the Indians encouraging each other in the
pursuit.

Along the edge of the precipice there lay
a long hollow log, which had been probably
dragged there with the intention of making
a bridge across the chasm. Overton’ dis-
mounted, led his horse to the very brink,
and pricked him with his knife; the noble
animal leaped, but his strength was too far
gone for him to clear it; his breast struck the
other edge, and he fell from crag to crag into
the abyss below. This over, the fugitive
crawled to the log, and concealed himself
under it, hoping that he would yet escape.
He was mistaken, for he had been seen; atthat moment, the savages emerged from the
wood, and a few minutes more brought them
around the log. Now certain of their prey,
they wished to make him suffer a long moral
agony, and they feigned not to know where he
was.

‘‘ He has leaped over,” said one ;, ‘‘it was
the full jump of a panther. Shall we return,
or encamp here?’”’

The Indians agreed to repose for a short
time ; and then began a conversation. One
protested, if he could ever get Overton, he
would make him eat his own bowels. Another
spoke of red-hot irons and of creeping flesh.
No torture was left unsaid, and horrible must
have been the position of the wretched
Overton.

‘“His scalp is worth a hundred dollars,’’
said one.

‘“We will get it some day,’’ answered
another. ‘‘ But since we are here, we had
better camp and make a fire; there is a
log.”

ig.

Overton now perceived that he was lost.
From under the log he cast a glance around
him : there stood the grim warriors, bow in
hand, and ready to kill him at his first move-
ment. He understood that the savages had
been cruelly playing with him, and enjoying
his state of horrible suspense, Though a
scoundrel, Overton was brave, and had too
much of the red blood within him not to wish
to disappoint his foes—he resolved to allow
himself to be burnt, and thus frustrate the
anticipated pleasure of his cruel persecutors.
To die game.to the last is an Indian’s glory,
and under the most excruciating tortures,
few savages will ever give way to their bodily
sufferings.

Leaves and dried sticks soon surrounded
and covered the log—fire was applied, and
the barbarians watched in silence. But Over-
ton had reckoned too much upon his fortitude.
His blood, after all, was but half Indian,
and when the flames caught his. clothes
he could bear no more. He burst out from

- under the fire, and ran twice round within the

circle of his tormentors. ‘They were still as
the grave, not a weapon was aimed at him,
when, of a sudden, with all the energy of
despair, Overton sprang through the circle
and took the fearful leap across the chasm.
Incredible as it may appear, he cleared it
by more than two feet: a cry of admiration
burst from the savages; but Overton was
exhausted, and he fell slowly backwards.
They crouched upon their breasts to look
down—for the depth was soawful as to giddy
the brain-—and saw their victim, his clothes
still in flames, rolling down from rock to rock
till all was darkness.

Had he kept his ‘footing on the other side
of the chasm, he would have been safe, for a
bold deed always commands admiration from

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

the savage, and at that time they would have
scorned to use their arrows.
Such was the fate of Colonel Overton !

 

CHAPTER XIII.

At last, we passed the Rio Grande, and a
few days more brought us to Santa Fé. Much
hath been written about this rich and romantic
city, where formerly, if we were to believe
travellers, dollars and doubloons were to be
had merely for picking them up; but I
suspect the writers had never seen the place,
for itis a miserable, dirty little hole, contain-:
ing about three thousand souls, almost all of
them half bred, naked, and starved, Such is
Santa Fé. You will there witness spectacles
of wretchedness and vice hardly to be found
elsewhere—hard despotism; immorality car-
ried to its highest degree, with drunkenness
and filth.

The value of the Santa Fé trade has been
very much exaggerated. This town was
formerly the readiest point to which goods
could be brought overland from the States to
Mexico; but since the colonization of Texas,
it is otherwise. ‘The profits also obtained in
this trade are far from being what they used
to be. The journey from St. Louis (Mis-
souri) is very tedious, the distance being
about twelve hundred miles; nor is the
journey ended when you reach Santa Fé, as
they have to continue to Chihuahua. Goods
come into the country at a slight duty, com- .
pared to that payable on the coast, five
hundred dollars only (whatever may be the
contents) being charged upon each waggon :
and it is this privilege which supports the
trade. But the reai-market commences at
Chihuahua ; north of which nothing is met
with by the traveller, except the most abject
moral and physical misery.

Of course, our time passed most tediously ;
the half-breeds were too stupid to converse
with, and the Yankee traders constantly
tipsy. Had it not been that Gabriel was well
acquainted with the neighbourhood, we
should positively have died of ezzuz. As it
was, however, we made some excursions.
among the rancheros, or cattle-breeders, and
visited several Indian tribes, with whom we:
hunted, waiting impatiently for a westward-
bound caravan.

One day, I had rather a serious adventure.
Roche and Gabriel were bear-hunting, while
I, feeling tired, had rermained in a Rancho,
where, for a few days, we had had some
amusement; in the afternoon, I felt an incli-
nation to eat some fish, and being told that,
three or four miles below, there was a creek
full of fine basses, I went away with my rifle,
hooks, and line. I soon found the spot, and
was seeking for some birds or squirrels, whose
flesh I could use as bait. As, rifle in hand,38, TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

I walked, watching the branches of the trees
along the stream, I felt something scratching
my leggings and mocassins; I looked down,
and perceived a small panther-cub frisking
and frolicking around my feet, inviting me to
play with it. It was a beautiful little crea-
ture, scarcely bigger than a common cat, I
sat down, put my rifle across my knees, and
for some minutes carressed it, as I would have

' done an ordinary kitten ; it became very

familiar, and I was just thinking of taking it
with me, when I heard behind me a loud and
well-known roar, and, as the little thing left
me, Over my head bounded.a dark heavy body.
It. was a full-grown panther, the mother of
thecub. I had never:thought of her.

I rose immediately. The beast having
missed the leap, had fallen twelve feet before
me. It crouched, sweeping the earth with its
long tail, and looking fiercely at me. Our
eyes met; I confess it, my heart was, very
small within me. I had my rifle, to be sure,
but the least movement to poise it would
have been the signal for a spring from the
animal. At last, still crouching, iti crept
back, augmenting the distance to about thirty
feet. Them it made a circle: round me, never
for a moment taking its eyes off my face, for
the cub was still playing at my feet. I have
no doubt that if the little animal had been

‘betwixt meand the mother, she would ‘have

‘snatched it and ran away with it. As it was,
I felt very, very queer ; take to my heels I

- could not, and the panther would not leave

ther cub behind; on the contrary, she con-
tinued making a circle round me, I turning
with her, and with my rifle pointed towards
her.

As’ we both turned, with eyes straining at
each other, inch by inch, I slowly raised my
rifle, till the butt reached my shoulders; I
caught the sight and held my breath. The

‘cub, in jumping, hurt itself, and, mewed ; the

mother answered by an angry growl, and just
as she was about to spring, I fired; she
stumbled backwards, and died without a
struggle. My ball, having entered under the

left eye, had passed through the skull, carry-

ing with it a part of the brain.

It was a terrific animal ; had I missed it,
a single blow from her paw would have
crushed me to atoms. Dead as.it was, with
its claws extended, as if to seize its prey, and
its bleeding tongue hanging out, it struck me
with awe. I took off the skin, hung it toa
tree, and securing the cub, I hastened home,
having lost my appetite for fishing or a fish-
supper for that evening. _

A week after this circumstance, a company
of traders arrived from St. Louis. They had
been attacked by Indians, and made a dole-
ful appearance. During their trip they had
once remained six days without any kind of
food, except withered grass. Here it may

 

not be amiss to say a few words about the
origin of this inland mercantile expedition,
and the dangers with which the traders are
menaced.

In 1807, Captain ‘Pike, returning from his
exploring trip in the interior of the American
continent, made it known to the United
States’ merchants that they could establish a
very profitable commerce with the central
provinces of the north of Mexico; and in
1812, a small party of adventurers, Millar,
Knight, Chambers, Beard, and others, their
whole number not exceeding twelve, forced
their way from St. Louis to Santa Fé, with a
small quantity of goods.

It has always been the policy of the
Spaniards to prevent strangers from pene-
trating into the interior of their colonies. At
that. period, Mexico being in revolution,
strangers, and particularly Americans, were
looked upon with jealousy and distrust.
These merchants were, consequently, seized
upon, their goods confiscated, and themselves
shut up in the prisons of Chihuahua, where,
during several years, they underwent a rigor-
ous treatment.

It was, I believe, in the spring of r82r,
that Chambers, with the other prisoners,
returned to the United States, and: shortly
afterwards a treaty with the States rendered
the trade lawful. Their accounts induced
one Captain Glenn, of Cincinnati, to: join
them in a commercial expedition, and another
caravan, twenty men strong, started again
for Santa Fé. They sought a shorter road,
to fall in with the Arkansas river, but their
enterprise failed; for, instead of ascending
the stream of the Canadian fork, it appears
that they only coasted the great river to its
intersection by the Missouri road.

There is not a drop of water in this horri-
ble region, which extends even to'the Cimaron
river, and in this desert they had to suffer
all the pangs of thirst. They were reduced ‘to
the necessity of killing their dogs and bleed=
ing their mules to moisten their parched lips.
None of them perished ; but, quite dispirited, -
they changed their direction, and turned back
to the nearest point of the river Arkansas,
where they were at least certain to find
abundance of water. By this time their
beasts of burden were so tired and broken
down that they had become of no use. They
were therefore obliged to conceal their goods,
and arrived without any more trouble at
Santa Fé, when, procuring other mules, they
returned to their cachette.

Many readers are probably unaware of the
process employed by the traders to conceal
their cargo, their arms, and even their pro-
visions. It is nothing more than a large
excavation in the earth, in the shape of a jar,
in which the objects are stored ; the bottom
of the cachette having been first covered withwood and canvas, so as to prevent any thing
being spoiled by the damp. The important
science of cachaye (Canadian expression) con-
sists in leaving no trace which might betray
it to the Indians ; to prevent this, the earth
taken from the excavation is put into blankets
and carried to a great distance.

The place generally selected for a cachette
is a swell in the prairie, sufficiently elevated
to be protected from any kind of inundation,
and the arrangement is so excellent, that it is
very seldom that the traders lose anything in
their cachette, either by the Indians, the
changes of the climate, or the natural damp-
ness of the earth.

In the spring of 1820, a company from
Franklin, in the west of Missouri, had already
proceeded to Santa Fé, with twelve mules
loaded with goods. They crossed prairies
where no white man had ever penetrated,
having no guide but the stars of Heaven, the
morning breeze from the mountains, ang
perhaps a pocket compass. Daily they had
to pass through hostile nations ; but spite of
many other difficulties, such as ignorance of
the passes and want of water, they arrived at
Santa Fé,

The adventurers returned to Missouri
during the fall ; their profit had been immense,
although the capital they had employed had
been very small. Their favourable reports
produced a deep sensation, and in the spring
of the next year, Colonel Cooper and some
associates, to the number of twenty-two,
started with fourteen mules, well loaded.
This time the trip was a prompt and a for-
tunate one; and the merchants of St. Louis
getting bolder and bolder, formed in 1822,
a caravan of seventy men, who carried with
them goods to the amount of forty thousand
dollars.

Thus began the Santa Fé trade, which
assumed a more regular character. Com-
panies started in the spring to return in the
fall, with incredible benefits, and the trade
imcreasing, the merchants reduced the num-
ber of their guards, till, eventually, repeated
attacks from the savages obliged them to
unite together, in order to travel with safety.

At first the Indians appeared disposed to
let them pass without any kind of interruption;
but during the summer of 1826 they began to
steal the mules and the horses of the travel-
lers; yet they killed nobody till 1828. Then
a little caravan, returning from Santa Fé,
followed the stream of the north fork of the
Canadian river. Two of the traders, having

preceded the company in search of game, fell
asleep on the edge of a brook. These were
espied by a band of Indians, who surprised
them, seized their rifles, took their scalps, and
retired before the caravan reached the brook,
which had been agreed upon as the place of
rendezvous, When the traders arrived, one

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET,

om

of the victims still breathed. They carried
him to the Cimaron, where he expired, and
was buried according to the prairie fashion.

Scarcely had the ceremony been termi-
nated when, upon a_ neighbouring hill,
appeared four Indians, apparently ignorant
of what had happened. The. exasperated
merchants invited them into their camp and.
murdered all except one, who, although
wounded, succeeded in making his escape.

This cruel retaliation brought down heavy
punishment. Indeed, -from that period the
Indians vowed an eternal war—a war to the
knife, ‘‘in the forests and the prairies, in the
middle of rivers and lakes, and’even among
the mountains covered with eternal snows.”’

Shortly after this event another caravan
was fallen im with and attacked by the
savages, who carried off with them thirty-five
scalps, two hundred and fifty mules, and
goods to the amount of thirty thousand
dollars,

These terrible dramas were constantly re-
acted in these vast western solitudes, and the
fate of the unfortunate traders would be un-
known until some day, perchance, a living
skeleton, a famished being, covered with blood,
dust, and mire, would arrive at one of the
military posts on the borders, and relate an
awful and bloody tragedy from which he alone
had escaped.

In 1831, Mr. Sublette and his company
crossed the prairies with twenty-five waggons.
He and his company were old pioneers among
the Rocky Mountains, whom the thirst of
gold had transformed into merchants. They
went without guides, and no one among them
had ever performed the trip. All that they
knew was that they were going from .such to
such a degreee of longitude. They reached
the Arkansas river, but from thence to the
Cimaron there is no road, except the nume-
rous paths of the buffaloes, which, inter-
secting the prairie, very often deceive the
travellers.

When the caravan entered. this desert the
earth was entirely dry, and the pioneers ms-
taking their road, wandered during several
days exposed to all the horrors of a febrile
thirst, under a burning sun, Often they were
seduced by the deceitful appearance of a
buffalo path, and in this perilous ‘situation
Captain Smith, one of the owners of the
caravan, resolved to follow one of these paths,
which he considered would indubitably lead
him to some spring of water, or to a
marsh.

He was alone, but he had never known
fear. He was the most determined adven-
turer who had ever passed the Rocky Moun-
tains, and if half of what is said of him is
true, his dangerous travels and his _hair-
breadth escapes would fill many volumes
more interesting and romantic than the bestpages of the American novelist. Poor man!
after having during so many years escaped
from the arrows and bullets of the Indians,
he was fated to fall under the tomahawk, and
his bones to bleach upon the desert sands.

He was about twelve miles from his com-
rades, when, turning round a small hill, he
perccived the long-sought object of his wishes.
A small stream glided smoothly in the middle
of the prairie before him, It was the river
Cimaron, He hurried forward to moisten his
parched lips, but just as he was stooping
over the water he fell, pierced by ten arrows.
A band of Comanches had espied him, and
waited there for him. Yet he struggled
bravely. The Indians have since acknow-
ledged that, wounded as. he was, before
dying, Captain Smith had killed three of
their people.

Such was the origin of the Santa Fé trade,

‘and such are the liabilities which are incurred

€ven now, in the great solitudes of the West.

CHAPTER XIV.

Time passed away, till I and my com-
panions were heartily tired of our inactivity ;
besides, I was home-sick, and I had left articles
of great value at the settlement, about which I
was rather fidgety. So one day we deter-
mined that we would start alone, and return to
the settlement by a different road. We left
Santa Fé and rode towards the north, and it
was not until we had passed Taos, the last
Mexican settlement, that we became ourselves
again and recovered our good spirits. Gabriel
knew the road; our number was too small

not te find plenty to eat, and as to the hostile

Indians, it. was a chance we were willing
enough to encounter. A few days after we
had quitted Santa Fé, and when in the neigh-
bourhood of the Spanish Peaks, and about
thirty degrees north latitude, we fell in with
a numerous party of the Comanches.

It was the first time we had seen them
in a body, and it was a grand sight.
Gallant horsemen they were, and well
mounted. They were out upon an expe-
dition against the Pawnee* Loups, and they

* The word Pawnee signifies ‘‘exiled,” therefore it
does not follow that the three tribes bearing the same
name belong to the same nation,

The Grand Pawnees, the tribe among whom Mr.
Murray resided, are of Dahcotah origin, and live along
the shores of the river Platte: the Pawnee Loups are of
the Algonquin race, speaking quite another language, and
occupying the country situated between the northern
forks of the same river. Both tribes are known among
the trappers to be the ** Crows of the East;”? that is to
say, thieves and treacherous. They cut their hair short,
except on the scalp, as is usual among the nations which
they have sprung from.

The third tribe of that name is called Pawnee Pict;
these are of Comanche origin and Shoshone race, wearing
their hair long, and speaking the same language as all the
western great prairie tribes, They live upon the Red
River, which forms the boundary betwixt North Texas

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behaved to us with the greatest kindness and
hospitality. The chief knew Gabriel, and
invited us to go in company with them to
their place of encampment. The chief was a
tall, fine fellow, and with beautiful symmetry
of figure. He spoke Spanish well, and the
conversation was carried on. in that - tongue
until the evening, when I addressed him in
Shoshone, which beautiful dialect is common
to the Comanches, Apaches, and Arrapahoes,
and related to him the circumstances of our
captivity on the shores of the Colorado of the
West. As I told my story the chief was
mute with astonishment, until at last, throw-
ing aside the usual Indian decorum, he
grasped me firmly by the hand. He knew
I was neither a Yankee nor a Mexican,
and swore that for my sake every Canadian
or Frenchman falling in their power should
be treated as a friend. After our meal, we
sat comfortably round the fires, and listened
to several speeches and traditions of the
warriors.

One point struck me forcibly during my con-
versation with that noble warrior. According
to his version, the Comanches were in the
beginning very partial to the Texians, as they
were brave andsome of them generous. But
he said, that afterwards, as they increased their
numbers and established their power, they be-
came arascally people, cowards and murderers.
One circumstance above all fired the blood of
the Comanches, and since that time it has
been and will be with them a war of extinc-
tion against the Texians.

An old Comanche, with a daughter, had
separated himself from their tribe. He was
a chief, but he had been unfortunate; and
being sick, he retired to San Antonio to try
the skill of the great Pale-face médecin.. His
daughter was a noble and handsome girl of
eighteen, and she had not been long in the
place before she attracted the attention of a
certain doctor, a young man from Kentucky,
who had been tried for murder in the States.
He was the greatest scoundrel in the world,
but being a desperate character, he was
feared, and, of course, courted by his fellow
Texians.

Perceiving that he could not succeed in
his views so long as the girl was with her
father, he eontrived to throw the old man into
jail, and, inducing her to come to his house
to see what could be done to releasé him, he
abused her most shamefully, using blows and
violence, to accomplish his purpose, to such a
degree, that he left her for dead. ‘Towards
the evening, she regained some strength, and

and the Western American boundary, and have been
visited by Mr. Cattlin, who mentions them in his work.
The Picts are constantly at war with the two other tribes
of Pawnees; and though their villages are nearly one
thousand miles distant from those of their enemy, their
War-parties are continually scouring the country of the
“* Exiles of the East.”’—** Pa-wah-néjs,” :found a shelter in the dwelling of some
humane Mexican.

The old Indian was soon liberated ; he
found his daughter, but it was on her death-
bed, and then he learned the circumstances
of the shameful transaction, and deeply
vowed revenge. A Mexican gentleman, in-
dignant at such a cowardly deed, in the name
of outraged nature and humanity, laid the
cause before a jury of Texians. “The doctor
was acquitted by the Texian jury, upon the
ground that the laws were not made for the
benefit of the Comanches.

The consequences may be told in a few
words. One day Dr. Cobbet was found in an
adjoining field stabbed to the heart and
scalped-. The Indian had run away, and
meeting with a party of Comanches, he
related his wrongs and his revenge. ‘They
received him again into the tribe, but the
injury was a national one, not sufficiently
punished: that week twenty-three Texians
lost their scalps, and fourteen women were
carried into the wilderness, there to die in
captivity. 5

The Comanche chief advised us to keep
close to the shores of the Rio Grande, that
we might not meet with the parties of the
Pawnee Loups ; and.so much was he pleased
with us, that he resolved to turn out of his
way and accompany us with his men some
thirty miles farther, when we should be com:
paratively out of danger. The next morning
we started, the chief and I riding close
together and'speaking of the Shoshones. We
exchanged our knives as a token of friend-
ship, and when we parted, he assembled all
his men and made the following speech :—

‘“The young chief of the Shoshones js
returning to his brave people across the
rugged mountains. Learn his name, so that
you may tell your children that they have a
friend in Owato Wanisha. He is neithera
Shakanath (an Englishman) nor a Kishemoc
Comoanak (a long knife, a Yankee). He is
a chief among the tribe of our great) grand-
fathers, he is a chief, though he is very, very
young.”

At this moment all the warriors came, one
after the other, to shake hands with me; and
when this ceremony was terminated, the chief
resumed his discourse.

‘““Owato Wanisha, we met as strangers,
we part as friends. Tell your young warriors

you have been among the Comanches, and
that we would like to know them. Tell them
to come, a few or many, to our wazkiams
(lodges) ; they will find the moshkotaj (buf-
falo) in plenty.

‘“ Farewell, young chief, with a pale face
and an Indian heart; the earth be light to
thee and thine! May the white Manitou clear
for thee the mountain path, and may you
never fail to remember Ofishka Toaki (the

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White Raven), who is thy Comanché friend,
and who would fain share with thee his home,
his wealth, and his wide prairies. I have said:
young brother, farewell,”

The tears stood in our eyes as gallantly
the band wheeled round. We watched them
till they had all disappeared: in the horizon.
And these noble fellows were Indians ; had
they been Texians, they would have murdered
us to obtain our horses and rifles.

Two days after we crossed the Rio Grande,
and entered the dreary path of the mountains
in the hostile and inhospitable count ry of the
Navahoes and the Crows.*

We had _ been travelling eight days on a
most awful stony road, when at last we reached
the head waters of the Colorado of the West;
but we were very weak, not having touched
any food during the last five days, except two
small rattlesnakes, and a few berries which we
had picked up on the way. On the morning
we had chased a large grizzly bear, but to no
purpose ; our poor horses and ourselves were
too exhausted to follow the animal for any
time, and with its disappearance vanished
away all hopes of a dinner.

It was evening before we reached the river,
and, by that time, we were so much mad-
dened with hunger, that we seriously thought
of killing one of our horses, Luckily, at that
instant we espied a smoke rising from a cam
of Indians in a small valley. That they were
foes we had no doubt ; but hunger can make
heroes, and we determined to take a meal at
their expense. The fellows had been lucky,
for around their tents they had hung upon
poles large pieces of meat to dry. They had
no horses, and only a few dogs scattered
about the camp. We skirted the plain in
silence, and at dark we had arrived at threc
hundred yards from them, concealed by the
projecting rocks, which formed a kind of belt
around the camp.

Now was our time. Giving the Shoshone
war-whoop, and making as much noise as we
could, we spurred on our horses, and in a few
moments each of us had secured a piece of
meat from the poles. ‘The Crows (for the
camp contained fifteen Crows and three Arra-
pahoes), on hearing the war-whoop, were so
terrified, that they had all run away without
ever looking behind them; but the Arra-
pahoes stood their ground, and having re-
covered from their first surprise, they assaulted
us bravely with their lances and arrows.

* The Crows are gallant horsemen; but although they
have assumed the manners and customs of the Shoshones,
they are of the Dahcotah breed. There is a great differ-
ence between the Shoshone tribes and the Crows, The
latter want that spirit of chivalry so remarkable among
the Comanches, the Arrapahoes, and the Shoshones—that
nobility of feeling which scorns to take an enemy at a
disadvantage. I should say that the Shoshone tribes are
the lions, and the Crows the tigers of these deserts,Roche: was severely bruised by his horse
falling, and my pistol, by disabling his oppo-
nent, who was advancing with his tomahawk,
saved his life.. Gabriel had coolly thrown his
lasso round his opponent, and had already
strangled him ; while the third had been, in
the very beginning of the attack, run over by
my horse. Gabriel lighted on the ground,
entered the lodges, cut the strings of all the
bows he could find, and, collecting a few
more pieces of the meat, we started at a full
gallop, not being inclined to wait till the
Crows should have recovered from their panic,
Though our horses were very tired, we rode
thirteen miles: more that night, and, about
ten o'clock, arrived at a beautiful spot, with
plenty of fine grass) and «cool water, upon
which both we and. our horses stretched our-
selves most luxuriously, even before eating.

Capital jokes were passed round that night
while we were discussing the qualities of the
mountain-goat flesh, but yet I felt annoyed at
our feat ; the thing, to be sure, had been gal-
lantly done, still it was nothing better than
highway robbery. Hunger, ‘however, is a
good palliative for conscience; and, having
well rubbed our horses, who seemed to enjoy
their grazing amazingly, we turned to repose,
watching alternately for every three hours.

The next day at noon we met with unex-
pected sport and company. As we were going
along, we perceived two men at a distance,
sitting close together upon the ground, and
apparently in a vehement conversation. As
they were white men, we dismounted and
secured our horses, and then crept silently
along until we were near the strangers. They
were two very queer-looking beings ; one long
and lean, the other short and stout.

‘Bless me,’ the fat one said ; ‘‘ bless me,
Pat Swiney, but I think the Frenchers will
never return, and so we must die here like
starved dogs.”

‘‘Och,”” answered the thin one, ‘‘they
have gone to kill game. By St. Patrick, I
wish it would come, raw or cooked, for my
bowels are twisting like worms on a hook.”

‘‘Oh, Pat, be a good man ; can’t you go
and pick some berries? My stomach is like
an empty bag.”’

“Faith, my legs an’t better than yours,”

‘answered the Irishman, patting his knee with

a kind of angry gesture. And for the first
time we perceived that the legs of both of them
were shockingly swollen.

‘If we could only meet with the Welsh
Indians or a gold mine,” resumed the short
man.

‘‘Botheration!” ‘exclaimed. his irascible
companion. ‘Bother them all—the Welsh
Indians and the Welsh English.”

We saw that hunger had made the poor fel-
lowsrather quarrelsome, so we kindly interfered
with a tremendous war-whoop.- ‘The fat one

TRAVELS. AND ADVENTURES

   

closed his eyes, and allowed himself to fall
down, while his fellow in misfortune rose up
in spite of the state of his legs.

““Come,’ roared he; ‘‘comeé, you, ras-
cally red devils, do your worst without marcy,
for J am lame and hungry.”

There was something noble in his words
and pathetic in the action. Roche, putting
his hand on his shoulder, whispered some
Irish words in his ear, and the poor fellow
almost cut a caper. ‘‘ Faith,” he said, “if
you are not a Cork boy you are the devil;
but, devil or no, for the sake of the old
country; give us something to eat—to me and
that poor Welsh dreamer. I fear your hellish
yell has taken the life out of him.”

Such was not the case. At the) words,
‘“something to -eat,” the fellow opened his
eyes with a stare, and exclaimed—

‘“The Welsh Indians, by St. David !”

We answered him witha roar of merriment
that rather confused him, and his companion
answered—

“« Ay | Welsh Indians or Irish Indians, for
what I know. Get up, will ye, ye lump of
flesh, and politely tell the gentlemen that we
have tasted nothing for the last three days.”

Of course we lost no time in lighting a fire
and bringing our horses. ‘The meat was soon
cooked, and it was wonderful to see how
quickly it disappeared in the jaws of our two
new friends. We had yet about twelve pounds
of it, and we were entering a country where
game would be found daily; so we did not
repine at their most inordinate appetites, but,
on the contrary, encouraged them to con-
tinue. When the first pangs of hunger were
a little soothed, they both looked at us with
moist and grateful eyes.

‘‘Qch,’’ said the irishman, ‘‘but ye are
kind gentlemen, whatever ye may be, to. give

‘us so good a meal when perhaps you have no

more.’

Roche shook him by the hand, | ‘‘ Eat on,
fellow,” he said, ‘‘eat on, and never fear. We
will afterwards see what can be done for the
legs."" As to the Welshman, he never said a
word for a full half hour. He would look,
but could neither speak nor hear, so intensely
busy was he with an enormous piece of half-
raw flesh, which he was tearing and swallow-
ing like a hungry wolf. There is, however,
an end to everything, and when satiety had
succeeded to want, they related to us the cir-
cumstance that had led them where they were.

They had come as journeymen with a
small caravan going from St. Louis to Astoria.
On the Green River they had been attacked
by a war party of the Black Feet, who had
killed all except them, thanks to the Irish-
man’s presence of mind, who pushed ‘his fat
companion into a deep fissure of the earth,
and jumped after him. Thust hey saved their
bacon, and had soon the consolation of hear-ing the savagés carrying ‘away, the goods,
leading the mules towards the north, For
three days they had wandered south, in the
hope of meeting with some trappers ; and this
very morning they had fallen in with two
French trappers, who told them to remain
there and repose till their return, as they were
going after game.

While they were narrating their history
the two trappers arrived witha fat buck. They
were old friends, having both of them travelled
and hunted with Gabriel. We resolved not
to proceed any further that’ day; and they
laughed a great deal when we related to them
our prowess against the Crows. An applica-
tion of bruised leaves of the Gibson weed upon
the legs of the two ‘sufferers immediately
soothed ‘their pain, and the next morning they
were able to use Roche's and Gabriel's horses,
and to follow us to Brownhall, an American
fur-trading port, which place we reached in
two days.

There we parted from our: company, and
rapidly continued. our march towards the
settlement. Ten days didwe travel thus in
the heart of a fine country, where game at
every moment crossediaur path. We arrived
in the deserted country of the Bonnaxes, and
were scarcely two: days’ journey from the
Eastern Shoshone boundary, when, as. ill
luck would have it, we met once more with
our old enemies, the Arrapahoes. This time,
however, we were determined not to be put
any more on dog’s meat allowance, and to
fight, if necessary, in defence of our liberty.

We were surrounded, but not yet taken;
and space being ours and our rifles true, we
hoped to escape, not one of our enemies
having, as we well.knew, any fire-arms. They
reduced ‘their circle smaller and smaller, till
they stood at about a;hundred and fifty yards
from us; their horses, fat and plump, but of
the small wild breed, and incapable of run-
ning a race with our tall and beautiful
Mexican chargers, At that moment Gabriel
raised his hand, as if,for a signal; we all
three darted like lightning through the line of
warriors, who were too much taken by sur-
prise even to use their bows, They soon
recovered from their astonishment, and giving
the war-whoop, with many ferocious. yells of
disappointment, dashed after us at their
utmost speed.

Thtir horses, as I have said, could not run
arace with ours, but in a long chase their
hardy little animals would have had the ad-
vantage, especially as our own steeds had
already performed'so long a journey, During
the two first hours we kept them out of sight,
but towards dark, as our beasts gave in,
we saw their forms in the horizon becom-
ing more and more distinct, while, to render
our escape less probable, we found our-
selves opposed in front by a chain of

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

43

mountains, not high, but: very-steep and
rugged.

“On, ahead, we ate safe!’ cried Gabriel.
Of course, there was no time for explanation,
and ten’ minutes more saw us at the foot of
the mountain. ‘Not a word, but do as I
do,’ again said my companion. We followed
his example by unsaddling our animals and
taking off the bridles, with which we whipped
them. The poor things, though tired, gal-
loped to the south, as if they were aware of
the impending danger.

“IT understand, Gabriel,” said I, ‘the
Savages cannot see us in the shades of these
hills ; they will follow our horses by. the
sounds,”

Gabriel chuckled with delight. ‘‘ Right,”
said he, ‘‘right enough, but itis notall. I
know of a boat on the other side of the
mountain, and the Ogden river will carry us
not far from the Buona Ventura.”

I started. ‘<A mistake,” I exclaimed,
‘‘ dear friend, a sad mistake, we are more
than ‘thirty miles from the river.”

‘“‘ From the main river, yes,’’ answered he,
shaking my hand, ‘‘but many an otter have I
killed ina pretty lake two miles from here, at
the southern side of this hill. There I have a
boat well concealed, as I hope; and it is a
place where we may defy all the Arrapahoes,
and the Crows to back them. From that lake
to the river it is but thirty miles’ paddling in a
smooth canal, made either by nature or by a
former race of men.”

I need not. say how cheerfully we walked
these two miles, in spite of the weight of our
saddles, rifles, and accoutrements, Our
ascent was soon over, and striking into a
small, tortuous; deer-path,. we perceived
below us the transparent sheet. of. water, in
which a few stars already reflected their pale
and tremulous light: When we reached the
shore of the lake, we found! ourselves sur-
rounded by vast and noble ruins, like those
on the Buona Ventura, but certainly much
more romantic. Gabriel welcomed us to his
trapping-ground, as a lord in his. domain, and
soon brought out a neat little canoe, from
under a kind of ancient vault.

‘«This canoe,” said he, ‘‘ once belonged to
one of the poor fellows that was murdered
with the Prince Seravalle. We brought it
here six years ago with great secrecy; it cost
him twenty dollars, a rifle, and six blankets.
Now, in the middle of this lake there is an
island, where he and I lived together, and
where we can remain for months without any
fear of Indians: or starvation.”

We all three entered the canoe, leaving
our saddles behind us, to recover them on the
following day. One hour's paddling brought
us to the island, and it was truly a magnifi-
cent spot. It was covered with ruins; grace-
ful obelisks were shaded. by the thick foliagei i ag NE eas aioe

of immense trees, and the soft light of the
moon, beaming on the angles of the ruined
monuments, gave to the whole scenery the
hue of an Italian landscape.

‘‘ Here we are Safe,’’ said Gabriel, ‘‘and
to-morrow you will discover that my old
resting-place is not deficient in comfort.”

As we were very tired, we laid down and
soon slept, forgetting in this little paradise the
dangers and the fatigues of the day. Our host's
repose, however, was shorter than mine, for
long before morn he had gone to fetch our
saddles. Roche and I would probably have
slept till his return, had we not been awa-
kened by the rejort of a rifle, which came
down to us, repeated by a thousand echoes.
An hour of intense anxiety was passed, till at
last we saw Gabriel paddling towards us.
The sound of the rifle had, however, betrayed
our place of concealment, and as Gabriel
neared the island, the shore opposite to us
began to swarm with our disappointed ene-
mies, who, in all probability, had camped in
the neighbourhood. As my friend landed, I
was beginning to scold him for his impru-
dence in using his rifle under our present
circumstances, when a glance shewed me at
once he had met with an adventure similar to
mine near Santa Fé. In the canoe lay the
skin of a large finely-spotted jaquar, and by
it a young cub, playing unconsciously with
the scalping- knife, yet reeking in its mother’s
blood.

‘Could not help it,—self-defence !” ex-
claimed he, jumping on shore. ‘‘ Now the
red devils know where we are, but it is a
knowledge that brings them little good. The
lake is ten fathoms in depth, and they will
not swim three miles under the muzzles of
our rifles. When they are tired of seeing
us fishing, and hearing us laughing, they will
go away like disappointed foxes.”

So it proved. ‘That day we took our rifles
and went in the canoe to within eighty yards
of the Indians, ‘on the main land, we fishing
for trouts, and inviting them to share in our
sport. They yelled awfully, and abused us
not a little, calling us by all the names their
tage could find : squaws, dogs of Pale-faces,
cowards, thieves, etc. At last, however, they
retired in the direction of the river, hoping yet
to have us in their power; but so little had
we to fear, that we determined to pass a few
days on the island, that we might repose from
our fatigues.

When we decided upon continuing our
route, Gabriel and Roche were obliged to
leave their saddles and bridles behind, as the
canoe was too small for ourselves and lug-
gage. This was a misfortune which could be
easily repaired at the settlement, and till then
saddles, of course, were useless. We went
on merrily from forty-five to fifty miles every
day, on the surface of the most transparent

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

and coolest water in the world.. During the
night we would land and sleep on the shore.
Game was very plentiful, for at almost every
minute we would pass a stag or a bull
drinking ; sometimes at only twenty yards’
distance.

During this trip on the Ogden river, we
passed four other magnificent lakes, but not
one of them bearing any marks of former
civilization, as on the shores of the first one
which had sheltered us. We left the river
two hundred and forty miles from where we
had commenced our navigation, and, carry-
ing our canoe over a portage of three miles,
we launched it again upon one of the tribu-
taries of the Buona Ventura, two hundred
miles north-east from the settlement.

The current was now in our favour, and in
four days more we landed among my good
friends, the Shoshones, who, after our absence
of nine months, received us with almost a
childish joy. They had given us up for dead,
and suspecting the Crows of having had a
hand in our disappearance, they had made an
invasion into their territory.

Six days after our arrival, our three horses
were perceived swimming across the river; the
faithful animals had also escaped from our
enemies, and found their way back to their
masters and their native prairies.

 

CHAPTER XV.

During my long absence and captivity
among the Arrapahoes, I had often reflected
upon the great advantages which would ac-
crue if, by any. possibility, the various tribes
which were of Shoshone origin could be in-
duced to unite with them in one confederacy ;
and the more I reflected upon the subject, the
more resolved I became, that if ever I re-
turned to the settlement, I would make the
proposition to our chiefs in council.

‘The numbers composing these tribes were
as follows:—The Shoshones, amounting to
about 60,000, independent of the mountain
tribes, which we might compute at 10,000
more ; the Apaches, about 40,000 ; the Arra-
pahoes, about 20,000; the Comanches and
the tribes springing from them, at the lowest
computation, amounting to 60,000 more.
Speaking the same language, having the same
religious formula, the same manners and >
customs ; nothing appeared to me to be more
feasible. The Arrapahoes were the only one
tribe which was generally at variance with us,
but they were separated from the Shoshones
much later than the other tribes, and were
therefore even more Shoshone than the
Apaches and Comanches.

Shortly after my return, I acted upon my
resolution. I summoned all the chiefs of our
nation to a great council, and in the month of
August, 1839, we were all assembled outsideof the walls of the settlement. After the pre-
liminary ceremonies, I addressed them :—

‘‘Shoshones ! brave children of the Grand
Serpent! my wish is to render you happy,
rich, and powerful. During the day I think
of it ; 1 dream ofit in my sleep. At last, I have
had great thoughts—thoughts proceeding
from the Manitou. . Hear now the words of
Owato Wanisha ; he is young—very young ;
his skin is that of a Pale-face, but his heart is
a Shoshone’s.

‘“When_ you refused to till the ground,
you did well, for it was not in your nature—
the nature of man cannot be changed like
that of a moth. Yet, at that time, you under-
stood well the means which give power toa
great people. Wealth alone can maintain the
superiority that bravery has asserted. Wealth
aud bravery make strength—strength which
nothing can break down, except the great
master of Life.

‘The Shoshones knew this a long time
ago; they are brave, but they have no wealth ;
and if they still keep their superiority, it is
because their enemies are at this time awed
by the strength and the cunning of their
warriors. But the Shoshones, to keep their
ground, will some day be obliged to sleep
always on their borders, to repel their enemies.
‘They will be too busy to fish and to hunt.
‘Their squaws and children will starve! Even
now the evil has begun. What hunting and
what fishing have you had this last year?
None! _ <s soon as the braves had arrived at
their hunting-ground,, they were obliged to
return back to defend their squaws and to
punish their enemies.

‘“Now, why should not the Shoshones
put themselves at once above the reach of
such chances ? why should they not get rich?
They object to planting grain and tobacco.
‘They do well, as other people can do that
tor them ; but there are many other means of
getting strength and wealth. These I will
teach to my tribe!

‘* The Shoshones fight the Crows, because
the Crows are thieves; the Flat-heads, be-
cause they are greedy of our buffaloes; the
Umbiquas_ because they steal horses. Were
it not for them, the children of the Grand
Serpent would never fight ; their lodges would
fill with wealth, and that wealth would pur-
chase all the good things of the white men
from distant lands. These white men come
to the Watchinangoes (Mexicans), to take the
hides of their oxen, the wool of their sheep.
They would come to us if we had anything to
offer them. Let us then call them, for we
have the hides of thousands of buffaloes ; we
have the furs of the beaver and the otter; we
have plenty of copper in our mountains, and
of gold in our streams,

‘‘Now, hear me. When. a. Shoshone
chief thinks that the Crows will attack his

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

45

lodge, he calls his children and his nephews
around him. A nation can do the same.
The Shoshones have many brave children in
the prairies of the South; they have many
more on the borders of the Yankees. All of
them think and speak like their ancestors ;
they are the same people. Now, would it not
be good and wise to have all these brave grand-
children and grand-nephews as your neigh-
bours and allies, instead of the Crows, the
Cayuses, and the Umbiquas? Yes, it would.
Who would dare to come from the north
across a country inhabited by the warlike
Comanches, or from the south and the rising
sun, through the wigwams of the Apaches ?
The Shoshones would then have more than
30,000 warriors ; they would sweep the coun-
try, from the sea to the mountains, from the
river of the north (Columbia) to the towns of
the Watchinangoes. When the white men
would come in their big canoes, as traders
and friends, we would receive them well ; if
they come as foes, we will laugh at them, and
whip them like dogs. These are the thoughté
which I wanted to make known to the Sho-
shones,

‘‘During my absence, I have seen the
Apaches andthe Comanches. They are both
great nations. Let us send some wise men
to invite them to return to their fathers ; let
our chiefs offer them wood, land, and water.
I have said.”’

As long as I spoke, the deepest silence
reigned over the whole assembly ; but as soon
as I sat down, and began smoking, there
was a general movement, which showed me
that I had made an impression. The old
great chief rose, however, and the murmurs
were hushed. He spoke :—

‘‘Qwato Wanisha has spoken. I have
heard. It was a strange vision, a beautiful
dream. My heart came young again, my
body lighter, and ny eyes more keen. Yet [
cannot see the future ; I must fast and pray,
I must ask the great Master of Life to lend
me his wisdom.

. JI know the Comanches, I know the
Apaches, and the Arrapahoes. They are our
children ; I know it. The Comanches have
left us a long, long time, but the Apaches
and Arrapahoes have not yet forgotten the
hunting-grounds where their fathers were
born. When I was but a young hunter, they
would come every snow to the lodge of our
Manitou, to offer their presents. It was long
before any Pale-face had passed the moun-
tains. Since that the leaves of the oaks have
grown and died eighty times. It is a long
while for a man, but for a nation it is but as
esterday.
} « They are our children,—it would be
good to have them with us ; they would share
our hunts ; we would divide our wealth with
them. Then we would be strong. Owatoeo

ine.

Wanisha has spoken well ; he ‘hath learned
many mysteries with the A/acota  Conaya
(black robes, priests) ; he is wise. Yet, as I
have said, the red-skin chiefs must ask wisdom
from the Great Master. He will let us know
what is good and what is bad. At the next
moon we will return .to the council. Ihave
said.”

All the chiefs departed, toprepare for their
fasting and ceremonies, while Gabriel,’ Roche,
my old servant, and myself, concerted our
measures SO as to insure the success of my
enterprise. _My servant’ I despatched to
Monterey, Gabriel to the nearest village of
the Apaches, and as it was proper, according
to Indian ideas, that I should be out of ‘the
way during the ceremonies, so as not to influ-
ence any chief, I retired with Roche to the
boat-house, ito pass ‘the time until the new
moon.

Upon ‘the day agreed upon, we were all
once more assembled at ‘the council-ground
on the shores of the Buona Ventura. The
chiefs and ‘elders of the tribe had assumed a
solemn demeanour, and even the men of dark
deeds (the Médecins) and the keepers.of the
sacred lodges had made their ‘appearance, in
their professional dresses, so as to impress
upon the beholders the importance of the
present transaction. One of the sacred lodge
first arose, and making a signal with his hand,
prepared to speak :—

‘‘Shoshones,” said he, ‘‘now ‘has come
the time in which our nation must either rise
above all others, as the eagle of the mountains
rises above the small birds, or sink down and
disappear from the surface of the earth. Had
we been left such as we were before the Pale-
faces crossed the mountains, we would. have
needed no other help but a Shoshone heart
and our keen arrows to crush our enemies ;
but the Pale-faces have double’ hearts, as
well as a double tongue; they are friends or
enemies as their thirst for wealth guides them.
They trade with the Shoshones, but they‘also
trade with the Crows and the Umbiquas.
The young chief, Owato Wanisha, hath pro-
posed a new path to our tribe; he is young,
but he has received his wisdom from the
Black-gowns, who, of all men, are the most
wise. I have heard, as our elders and ancient
chiefs have! also heard, the means by which
he thinks we can succeed ; ‘we ‘have fasted,
we have prayed to ‘the Master of Life to show
unto us’ the path which we must follow.
Shoshones, we live in ‘a strange time! Our
great Manitou bids us Red-skins obey the
Pale-face, and follow him to conquer or die.
T have said ! The chief of many winters will
now address his warriors and friends !”’

A murmur 1an through the whole assem-
bly, who seemed evidently much ‘moved by
this political speech from one whom they
were ‘accustomed to look upon ‘with dread,

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

as the interpreter of the will of Heaven. ‘The
old ‘chief, who had already spoken in the
former council, now rose and spoke with a
tremulous, yet distinct voice.

‘‘T have fasted, I have prayed, I have
dreamed. Old men, who have lived almost
all their life, have a keener perception to read
the wishes of the Master of Life concerning
the future. I am a chief, and have been a
chief during sixty changes of the season. I
am proud of my station, and as I have struck
deepest into the heart of our enemies, I am
jealous of that power which is mine, and
would yield it to no one, if the great Manitou
did not order it. When this sun will have
disappeared ‘behind the salt water, I shall no
longer be a chief? Owato Wanisha will
guide our warriors, he will preside in council,
for two gods are with him—the Manitou of
the Pale-faces, and the Manitou of the Red-
skins.

“‘Hear my words, Shoshones!* I shall
soon join my father and grandfather in the
happy Jands, forI am old! Yet, before my
bones are buried at the foot of the hills, it
would brighten my ‘heart’ to see the glory of
the Shoshones, which I know must be in a
short time. Hear my words! Long ages
ago some of our children, not finding our
hunting.grounds wide enough for the range of
their arrows, left us. "They first wandered in
the south, and in the beautiful prairies of the
east, under a climate blessed by the good
spirits. They grew and grew in number tilt
their families were as numerous .as ours, and
as they were warriors and their hearts big,
they spread themselves, and, soon crossing
the big mountains, their eagle glance saw on
each side of their territory the salt water of the
sunrise and the salt-water of the sunset,
These are the Comanches, a powerful nation.
The Comanches even now have a Shoshone
heart, a Shoshoné tongue. Owato Wanisha
has been with them ; he says they are friends,
and have not forgotten that they are the chil-
dren of the Great Serpent.

‘Long, Jong while afterwards, yet not
long enough that it should escape the memory
and the records of our holy men, some other
of our children, hearing of the power of the
Comanches, ‘of their wealth, of their beauti-
ful country, determined also to leave us and
spread to the south. Theseare the Apaches.
From the top of the big mountains, always
covered with snow, they look towards the bed
of the sun. They see'thegreen grass of the
prairie below them, and afar the blue salt-
water. Their houses are as numerous as the
stars in heaven, their warriors ‘as thick as the
shells‘in the bottom of’our lakes. They are
brave ; they are feared by the Pale-faces,—
by all; and they, too, know that we are their
fathers; their tongue is our tongue; their
Manitou our Manitou, their heart a portionof our heart ; and’ never has the knife of a
Shoshone drunk the blood of an Apache, nor
the belt of an Apache suspended the scalp of
a Shoshone.

‘‘And afterwards, again, more of our
children left us. But that time’they left. us
because we were angry. They were a few
families of chiefs who had grown strong and
proud. They wished to lord over our wig-
wams, and we drove them away, as the pan-
ther drives away her cubs, when their claws
and teeth have been once turned against her.
‘These are the Arrapahoes. “Fhey are strong
and our enemies, yet they aré’a noble nation.
Thave in my lodge twenty of their scalps ;
they have many of ours. They fight by the
broad light of the day, with the lance, bow,
and arrow, they scorn treachery. Are they
not, although rebels and unnatural children,
still the children of the Shoshones? Who
ever heard of the Arrapahoes entering the
war-path in night? No one! They are no
Crows, no Umbiquas, no Flat-heads! They
can give death, they know how ‘to receive it,
—straight and upright, knee to knee, breast
to breast, and their eye drinking the glance
of their foe.

‘‘Well, these Arrapahoes are our neigh-
bours ; often, very often, too much so (as
many of our widows can say), when they
unbury their tomahawk and enter the war-
path against the Shoshones. Why; can two
suns light the same prairie, or two male eagles
cover the same nest? No. Yet numerous
stars appear during night all joined together
and obedient to the moon. Blackbirds and
parrots will unite their numerous tribes, and
take the same flight to seek all ‘together a
common rest and shelter for a night; it is a
Jaw of nature. The Red-skin knows none
but the laws of nature. The Shoshone is
an eagle on the hills, a bright sun in the
prairie, so is an Arrapahoe ; they must both
struggle and fight till one sun is thrown into
darkness, or one eagle, blind and winged,
falls down the rocks and leaves the whole
nest toits conqueror. ‘The Arrapahoes would
not fight a cowardly Crow except for self.
defence, for he smells of carrion ; nor would
a Shoshone.

“Crows, Umbiquas, and  Flat-heads,
Cayuses, Bonnaxes, and Callapoos can hunt
all together, and rest together ; they are the
blackbirds and the parrots ; they must do'so,
else the eagle should destroy them during the
day, or the hedgehog during the night.

““ Now, Owato Wanisha, or his Manitou,
has offered a bold thing. I have thought of
it, I have spoken of it to the spirits of the
Red-skin ; they said it was good: I say it is
good ! I am a chief of many winters ; I know
whatis good, I know what is bad ! Shoshones,
hear me! my voice is weak, come nearer ;
hearken to my words, hist! I hear a whisper

OF MONSIEUR. VIOLET.

A7

under the ripples of the water, I hear it in
the: waving of the grass, I feel it on’ the
breeze !—hist, it is the whisper of the Master
of Life.—hist !”

At this moment the venerable chief ap-
peared abstracted, his ‘face flushed; then
followed a trance, as if he were communing
with some invisible spirit. Intensely and
silently did the warriors watch the struggles
of his noble features ; thertime had come in
which the minds of the Shoshones were freed
of their prejudices, and dared to contemplate
the prospective of a future general domination
over the western continent of America. The
old chief raised his hand, and he spoke again:

‘“Children, for you are my children!
Warriors, for:you are all brave! Chiefs, for
you are all chiefs! I have seen a vision. It
was a cloud, and the Manitou was upon it.
The cloud gave way, and behind I saw a
vast nation, large cities, rich wigwams,
strange boats, and great parties of warriors,
whose trail was so long that I could not see
the beginning nor the end. It was in a
country which [ felt within me was extending
from the north, where all is ice, down to the
south, where’ all is fire! Then a big voice
was heard! It was nota war-whoop, it was
not the yell of the fiends, it was not the groan
of the captive tied to the stake; it was a
voice of glory, that shouted the name of the
Shoshones—for all were Shoshones. . There
were no Pale-faces among them,—none!
Owato Wanisha was there, but he had a red
skin, and his hair was black ; so were his two
fathers, but they were looking young ; so was
his aged and humble friend, but his limbs
seemed to have recovered all the activity.and
vigour of youth; so were his two young
friends, who have fought so bravely at the
post, when the cowardly Umbiquas entered
our grounds. ‘This is all what I have heard,
all what I have seen; and the whisper said
to me, as the vision faded away, ‘J.ose no
time, old chief, the day has come! Say to
thy warriors, Listen to the young Pale-face.
The Great Spirit of the Red-skin will pass
into his breast, and lend him some words
that the Shoshone will understand.’

‘““Tam old and feeble; lanvtired, arise,
my grandson Owato Wanisha ; speak to my
warriors ; tell them the wishes of the Great
Spirit. I have spoken.”

Thus called upon, I advanced fo the place
which the chief had left vacant, and spoke
in my turn :— :

“*Shoshones, fathers, brothers, warriors,
—I am a Pale-face, but you know alk my
heart is a Shoshone’s. I am young, but no
more a child. It is but a short time since
that I was a hunter; since that time the
Manitou has’made'me a warrior, and ledme
among strange and distant tribes, where he
taught me what 1 should do to render theSN rere mace eT Cer

 

i lah iM ep pis ie at

Shoshones a great people. Hear my words,
for Ihave but one tongue; it is the tongue of
my heart, and in my heart now dwells the
Good Spirit. Wonder not, if I assume the
tone of command to give orders ; the orders
I will give are the Manitou’s.

«The twelve wisest heads of the Shoshones
will go to the Arrapahoes. "With them they
will .take presents ; they will take ten sons of
chiefs, who have themselves led men on the
war-path ; they will take ten young girls, fair
to look at, daughters of chiefs, whose voices
are Soft as the warbling of the birds in the
fall. At the great council of the Arrapahoes,
the ten girls will be offered to ten great
chiefs, and ten great chiefs will offer their
own daughters to our ten young war-
riors ; they will offer peace for ever; they
will exchange all the scalps, and they will
say that their fathers, the Shoshones, — will
once more open. their arms to their brave
children. Our best hunting-ground shall be
theirs; they will fish the salmon of our

-Tivers; they will be Arrapahoes-Shoshones ;

we will become Shoshones-Arrapahoes. — I
have already sent to the settlement of the
Watchinangoes my ancient Pale-face friend
of the stout heart and keen eye; shortly we
will see at the post a vessel with arms, am-
munition, and presents for the nation. I will go
myself witha party of warriors to the prairies
of the Apaches, and among the Comanches.

‘‘Yet I hear within me a stout voice,
which I must obey. My grandfather, the old
chief, has said he should be no more a chief.
I was wrong, very wrong; the Manitou is
angry. Is the buffalo lessa buffalo when he
grows old, or the eagle less an eagle when a
hundred winters have whitened his wings?
No! their nature cannot change, not more
than that of a chief, and that chief, a chief of
the Shoshones !

“Owato Wanisha willremain what he is ;
he is too young to be the great chief of the
whole of agreat nation. His wish is good,
but his wisdom is of yesterday ; he cannot
rule. To rule belongs to those who have de-
served doing so, by long experience. No!
Owato Wanisha will lead his warriors to the
war-path, or upon the trail of the buffalo ;
he will go and talk to the grandchildren of
the Shoshones ; more he cannot do !

“Let now the squaws prepare the fare-
well meal, and make ready the green paint ;
to-morrow I shall depart, with fifty of my
young men. I have spoken.” -

The council being broken up, I had to pass
through the ceremony of smoking the pipe
and shaking hands with those who could call
themselves warriors. On the following morn-
ing, fifty magnificent horses, richly capari-
soned, were led
council lodge. Fifty warriors soon appeared,
in their gaudiest dresses, all armed with the

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

to the lawn before the.

lance, bow, and tfasso, and rifle suspended
across the shoulder. ‘Then there was a pro-
cession of all the tribes, divided into two
bands, the first headed by the chiefs and
holy men; the other, by the young virgins.
Then the dances commenced; the. elders
sang their exploits of former days, as an
example to their children; the young men ex-

-cised themselves at the war-post ; and the

matrons, wives, mothers, or sisters of the
travellers painted their faces with green and
red, asa token of the nature of their mission.
When this task was performed, the whole of
the procession again formed their ranks, and
joined in a chorus, asking the Manitou for
success, and bidding us farewell. I gave the
signal ; all my men sprang up in their sad-
dles, and the gallant little band, after having
rode twice round the council lodge, galloped
away into the prairie.

Two days after us, another party was to
start for the country of the Arrapahoes, with
the view of effecting a reconciliation between
our two tribes.

 

CHAPTER XVI.

At this time, the generally bright pros-
pects of California were clouding over. Great
changes had taken place in the Mexican
government, new individuals had sprang into.
power, and their followers were recompensed
with dignities and offices. But, as these
offices had been already filled by others, it
was necessary to remove the latter, and,
consequently, the government had made it-
self more enemies.

Such was the case in California ; but that
the reader may understand the events which
are to follow, it is necessary to draw a brief
sketch of the country. I have already said
that California embraces four hundred miles
of sea-coast upon the Pacific Ocean. On the
east, it is bounded. by the Californian gulf,
forming, in fact, a long peninsula. The only
way of arriving at it by land, from the in-
terior of Mexico, is to travel many hundred
miles north, across. the wild deserts of
Senora, and through tribes of Indians which,
from the earliest records down to our days,
have always’ been hostile to the Spaniards,
and, of course, to the Mexicans. Yet far as
California is—too far indeed. for the govern-
ment of Mexico to sufficiently protect it,
either from Indian inroads or from the de-
predations of pirates, by which, indeed, the
coast has much suffered—it does not prevent
the Mexican government from _ exacting
taxes from the various settlements—taxes
enormous in themselves, and so onerous, that
they will ever prevent these countries from
becoming what they ought to be, under a
better government.

The most northerly establishment inMexico on the Pacific Ocean is San Fran-
cisco ; the next, Monterey; then comes
San Barbara, St. Luis Obispo, Buona Ven-
tura, and, finally, St. Diego; besides these
sea-ports, are many cities in the interior, such
as St. Juan Campestrano, Los Angelos, the
largest town in California, and San Gabriel.
Disturbances, arising from the ignorance and
venality of the Mexican dominion, very often
happen in these regions ; new individuals are
continually appointed to rule them; and
these individuals are generally men of broken
fortunes and desperate characters, whose ex-
tortions become so intolerable that, at last,
the Californians, in spite of their lazy dis-
positions, rise upon their petty tyrants. Such
was now the case at Monterey. A new
governor had arrived; the. old General
Moreno had, under falsé pretexts, been dis-
missed, and recalled to the central depart-
ment, to answer to many charges preferred
against him.

The new governor, a libertine of the lowest
class of the people, half monk and half sol-
dier, who had carved his way through the
world by murder, rapine, and abject sub-
mission to his superiors, soon began to stretch
an iron hand over the town’s-people. The
Montereyans will bear much, yet under their
apparent docility and moral apathy there
lurks a fire which, once excited, pours forth
flames of destruction. Moreover, the foreign-
ers established in Monterey had, for a long
time, enjoyed privileges which they were not
willing to relinquish ; and as. they were,
generally speaking, wealthy, they enjoyed a
certain degree of influence over the lower
classes of the Mexicans.

Immediately after the first extortion of
the new governor, the population rose ez
masse, and disarmed the garrison. The pre-
sidio was occupied by the insurgents, and the
tyrant was happy to escape on board an
English vessel, bound to Acapulco.

However, on this occasion the Monte-
reyans did not break their fealty to the Mexi-
can government; they wanted justice, and
they took it into their own hands. One of
the most affluent citizens was unanimously
selected governor pro tempore, till another
should arrive, and they returned to their
usual pleasures and apathy, just as if nothing
axtraordinary had happened. The name of
the governor thus driven away was Fonseca.
Knowing well that success alone could have
justified his conduct, he did not attempt to
return to. Mexico, but meeting with some pi-
rates, at that time ravaging the coasts in the
neighbourhood of Guatemala, he joined them,
and, excited by revenge and cupidity, he
conceived the idea of conquering California
for himself. He succeeded in enlisting into
his services some 150 vagabonds from all
parts of the earth—runaway sailors, escaped

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

   
  
   
   
 
   
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
     

49

criminals, and, among the number, some
forty Sandwich Islanders, brave and despe-
rate fellows, who were allured with the hopes
of plunder.
I may as well here mention, that there is
a great number of these Sandwich Islanders
swarming all along the coast of California,
between which and the Sandwich Islands a
very smart trade is carried on by the natives
and the Americans. ‘The vessels employed
to perform the voyage are always doubly
manned, and once on the shores of Cali-
fornia, usually half of the crew deserts.
Accustomed to a warm climate and to a life
of indolence, they find themselves perfectly
comfortable ana happy in the new country,
They engage themselves now and then as
journeymen, to fold the hides, and, with their
earnings, they pass a life of inebriety, singu-
larly contrasting with the well-known ab-
stemiousness of the Spaniards. Such men
had Fonseca taken into his service, and hay-
ing seized upon a small store of arms and
ammunition, he prepared for his expedition.
In the meanwhile the governor of Senora
having been apprised of the movements at
Monterey, took upon himself to punish the
outbreak, imagining that his zeal would be
highly applauded by the Mexican govern-
ment. Just at this period troops having
come from Chihuahua, to quell an insurrec-
tion of the conquered Indians, he took the
field in person, and advanced towards: Cali-
fornia. Leaving the ex-governor Fonseca
and the governor of Senora for a while, I shall
return to my operations among the Indians.
I have stated, that upon the resolution of
the Shoshones to unite the tribes, Ihad des-
patched my old servant to Monterey, and
Gabriel to the nearest Apache village. This
last had found a numerous party of that tribe
on the waters of the Colerado of the West,
arid was coming in the direction which I had
myself taken, accompanied by the whole
party. We soon met; the Apaches heard
with undeniable pleasure the propositions I
made to them, and they determined that
one hundred of. their chiefs and warriors
should accompany me on my return to the
Shoshones, in order to arrange with the
elders of the tribe the compact of the treaty.
On our return we passed through the
Arrapahoes, who had already received my
messengers, and had accepted as well as
given the ‘‘brides,’” which were to consoli-
date an indissoluble union. As to the Co-
manches, seeing the distance, and the time
which must necessarily be lost in going and
returning, I postponed my embassy to them,
until the bonds of union between the three
nations, Shoshones, Apaches, and Arrapa-
hoes, should be so firmly cemented as not to
be broken. The Arrapahoes followed the
example of the Apaches; and a hundredwarriors, well mounted and equipped, joined
us to go and see their fathers, the Shoshones,
and smoke with them the calumet of eternal
peace.

We were now a gallant band, two hun-
dred and fifty strong; and in order to find
game sufficient for the subsistence of so many
individuals, we were obliged to take a long
range to the south, so as to fall upon the
prairies bordering the Buona Ventura.
Chance, however, led us into a struggle, in
which I became afterwards deeply involved.
Scarcely had we reached the river, when we
met with a company of fifteen individuals,
composed of some of my old Monterey
friends. They were on their way to the
‘Settlement, to ask my help against the
Sovernor of Senora; and ‘the Indians being
all unanimous in their desire to chastise him,
and to acquire the good-will of the wealthy
people of Monterey, I yielded to circum-
Stances, and altered our course to the south.
My old servant had come with the deputa-
tion, and from him I learnt the whole of the
transaction.

It appears that the governor of Senora
declared, that he would whip like dogs, and
hang the best part of the population of Mon-
terey, principally the Anglo-Saxon settlers,
the property of whom he intended to confis-
cate for his own private use. If he could but
have kept his own counsel; he would of a
certainty have succeeded, but the Monte-
reyans were aware of his intentions, even
before he had reached the borders of Calli-
fornia.

Deputations were sent to the neighbour-
ing towns, and immediately a small body of
determined men started to occupy the passes
through which the governor had to proceed.
There they learnt with dismay, that the force
they would’ have to contend with was at
feast ten times more numerous than their
own; they were too brave, however, to retire
without a blow in défence of their indepen-
dence, and remembering the intimacy con-
tracted with me, together with the natural
antipathy of the Indians against the Watchi-
nangoes, or Mexicans, they determined to
ask our help, offering’ in return a portion of
the wealth they could command in cattle
arms, ammunition, and other articles of great
value among savages.

The governor's army amounted to five
hundred men, two hundred of them soldiers
im uniform, and the remainder half-bred
stragglers, fond of pillage, but too cowardly
to fight for it. It was agreed that I and my
men, being all on horseback, should occupy
the prairie, where wé would conceal our-
selves in anambush. The Montereyans and‘
their friends were to give way at the approach
of the governor, as if afraid of disputing the
ground ; and then, when the whole of the

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

hostile army should be in full pursuit, we
were to charge them in flank’ and put them
to rout. All happened: as was anticipated ;
we mustered about three hundred and fifteen
men, acting under one single impulse, and
sanguine as to success. On came the gover-
nor with his heroes.

A queer sight it was, and a noisy set’ of
fellows they were ; nevertheless, we could see
that they were rather afraid of meeting with
opposition, for they stopped at the foot of the
hill, and perceiving somé eight or ten Monte-
reyans at the top of the pass, they despatched
a white flag, to see if it were not possible to
make some kind of compromise. Our friends
pretended to be much terrified, and retreated
down towards the prairie. Seeing this, our
opponents became very brave. They marched,
galloped, and rushed on without order, till
they were fairly in our power’; then we gave
the war-whoop, which a thousand echoes ren-
dered still more terrible.

We fired not a bullet, we shot not an
arrow, yet we obtained. a signal victory.
Soldiers and stragglers threw themselves on
the ground to escape from death; while the
governor, trusting to his horse’s speed, darted
away to save himself. Yet his cowardice cost
him his life, for, his horse tumbling down, he
broke his neck. Thus perished the only vic-
tim of this campaign.

We took the guns and ammunition of our
vanquished opponents, leaving’ them only
one fusil for every ten men, with a number of
cartridges sufficient to prevent their starving
on their return home. Their leader was
buried where he had fallen, and thus ended
this mock engagement. Yet another battle
was to be fought, which, though successful,
did not. terminate in quite so ludicrous a
manner.

By this time Fonseca was coasting along
the shore, but the south-easterly winds pre-
venting him from making Monterey, he entered
the Bay of St. Francisco. This settlement is
very rich, its population being composed of
the descendants of English and American
merchants, who had acquired a fortune in
the Pacific trade; it is called Verda buena
(the good grass), from the beautiful meadows
of wild clover which extend around it for
hundreds of miles.

‘There Fonseca had landed with about two
hundred rascals of his own stamp, and his
first act of aggression, had been to plunder
and destroy the little city. The inhabitants,
of course, fled in every direction; and on
meeting us, they promised the Indians half
of the articles which had been plundered from
them, if we could overpower the invaders
and recapture them. I determined to surt-
prise the rascals in the midst of their revel-
lings. I divided my little army into three
bands, giving to Gabriel the command of ‘theApaches, with orders to occupy the shores of
the bay and destroy the boats, so that the
pirates should not escape to their vessels.
The Arrapahoes were left in the prairie around
the city to intercept those who might endea-
vour to escape by land. The third party I
commanded myself, It consisted of fifty
well-armed Shoshones and _ fifty-four Mexi-
cans from the coast, almost all of them sons
of English or American settlers,

Early in the morning we entered into what
had been, a few days, before, a: pretty little
town, It was now, nothing but a heap of
ruins, among which a few tents had been
spread for night' shelter. The sailors and
pirates were all tipsy, scattered here and
there on the ground, in profound sleep. “The
Sandwichers, collected in a mass, lay near the
tents. Near them stood a large pile of boxes,
kegs, bags, etc.: it was the plunder. We
should have undoubtedly seized upon the
brigands without any bloodshed, had not the
barking of the dogs awakened the Sand-
wichers, who were up in‘’a moment. “They
gave the alarm, seized their arms, and closed
fiercely and desperately with my left wing,
which was composed, of the white men.

These suffered a great deal, and, broke
their ranks ; but I wheeled round and sur-
rounded the fellows with my Shoshones, who
did not even use their rifles, the lance and
tomahawk performing. their deadly work in
silence, and with such a despatch, that in
ten minutes but few of the miserable islanders
lived to complain of their wounds. _My
Mexicans, having rallied, seized upon Fon-
seca and destroyed many of the pirates in
their beastly state of intoxication. Only a
few attempted to fight, the greater number
staggering towards the beach to seek shelter
in their boats... But the Apaches had already
performed their duty ; the smallest boats they
had dragged on shore, the largest they had
scuttled ‘and sunk. Charging upon the
miserable fugitives, they transfixed them with
their spears, and our victory was complete.

The pirates remaining on board the two
vessels, perceiving how matters stood, saluted
us with a few discharges of grape and canister,
which did no execution; the sailors being
almost all of them runaway Yankees, were in
all probability as drunk as their companions
on shore. At last they succeeded in heaving
up their anchors, and, favoured by the land-
breeze, they soon cleared the bay. Since that
time nothing has been heard of them.

Fonseca, now certain of his fate, proved
to be as mean and cowardly as he had been
tyrannical before his defeat. He made me
many splendid offers, if I would but let him
go and try his fortune elsewhere : seeing how
much I despised him, he turned to the Mexi-
cans, and tried them one and all; till, finally
perceiving that he had no hope of mercy, he

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

Sr

began to blaspheme ‘so horribly that I was
obliged to order him to be gagged.

‘The next morning two companies arrived
from Monterey, acouncil was convened, twenty
of the citizens forming thmselves into a jury.
Fonseca was tired and condemned, both as a
traitor and a pirate; and, as shooting would
haye beén too great an honour for such a
wretch, he was hanged in company with the
few surviving Sandwichers.

Our party had suffered a little in the be-
ginning of the action; three Mexicans had
been killed and eighteen wounded, as well as
two Apaches. Of my Shoshones, not one
received the smallest scratch ; and the Arra-
pahoes, who had been left to scour the prairie,
joined us a short time after the battle with a
few scalps.

The people of San Francisco were true to
their promise ; the rescued booty was divided
into two equal parts, one of which was offered
to the Indians, as had been agreed upon. On
the eve of our departure, presents were made
tous as a token of gratitude, and of course
the Indians, haying at the first moment of
their confederation made such a_ successful
and profitable expedition, accepted it as a
good presage for the future. Their services
being no longer required, they turned towards.
the north, and started forthe settlement under
the command of Roche, to follow up their
original intentions of visiting the Shoshones.
As for me, I remained behind at San Fran-
cisco,

 

CHAPTER.XVid.

Up to the present portion of my narrative
I have lived and kept company with Indians
and a few white men who had conformed to
their manners and customs. I had seer
nothing of civilized life, except during my
short sojourn at Monterey, one of the last
places in the world to give you a true know-
ledge of mankind. - I was as all Indians are,
until they have been deceived and outraged,
frank, confiding, and honest. I knew that I
could trust my Shoshones, and I thought that
I. could put confidence in those who were
Christians and more civilized. But the reader
must recollect that I was but nineteen years
of age, and had been brought up as a Sho-
shone. My youthful ardour had been much
inflamed by our late successful conflicts. Had
I contented myself with cementing: the Indian
confederation, I should have done well, but
my ideas now went much further. The cir-
cumstances which had just occurred’ raised in
my mind the project of rendering the whole
of California independent, and it was my
ambition to become the liberator of the
country, $

Aware of the great resources of the terri-
tory, of the impassable barriers presented toRrahddeken id sy Gee hie eee

 

 

any large body of men who would invade it
from the central parts of Mexico ; the more I
reflected, the more I was convinced of the
feasibility of the undertaking.

I represented to the Californians at San
Francisco that, under existing circumstances,
they would not be able successfully to oppose
any force which the government might send
by sea from Acapulco ; I pointed out to them
that their rulers, too happy in having a pre-
text for plundering them, would show them
no mercy, after what had taken place; and
I then represented, that if they were at once
to declare their independence, and open their
ports to strangers, they would, in a short
time, become sufficiently wealthy and power-
ful to overthrow any expedition that might be
fitted out againstthem. TI also proposed, as
they had no standing troops, to help them
with a thousand warriors ; but if so, I ex-
pected to have a’share in the new government
that should be established, My San Fran-
cisco friends heard me with attention, and I
could see they approved the idea ; yet there
were only a few from among the many who
spoke out, and they would not give any final
answer until they had conferred with their
countrymen at Monterey. They pledged their
honour that immediately on their arrival in
that city, they would canvas the business,
despatch messengers to the southern settle-
ments, and let me know the result.

As it was useless for me to return to the
Settlement before I knew their decision, I
resolved upon taking up my residence at one
of the missions on the bay, under the charge
of some jolly Franciscan monks.

In the convent, or mission, I passed my
time pleasantly ; the good fathers were ail
men of sound education, as indeed they all
are in Mexico. The holy fathers were more
than willing to separate California from the
Mexican government; indeed they had many
reasons for their disaffection; government
had robbed them of their property, and had
levied nearly two hundred per cent. upon all
articles of Californian produce and manufac-
ture. Moreover, when they sold their furs
and hides to the foreign traders, they were
bound to give one-half of the receipts to the
government, while the other half was already
reduced to an eighth, by the Mexican process
of charging 200 per cent. duty upon all goods
landed on the shore. They gave me to under-
stand that the missions would, if necessary for
my success, assist me with 15, 20, nay, 30,000
dollars.

I had a pleasant time with these Padres,
for they were all don vivants. Their cellars
were well filled with Constantia wine, their
gardens highly cultivated, their poultry fat

and tender, and their game always had a par-
ticular flavour. Had I remained there a few
months more, I might have taken the vows

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

myself, so well did that lazy, comfortable life
agree with my taste ; but the Californians had
been as active as they had promised to be,
and their emissaries came to San Francisco to
settle the conditions under which I was to
lend my aid. Events were thickening, there
was no retreat for me, and I prepared for
action.

After a hasty, though hearty, farewell to
my pious and liberal entertainers, I returned
to the settlement, to prepare for the opening
of the drama, which,would lead some of us
either to absolute power or to the scaffold.

Six weeks after my quitting San F rancisco,
I was once more in the field, and ready for an
encounter against the troops despatched from
St. Miguel of Senora, and other central gar-
risons. On hearing of the defeat of the two
governors, about 120 Californians, from Mon-
terey and San Francisco, had joined my
forces, either excited by their natural martial
spirit, or probably with views of ambition
similar to my own.

I had with me 1/200 Indians, well equipped
and well mounted ; but, on this occasion, my
own Shoshones were in greater numbers than
our new allies. They numbered 800, forming
two squadrons, and their discipline -was such
as would have been admired at the military
parades of Europe. Besides them, I had 300
Arrapahoes and roo Apaches.

As the impending contest assumed a cha-
racter more serious than our two preceding
skirmishes, I made some alteration in the
command, taking under my own immediate
orders a body of 250 Shoshones and the
Mexican company, who had brought four
small field-pieces. The remainder of my
Indians were subdivided into squadrons of
Too, commanded by their own respective
chiefs. Gabriel, Roche, and my old servant,
with two or three clever young Californians
I kept about me as aides-de-camp. We
advanced to the pass, and found the enemy
encamped in the plain below. We madeour
dispositions ; our artillery was well posted
behind breast-works, in almost an impreg-
nable position, a few miles below the pass,
where we had already defeated the Governor
of Senora. We found ourselves in presence
of an enemy inferior in number, but well dis-
ciplined, and the owners of four field-pieces
heavier than ours. They amounted to about
950, 300 of which were cavalry, and the re-
mainder light infantry, with a small company
of artillery.

Of course, in our hilly position our cavalry
could be of no use, and as to attacking them
in the plain, it was too dangerous to attempt
it, as we had but 600 rifles to Oppose to their
superior armament and military discipline.
Had it been in a wood, where the Indians
could have been under cover of trees, we
would have given the war-whoop, and de-stroyed them without allowing them time to
look about them ; but as it was, having dis-
mounted the Apaches, and feeling pretty
certain of the natural strength of our position,
we determined to remain quiet, till a false
movement or a hasty attack from the enemy
should give us the opportunity of crushing
them at a blow.

I was playing now for high stakes, and
the exuberancy of spirit which had formerly.
accompanied my actions had deserted me,
and I was left a prey to care, and, I must
confess, to suspicion ; but it was too late to
retrace my steps, and, moreover, I was too
proud not to finish what I had begun, even if
it should be at the expense of my life. Hap-
pily, the kindness and friendship of Gabriel
and Roche threw a brighter hue upon my
thoughts ; in them I knew I possessed two
friends who would never desert me in mis-
fortune, whatever they might do in pros-
perity ; we had so long lived and hunted
together, shared the same pleasures and the
same privations, that our hearts were linked
by the strongest ties.

The commander who opposed us was an
old and experienced officer, and certainly we
should have had no chance with him had he
not been one of those individuals who having
been appréciated by the former government,
was not in great favour with or even trusted
by the present one. Being the only able
officer in the far-west, he had of a necessity
been intrusted with this expedition, but only
de nomine ; infact, he had with him agents of
the government to watch him, and who took
a decided pleasure in counteracting all his
views ; they were young men, withoutany kind
of experience, whose only merit consisted in
their being more or less related to the mem-
bers of the existing government. Every one
of them wished to act as a general, looking
upon the old commander as a mere conveni-
ence, upon whom they would throw all the
responsibility in case of defeat, and from
whom they intended to steal the laurels, if
any were to,be obtained.

This commander's name was Martinez;
he had fought well and stoutly against the
Spaniards during the War of Independence ;
but that was long ago, and his services had
been forgotten. As he had acted purely from
patriotism, and was too stern, too proud, and
too honest to turn courtier and bow to up-
starts in power, he had left the halls of
Montezuma with disgust; consequently he
had remained unnoticed, advancing not a
step, used now and, then in time of danger,
but neglected when nolonger required. __

I could plainly perceive how little unity
there was prevailing among the leaders of our
opponents. At some times the position of
the army showed superior military genius, at
others the infantry were exposed, and the

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

cavalry performing useless evolutions, It
was evident that two powers were struggling
with each other ; one endeavouring to main-
tain regular discipline, the other following
only the impulse of an unsteady and over-
bearing temper. This discovery, of course,
rendered me somewhat more confident, and it
was with no small pride I reflected that in
my army I alone commanded.

It was a pretty sight to look at my Sho-
shones, who already understood the strength
gained by simultaneous action. The Apaches,
too, in their frequent encounters with the
regular troops, had acquired a certain know-
ledge of cavalry tactics. All the travellers in
Mexico who have met with these intrepid
warriors have wondered at their gallant and
uniform bearing.. The Californians also,
having now so much at stake, had assumed a
demeanour quite contrary to their usual indo-
lent natures, and their confidence in me was
much increased since our success against
Fonseca, and the comparison they could
now make between the disposition and ar-
rangement of the opposed forces.. So elated
indeed were they and so positive of success,
that they frequently urged me to an imme-
diate attack. But I had determined upon a
line of conduct to which I adhered.

The Arrapahoes showed themselves a little
unruly ; brave, and such excellent horsemen,
as almost to realize the fable of the Centaurs,
charging an enemy with the impetuosity of
lightning and disappearing with the quickness
of thought, they requested me every moment
to engage: but I knew too well the value of
regular infantry, and how ineffectual would be
the efforts of light cavalry against their
bayonets. I was obliged to restrain their
ardour by every argument I could muster,
principally by giving them to understand that
by a hasty attack we should certainly lose the
booty.

The moment came atlast. ‘The prudence
of the old commander having been evidently
overruled by his ignorant coadjutors, the
infantry were putin motion, flanked on one
side by the cavalry and on the other by the
artillery. It was indeed a pitiful movement,
for which they paid dearly. I despatched the
Arrapahoes to out-flank and charge the
cavalry of the enemy when a signal should be
made: the Apaches slowly descended the hill
in face of the infantry, upon which we opened
a destructive fire with our four field-pieces.

The infantry behaved well; they never
flinched, but stood their ground as brave
soldiers should do. The signal to charge
was given to the Arrapahoes, and at that
moment the Shoshones, who till then had re-
mained inactive with me on the hill, started
at full gallop totheir appointed duty. The
charge of the Arrapahoes was rapid and
terrific, and, when the smoke and dust hadshh a a Ria APR are Bo

 

   

54 LRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

cleared away, I perceived them in the plain a
mile off, driving before them the Mexican
cavalry, reduced to half its number. The
Shoshones, by a rapid movement; had broken
through between the infantry and artillery,
forcing the artillerymen to ‘abandon their
pieces ; then, closing their ranks and wheel:
ing, they attacked fiercely the right flank of
-the infantry.

When I gave the signal tothe Arrapahoes
to charge, the Apaches quickened their speed
and charged the enemy in front ; but they
were checked by the running fire of the well-
disciplined troops, and, in spite oftheir de-
termination and gallantry, they found in the

Mexican bayonets a barrier of steel which
their lances could not penetrate.

The chances, however, were still ours.
The Mexican artillery was in our power, their
cavalry dispersed and almost out of sight,
and the infantry, though admirably disci-
plined, was very hardly pressed both in flank
and in front. At this juncture I sent Gabriel
to bring back the Arrapahoes to the scene of
the conflict, for I knew that the Mexican
cavalry would never form again until they
had reached the borders of Senora. Of
course, the coadjutors of Martinez had disap-
peared with the fugitive cavalry, ‘leaving the
old general to regain the lost advantage and
to bear the consequence of ‘their own
cowardice and folly.

New left master. of his actions, this
talented officer did not yet despair of success.
By an admirable manceuvre he threw his in-
fantry two divisions, so as to check both
bodies of cavalry until he could form them
into a solid square, which, charging with im-
petuosity through the Shoshones, regained
possession of their pieces of artillery, after
which, retreating slowly, they succeeded in
reaching, without further loss, the ground
which they had occupied previous to. their
advance, which, from its more broken and
uneven nature, enabled the infantry to resist
a charge of cavalry with considerable advan-
tage.

or his manceuyre of the old general, which
extricated his troops from their dangerous
position and recovered his field-pieces, had
also the advantage of rendering our artillery
of no'further service, as we could’ not move
them down the hill. As’ the battle was still
to be fought, I resolved. to attack them before
they had time to breathe; and while they were
yet panting and exhausted with their recent
exertions.

Till then the Californians had been merely
spectators of the conflict. I now put myself
at their head and’ charged the Mexicans’
square in front, while the Shoshones did the
same on the left, and the Apaches on the
right.

Five or six times were we repulsed,

and we repeated the charge, the old com-
mander everywhere giving directions and en-
couraging his men. Roche and I were both
wounded, fifteen of the Californians dead,
the ranks of Shoshones mtch thinned by the
unceasing fire of the artillery, and the Apaches
were giving way in confusion. I was begin-
ning to doubt of success, when Gabriel,
having succeeded in recalling the Arrapa-
hoes from their pursuit of the fugitive
cavalry, re-formed them, made a furious
charge upon the Méxicans on the only side of
the square not already assailed, and precisely
at the moment when alast desperate effort of
the Shoshones and my own body of Califor-
nians had thrown the ranks opposed to us
into confusion.

The brave old commander perceiving he
could no longer keep his ground, retreated
slowly, with the intention of gaining the
rugged and broken ground at the base of the
mountains behind him, whére our cavalry could.
no longer assail him.

Perceiving his intention, and determining,
if possible, to prevent his retreat, the Arra-

-pahoes having now rejoined us, we formed

into one compact body and made a final and
decisive charge, which proved irresistible.
We broke through their ranks and dispersed
them. Fora time my command and power
ceased ; the Indians were following their own
custom of killing without mercy, and scalping
the dead. One-half of the enemy were de-
stroyed ; but Martinez succeeded with the re-
mainder in reaching his intended position.

But the Mexican troops considered it use-
less to contend any more, and shortly after-
wards the old general himself rode towards
us with a flag, to ascertain the conditions
under which we would accept his surrender.
Poor man! He was truly an estimable
officer. The Indians opened their ranks to
let him pass, while all the Californians, who
felt for his mortification, uncovered ’ them-
selves as a mark of respect. ‘The old general
demanded a free passage back to Senora, and
the big tears were in-his eyes as he made the
proposal. Speaking of his younger asso-
ciates, he never used a word to their dis
paragement, though the slight curl of his lip
showed plainly how bitter were his feelings ;
he knew too that his fate: was sealed, and
that he alone would bear the disgrace of the
defeat.

So much was he respected by the ‘Cali-
fornians, that ‘his Tequest was immediately
granted, upon his assurance that, under no
circumstance, he would return to California
as a foe. As Martinez departed, a Shoshone
chief, perceiving that his horse was seriously
wounded, dismounted from his own, and ad-
dressed him :—

“‘ Chief of the Watchinangoes (Mexicans)
and brother, brave ‘warrior! a Shoshone canhonour as well’.as fight an enemy : take this
horse; it has been the horse of a Red-
skin warrior, it will be faithful to the Pale-
face.”

The general bowed upon his saddle, and
descended, saying, in few words, that he now
learned to esteem the Indian warriors who
had overpowered him on that fated day, both
by their gallantry and generosity. Whenthe
Indian proceeded to change the saddles,
Martinez stopped him.

‘‘Nay, brother,” said he; ‘‘ keep it with
the holsters and their contents, which are
‘more suitable to a conqueror and a young
warrior than to a vanquished and broken-
hearted old man.”

Having said this, he spurred his new
horse, and soon rejoined hismen. We re-
turned to the encampment, and two hours
afterwards we saw the Mexicans in full retreat
towards the rising sun.

That night was one of mourning ; our
success had been complete, but dearly pur-
chased. The Arrapahoes alone had not
suffered.. ‘The Apaches had lost thirty men,
the Shoshones one hundred and twelve, killed
and wounded, and the Montereyans several
of their most respected young citizens. On
the following day we buried our dead, and
when our task was over, certainthat weshould
remain unmolested for a considerable time,
we returned to San Francisco—the Indians to
receive the promised bounty, and I to make
arrangements for our future movements.

By the narrative I have given, the reader
may have formed an accurate idea of what
did take place in California, _ I subsequently
received the Mexican newspapers, containing
the account of what occurred; and as these
are the organs through which the people of
Europe are enlightened, as to the events of
these distant regions, 1 shall quote the pages,
to show how truth. may be perverted.

“‘ Chihuahua—News of the West—Cal-
fornian Rebellion.—This day arrived in our
city a particular courier from the Bishop of
Senora, bearer of despatches rather important
for the welfare of our government. The spirit
of rebellion is abroad; Texas already has
separated from our dominions; Yucatan is
endeavouring to follow the pernicious example,
and California has just now lighted the flam-
beau of civil war.

“‘Tt appears that, excited by the bad
advices of foreigners, the inhabitants of Monte-
rey obliged the gallant governor to leave his
fireside. This warlike officer found the means
of forwarding despatches to Senora, while he
himself, uniting a handful of brave and faith-
ful citizens, landed in the bay of San Fran-
cisco, in order to punish the rebels. By this
time the governor of Senora, with the élite of
the corps of the army under his orders,
having advanced to his help, was decoyed

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55

ito the rebels’ camp: under some peaceful
pretext, and shamefully murdered.

“‘It is -yet a glory to think that even
a Mexican ‘rebel could not have been
guilty of so heinous a crime. |The performer
of that cowardly deed was a Frenchman,
living among the Indians of the west, who,
for the sake of a paltry sum of gold, came
to the aid of the rebels’ with many thousands
of the savages, His next step was to enter
San Francisco, and there, the horrors he com-
mitted recall to our mind the bloody deeds
performed in his country during the great re-
volution. But what could be expected from
a Frenchman? Fonseca was executed as a
malefactor, the city plundered, the booty
divided among the red warriors; besides an
immense sum of money which was. levied
upon the other establishments, or, to say
better, extorted, upon the same footing as the
buccaneers of old.

“The news having reached the central
government of the west, General Martinez
assumed upon himself the responsibility of an
expedition, which, under the present appear-
ances, showed his want of knowledge, and
his complete ignorance of military tactics.
He was met by ten thousand Indians, and a
powerful artillery served by the crews of many
vessels upon the coast—vessels bearing rather
a doubtful character. Too late he perceived
his error, but had not the gallantry of repair-
ing it and dying asa Mexican should. He
fled from the field almost in the beginning of
the action, and had it not been for the des-
perate efforts of the cavalry, and truly won-
derful military talents displayed by three or
four young : officers who had accompanied
him, the small army would have been’ cut to
pieces. We numbered but five hundred men
in all, and had but a few killed and wounded,
while the enemy; left behind them on the field
more than twelve hundred slain.

‘““The gallant young officers would have
proceeded to San Francisco; and followed up
their conquest, had the little army been in
possession of the necessary provisions and
ammunition ; but General Martinez, either
from incapacity or treachery, had omitted
these two essential necessaries for an army.
We are proud and happy to say, that Emanuel
Bustamente, the young distinguished officer,
of a highly distinguished family, who con-
ducted himself so well in Yucatan during the
last struggle, commanded the cavalry, and it
is to his skill that we Mexicans owe the glory
of having saved our flag from a deep stain.

‘©Postcriptum,—We perceive that the
cowardly and mercenary Martinez has re-
ceived the punishment his treachery so well
deserved ; during his flight he was met by
some Indians and murdered. May divine
Providence thus punish) all traitors to the
Mexican government !”tit gala teshei ppt eh

I regret to say that the last paragraph
was true. The brave Martinez, who had
Stood to the last, who had faced death in
many battles, had been foully murdered, but
not, as was reported, by an Indian : he had
fallen under the knife of an assassin—but it
was a Mexican who had been bribed: to the
base deed.

Up to the present all had prospered. I
was called ‘The Liberator, the Protector of
California.” Splendid offers were made to
me, and the independence of California would
have been secured, had I only had two small
vessels to reduce the’ southern sea-ports
which had not yet declared themselves, either
fearing the consequences of a rebellion, or
disliking the idea of owing their liberation to
a foreign condottiere, and a large force of
Savages.

The Apaches returned home with eighty
mules loaded with their booty; so did the
Arrapahoes with pretty nearly an equal quan-
tity. My Shoshones I satisfied with pro-
mises, and returned with them to. the
settlement, to prepare myself for forthcoming
events.

A few chapters backwards I mentioned
that I had despatched my old servant to
Monterey. He had taken with him a con-
siderable portion of my jewels and gold to
make purchases, which were firmly to esta-
blish my power over the Indian confederacy.
A small schooner, loaded with the goods pur-
chased, started from Monterey ; but never
being seen afterwards, it is probable that she
fell into the hands of the pirate vessels which
escaped from San Francisco.

I had relied upon this cargo to satisfy the
just demands of my Indians upon my arrival
at the settlement. The loss was a sad blow
to me. “The old chief had just died, the
power had devolved entirely upon me, and it
was necessary, according to Indian custom,
that I ‘should give largest, and show a great
display of liberality on my accession to the
command of the tribe; so necessary, indeed,
was it, that I determined upon returning to
Monterey, va San Francisco, to provide
what was requisite. This step was a fatal
one, as will be shown when I narrate the cir-
cumstances which had occurred during my
absence.

Upon hearing the news of our movements
in the west, the Mexican government, fora
few days, spoke of nothing but extermina-
tion. The state of affairs, however, caused
them to think differently ; they had already
much work upon their hands, and California
was very far off. ‘They hit upon a plan,
which, if it showed their weakness, proved their
knowledge of human nature. While I was
building castles in the air, agents from Mexico
privately came to Monterey and decided the

matter,

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
    
 
  
 
  
  
   
   
  
   
    
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
     
   
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
   
  
 

They called together the Americans domi-
ciled at Monterey, who were the wealthiest
and the most influential of the inhabitants,
and asked them what it was that they re-
quired from the government? Diminution of
taxes, answered they. It wasagreed. What
next? Reduction of duty on foreign goods.
Agreed again. And next? Some other
privileges and dignities. All these were
granted.

In return for this liberality, the Mexican
agents then demanded that two or three of
the lower Mexicans should be hung up for an
example, and that the Frenchman and _ his
two white companions should be decoyed and
delivered up to the government,

This was consented to by these honest
domiciliated Americans, and thus did they
arrange to sacrifice me who had done so
much for them. Just as everything had been
arranged upon between them and ‘the agents,
I most unfortunately made my appearance,
with Gabriel and Roche, at the mission at
San Francisco. As soon as they heard of
our arrival, we were requested to honour
them with our company at a public feast, in
honour of our success! ! It was the meal of
Judas. We were all three seized and handed
over to the Mexican agents. Bound hand
and foot, under an escort of thirty men, the
next morning we set off to cross the deserts
and prairies of Senora, to gain the Mexican
capital, where we well knew that a gibbet was
to be our fate.

Such was the grateful return we received
from those who had called us to their assist-
ance.* Such was my first lesson in civilized
life !

CHAPTER XVIII.

As Circumstances, which I have yet to
relate, have prevented my return to the Sho-
shones, and I shall have no more to say of
their movements in these pages, I would fain
pay them a just tribute before I continue my
narrative. I wish the reader to perceive how
much higher the Western Indians are in the
scale of humanity than the tribes of the East,
so well described by Cooper and other
American writers. There is a chivalrous
spirit in these rangers of the western prairies
not to be exceeded in history or modern
times. :

The four tribes of Shoshones, Arrapahoes,
Comanches, and Apaches never attempt, like
the Dahcotah and Algonquin, and other
tribes of the East, to surprise an enemy ; they
take his scalp, it is true, but they take it in

* Americans, or Europeans, who wish to reside in
Mexico, are obliged to conform to the Catholic religion,
or they cannot hold property and become resident mer-
chants. These were the apostates for wealth who
betrayed me.the broad day ;, neither will they ever murder
the squaws, children, and old men, who may
be left unprotected when the war-parties are
out. In fact, they are honourable and noble
foes, sincere and trustworthy friends. In
many points they have the uses of ancient
chivalry among them, so much so as to in-
duce ine to surmise that they may have
brought them over with them when they first
took possession of the territory.

Every warrior has his nephew, who is
selected as his page ; he performs the duty of
a Squire, in ancient knight errantry, takes
charge of his horse, arms, and accoutrements ;
and he remains in this office until he is old
enough to gain his own spurs.. Hawking is
also a favourite amusement, and the’ chiefs
ride out with the falcon, or small eagle, on
their wrist or shoulder.

Even in their warfare, you often may
imagine that you were among the knights of
ancient days. An Arrapahoe and a Shoshone
warrior armed with a buckler and their long
lance, will single out and challenge each
other ; they run atilt, and as each has warded
off the blow, and passed unhurt, they will
courteously turn back and salute each other,
as an acknowledgment of their enemy's
bravery and skill. When these challenges
take place, or indeed in any single combat
without challenge, none of these Indians will
take advantage of possessing a_ superior
weapon. If one hasa rifle and knows that
his opponent has not, he will throw his rifle
down, and only use the same weapon as his
adversary.

I will now relate some few traits of cha-
racter, which will prove the nobility of these
Indians. *

Every year during the season dedicated to
the performing of the religious ceremonies,
premiums are given by the holy men and
elders of the tribe to those among the young
men who have the most distinguished them-
selves. The best warrior receives a feather of
the black eagle; the most successful hunter
obtains a robe of buffalo-skin, painted inside,
and representing some of his most daring
exploits ; the most virtuous has for his share
a coronet made either of gold or silver ; and
these premiums are suspended in their wig-
wams, as marks of honour, and handed down
to their posterity. .In fact, they become a
kind of écusson, which ennobles a family.

Once. during the distribution of these
much-coveted prizes, a.young man of twenty-
two was called by the chiefs to receive the pre-

* There is every prospect of these north-western
tribes remaining in their present primitive state, indeed of
their gradual improvement, for nothing can ‘induce them
to touch spirits. They know that the eastern Indians
have’ been debased and conquered by the use of them,
and consider an offer of a dram from an American
trader as an indirect attempt upon their life and honour,

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57

mium of virtue. The Indian advanced
towards his chiefs, when an elder of the tribe
rising, addressed the whole audience. He
pointed the young man out, as one whose
example should be followed, and recorded,
among many other praiseworthy actions, that
three squaws, with, many children,. having
been reduced to misery by the death of their
husbands in the last war against the Crows,
this young man, although the deceased were
the greatest foes of his family, undertook to
provide for their widows and children till
the boys, grown up, would be able to pro-
vide for themselves and their mothers. Since
that time, he had given them the produce of
his chase, reserving to himself nothing but
what was strictly necessary to sustain the
wants of nature. This was a noble and
virtuous act, one that pleased the Manitou.
It was an example which all the Shoshones
should follow.

The young man bowed, and as the vene-
rable chief was stooping to put the coronet
upon his head, he started back, and, to the
astonishment of all, refused the premium.

‘‘ Chiefs, warriors, elders. of the Sho-

shones, pardon me! You know the good
which I have done, but you know not in what
I have erred. My first feeling was to receive
the coronet, and conceal what wrong I had
done ; but a voice in my heart forbids my
taking what others have perchance better
deserved.
+  ‘‘Hear me, Shoshones ! the truth must be
told; hear my shame! One day, I was
hungry; it was in the great. prairies, I had
killed no game, and I was afraid to return
among our young men with empty hands. I
remained four days hunting, and still I saw
neither buffaloes nor beais. At last, I per-
ceived the tent of an Arrapahoe. I went in ;
there was no one there, and it was full of
well-cured meat. ._I had not eaten for five
days; I was hungry, and I became a thief.
I took away. a large piece, and ran away like
a. cowardly. wolf. I have said ; the prize
cannot be mine.”

A murmur ran through the assembly, and
the chiefs, holy men, and elders, consulted
together. At last, the ancient chief advanced
once more towards the young man, and took
his two hands between his own. ‘‘ My son,”
he said, ‘‘good, noble, and brave; thy ac-
knowledgment of thy fault and self-denial in
such a moment make thee as pure as a good
spirit in the eyes of the great Manitou. Evil,
when confessed and repented of, is forgotten ;
bend thy head, my son, and let me crown
thee, The premium is twice deserved and
twice due.”

A Shoshone warrior possessed a beautiful
mare; no horse in the prairie could outspeed
her, and in the buffalo or bear hunt she
would enjoy the sport as much as her master,and run alongside the huge’ beast with great
courage and spirit. Many propositions were
made to the warrior to sell or exchange the
animal, but he would not hear of it. The

. dumb brute was his friend, his sole com-

panion; they had both shared the dangers of
battle and the privations of prairie travelling ;
why should he part with her? The fame of
that mare extended so far, that in a trip he
made to San Francisco, several ‘Mexicans
offered him large sums of money ; nothing,
however, could shake him in his ‘resolution,
In those countries, though horses will often
be purchased at the low price of one dollar,
it often happens that a steed, well known asa
good hunter or a rapid pacer, will bring sums

equal to those paid in England for a fine race--

horse.

One of the Mexicans, a wild young man,
resolved to obtain the mare, whether or no.
One evening, when the Indian was returning
from some neighbouring plantation, the
Mexican laid down in some bushes at a short
distance from the road, and moaned as if in
the greatest pain. The good and kind-hearted
Indian having reached the spot, heard his
cries of distress, dismounted from his mare,
and offered any assistance: it was nearly
dark ; and although he knew the sufferer to
be a Pale-face, yet he could not distinguish
his features. The Mexican begged for a
drop of water, and the Indian dashed into a
neighbouring thicket to procure it for him.
As soon as the Indian was sufficiently distant, °
the Mexican vaulted upon the mare, and
apostrophed the Indian :—

‘‘You fool of a Red-skin, not cunning
enough for a Mexican : you refused my gold ;
now I have the mare for nothing, and [ will
make the trappers laugh when I tell them
how easily I have outwitted a Shoshone.”

The Indian looked at the Mexican fora
few moments in silence, for his heart was big,
and the shameful treachery wounded him to
the very core. At last, he spoke :—

‘* Pale-face,” said he, “for the sake of

others, I may not kill thee. Keep the mare,
since thou art dishonest enough to steal the
only property of a poor man: keep her, but
never say a word how thou camest: by her,
lest hereafter a Shoshone, having learnt dis-
trust, should not hearken to the voice of grief
and woe. Away, away with her! Jet me
never see her again, or in an evil hour the
desire of vengeance may make a bad man of
mie:*
The Mexican was wild, inconsiderate, and
not over-scrupulous, but not without feeling :
he dismounted from his horse, and putting
the bridle in the hand of the Shoshone.
‘* Brother,’’ said he “I have done wrong,
pardon me! from an Indian I learn virtue,
and for the future, when I would commit any
deed of injustice, I will think of thee,”

58 TRAVELS ‘AND ADVENTURES

Two Apaches loved the same girl: one
was a great chief, the other a young warrior,
who had entered the war-path but a short
time. Of course, the ‘parents of the young
girl rejected the warrior’s suit, as soon as the
chief proposed himself. Time passed, and
the young man, broken-hearted, left all the
martial exercises, in which he had excelled.
He sought solitude, Starting early in the
morning from the wigwam, and returning but
late in the night, when the fires were out.
The very day on which he was to lead the
young girl to his lodge, the chief went bear-
hunting among the hills of the neighbour-
hood. Meeting with a grizzly bear, he fired
at him: but at the moment he pulled the
trigger his foot slipped and he fell down,
only wounding the fierce animal which now,
smarting and infuriated with pain, rushed
upon him.

The chief had been hurt in his fall, he
was incapable of defence, and knew that he
was lost ; he shut his eyes, and waited for his
death-blow, when the report of a rifle; and
the springing of the bear in the agonies of
death, made him once more open his eyes 5
he started upon his feet, there lay the huge
monster, and near him stood the young war-
rior who had thus timely rescued ‘him.

The chief recognized his rival, and his
gratitude overpowering all other feelings he
took the warrior by the hand and grasped it
firmly.

‘“ Brother,” he said, * thou hast saved my
life at a time when it was sweet, more sO,
than usual ; let us be brothers.”

-The young man's breast heaved with con-
tending passions, but he, too, was a noble
fellow.

‘“ Chief,” answered he, ‘“‘when I saw the
bear rushing upon thee, I thought it was the
Manitou who had taken compassion on my
sufferings, my heart for an instant felt light
and happy ; but as death was near thee, very
near, the Good Spirit whispered his wishes,
and I have saved thee for happiness. It is I
who must die! I am nothing, have no
friends, no one to care for me, to love me, to
make pleasant in the lodge the dull hours of
night. Chief, farewell !”

- He was going, ‘but the chief grasped him
firmly by the arm :—

“Where dost thou wish to go? Dost
thou know the love of a brother? Didst thou
ever dream of one? I have said we must be
brothers to each other: come to the wigwam.”

They returned to thevillage in silence, and
when they arrived before the door of the
council lodge, the chief summoned everybody
to hear what he had ‘to communicate, and
ordered the parents to bring the young girl.

‘‘ Flower of the magnolia,” said he, tak-
ing her by the hand, ‘wilt thou love me less
as a brother than as a husband ? speak !Whisper thy thought to me! Didst thou
ever dream of another voice than mine, a
younger one, breathing of love and despair?”

Then leading the girl to where the young
watrior stood—

‘‘ Brother,” said he, ‘ take thy wife and
my sister.”

Turning towards. the elders, the chief ex-
tended his right arm so as to invite general
attention.

‘‘T have called you,” said he, ‘* that an
act of justice may be performed; hear my
words :—

‘“A young antelope loved a lily, standing
under the shade of a sycamore, by the side
of a cool stream. Daily he.came to watch it
as.it. grew whiter and more beautiful ; he loved
it very much, till one day-a large bull came
and picked up the lily. Wasit good? No!
‘The poor antelope fled towards the moun-
tains, never wishing to return any more under
the cool shade of the sycamore. One day he
met the bull down, and about to be killed by.
a big bear. He saved him; he heard only
the whisper of his heart; he saved the bull,

although the bull had taken away the pretty ~

lily from where it stood, by the cool. stream.
It was good, it.was well! The bull said to
the antelope, ‘We shall be brothers, in joy
and in sorrow !’ and the antelope said, there
could be no joy for him since the lily was
gone. ‘The bull considered ; he thought that
a brother ought to. make gteat sacrifices for a
brother,, and he said to the antelope: ‘ Be-
hold, there is the lily, take it before it droops
away, wear it in thy bosom and be happy.’
Chiefs, sages, and warriors! I am the. bull;
behold !. my brother the antelope. I have
given unto him the flower of the magnolia ;
she is the lily that grew by the side of the
Stream, and underthe sycamore. I have done
well, I. have done much, yet not enough
for. a great chief, not enough for a brother,
not enough for justice! Sages, warriors,
hear meall; the flower of the magnolia can
he but upon the bosom of a chief. My bro-
ther must become a chief, he is a chief, for I
divide with hiny the power I possess: my
wealth, my lodge, are his own; my horses,
my mules, my furs, and all! A chief has but
one life, and itis a great gift that cannot be
paid too highly. You, have heard my words :
[have said!”

This, sounds very. much likea romance, but
itis.an Apache story, related. of one of their
great chiefs, during one of their evening en-
campments.

An. Apache having, inamoment of passion
accidentally killed one of the tribe, hastened
to the chiefs to deliver himself up. to justice.
Cn his way, he was;met by: the brother of his
victim, upon whom, according to- Indian laws,
fell the. duty of revenge and retaliation; they
were friends and. shook hands together.

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59

““Yet I must kill. thee, friend,’ said the
brother.

‘Thou wilt!” answered. the murderer :
“itis thy duty, but wilt thou not remember
the dangers we have passed together, and
provide and console those: I leave behind in
my lodge?”

‘I will,” answered. the brother; “*thy
wife shall be my sister during her widowhood,
thy children will never want game, until they
can themselves strike the bounding deer.”

The two Indians continued their way in
silence, till at once the brother of the mur-
dered one stopped.

‘“ We shall soon reach the chiefs,” said he;
‘I to revenge 4. brother's death, thou to quit
for ever. thy tribe and thy children. Hast
thou a wish? think, whisper !”

The murderer stood irresolute, his glance
furtively took the direction. of his lodge. The
brother continued :— ;

‘*Go to thy lodge.» I shall wait for thee
till the setting of the sun, before the council
door. Go! thy tongue is silent ; but I know
the wish of thy heart. Go !’’

Such traits are common in Indian life. Diss
trust exists not among the children ofthe wilder-
ness, until generated by the conduct of white
men. These stories and a thousand others, all
exemplifying the triumph of virtue andhonour
over baseness and vice, are every day narrated
by the elders, in presence of the young men
and children. The evening encampment is
a great school of morals, where the Red-skin
philosopher embodies in his.tales the sacred
precepts of yirtue. A traveller, could he un-
derstand, what was said, as he viewed the
scene, might fancy some of the sages of
ancient Greece inculeating to their disciples
those precepts of wisdom which have trans-
mitted their name down to us bright and
glorious, through more than twenty centuries.

I have stated that the holy men among
the Indians, that is:'to say, the keepers of the
sacred lodges, keep the records of the great
deeds performed in the tribe; but a tribe will
generally boast more of the great virtues of
one of its men than of the daring of its bravest
warriors. ‘‘A virtuous man,” they say,
“‘has the ear of the Manitou, he can tell him
the sufferings of Indian nature, and ask*him
to soothe them.”

Eyen the Mexicans, who, of all men, have
had most to suffer,.and suffer daily, from the
Apaches,* cannot but:do: them the justice
they so well deserve. The road betwixt
Chihuahua and Santa Fe is almost entirely
deserted, so much are the Apaches dreaded ;
yet they are not hated by the Mexicans half
as much as the Texians or the Americans.
The Apaches are constantly at war with the
Mexicans, it is true, but never have they com-

* What I here say of the Apaches applies to the
whole Shoshone race.Sees: aici = tee spit asin

60

mitted any of those cowardly atrocities which
have disgraced every page of Texian history.
With the Apaches there are no murders in
cold blood, no abuse of the prisoners ; a cap-
tive knows that he will either suffer death or
be adopted in the tribe; but he has never to
fear the slow fire and the excruciating torture
so generally employed by the Indians in the
United States’ territories,

Their generosity is unbounded, and by
the treatment I received at their hands the
reader may form an idea of that brave people.
They will never hurt a stranger coming to
them : a green bough in his hand is a token
of peace; for him they will spread the best
blankets the wigwam can afford, they will
studiously attend to his wants, smoke with
him the calumet of peace, and when he goes
away, whatever he may desire from among the
disposable wealth of the tribe, if he asks for
it, it is given.

Gabriel was once attacked near Santa Fé,
and robbed of his baggage by some dishonest
Yankee traders. He fell in with a party of
Apaches, to whom he related the circum-
stance. They gave him some blankets and
left him with their young men at the hunting-
lodges they had erected. The next day they
returned with several Yankee captives, all
well tied, to prevent any possibility of escape.
‘These were the thieves, and what they had
taken of Gabriel was of course restored to
him. One of the Indians saying, that the
Yankees, having blackened and soiled the
country by theft, should receive the punish-
ment of ‘dogs, and as it was beneath’ an
Apache to strike them, cords were given
to them, with orders that they should chastise
each other for their rascality. The black-
guards were obliged to submit, and the dread
of being scalped was too strong upon them
to allow them to refuse. At first, they did
not seem to hurt each other much; but one
or two of them, smarting under the lash, re-
turned the blows in good earnest, and then
they all got angry and beat each otherso un-
mercifully that, in a few minutes they were
scarcely able tomove. Nothing could exceed
the ludicrous picture which Gabriel would
draw out of this little event.

There is one circumstance which will form
a particular datum in the history of the wes-
tern wild tribes: I mean the terrible visita-
tion of the small-pox. The Apaches, Co-
manches, the Shoshones, and Arrapahoes are
so clean and so very nice in the arrangement
of their domestic comforts, that they suffered
very littie, or not atall : at least, I do not re-
member a single case which brought death
in these tribes; indeed, as I’ have before
mentioned, the Shoshones vaccinate.

But such was not the case with the Club
Indians of the Colorado of the West, with the
Crows, the Flat-heads, the Umbiquas, and

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the Black-feet. These last suffered a great
deal more than any people in the world ever
suffered from any plague or pestilence. To
be sure, the Mandans had been entirely swept
from the surface of the earth ; but they were
few, while the Black-feet were undoubtedly
the most numerous and powerful tribe in the
neighbourhood of the mountains. ‘Their war-
parties ranged the country from the northern
English posts on the Slave Lake down south
to the very borders of the Shoshones, and
many among them had taken scalps of the
Osages, near the Mississippi, and even of the
great Pawnees. Between the Red River and
the Platte they had once one hundred villages,
thousands and thousands of horses. They
numbered more than six thousand warriors.
Their name had become a by-word of terror
on the northern continent, from shore to shore,
and little children in the eastern states, who
knew not the name of the tribes two miles
from their dwellings, had learned to dread
even the name of a Black-foot. Now the
tribe has been reduced to comparative insig-
nificance by this dreadful scourge. They die
by thousands ; whole towns and villages were
destroyed : and even now the trapper, coming
from the mountains, will often come across
numberless lodges in ruins, and the blanched
skeletons of uncounted and unburied Indians.
They lost ten thousand individuals in’ less
than three weeks.

Many tribes but little known suffered
pretty much in the same ratio. The Club
Indians, I have mentioned, numbering four
thousand before the pestilence, are now re-
duced to thirty or forty individuals ; and some
Apaches related to me that, happening at
that time to travel along the shores of the
Colorado, they met the poor fellows dying by
hundreds on the very edge of the water, where
they had dragged themselves to quench their
burning thirst, there not being among them
one healthy or strong enough to help’ and
succour the others. ‘The Navahoes, living in
the neighbourhood of the Club Indians, have
entirely disappeared ; and, though late travel-
lers have mentioned them in their works, there
is not one of them living now.

Mr. Farnham mentions them in his ‘‘ Tour
on the Mountains,’ but .he must have been
mistaken, confounding one tribe with another,
or perhaps deceived by the ignorance of the
trappers ; for that tribe occupied a range of
country entirely out of his track, and never
travelled by American traders or trappers.
Mr. Farnham could not have been in their
neighbourhood by at least six hundred miles.

The villages formerly’ occupied by the
Navahoes are deserted, though many of their
lodges still stand; but they serve only to
shelter numerous tribes of dogs, which having
increased wonderfully since there has been no
one to-kill and eat them, have become thelords of vast districts, where they hunt in
packs. So numerous and so fierce have they
grown, that the neighbouring tribes feel great
unwillingness to extend their range to where
they may fall in with these canine hunters.

This disease, which has spread north as
far as the Ohakallagans, on the borders of the
Pacific Ocean, north of Fort Vancouver, has
also extended its ravages to the western de-
clivity of the Arrahuac, down to 30° north
lat., where fifty nations that had a name are
now forgotten, the traveller, perchance, only
reminded that they existed when he falls in
with heaps of unburied bones.

How the Black-feet caught the infection it
is difficult to say, as their immediate neigh-
bours in the east escaped; but the sites of
their villages were well calculated to render
the disease more general and terrible; their
settlements being generally built in some
recess, deep in the heart of the mountains, or
in valleys surrounded by lofty hills, which
prevent all circulation of the air; and it is
easy to understand that the atmosphere, once
becoming impregnated with the effluvia, and
having no issue, must have been deadly.

On the contrary, the Shoshones, the
Apaches, and the Arrapahoes, have the
generality of their villages built along the
shores of deep and broad rivers. Inhabiting
a warm clime, cleanness, first a necessity, has
become a second nature. The hides and
skins are never dried in the immediate vicinity
of their lodges, but at a great distance where
the effluvia can hurt no one. The interior of
their lodges is dry, and always covered with
a coat of hard white clay, a good precaution
against insects and reptiles, the contrast of
colour immediately betraying their presence.
Besides which, having always a_ plentiful
supply of food, they are temperate in their
habits, and are never guilty of excess; while
the Crows, Black-feet, and Clubs, having
often to suffer hunger for days, nay weeks
together, will, when they have an opportunity,
eat to repletion, and their stomachs being
always in a disordered state (the principal
and physical cause of their fierceness and
ferocity), it is no wonder that they fall vic-
tims, with such predispositions to disease.

It will require many generations to recover
the number of Indians which perished in that
year; and, as I have said, as long as they
live, it will form an epoch or era to which
they will for centuries refer.

 

CHAPTER. XIX,

In the last chapter but one, I stated that
I and my companions, Gabriel and Roche,
had been delivered up to the Mexican agents,
and were journeying, under an escort of thirty
men, to the Mexican capital, to be hanged
as an example to all liberators. ‘This escort

  

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61

was commanded by two most atrocious
villains, Joachem Texada and Louis Ortiz.
They evidently anticipated that they would
become great men in the republic, upon the
safe delivery of our persons to the Mexican
government, and every day took good care to
remind us that the gibbet was to be our fate
on our arrival.

Our route lay across the central deserts of

Senora, until we arrived on the banks of the
Rio Grande; and so afraid were they of
falling in with a hostile party of Apaches,
that they took long turns out of the general
track, and through mountainous passes, by
which we not only suffered greatly from
fatigue, but were very often threatened with
Starvation.
- It was sixty-three days before we crossed
the Rio Grande at Christobal, and we had
still a long journey before us. This delay,
occasioned by the timidity of our guards,
proved our salvation. We had been but one
day on our march in the swamp after leaving
Christobal, when the war-whoop pierced our
ears, and a moment afterwards our party
was surrounded by some hundred Apaches,
who saluted us with a shower of arrows.

Our Mexican guards threw themselves
down on the ground, and cried for mercy,
offering ransom. I answered the war-whoop
of the Apaches, representing my companions
and myself as their friends, and requesting
their help and protection, which were imme-
diately given. We were once more unbound
and free.

I hardly need say that this was a most
agreeable change in the state of affairs; for I
have no doubt that, had we arrived at our
destination, we should either have been
gibbeted or died (somehow or another) in
prison. But if the change was satisfactory
to us, it was not so to Joachem Texada and
Louis Ortiz, who changed their notes with
their change of condition.

The Scoundrels, who had amused them-
selves with reminding us that all we had to
expect was an ignominious death, were now
our devoted humble servants, cleaning and
brushing their own mules for our use, holding’
the stirrup, and begging for our interference
in their behalf with the Apaches. Such
wretches did not deserve our good offices ; we
therefore said nothing for or against them,
leaving the Apaches to act as they pleased.
About a week after our liberation, the
Apaches halted, as they weré about to divide
their force into two bands, one of which was
to return home with the booty they had cap-
tured, while the other proceeded to the
borders of Texas.

I have stated that the Shoshones, the
Arrapahoes, and Apaches had entered into the
confederation, but the.Comanches were too
far distant for us to have had an opportunitya et Maia asa Fos

of making, the proposal to them... As this
union was always uppermost in my mind, I
resolved that I would now visit theComanches,
with. a view to the furtherance of my object.

The country on the. east side of the Rio
Grande is one dreary desert, in which no
water is to be procured. J believe no Indian
has ever done more than skirt its. border;
indeed, as they assert that it. is inhabited by
Spirits and demons, it is clear that they cannot
have visited it.

To proceed to the Comanches country,
it. was therefore necessary that we should
follow the Rio Grande till we came tothe
presidio of Rio Grande, belonging to. the
Mexicans, and from there cross over and take
the road to San Antonio de Bejar, the last
western city of Texas, and proceed through
the Texian country to where the Comanches
were located. I therefore decided that we
should join the band of Apaches who were
proceeding towards Texas.

During this excursion, the Apaches, had
captured. many horses and arms. from a
trading party which they had surprised near
Chihuahua, and, with their accustomed, libe-
rality, they furnished us.with-steeds, saddles;
arms, blankets, and clothes; indeed, they
were so generous, that we could easily pass
ourselves off as merchants returning froma
trading expedition, in case we were to fall in
with any Mexicans, and have to undergo an
examination.

We took our leave. of the generous Apache
chiefs, who were returning homewards.
Joachem Texada and,Louis Ortiz were, with
the rest of the escort, led away as captives,
and what became of them I cannot say, We
travelled with the other band of Indians, until
we had passed the presidio del Rio Grande, a
strong Mexican fort, and the day afterwards
took our farewell of them, having joined a
band of smugglers who were on their way to
Texas. Ten days afterwards, we entered San
Antonio de Bejar, and had nothing more to
fear, as we were now clear of the Mexican
territory.

San Antonio de Bejar is by far the most
agreeable residence in Texas. When in the
possession of the Mexicans, it must have been
a charming place.

The river San Antonio, which rises at a
short distance aboye the city, glides grace-
fully through the suburbs ; and its clear waters,
by numerous winding canals, are brought up
to every house. The temperature of the
water is the same throughout the year,

‘neither too warm nor too cold for bathing ;

and not a single day passes. without the in-
habitants indulging in the favourite and
healthy exercise of swimming, which is prac-
tised by every body, from morning till even-
ing ; and the traveller along the shores of this.,
beautiful river will constantly see hundreds of

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

 

children, ofall ages and colour, swimming
and diving like so many. ducks.

The climate is pure, dry, and healthy.
During summer the breeze is. fresh and per-
fumed ; and.as it never rains, the neighbour-
ing plantations.are watered by canals, which
receive and, carry in. every: direction the: waters
of the San Antonio. \Formerly the city con-
tained fifteen thousand. inhabitants, but the
frequent revolutions and the bloody battles
which have been fought within its walls have
most materially contributed to diminish its
number ; so. much indeed, that, in’ point. of
population, the city of San Antonio de Bejar,
with its bishopric and wealthy missions, has
fallen to the. rank of a small. English village.
It still carries on.a considerable trade, but its
appearance of prosperity is deceptive’; and I
would caution emigrants not to be deceived
by. the Texian accounts. of the place... _Im-
mense profits have been made, to be sure;
but now even the Mexican smugglers and
banditti are beginning to.be disgusted with the
universal want.of faith and probity,

‘The Mexicans were very fond of gardens
and of surrounding their houses with beauti-
ful trees, under the shade of which they would
pass most of the time which could be spared
from bathing, ‘This gives. a fresh and_ lively
appearance tothe city, and you are reminded
of Calabrian, scenery, the lightness and sim-
plicity of the dwellings. contrasting with the
grandeur and majesty of the monastic build-
ings in the distance. .Texas had no conyents,
but the Spanish missions were numerous, and
their noble structures: remain as monuments
of former Spanish greatness. Before. de-
scribing these immense establishments, it is
necessary to state that, soon after the con-
quest of Mexico, one of the chief objects. of
Spanish policy was. the extension. of the
authority of the Roman Catholic Church. The
conyersion of the Indians and the promulga-
tion of Christianity were steadily interwoven
with the desire for wealth; and at the time
that they took away the Indian's gold, they
gave hitn Christianity. At first, force was re-
quired to obtain proselytes, but cunning was
found to succeed. better ; and, by allowing
the superstitions of the Indians to be mixed
up with the rites of the Church, a sort of
half-breed religion became general, upon the
principle, I presume, that half a loaf is better
than no bread. The. anomalous conse-
quences of this policy are to be seen in the
Indian ceremonies even to this day.

To afford adequate protection to the
Roman Catholic missionaries, settlements
were established, which still bear the name of
missions. ‘l’hey are very numerous. through-
out California, and there are several in Texas.
The Alamo, at San Antonio, was one of great
importance ; there were others of less consi-
deration in the neighbourhood ; as the mis-sions of Concepcion, of San Juan, San Jose,
and La Espada... All these. edifices are most
substantially built ; the walls are of great
thickness, and from their form.and arrange-
ment they could be converted into frontier
fortresses. . They had generally, though not
always, a church at the side of the square,
formed by the high walls, through which
there was but one entrance.. In the interior
they had a large granary, and the outside
wall formed the back to arange of buildings,
in which the missionaries and their: converts
resided. A portion of the surrounding dis-
trict was appropriated to agriculture, the land
being, as I before observed, irrigated by small
canals, which conducted the water from the
river.

The Alamo is now. in ruins, only two. or
three of the houses. of the inner square being
inhabited. . The gateway. of the church was
highly ornamented, and stillremains, although
the figures which once occupied the niches
have disappeared.. But there is still sufficient
in the ruins to interest the inquirer into its
former history, even if he could fora moment
forget the scenes. which have rendered it
celebrated in the history of Texian indepen-
dence.

About two miles lower down the San
Antonio river is the mission of Concepcion.
It is a very large stone building, with a fine
cupola, and though a plain building, is mag-
nificent in its proportions and the durability
of its construction. It was here that Bowie
fought one of the first battles with the Mexi-
can forces, andit has not since been inhabited,
Though not so well known to fame, as other
conflicts, this battle was that which really
committed the Texians, and compelled those
who thought of terms and the maintenance
of a Mexican connection to perceive that the
time for both had passed.

The mission of San Jose is about a mile
and a half further down the river. It consists,
like the others, of a large square, and nume-
rous Mexican families still reside there. To
the left of the gateway is the granary.. The
church stands apart from the building ; it is
within the square, but unconnected. The
west door is decorated with the most elabo-
rated carvings of flowers, images of angels,
and figures of the apostles: the interior is
plain. To the right is a handsome tower and
belfry, and above the altar a large stone
cupola. Behind the church is along range
of rooms for the missionaries, with a corridor
of nine arches in front, The Texian troops
were long quartered here, and, although
always intoxicated, strange to say, the stone
carvings have not been injured. The church
has sincé been repaired, and divine service is
performed in it.

About half a mile farther down is the mis-
sion of San Juan. The church forms part of

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63

the sides of the square, and on the north-west
corner of the square are the remains of a
small stone tower. This mission, as well as
that of La Espada, is inhabited. ‘The church
of La Espada, however, is in ruins, and but
two sides of the square, consisting of mere
walls, remain entire; the others have been
wantonly destroyed.

The church at San Antonio de Bejar was
built in the year 1717; and although it has
suffered much from. the many sieges which
the city has undergone, it is still used as a
place of public worship. At the time that
San Antonio was attacked and taken, by
Colonel Cooke, in 1835, several cannon-shots
struck the dome, and a great deal of damage
was done ; in fact, all the houses in the prin-
cipal square of the town are marked more or
less by shot. .One among them has suffered
very much ; it is the ‘‘ Government-house,”’
celebrated for one of the most cowardly mas-
sacres ever committed by a nation of bar-
barians, and which I shall here relate;

After some skirmishes betwixt the Coman-
ches and the Texians, in which. the former
had always had. the advantage, the latter
thought it advisable to propose a treaty. of
alliance... Messengers, with flags of truce,
were despatched among the Indians, invit-
ing all their chiefs to a.council at San Antonio,
where the representatives of Texas would
meet them and make their proposals for an
eternal peace. Incapable of treachery them-
selves, the brave Comanches never suspected
it in others ; at the time agreed upon, forty
of their principal chiefs arrived in the town,
and, leaving their horses in the square, pro-
ceeded to the ‘‘Government-house.”” They
were all unarmed, their long flowing. hair
covered with a profusion of gold and silver
ornaments ; their dresses very rich, and their
blankets of that fine Mexican texture which
commands in the market from fifty to one
hundred and fifty dollars apiece. Their
horses were noble animals and of great value,
their saddles richly embossed with gold and
silver.. The display of so much wealth ex-
cited all the worst propensities of the Texian
populace, who resolved at any price to obtain
possession of so splendid a booty. While the
chiefs were making their speeches of peace
andamity, a few hundred Texian blackguards
rushed into the room with their pistols and
knives, and began their work of murder, All
the Indians fell, except one, wlio succeeded
in making his escape ; but though the Coman-
ches were quite unarmed, they sold their lives
dearly, for eighteen Texians werefound among
the slain.

I will close this chapter with a few remarks
upon the now acknowledged republic of
‘Texas.

The dismemberment of Texas from
Mexico was effected by the reports of ex-int tle TaN ie was Fi

tensive gold mines, diamonds, &c., which
were to be found there, and which raised the
cupidity of the eastern speculators and land
jobbers of the United States. But, in all pro-
bability, this appropriation would never have
taken place, if it had not been that the
southern states of America had, with very dif-
ferent views, given every encouragement to
the attempt.

The people of Louisiana and the southern
states knew the exact value of the country,
and laughed at the idea of its immense trea-
sures. ‘They acted from a deep, although it
eventually has turned out to have been a false,
policy. They considered that Texas, once
wrested from Mexico, would be admitted into
the Union, subdivided intotwo or three states,
every one of which would, of course, be slave-
holding states, and send their members to
Congress. This would have given the slave-
holding states the preponderance in the
Union.

Events have turned out. differently, and
the planters of the south now deplore their
untoward policy and want of foresight, as
they have assisted in raising up a formidable
rival in the production of their staple com-
modity, injurious to them even in time of peace,
and in case of a war with England, still more
inimical to their interests.

It is much to be lamented that Texas had
not been populated by a more deserving class
of individuals ; it might have been,even by this
time, a country of importance and wealth ;
but it has from the commencement been the
resort of every vagabond and scoundrel who
could not venture to remain in the United
States ; and, unfortunately, the Texian char-
acter was fixed and established, as a com-
munity wholly destitute of principle or pro-
bity, before the emigration of more respectable
settlers had commenced. ‘The consequences
have been most disastrous, and it is to be
questioned whether some of them will everbe
removed.

At the period of its independence, the
population of Texas was estimated at about
forty thousand. Now, if you are to credit
the Texian Government, it has increased to
about seventy-five thousand. Such, however,
is not the fact, although it, of course, suits
the members of the republic to make the as-
sertion. Instead of the increase stated by
them, the population of Texas has decreased
considerably, and is not now equal to what it
was at the Independence.

This may appear strange, after so many
thousands from the United States, England,
and Germany have been induced to emigrate
there ; but the fact is, that, after having
arrived in the country, and having discovered
that they were at the mercy of bands of mis-
creants, who are capable of any dark deed,
they have quitted the country to save the re-

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

mainder of their substance, and have passed
over into Mexico, the Southern United States,
or anywhere else where they had some chance
of security for life and property.

Among the population of Texas were
counted many thousand Mexicans, who re-
mained in the country, trusting that order and
law would soon be established ; but, disap-
pointed in their expectations, they have
emigrated to Mexico. Eight thousand have
quitted San Antonio de Bejar, and the void has .-
been filled up by six or seven hundred drun-
kards, thieves, and murderers. The same
desertion has taken place in Goliad, Velasco,
Nacogdoches, and other towns, which were
formerly occupied by Mexican families.

It may give the reader some idea of the
insecurity of life and property in Texas, when
I state that there are numerous bands of
robbers continually on the look-out, to rifle
and murder the travellers, and that it is of
frequent occurrence for a house to be attacked
and plundered, the women violated, and
every individual afterwards murdered by these
miscreants, who, to escape detection, dress
and paint themselves as Indians. Of course,
what I have now stated, although well known
to be a fact, is not likely to be mentioned in the
Texian newspapers.

Another serious evil arising from this law-
less state of the country is, that the Indians,
who were well inclined towards the Texians,
as being, with them, mutual enemies of the
Mexicans, are now hostile, to extermination.
I have mentioned the murder of the Co-
manche chiefs, in the Government-house of
San Antonio, which, in itself, was sufficient.
But such has been the disgraceful conduct of
the Texians towards the Indians, that the
white man is now considered by them as a
term of reproach; they are spoken of by the
Indians as ‘‘dogs,”’ and are generally hung
or shot whenever they are fallen in with.
Centuries cannot repair this serious evil, and
the Texians have made bitter and implacable
foes of those who would have been their
friends. No distinction is made between an
American and a Texian, and the Texians
have raised up a foe to the United States,
which may hereafter prove not a little trouble-
some.

In another point, Texas has been seri-
ously injured by this total want of probity
and principle. Had Western Texas been
settled by people of common honesty, it
would, from its.topographical situation, have
soon become a very important country, as all
the mercantile transactions with the north
central provinces of Mexico would have been
secured to it.

From the Presidio del Rio Grande there is
an excellent road to San Antonio de Bejar ;
to the south of San Antonio lies Chihuahua
so that the nearest and most accessible routeoverland, from the United States tothe centre
of Mexico, is through San Antonio. And
this overland route can be shortened by dis-
charging vessels at Linville, or) La’ Bacca,
and from, thence taking the goods to San
Antonio, a distance of about one hundred and
forty miles. .The western boundary ‘line of
Texas, at the time of the declaration. of its
independence, was, understood to be the river
Nueces ; and if so; nothing could have pre-
vented San Antonio from becoming an inland
depot of much commercial importance.

Numerous parties. of Mexican traders
‘have long been accustomed to come to San
Antonio from the Rio’ Grande. They were
generally very honest. in their payments, and
showed. a very friendly spirit. Had this trade
been. protected, as it should have been, by
putting down the bands of robbers, who: ren-
dered the roads unsafe by their depredations
and atrocities, it would have become of more
value than any trade to Santa Fé. Recog-
nized or. unrecognized, Texas could» have
carried on the trade; merchants would have
settled in the West, to participate init; emi-
grants would have collected in the district,
where the soil is.rich and the climate healthy.
itis true, the trade would have been illicit ;
‘ut such is ever the inevitable consequence of
a high and /ill-regulated tariff.. It would,
nevertheless, have been. very profitable, and
would have conciliated. the population of Rio
Grande. towards the Texians, and in all pro-
bability have forced), upon. the Mexican
government. the, establishment. of friendly
relations between the two countries.

But this trade-has been totally. destroyed ;
the Indians now seize and plunder every. cara-
van, either to and from San Antonio; the
‘Texican robbers, lie in, wait for them, if they
escape the Indians ; and. should the Mexican
trader escape with his goods from, both, he
has still to undergo the. chance, of, being
swindled by the soz-désanz¢ Texian merchant.

If ever there was.a proof, from. the re-
sults of, pursuing an opposite course, that
honesty is the best policy, it is to,be found in
the present state of, Texas,

CHAPTER XX,

Happily for me and my; two, companions,
there still remained two, or, three gentlemen
in San Antonio... ‘These were Colonel Seguin
and . Messrs... Novarro,, senior and junior,
Mexican» gentlemen,,,.who, - liberal, in, their
ideas and frank in, their natures, ,had. been
induced, by,, the false representations of the
Texians not to quit the country after its in-
dependence of Mexico; and,.as they were
men of high: rank, by so doing they: not only
forfeited their rights as citizens of Mexico, but
also incurred the hatred, and .animosity. of
that government.

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

Now that they had discovered their error,
it was too late to repair it ; moreover, pride
and, perhaps, a mistaken ‘sense of honour,
would not permit them to remove to Mexico,
although severed from all. those ties which
render life sweet and agreeable. Their own
sorrows did not, however, interfere with their
unbounded hospitality: in their house we
found a home. We formed no intimacy with
the Texians; indeed, we had no contact
whatever with them, except that one day. ;
Roche thrashed two of them with his shillalah’ |
for ill-treating an old Indian. oe

Inquiries were made by Colonel Seguin as
to where the Comanches might be found, and
we soon ascertained that they were in their
great village, at the foot of the Green Moun-:
tain, upon the southern fork of the head-
waters of the Rio Roxo.

We made immediate preparations for
departure, and as we proposed to pass
through Austin, the capital of Texas, our
kind entertainers pressed five hundred dollars
upon us, under the plea that no Texian would
ever give us a'tumbler of water except it was
paid for, and that, moreover, it was possible
that after passing a few days among the
gallant members of Congress, we might miss
our holsters or stirrups, our blankets, or even
one. of our horses.

We found their prediction, in the first
instance, but too true. Six miles from Austin
we stopped at the farm of the Honourable
Judge Webb, and asked leave to water our
horses, as they had. travelled forty miles
under a/ hot sun without drawing bit, The
honourable judge flatly refused, although he
had a good well, besides a pond, under
fence, covering several acres ; his wife, how-
ever, reflecting, perhaps, that her stores were
rather short of coffee or salt, entered into a
rapid discussion: with her worse half, and by
and by that respectable couple of honour-
ables agreed to sell water to us at twenty-five
cents a bucket.

When we dismounted to take the bridles
off our horses, the daughters arrived, and
perceiving we had new silk sashes and necker-
chiefs and. some fine jewels, they devoured us
with their eyes, and one of them, speaking to
her. papa, that most hospitable gentleman
invited us to enter his house. | By that time
we were. once more upon: our saddles and
ready to start. Roche felt indignant at the
meanness of the fellow, who had received our
seventy-five cents for the water before he in-
vited us into. the house... We refused, and
Roche told ‘him that he was an. old scoundrel
to sell for, money that which even a savage
will never refuse to his most bitter enemy.

The rage of the honourable cannot, be de-
picted,: . ‘‘ My. rifle!’ he vociferated, ‘‘my
rifle !-for. God's. sake, Betsey—Juliet,. run for
my rifle!"

3aR Se ese GD

 

TRAVELS AND

The judge then went into the house ; but,
as three pistols were drawn from our holsters;
neither he nor his rifle made their appearance,
so we turned our horses’ heads and rode on
leisurely to Austin.

In .Austin we had a grand opportunity. of
seeing the Texians under their true colours.
‘There were. three. hotels in the town; and
‘every evening, after five o'clock, almost all of
them, not excluding the president of the re-
public, the secretaries, judges, ministers, and
members .of Congress, were, more; or less,
tipsy, and in the. quarrels, which. ensued
hardly a night passed without four or five men
being stabbed or shot, and the riot. was con-
tinued. during the major portion of the night,
so that at nine. o'clock in the morning every-
body was, still in, bed... So buried in; silence
was the town, that one. merning, at eight
o'clock, I killed. a. fine buck grazing quietly
before the door of the Capitol... It is strange
that this capital of ‘Texas, should, have been
erected upon, the, very nexthern, boundary of
the state, Indians have’ often enteted itand

jaken scalps not ten steps from: the Capitol.
=! While we were im Austin. we made the !ace
quaintance of old Castro, the chief of the
Lepan Indians, an: offset of the Comanche:
tribe. He is one of the best-bred gentlemem
in the world, having received a liberal and
military education, first in. Mexico, and sub-
sequently: in’ Spain. He has’ travelled in
France, Germany, England, and, in fact, all
over Europe. He speaks and writes five or
six languages, ‘and ‘so conscious. is he. of his
superiority over the Texians, that he never
addresses them but with contempt. He ‘once
said to. them ‘in the legislature’ room: of
Matagorda— :

+8" Never deceive yourselves, 'Texians! 1

fight ‘with you against the Mexicans, bécause
betwixt them ‘and me there isan’ irreconcil-
able hatred. Do not then flatter yourselves
that it'is through‘ friendship'towards you. I
can give my friendship only to those who are
honourable both in peace and in. war; you
ate all of you liars, and many of you thieves,
scoundrels, and base murderers: Yes, dogs,
‘IT say true; yelp not, bark not, for you know
you dare not bite, now that my two hundred
Wwattiors are surrounding this building : be
silenf, IT say.”

Castro was going in the same direction as
ourselves to join his band, which was at that
moment buffalo-hunting, a few journeys
northward. Hehad promised his company
and protection to two foreign gentlemen, who
were desirous’ of beholding the huge ‘tenant
of'the prairies. | Weal} started together, and
we enjoyed’ very much this addition to our
company. ;

The first day we travelled over ‘an old
Spanish: military. road, crossing rich rolling
prairies, here and there watered -by clear

 
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
     
   
   
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
  
 
   

ADVENTURES

streams, the banks of which are sheltered by
magnificent oaks.’ Fifteen miles from Austin
there is a» remarkable spot, upon’ which a
visionary speculator ‘had a short time before
attempted to found a city. He purchased an
immensé tract of ground, had beautiful plans
drawn and painted, and very soon there ap-
peared, upon: paper, one of the largest and
handsomest citiesim the world. \ There were
colleges and public squares, penitentiaries,
banks, taverns; whisky-shops, and fine walks.
I hardly need say, that ‘this town-manufac-
turer was:a Yankee, who:intended to realize a
million by selling town-lots. The city (in
prospective) was called Athens, and’ the silly
fellow had'so much confidence in his ‘own
speculation, that he actually built upon the
ground a very large and: expensive house.
One day, ashe, with three or four negroes,
were oceupied in digging a well; he was at-
tacked by a party of Yankee thieves, who
thought he hada great deal of money. ‘The
poor’ devil ran away from his’ beloved | city
and tetumed ‘no more.’ ‘The house’stands as
itiowas left. I even saw near the ‘well the
spades. and’ pickaxes with which they had
been working at’ the time of the attack. ‘Fhus
modern ‘Athens was cut off in the bud, which
was a great pity, as a few Athenian‘sages and
legislators are sadly wanted in Texas,

Early one morning we were awakened by
loud roars in the prairie. Castro’ started on
his feet, and’ soon gave the welcome news,
« The buffaloes.” On the plain were hundreds.
of dark moving ‘spots, which increased im
size as we came nearer; and before long we
could clearly see the shaggy ‘brutes galloping
across the prairie, and extending their dark,
compact phalanxes ‘even to the line of the
horizon. Then followed a scene of excite-
ment. The buffaloes, seared by the continual
reports of our rifles, broke their ranks and
scattered themselves in évery direction.

The two foreigners were both British, the
youngest being a young Irishman ofa good
family, and of the name of Fitzgerald. We
had been quite ‘captivated by his constant
good humour and vivacity of spirits ; he was
the life of our little evening encampments,
and, as he had _travelled on the other side of
the Pacific, we would remain till late at night
listening to his interesting and beautiful nar-
ratives of his adventures im Asiatic countries.

He had at first jomed the English legion’
in Spain, in which he had advanced to the
rank of captain; he soon got tired of that
service and went to Persia, where he entered
into the Shah’s employ as an’ officer of
artillery. This after sometime not’ suiting
his fancy, he returned to England; and
decided upon visiting Texas, and establishing
himself as a merchant at San Antonio.’ But
his taste for a wandering life would not alow
him to remain quiet for any length of time,and having one, day fallen in with an English
naturalist, who had come out on purpose to
visit the north-west prairies of. Texas, he re-
solved to accompany: him.

Always, ready for any, adventure, , Fitz.
rushed madly among the buffaloes. .He.was
mounted, upon a. wild horse of the small
breed, loaded with saddlebags, water, cala-
bashes, tin and. coffee, cups, blankets, &ci,. but
these encumbrances did, not stop him in the
least... With his bridle fastened, to the pom-
mel of his saddle and a pistol in each hand,
he shot to the right,and, left, stepping now
and then to reload and then starting anew.
During the hunt he lost his. hat, his. saddle-
bags, with linen and.money, and his blan-
kets: as he never took the trouble to pick
them. up, they are probably yet in the prairie
where they were dropped.

The other.stranger was. an English savant,
one.of the queerest fellows in the worid.. He
wished also to take his share in the buffalo-
hunt, but his steed was a lazy and peaceable
animal, a true nag for a, fat abbot, having a
horror of anything like trotting or, galloping ;
and as he was not to be persuaded out of his
slow walk, he and his master remained at a
respectable distance from the scene of action.
Whatan excellent caricature might have been
made of that good-humoured savant,, as he
sat on his Rosinante, armed with an enormous
double-barrelled gun, loaded but not primed,
some time, to no. purpose, spurring. the self-
willed animal, and then spying through an
opera-glass at the majestic. animals which he
could not approack.

We killed nme bulls and seven fat calves,
and in the evening we encamped near a little
river; where we made an exquisite supper of
marrow and tongue, two good things, which
can-only be enjoyed in the wild prairies. The
next day,-at sunset, we received a, visit from
an immense herd of mustangs, (wild horses).
We saw them at first. ascending one of the
swells of the prairie, and. took them for hos-
tile Indians ; but having satisfied their curio-
sity, the whole herd wheeled round with as
much regularity as a well-drilled .squadron,
and with their tails erect and long manes
floating to the wind, were soon out.of sight.

Many strange stories have been related by
trappers and‘hunters, of a solitary white horse
which has often been met with near the Cross
Timbers and the Red River.,, No one. ever
saw him trotting or galloping ; he only racks,
but with such rapidity that no steed can. fol-
low him. Immense sums of money have been
offered to any who could catch him, and
many have attempted the task, but without
success. ‘The noble animal still runs free in
his native prairies, always) alone and.un-
approachable.

We often met with the mountain goat, an
animal which participates, both of the deer

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

and the common goat, but whose flesh is far
superior to either... It is. gracefully shaped—
long-legged, and very fleet... .One of them,
whose fore-leg I had, broken.with.a rifle ball,
escaped from our fleetest horse (Castro’s),
after a.chase, of nearly thirty minutes.. The
mountain goat is found on the great platforms
of the Rocky. Mountains, and also .at the
broad waters, of. the rivers, Brasos and Colo-
rado. Though. of avery. timid, nature,.,they
are,superlatively inquisitive; and.can be easily
attracted within rifle range, by agitating, from
behind ‘a.tree, a white or red hankerchief.

We were also. often visited, during the
night, by rattlesnakes, who liked, amazingly
the heat and softness of. our blankets... They
were unwelcome customers, to)-be sure ; but
yet there were some others .of, which we were
still more in dread : among them I may class,
as the ugliest and most deadly, the prairie
tarantula, a large spider, bigger:than a good-
sized, chicken! egg, hairy, like a bear, with
small bleod-shot eyes and little sharp teeth.

One. evening, we encamped near a. little
spring, two miles from the Brasos. Finding
no. wood to burn near to us, Fitzgerald start-
ed to fetch some. As I have said, his was a
small wild horse ; he was imprudent enough
to tie to its tail a young, tree, which he had
cut down. |The pony, of course, got angry
and galloped furiously towards the camp,
surrounded by a cloud of dust. At this sight,
the other horses began to show. signs of
terror ; but we were fortunate enough to se-
cure them all before it was too late, orwe
should have lost them for ever.

It is astonishing to witness in the prairies
how powerfully, fear will act, not only upon
the buffaloes and mustangs, but also upon
tame horses and cattle. Oxen will run far-
ther than horses, and some of them have been
known, when under the influence of the es-
tampede, or sudden fright, to run.forty miles
without ever stopping, and when at last they
halted, it: was. merely because. exhausted
nature would not allow them.to go further.
The Texian expedition, on its way to Santa
Fé, once. lost, ninety-four horses. by an es-
tampede. J, must say that nothing can ex-
ceed the grandeur of the sight, when a-nu-
merous body of cattle are under its influence.
Old nags, broken by age and fatigue, who
have been deserted on account of their weak-
ness, appear as wild and fresh as young colts.
As soon as they are seized with that. inexpli-
cable dread which forces them to fly, they ap-
pear to regain ina moment all the powers of
their youth; with head and tail erect, and,
eyes glaring with fear, they rush madly on in
a Straight line ; the earth trembles under their
feet ; nothing can stop them—trees, abysses,
lakes, rivers, or mountains—they go over all,
until nature can support it no more, and the
earth is strewed with their bodies.Sis sina a le le alana

Even the otherwise imperturbable horse of
our savant would sometimes have an estam-
pede after his own fashion; lazy and self-
willed, preferring a slow walk to any other
kind of motion, this animal showed in all his
actions ‘that he knew how to take care of
number one, always selecting his quarters
where the water was cooler and the grass
tender. But he had avery bad quality for a
prairie travelling nag, which was continually
placing his master in soméawkward dilemma.
One day that we had stopped to refresh our-
selves near a spring, we removed. the bridles
from our horses, to allow them to graze‘a few
minutes, but the savant’s cursed beast took
precisely that opportunity of giving us a
sample of his estampede. - Our English friend
had a way, quite peculiar to himself, of
crowding upon his horse all his scientific and
culinary instruments. He had suspended at
the pommel of the saddle a thermometer, a
rum calabash, and a coffee boiler, while
behind the saddle hung a store of pots and
cups, frying-pan, a barometer, a sextant, and
a long spy-glass. “The nag was grazing,
when one of the instruments fell down, at
which the beast commenced kicking, to show
his displeasure. The more he kicked, the
greater was the rattling of the cups and pans ;
the brute was now quite terrified ;. we first
secured our own steeds, and then watched
the singular and ridiculous movements of this
estampedero.

He would make ten leaps, and then stop
to give as many kicks, then shake himself
violently and start off, full gallop. At every
moment, some article, mathematical or culi-
nary, would get loose, fall down, and be
trampled upon. The sextant was kicked to
pieces, the frying-pan and spy-glass were put
out of shape, the thermometer lost its mer-
cury, and at last, by dint of shaking, rolling,
and kicking, the brute got rid of ‘his entire
load and saddle, and then came quietly to us,
apparently very well satisfied with himself and
with the damage he had done. It was a
most ludicrous scene, and defies all power of
description ; so much did it amuse‘us, that
we could not stop laughing for three or four
hours.

The next day, we found many mineral
springs, the waters of which were strongly
impregnated with sulphur and iron. ‘We
also passed by the bodies of five white men,
probably trappers, horribly mangled, and
evidently murdered by some Texian robbers.
Towards evening, we crossed a large ftesh
Indian trail, going in the direction of ‘the
river Brasos, and, following it, we soon came
up with the tribe of Lepans, of which old
Castro was the chief,

wa mre.

 

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

 
 
 
  
  
    
    
    
 

 

CHAPTER XXI,

The Lepans were themselves going north-
wards, and fora few days we skirted, in com-
pany with them, the western’ borders of the
Cross ‘Timbers. The immense prairies of
Texas are for hundreds’ and hundreds of
miles bordered on the east by a belt of thick
and almost impenetrable’ forests, called the
Cross Timbers. ‘Their breadth varies from
seventy to one hundred miles. There the
oak and hiccory grow tall and beautiful, but
the general appearance of the'country is poor, .
broken, and rugged. ‘These’ forests abound
with deer and bears, and sometimes the
buffalo, when hotly pursued by the Indians
in the prairies, will take refuge in its closest
thickets. Most of the trees contain hives of
bees full of avery delicate honey. the great
luxury of the pioneers along thesé borders.

We now took our leave of the Lepans and
our two white friends; who would fain have
accompanied us to the Comanches had there
been a chance of returning to’ civilization
through a safe road; as it was, Gabriel,
Roche, and I resumed our journey alone.
During two or three days we followed the
edge of the wood, every attempt to penetrate
into the interior proving quite useless, so
thick were the bushes and thorny briars.
‘Twice or thrice we perceived on some hills, at
a great distance, smoke. and fires)’ but we
could not tell what Indians’ might be there:
encamped. .

We had left the timbers and had ‘scarcely
advanced ten miles in a westerly direction,
when a dog of a most miserable appearance
joined our company. He was soon followed
by two others as lean and as weak as him-
self, ‘They were evidently Indian dogs’ of
the wolf breed, and miserable, starved animals
they looked, with the ribs. almost bare,
while their tongues, parched and hanging
downwards, showed clearly the want of wa-
terin these horrible regions. We had ourselves
been twenty-four hours without having tasted
any, and our horses were quite exhausted.

We were slowly descending the side of a
swell in the prairie, when a buffalo passed
at full speed, ten yards before us, closely pur-
sued by a Tonquewa Indian (a: ferocious
tribe), mounted upon a. small horse, whose
graceful form ‘excited our admiration. This
savage was armed with a Jong lance, and
covered with a cloak of deer-skin, richly
ornamented, his long black hair undulating
with the breeze.

A second Indian soon followed ‘the first,
and they were evidently so much excited with
the chase as not to perceive us, although I
addressed the last. one, who passed not ten
yards from me. The next day we met with a
band of Wakoe Indians, another subdivision
of the Comanches or of the Apaches,’ and ‘notyet seen or even mentioned by any traveller.
‘They were all mounted upon fine tall horses,
evidently a short time before purchased at
the Mexican settlements, for some of them
had their shoes still on their feet. They im-
mediately offered us food and water, and gave
us fresh steeds, for our own were quite broken
down, and could scarcely drag themselves
along. We encamped with them that day on
a beautiful spot, where our poor animals re-
covered a little. We bled them freely, an
operation which probably saved them to share
with us many more toils and dangers.

The next day we arrived at the Wakoe
village, pleasantly situated upon the banks of
a cold and clear stream, which glided through
a romantic valley, studded here and there
with trees just sufficient to vary the landscape,
without concealing its beauties. . All around
the village were vast fields of Indian corn and
melons ; further off numerous herds of cattle,
sheep, and horses were grazing: while the
women were busy drying buffalo meat. In
this hospitable village we remained ten days,
by which time we and our beasts had entirely
recovered from our fatigues.

This tribe is certainly far superior in civi-
lization and comforts to all other tribes of
Indians, the Shoshones not excepted. The
Wakoe wigwams are well built, forming long
streets, admirable for their cleanness and re-
gularity. They are made of long posts, neatly
squared, firmly fixed into the ground, and
covered over with tanned buffalo hides, the
roof being formed of white straw, plaited
much finer than the common summer hats of
Boston manufacture. These dwellings are of
a conical form, thirty feet in height and fif-
teen in diameter. Above the partition walls
of the principal room are two rows of beds,
neatly arranged, as on board of packet-ships.
The whole of their establishment, in fact,
proves that they not only live at ease, but also
enjoy a high degree of comfort and luxury.

Attached to every wigwam is another
dwelling of less dimensions, the lower part of
which is used as a provision store. Here is
always to be found a great quantity of pump-
kins, melons, dried peaches, grapes, and
plums, cured venison, and buffalo tongues.
Round the store is a kind of balcony, leading
to a small room above it. What it contained
I know not, though I suspect it is consecrated
to the rites of the Wakoereligion. Kindand
hospitable as they were, they refused three or
four times to let us penetrate in this sanctum
sanctorum, and of course we would not press
them further.

The Wakoes, or, to say better, their -vil-
lages, are unknown, except toa few trappers
and hunters, who will never betray the kind
hospitality they have receivéd by showing the
road to them. Their quiet and happiness
have reigned undisturbed for many cen-

OF MONSIEUR: VIOLET.

 

turies. The hunters and warriors themselves
will often wander in the distant settlements of
the Yankees and’ Mexicans to procure seeds,
for they are very partial to gardening ; they
cultivate tobacco; in fact, they are, I believe,
the only Indians who seriously occupy them-
selves with agriculture, which occupation does
not prevent them from being a powerful and
warlike people. :

As well as:the Apaches and the Coman-
ches, the Wakoes are always on horseback ;
they are much taller and possess more bodily
strength than either of these two nations,
whom they also surpass in ingenuity. <A few
years ago, three hundred. Texians, under the
command of General: Smith, met an equal
party of the Wakoes hunting to the east of
the Cross Timbers. As these last had many
fine horses and an immense provision of hides
and cured meat, the Texians thought that
nothing could be more easy than routing the
Indians and stealing their booty. ‘They were,
however, sadly mistaken ; when they made
their attack, they. were almost all cut to
pieces, and the unburied bones of two hun-
dred and forty Texians remain blanching in
the prairie, as a monument of their own ras-
cality and the prowess of the: Wakoes.

Comfortable and well treated as we were
by that kind people, we could not remain
longer with them ; so we continued our toil-
some and solitary journey. ‘The first day was
extremely damp and foggy ; a pack of sneak-
ing wolves were howling about, within a few
yards of us, but the sun came out about
eight o'clock, dispersing the fog and also the
wolves.

We still continued our former course, and
found an excellent road for fifteen. miles,
when we entered a singular tract of land,
unlike anything we had ever before seen.
North and south, as far as the eye could
reach, nothing could: be seen but a sandy
plain, covered with dwarf oaks two and three
feet high, and bearing innumerable’ acorns of
a large size.. This desert, although our horses
sank to the very knee in the sand, we were
obliged to cross; night came on before the
passage was effected, and we were quite tired
with the fatigues of the day. e€ were,
however, fortunate enough to find a cool
and pure stream of running water, on the
opposite side of which the prairie had been
recently burnt, and the fresh grass was just
springing up ; here we encamped.

We started ‘the next morning, and as-
cended a high ridge; we were in great
spirits, little anticipating the horrible’ tragedy
in which we should soon have to -play our
parts. The country before us was extremely
rough and broken ; we pushed on, however,
buffeting, turning, and twisting about until
nearly dark, crossing and recrossing deep
gullies, our progress in one direction impededby steep hills, and in another by yawning
ravines, anti, finally, we encamped at night
not fifteen miles from where we had started in
the morning. During the day, we had found
large plum patches, and had picked a great
quantity. of this fruit, which we found sweet:
and refreshing after our toil.

On the following morning, after »wander-
ing about until ‘noon among the hills, we at
length reached.a beautiful'table land, covered
with musqueet trees.. So suddenly did we
leave ‘behind us the rough and: wneven track
of country and enter a level valley, and so
instantaneous was. ithe transition, that the
change ef scenery in a jtheatre was brought
forciblyto our minds ; it was turning from
the ‘beld and wild sceneryiof ‘Salvator Rosa
to: dwell: upon the smiling Jandscape of .a
Poussin or Claude Lorrain.

On ‘starting in the morning, nothing was
to be seen but a rough and rugged succession
of hills before us, piled one upon another,
each succeeding ‘hill rising above its meigh-
bour.» At the summit of the highest of these
hills, the beautiful and fertile:plain came sud-
denly to view, and we were immediately upon
it, without.one of us anticipating anything of
the kind. The country between the Cross
Timbers sand the ‘Rocky Mountains rises by
steps, if I may so call,them. ‘The traveller
journeying west meets, every fifty or sixty
miles, with 'a ridge of high thills; as he as-
cends* these, he anticipates .a corresponding
descent upon the opposite iside, but in most
instances, on reaching this summit, he finds
before him:a level.and fertile prairie. ‘This is
certainly the case south of the Red River,
whatever it may ‘be to the northward_.of it.

We halted an hour or two on reaching
this:beautiful tableland, to rest ourselves and
give our ‘horses an opportunity to graze,
Little villages of prairie dogs were ‘scattered
here and there, and we killed ‘half-a-dozen of
them foriour evening meal. The fat of these
animals, I have forgotten to say, is asserted
to ‘be an infallible’ remedy for. the rheu-
matism.

In ithe evening, we again started, and
encamped, an hour after sun-down, upon the
banks of a clear running stream. We had,
during the last part ofour journey, discovered
the tops.of three or four high mountains in
the distance ; we knew them to be ‘*The
Crows," by the description of them given to
us by the Wakoes.

Early the next morning we were awa-
dened by the warbling of innumerable sing-
ing birds, perched’ among the bushes along
the borders of the stream, Pleasing as was
the concert, we were obliged to leave it be-
hind and pursue our weary march. Through-
out the day we had an excellent road, and
when night came; we had trayelled about
thirty-five miles. The mountains, the sum-

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

mits of which we had-perceived the evening
before, were now plainly. visible, and ans-
wered to the descriptions of the Wakoes, as
these in the neighbourhood of the narrows of
the Red River.

We now considered that we were near the
end jof our journey. That night we swal-
lowed a very scanty,supper, laid down to
sleep, and dreamed of beaver tail_and buffalo
hump and tongues, The next day, at noon,
we crossed the bed of a stream, which was
evidently a lange river.during the rainy season.
At that time but little water was found in it,
and that.so salt, it was impossible even for
our horses to drink it.

‘Lowards night, we came to the banks of a
clear; stream, the waters of which were bub-
bling along, over a bed .of golden sand, run-
ning nearly north and north, while, at a
distanee of some six miles, and to our left,
was the chain of hills I have previously men-
tioned; zising above the rest, were three
peaks, which really deserved the, name .of
mountains, We crossed tthe stream and
eneamped on ithe other side. Scarcely had
we unsaddled our horses, when we perceived
coming towards us a large party of savages,
whose -war-paint, with the bleeding scalps
hanging to their belts, plainly showed the
errand from which they were returning ; they
encamped, on the other side of the stream,
within a quarter of a mile from us,

That night we passed watching, shivering,
and fasting, for we dared mot light a fire in
the immediate vicinity. of our neighbours,
whom we could hear singing and rejoicing,
he next morning, long before dawn, we
stole away quietly and trotted briskly till
noon, when we encountered a deep and
almost impassable ravine. There we were
obliged to halt, and pass the remainder of
the day endeavouring to discover a passage.
‘This oeecupied us. till night-fall, and we had
nothing to eat but plums and_ berries.
Melancholy were our thoughts when we
reflected upon the difficulties we might shortly
have to encounter; and gloomy were our
forebodings as we wrapt ourselves in our
blankets, half-starved and oppressed with
feelings of uncertainty as to our, present
position and.our future destinies,

The night passed without alarm, but the
next morning we were sickened by a horrible
scene which was passing about. half.a mile
from us. A partyof the same Indians, whom
we had seen the evening before, were butcher-
ing some of their captives, while several
others were busy cooking the flesh, and many
were eating it. We were rooted to; the spot
by a thrill of horror. we could not overcome ;
even our horses seemed to know by instinct
that something horrible was acting below, for
they snuffed the air, and with their ears
pointed straight forward, trembledso as to=~

 

 

  

Of MONSIEUR VIOLET: 7

satisfy us that for the present we could not
avail ourselves of their services, Gabriel
crept as near as he could to the party, leaving
us to await his return in a terrible state of
suspense and anxiety. Wher he rejoined us,
it appeared our sight had’ not deceived us.
There were nine more prisoners, who would
probably undergo the same fate on the fol-
lowing day; four, he said, were Comanches,
the other five, Mexican females,—two young
girls and three women.

_ The savages had undoubtedly made an
inroad upon San Miguel or Taos, the two
most northern settlements of the Mexicans,
not far from the Greem Mountains where we
were ourselves going. What could we do?
We could not’ fight the cannibals, who were
at least one hundred in number, and yet we
could not go away and leave men and women
of our own colour to: a horrible death, and a
tomb:in the'stomach of these savages. The
idea could not be borne, so we determined to
remain and trust to chance! or Providence.
After their abominable meal, the’ savages
scattered about the prairie in every direction,
but not breaking up their camp, where they
left. their prisoners, under the charge of
twelve of their young warriors.

Many plans did we propose for the rescue
of the poor prisoners, but they were all too
wild for execution; at last chance favoured
us, although we did not entirely sueceed in
our enterprise. ‘Three or four deer galloped
across the prairie, and passed not fifty yards
irom the’ camp. <A fine buck came in our
direction, and two of the Indians who were
left in charge started after him. ‘They rushed
in among us, and stood’ motionless with: as-
tonishment at finding neighbours they had
not reckoned upon. We, however, gave
them no time to recover from their surprise,
our knives and tomahawks performed quickly
and silently the work of death, and little re-
morse did we feel, after the scene we had
witnessed in the morning. We would have
killed, if possible, the whole band, as they
slept, without any more compunction than
we would have destroyed a nest of rattle-
snakes.

The deer were followed by a small herd of
buffaloes. We had quickly saddled’ and
secured our’ horses'to some shrubs, im case it
should be necessary to run for our lives,
when we perceived the’ ten remaining Indians,
having first examined and ascertained’ that
their captives were: well bound, start on foot
in chase of the herd of buffaloes’; indeed
there was but about twenty horses in the
whole band, and they had been ridden away
by the others. ‘Fhree of these Indians we
killed’ without attracting the attention of the
rest, and Gabriel, without being, discerned,
gained the deserted encampment, and severed
the thongs: whieh bound the prisoners.

The Mexican: women refused to fly ; they
were afraid of being captured and tortured:
they thought they would be spared, and
taken to the wigwams of the savages, who,
we then learned, belonged to the tribe of the
Cayugas. They told us that thirteen Indian
prisoners had already been eaten, but no
white people. The Comanche prisoners
armed themselves with the lances, bows, and
arrows left in the camp, and in an hour after
the passage of the buffaloes, but two of the
twelve Indians were alive ; these, giving the
war-whoop to recall their party, at last disco-
vered that their comrades had been kiNed.

At that moment the prairie became ani-
mated with buffaloes and hunters ; the Cayu
gas on horseback were coming back, driving
another herd before them. No time was to be
lost if we wished to save our scalps ; we gave
one of our kmives (so necessary an article in
the wilderness) to the Comanches, who’ ex-
pressed what they felt in glowing terms, and
we left them to their own cunning and know-
ledge of the localities, to make their escape.
We had not overrated their abilities, for some

few days afterwards we met them safe and

souna in their own wigwams.

We galloped as fast as our horses could
go for fifteem miles, along the ravine which
had impeded our journey during the pre-
ceding day, when we fell in with a small
creek.. There ‘we and our horses drank in-
credible quantities of water, and as our posi-
tion was not yet very safe, we again resumed
our march ata brisk trot. We travelled
three or four more miles along the foot of a
high ridge, and: discovered what seemed to be
an Indian trail, leading in a zigzag course up
the side of it. This we followed, and soon
found ourselves on the summit of the ridge.
There we were again gratified at finding
spread out before us a perfectly level prairie,
extending as far as the eye could reach,
without a tree to break the monotony of the
scene,

We halted a few minutes to rest our
horses, and for some time watched what was
passing’ in the valley we had left, now lymg-a
thousand feet below us. All we could per-
ceive at the distance: which we were, was that
alf was’ in motion, and we thought that our
best. plan was to leave as much space be-
tween us and the Cayugas as possible: We
had’ but little’ time to converse with the libe«
rated Comanches, yet we had gained from
them that we were in the right direction, and
not many days frony our destination. —

At the moment’ we were mounting our
horses, all was quiet again in the valley below.
It was a lovely panorama, and, viewing it
from the point where we stood, we could
hardly believe that, some hours previous,
such a horrible tragedy had been there’ per-
formed. Softened down by the distance,

sisiainioeeas whthere was a tranquillity about it which: ap-
peared as if it never, had been broken. The
deep brown skirting of bushes, on the sides of
the different water-courses, broke and varied
the otherwise vast extent of vivid green. The
waters of the river, now reduced to a silver
thread, were occasionally brought: ta view by
some turn in the stream, and again. lost to
sight under the rich foliage on the banks.
We continued .our. journey, and towards
evening we descried a large bear within a
mile of us, and Roche started in chase.
Having gained the other side of the animal,
he drove it directly towards me. . Cocking a
pistol, I rode a short distance in front, to
meet him, and while in the act of taking de-
liberate aim at the bear, then not more than
eight yards from me, I was surprised to see
him turn a summersault and commence kick-
ing with his hind legs. Unseen by. me,
Gabriel had crept up close.on the opposite
side of my horse, and had nooseéd the animal
with his lasso, just, as-I was pulling the
trigger of my pistol ; Bruin soon disengaged
himself from the lasso, and made. towards
Roche, who brought him down with a single

. shot below the ear.

Gabriel and I, then went on ahead, to
select a place for passing the night, leaving
our friend behind to cut up the meat ; but we
had not gone half a mile, whem our progress
was suddenly checked by a yawning abyss, or
chasm, some two hundred yards. across, and
probably six hundred feet in depth. . The
banks, at this place, were nearly perpendicu-
lar, and from the sides projected sharp rocks,
and, now and then, tall majestic cedars. We
travelled a mile or more along the banks, but
perceiving it was too late to find a passage
across, we encamped ina little hollow. under
a cluster of cedars. There we were soon
joined by Roche, and we were indebted to
Bruin for an excellent repast.

The immense chasm before us ran nearly
north and south, and we perceived that the
current of the stream, or rather torrent, below
us, ran towards the former point. . The next
morning, we determined to direct our steps
to the northward, and we had gone but a few
miles before large buffalo or Indian. trails
were seen running in a south-west direction,
and as we travelled on, others were noticed
bearing more to the west. Obliged to keep
out some distance from. the ravine, to avoid
the small gullies emptying into it and the
various elbows which it made, about noon we
struck upon a large. trail, running directly
west ; this we followed, and on reaching the
main chasm, found that it led to the only
place where there was any chance of crossing,
Here, too, we found that innumerable trails
joined, coming from every direction—proof
conclusive that we must. cross here or travel
many weary miles out of our way.

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES:

Dismounting from our aninials, we looked
at the yawning abyss before us, and our first
impression was, that the passage was imprac-
ticable. That buffaloes, mustangs, and very
probably, Indian horses, had. crossed here,
was evident enough, for a zigzag path had
been worn down the rocky and precipitous
sides ; but our three horses were unused to
sliding down or climbing precipices, and they
drew back on being led to the brink of the
‘Chasm,

After, many unsuccessful'attempts, I at last

persuaded my steed to take the path; the
others followed. _ In some places they went
along the very verge of rocky edges, where a
false step would have precipitated them hun-
dreds of feet down, to instant death; in
others, they. were compelled to slide down
passes nearly perpendicular, Gabriel's horse
was much bruised, but after an hour's severe
toil, we gained the bottom, without sustain-
ing any serious injury.
_ Here we remained a couple of hours, to
rest our weary animals and find the trail lead-
ing up the opposite side. This was disco-
vered, and, after great exertions, succeeded
in clambering up to the top, where we again
found ourselves upon a smooth and level
prairie... On looking back, I shuddered to
behold the frightful chasm we had so success-
fully passed, and thought it a miracle that we
had got safely across ; but a very short time
afterwards, I was convinced that the feat we
had just accomplished was a mere nothing.

After giving our animals another rest, we
resumed our journey across the dreary prairie.
Not a tree or bush could be seen in any direc-
tion. A green carpeting of short grass was
spread over the vast scene, with naught else
to relieve the sight.

People may talk of the solitude of forests
as much. as they please, but, there is a com-
pany in trees which one misses‘ upon the
prairie.. It is, in the prairie, with its, ocean-
like waving of grass, like a.vast sea without
landmarks, that the. trayeller feels a sickly
sensation of loneliness. . There he feels as if
not in the world, ;although not out of it;
there he finds no sign or trees to tell him that
there are, beyond or behind him, countries
where millions of his,own kindred are living
and moving. It is in the prairie that man
really feels that he is—alone.

We, rode briskly along till sun-down, and
encamped by the side of a small water-hole,
formed, by a hollow in the prairie. The
mustangs, as well as the deer and antelopes,
had left this part of the prairie, driven out,
doubtless, by the scarcity of water. Had it
not been for occasional, showers, while travel-
ling through this dreary waste, we should
most inevitably have perished, for even the
immense chasms had no water in them,
except that temporarily supplied by the rains.CHAPTER XXIT.

The morning broke bright and cloudless,
the sun rising from the horizon in all his
majesty. Having saddled our horses, we
pursued our journey in.a north-éast direction :
but we had scarcely proceeded six miles before
we suddenly came upon an ‘immense rent or
chasm in the earth, far exceeding in depth the
one we had so much difficulty in crossing the
day before. We were not aware of its exist-
ence until we were immediately upon its
brink, when a spectacle exceeding in grandeur
anything we had previously witnessed burst
upon our sight... Not a tree or bush, no out-
line whatever, marked its position or course,
and we werelost in amazement and wonder as
we rode upand peered into the yawning abyss.

In depth it could not have been less ‘than
one thousand feet; in width from three to five
hundred yards, and at the point where we
first struck it, its ‘sides were nearly perpendi-
cular. A sickly sensation of dizziness was
felt by all three of us, as we looked down, as
it were, into the very bowels of the earth.
Below, an occasional spot of green relieved
the eye, and a stream of water, now visible,
now concealed behind some huge rock, was
bubbling and foaming along. Immense
walls, columns, and, in some places; what
appeared to be arches, filled the ravine, worn
by the water undoubtedly, but so perfect in
form, that we could with difficulty be brought
to believe that the hand of men or genii had
not been employed in raising’ them.’ The
rains of centuries, falling upon the ‘extended
prairie, had here found a reservoir and vent,
and their sapping and undermining of the
different veins of earth and stone had formed
these strange and fanciful shapes.

Before reaching the chasm, we had crossed
numerous large trails leading a little more to
the westward than we had been travelling, and
we were at once convinced that they all cen-
tred in a common crossing close at hand. In
this conjecture we were not disappointed, half-
an-hour's trotting brought us into a large road,
the thoroughfare for years of millions of
Indians, buffaloes and mustangs. Perilous
. as the descent appeared, we’ well knew’ there
was no other near.. My horse was again
started ahead while the two others followed.
Once in the narrow path, which led cir-
cuitously down the deep descent, there was
no possibility of turning back, and our mad-
dened animals finally reached the bottom in
safety.

Several large stoné were loosened from
under our feet during this frightful descent.
They would leap, dash, and) thunder down
the precipitous sides, and strike against the
bottom far below us with a terrific crash.

We found a running stream at the bottom,
and on the opposite side of it a romantic dell

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET,

73

covered with short grass 9
cotton-wood trees. A ry bedy Sere
chad encamped on this VETY -ant but a few

days previous ; the d/azed limbs or he trees

and other “‘signs,”’ showing that theyhad maac

it a resting-place. We, too, halted a couple

of hours to give our horses an opportunity to

graze and rest themselves. The trail which

led up to the prairie on the Opposite side was

discovered a short distanceabove usto thesouth,

As we journeyed along this chasm, we
were Struck with admiration at the strange
and fanciful figures made by the washing of
the waters during the rainy season. In some
places, perfect walls, formed of a reddish clay,
were to be seen standing ; in any other locality
it would have been impossible to believe but
that they had been raised by the hand of man.
The strata of which these walls were composed
was regular in width, hard, and running’ per-
pendicularly ; and where the softer sand which
had surrounded them had been washed away,
the strata still remained, standing in some
places one hundred feet high, and three or
four hundred in length.

Here and there were columns, and such
was their architectural regularity, and so
much of chaste grandeur was there about
them, that we were lost in admiration and
wonder. JInother places the breastworks of
forts would be plainly visible, then again the
frowning turrets of some castle of the olden
time. Cumbrous pillars, apparently ruins of
some mighty pile, formerly raised to religion
or royalty, were scattered about ; regularity
and perfect design were strangely mixed up
with ruin and disorder, and naturehad done it
all. Niagara has been considered one of her
wildest freaks, but Niagara falls into insignifi-
cance when compared with the wild grandeur
ofthis awful chasm. Imagination carried me
back to Thebes, to Palmyra, and the Edomite
Peetra, and I could not help imagining that I
was wandering among their ruins.

Our passage out of this chasm was effected
with the greatest difficulty. Wewere obliged —
to carry our rifles and saddle-bags in our
hands, and, in clambering up a steep preci-
pice, Roche's horse, striking his shoulder
against a projecting rock, was precipitated
some fifteen or twenty feet, falling upon his
back.. We thought he must be killed by the
fall ; but, singular enough, he rose immedi-
ately, shook himself; and a second effort in
climbing proved more successful. The animal
had not received the slightest apparent injury.

Before evening we were safely over, having
spent five or six hours in passing this chasm.
Once more we found ourselves upon the level
of the prairie, and after proceeding some
hundred yards, on looking back, not a sign of
the immense fissure was visible. The waste
we were then travelling over was at least two
hundred and fifty miles in width, and the twochasms I have mentioned were the reservoirs,
and at-the same tixee the channels of escape
for the heavy x8 which fall upon it during
the wet se=s02-

gins prairie is undoubtedly one of the
largest in the world, and the chasm is in per-
fect keeping with the size of the prairie. At
sun-down we came upon a waterhole, and
encamped for the night. By this time we
were entirely out of provisions, and our suf-
ferings commenced.

The next day we resumed our journey;
now, severely feeling the cravings of hunger.
During our journey we saw small herds of
deer and antelopes, doubtless enticed to the
water-courses by the recent rains, and towards
night we descried a drove of mustangs upon a
swell of the prairie half a mile ahead of ‘us.
‘They were all extremely shy, and although we
discharged our rifles at them, not a shot was
successful. In the evening weencamped near
a. water-hole, overspreading an area of some
twenty acres, but.very shallow. Large flocks
of Spanish curlews, one of the best-flavoured
birds that fly, were hovering about, and light-
ing on it on allsides.. Had, I been in posses-
sion of a. double-barrelled jgun, with jsmall
shot, we could have had atJeast one good
meal ; but as I had but a heavy rifle and my
bow and, arrows, we were obliged to go to
sleep supperless.

About two o'clock the next morning we
saddled and resumed our travel, journeying
by the stars, still in a north-east direction.
On leaving the Wakoes, we thought that we
could be not more than one hundred miles
trom the Comanche encampment. We had
now ridden much more than that-distance,
and were still on the immense prairie. To
relieve ourselves from the horrible suspense
we were in—to push forward, with the hope
of procuring some provisions—to get some-
where, in short, was now our object, and we
pressed onward, with the hope of finding
relief.

Our horses had, as yet, suffered less than
ourselves, for the grazing in the prainie had
been good ; but our now hurried march, and
the difficult crossing of the inmense chasms,
began to, tell upon them. . At sunrise we
halted near a small pond of water, to rest the
animals and allow them. an hour 'to feed.

While stretched ..upon the ground, we
perceived a large antelope slowly approaching

              

nearer, evidently inquisitive as to who, or
rather what, we might be; His curiosity cost
him his life ; with.a well-directed ‘shot, Gabriel
brought .him. down, and mone but a starved
man. could appreciate. our, delight. . We
cooked the best part.of the animal, made a
plentiful dinner, and resumed.-our journey.
For. three days,more, the same dreary
spectacle .of a) boundless, prairie: was: still

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

now walking a few steps’

  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 

before us. Not a sign was visible that we
were nearing its edge. We journeyed rapidly
on till near the middle of the afternoon of the
third day, when we noticed a dark spot:a mile
and ahalf ahead of us. At first we thought
it to bea low bush, but as we gradually neared
it, it had more the appearance of a rock,
although mothing of the kind had been seen
from the time we first came on the prairie,
with the exception of ‘those at the chasms.

“A ‘buffalo!’ cried Roche, whose keen
eye at last penetrated the mystery: “‘a
buffalo, lying down and asleep.” Here, then,
was another chance for making'a good meal,
and we felt our courage invigorated. Gabriel
went ahead on foot, with his rifle, in the hope
that he should:at least. get near enough to
wound the animal, while Roche and I made
every preparation for the chase. Disencum-
bering our horses of every pound of super-
fluous weight, we started for the ‘sport,
rendered doubly exciting by the memory of
our recent suffering from starvation.

For a mile beyond where ‘the buffalo lay,
the prairie rose gradually, and we knew
nothing of the nature of the ground beyond.
Gabriel crept till within a hundred and fifty
yards of the animal, which now began to
move and show signs of ,juneasiness. Gabriel
gave him a shot: evidently hit, he rose from
the ground, whisked his long tail, and looked
for a moment inquiringly about him. Tf still
kept my position a few hundred yards from
Gabriel, «who reloaded his piece. Another
shot followed; the buffalo again lashed his
sides, and then started off at a rapid gallop,
directly towards the sun, evidently wounded,
but not seriously hurt.

Roche ‘and I started in pursuit, keeping
close together, until we had nearly reached
the top of the distant rise in'the prairie. Here
my horse, being of a superior mettle, passed
that of Roche, ‘and, cn reaching the summit,
I found the buffalo still galloping rapidly, at
a quarter of a mile's distance. The descent
of the prairie was very gradual, and I could
plainly see every object within five miles. I
now applied the spurs tomy horse, who dashed
madly down the declivity. ‘Giving one look
behind, I saw that Roche, or at least his
horse, had entirely given up the chase. The
prairie was comparatively smooth, and al-
though I dared not to spur my horse to his
full speed, I was soon alongside of the huge
animal. I[twas’a bull-of the largest size, and
his bright, glaring eyeballs, peering out from
his shaggy frontlet of hair, showed plainly
he was maddened ‘by his wounds and the hot
pursuit.

itwas with the greatest difficulty, so fierce
did the ‘buffalo‘look, that I could get my
horse within twenty yards of him, and when I
fired one of my pistols at that distance, my
ball did ‘not ‘take effect. As the’ chase /pro-Of MONSIEUR VIOLET:

gressed; my horse came to his work more my victim. Of course) I-and my two friends
kindly, and soon appeared to take a great were well received in the wigwam, though the
interest in the exciting race. I let him fall chief was absent upon am expedition; and
back a little, and then, by dashing the spurs when he returned, a few days after, a great
deep into his sides, brought him up directly feast wasi given, during which some of the
alongside, and within three ‘or four yards of young nien‘sang a little impromptu poem on
the infuriated beast. the subject'of my recerit- chase.

I fired my other pistol, and the buffalo The Comanches: area noble and. most
shrank as the ball struck just behind the long powerful nation. They have hundreds of
hair on his shoulders. “I was under such villages, betweem which they are wandering
headway when TI fired, that I was obliged to all the year round. | ‘They ‘are well. armed,
pass the animal, cutting across close to his and always move im bodiés of some hundreds;
head, and then again dropping behind. At and even thousands; all active and. skilful
that moment'l lost my rifle; and I had nothing horsemen, living principally by the chase,-anc
left but my bow and arrows : ‘but by this time feeding occasionally;'during their distant ex.
Thad becomé’ so much’ excited by the chase, cursions, upon the flesh of the mustang,
that I could: not think of giving it up. Still which, afterall, isa delightful food, especially

‘ at full speed, I strange my bow); once’ more when fat and young. “A great council. of the
put my spurs to my horse, he’ flew by’ the whole'tribe is held once a year, besides which
Buffalo's’ right side, and I buried my arrow there are: quarterly assemblies; where all sim-
deep into his ribs. portant’ matters are! discussed. ‘They’ have

The animal was now frothing and foaming long been. hostile to: the Mexicans, but. are
with rage and’ pain: His eyes were‘like two less so: now ; their hatred: having been con
deep red! balls of fite, his tongue was out and centrated uporm the! Yankees: and: Texians,
curling upwards, his long tufted tail’curled on whom they consider as: brigands; . They do
high, or lashing madly againsthis' sides; “A not apply themselves:toc the culture of the
more wild, and at the samé time a more mag- ground as the Wakoes; yet they own. inn
nificent picture of desperation I Had ‘never merable herds. of horses, cattle, and sheep,
witnessed. which graze in the:northern: prairies, and: they

By this time my horse was ¢ompletely are indubitabiy one of the wealthiest people
subjected ‘to my guidance. He’ no TIonger inthe world They have a great profusion of
pricked his ears with fear, or sheered off as I gold; which they obtain: from: the! neighbour
approached the monster; but; om the con- hood‘of the San Sebathills, and wotk it’ them:
trary, ran directly up, so that I could almost ‘selves: into: braceleéts,. /armlets, diadems, as
touch the animal while bending my bow. I ‘well as. bits for: their Horses and: ornaments
had’ five or six more arrows left, but I re. totheirsadidleg) ‘Like'all the Shoshones’ tribe,
solved. not to shoot again unless-I were cer- they are most elegant horsemen, and by-dint
tain of touching a vital part, and succeeded of caresses) and: good treatment, render, the
at last in hitting him deep betwixt the shoulder animals so’ familiar and: attached. to them,
and the ribs. that I have often seen some of them: follow-

‘This wound caused the maddened beast'to ing their masters like dogs, licking their hands

spring backwards, and I dashed past him ashe ‘and shoulders. The Comanche young women
vainly endeavoured to gore and overthrow my are exquisitely clean}, good-looking; and but
horse. Fhe chase was now over, the buffalo slightly bronzed; indeed, the Spaniards. of
stopped and soon rolled on the ground per- Andalusia and the Calabrians are darker than
fectly helpless.. Thad just finished him with ‘they are. Their voice is soft, their motions
two other arrows, when, for the first time, I dignified and graceful ; their eyes dark and
perceived that I was no longer alone. Thirty flashing whem excited, but otherwise mild,
or forty well-mounted Indians were quietly ‘with a soft tinge of melancholy. The only
looking at me in an approving manner, as if fault to be found in them is that they: are in-
congratulating me on my success. They ‘clined to be too stout, arising from their not
were the Comanches we had been so long taking exercise. E
seeking for. I made myself known to them, ‘The Comanches, like all the tribes of the
and claimed the hospitality which a year Shoshone breed, are generous and liberal to
before had been offered’ to me by their chief, excess, You can take what you please from
““The White Raven.” They all surrounded the wigwam-—horses;: skins, rick» furs, gold,
' Me, and welcomed mein the most kind man- ‘anything, in’fact, except their arms and their
ner. ‘Three of them started to fetch my rifle females, whom they love fondly, Yet they-are
and to join my companions, who'weéré some not jealous; they aré too couscious of their
eight or nine miles eastward, while E followed own superiority to fear amything, and,, besides,
my new friends to their encampment, which they respect too mich the weaker sex to has-
was but a few miles distant." They had béen bour any injurious’suspicion.

buffalo hunting, and had just reached the It is a very remarkable fact, that all the

top of the swell when they perceived mé and tribes who claim any affinity with the Sko-TRAVELS AND

shones, the Apaches, the Comanches, and the
Pawnies Loups, have always rejected with
scorn any kind of spirits when offered to them
by the traders. They say that ‘‘Shoba-wapo”
(the fire-water) is the greatest enemy of the
Indian race, and that the Yankees, too cow-
ardly to fight the Indians as men, have in-
vented this terrible poison to destroy them
without danger.

“We hated once the Spaniards and the
Watchinangoes” (Mexicans), they say, ‘‘but
they were honourable men compared with the
thieves of Texas. The few among the Spanish
race who would fight did so as warriors ; and
they had laws among them which punished
with death those who would give or sell this
poison to the Indians.”

The consequence of this abstinence from
spirits is, that these Western nations improve
and increase rapidly ; while, on the contrary,
the Eastern tribes, in close contact with the
Yankees, gradually disappear. The Sioux,
the Osage, the Winnebego, and other Eastern
tribes, are very cruel in disposition ; they show
no mercy, and consider every means fair, how-
ever treacherous, to conquer an enemy. Not
so with the Indians to the west of the Rocky
Mountains. ‘They have a spirit of chivalry,
which prevents them taking any injurious
advantage.

As I have before observed, an Indian will
never fire his rifle upon an enemy who is
armed only with his lance, bow, and arrows ;
or if he does, and kills him, he will not take
his scalp, as it would constantly recall to his
mind that he had killed a defenceless foe.
Private encounters with their enemies, the
Navahoes and Arraphoes, are conducted as
tournaments in the days of yore. Two In-
dians will run full speed against each other
with their well-poised lance ; on their shield,
with equal skill, they will receive the blow ;
then, turning round, they will salute each
other as a mark of esteem from one brave foe
to another.

Such incidents happen daily, but they will
not be believed by the Europeans, who have
the vanity of considering themselves alone as
possessing ‘‘le sentiment du chevyalresque et
du beau :” besides, they are accustomed to
read so many horrible accounts of massacres
committed by the savages, that the idea of a

Red-skin is always associated in their mind
with the picture of burning stakes and slow
torture. It is a mistake, and a sad one;
would to God that our highly-civilized nations
of Europe had to answer for no more cruelties
than those perpetrated by the numerous gal-
lant tribes of Western America.

I was present one day when a military
party came from Fort Bent, on the head of
the Arkansa, to offer presents and make pro:
posals of peace to the Comanche council.
The commander made a long speech, after

   

ADVENTURES

which he offered I. don't. know, how many
hundred gallons of whisky. One of the’
ancient chiefs had not patience to hear any
more, and he rose full of indignation. His
name was Auku-wonze-zee—that is to say,
‘he who is superlatively old.”
‘Silence,’ he said; ‘‘speak no more,
double-tongued Oposh-ton-ehoc. (Yankee).
Why comest thou, false-hearted, to pour thy
deceitful words into the ears of my young
men? You tell us you come for peace, and
you offered to us poison. Silence, Oposh-ton-
ehoc, let me hear thee no more, for I am an
old man; and now that I have one foot in the
happy grounds of immortality, it pains me to
think. that I leave my people so near a nation
of liars. An errand of peace! Does the
snake offer peace to the squirrel when he kills .
him with the poison of his dreaded glance ?
Does an Indian say to the beaver, he comes
to offer peace when he sets his traps for him ?
No ! a pale-faced Oposh-ton-ehoc, ora ‘ Kish
emok comho-anac’ (the beast that gets drunk
and lies, the Texian), can alone thus lie to
nature—but not a Red-skin, nor even a girlish
Watchinangoe, nor a proud ‘ Shakanah E
Pe nor a ‘Mahamate kosh ehoj’
open-heart, open-handed Frenchman).

“ Be silent then, man with the tongue of
a snake, the heart of a deer, and the ill-will
of ascorpion; be silent, for 1 and mine de-
spise thee and thine. Yet fear not, thou
mayest depart in peace, for a Comanche is
too noble not to respect a white flag, even
when carried by a wolf or a fox. Till sun-set
eat, but alone ; smoke, but not in our calu-
mets ; repose in two or. three lodges, for we
can burn them after pollution, and then
depart, and say to thy people, that the Co-
manche, having but one tongue and one
nature, can neither speak with nor understand
an Oposh-ton-ehoc.

‘«Take back thy presents ; my young men
will have none of them, for they can accept
nothing except from a friend—and if thou
look'st at their feet, thou shalt see their
mocassins, their leggings, even their bridles
are braided with the hair of thy people,
perhaps of thy brothers, Take thy ‘ Shoba-
wapo ’ (fire-water), and give it to drink to thy
watriors, that we may see them raving and
tumbling like swine. Silence, and away with
thee ; our squaws will follow ye on your trail
for a mile, to burn even the grass ye have
trampled upon near our village. Away with
you all, now and for ever! I have said!! Ly

The American force was numerous and
well armed, and a moment, a single moment,
deeply wounded by these bitter taunts, they
looked as if they would fight and die to resent
the insult ; but it was only a transient feeling,
for they had their orders and they went away,
scorned and humiliated. Perhaps, too, an
inward voice whispered to them that they de-served their shame and humiliation ; perhaps
the contrast of their conduct with that of the
savages awakened in them some better feel-
ing, which had a long time remained dor-
mant, and they were now disgusted with
themselves and their odious policy.

As it was, they departed in silence, and
the last of their line had vanished under the
horizon before the Indians could smother the
indignation and resentment which the stran-
gers had excited within their hearts. Days,
however, passed away, and with them the re-
collection of the event, Afterwards, I chanced
to meet, in the Arkansas, with the Colonel
who commanded; he was giving a very
Strange version of his expedition, and as i
heard facts so distorted, I could not help re-
peating to myself the words of Auku-wonze-
zee, ‘‘ The Oposh-ton-ehoc is a double-ton-
gued liar!”

CHAPTER XXIII.

One morning, Roche, Gabriel, and myself
were summoned to the Great Council Lodge ;
there we met with the four Comanches whom
we had rescued some days before, and it
would be difficult to translate from their glow-
ing language their warm expressions of friend-
ship and gratitude. We learned from them
that before the return of the Cayugas from
the prairie they had concealed themselves in
some crevices of the earth until night, when
they contrived to seize upon three of the
horses and effect their escape. At the passage
of the great chasm they had found the old
red sash of Koche, which they produced,
asking at the same time permission to keep it
as a token from their Pale-face brothers. We
shook hands and. exchanged pipes.
noble and warm is an Indian in his feelings !

In the lodge we also perceived our friend
offormer days, ‘‘ Opishka Koaki”’ (the White
Raven), but as he was about to address the
assembly, we restrained from. renewing our
acquaintance, and directed all our attention
to what was transacting. After the ordinary
ceremonies, Opishka Koaki commenced :—

‘‘Warriors, I am glad you. have so
quickly understood my messages, but when
Joes a Comanche turn his back on, receiv-
img the vermilion from his chief? Never!
you know I called you for. war, and you
have come; ’tis well. Yet, though I ama
chief, I am aman.. I may mistake; I may
now and then strike a wrong path. I will do
nothing, attempt’ nothing, without: knowing
the thoughts of. my. brave warriors. Then
hear me!

‘There live under the sun a nation of Red-
skins, whose men are cowards. Never
striking an enemy but when his back is
turned, or when they number a hundred to

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET. ~-

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77

one. This nation crawls in the prairies about
the great chasms, they live upon carrion, and
have no other horses but those they can steaz
from the deer-hearted Watchinangoes.. Do
my warriors know such a people? Let them
speak! I hear !”’ ;

At that moment a hundred voices shoute
the name of Cayugas.

‘<I knew it |’ exclaimed the chief, “‘ there
is but one such a people with a red skin ; my
warriors are keen-sighted, they cannot be
mistaken. . Now, we Comanthes never take
the scalp of a Cayuga any more than that of
a hedgehog ; we kick them out of our way
when they cross. our path ; that’s all. Hear
me, my braves, and believe me, though I will
speak strange words: these reptiles have
thought that because we have not killed them
as toads and scorpions, it was because we
were afraid of their poison. One thousand
Cayugas, among other prisoners, have taken
eight Comanches; they have eaten four of
them, they would have eaten them all, but the
braves escaped ; they are here. Now, is.an
impure Cayuga a fit tomb for the body of a
Comanche warrior? .No; I read the answer
in your burning eyes. What then shall we
do? Shall we chastise them and give their
carcasses to the crows and wolves? What
say my warriors?. Let themspeak! I hear !’’

All were silent, though it was evident that
their feelings had been violently agitated. At
last, an old chief rose and addressed Opishka :

‘‘ Great chief,” ‘said he, .‘‘why ‘askest
thou? Can a Comanche and warrior think in
any way but one? Look at them! See you
not into their hearts? Perceive you not how
fast the blood runs into their veins? Why
ask? I say; thou knowest well their hearts,
voice is but the echo of thine own. Say but
a word, say, ‘J.et us go to the Cayugas!.’
Thy warriors will answer: ‘We are ready,
shew us the path!’ Chiefofa mighty nation,
thou hast heard. my voice, and in my voice
are heard the thousand voices of thy thousand
warriors.”

Opishka Koaki rose again. ‘‘I knew it,
but I wanted to hear it, for it does my heart
good ; it. makes me proud to command so
many brave warriors, ‘Then to-morrow we
start, and we will hunt the Cayugas even to
the deepest of their burrows. I have said!"

Then the four rescued prisoners recounted.
how they had been taken, and what suffer- |
ings they had undergone. They spoke of °
their unfortunate companions and of their
horrible fate, which they should have also
shared had it not been for the courage of the
three Pale-face brothers, who. killed . five
Cayugas, and cut their bonds ; they them-
selves killed five more of their cowardly foes
and escaped, but till to-day they had had. no
occasion of telling to their tribe the bravery
and generosity of the three Pale-faces.At this narrative all’ the warriors, young
and ‘old,’ looked as though ‘they were per-
sonally indebted to us, and would have come,
One and/all, to shake our hands, had it not
been for the inviolable rulés of the council
lodge, which forbids any kind of disorder.
It is probable that the scene had’ been pre-
pared beforehand by the excelent’ chief who
wished to introduce us'to his warriors under
advantageous ‘circumstances. He waved his
hand to claim attention, and spoke again.

‘*It is nowtwelve moons, it is more! I
met Owato Wanisha and his two ‘brothers.
He is a chief of the great Shoshones, who are
our grandfathers,: far—far under the ‘setting
of the sun beyond the big mountains. His
two brothers are two great warriors from
powerful nations far in the east and beyond
the Sioux, the Chippewas'beyond the ‘Oposh-
ton-ehoc*,” even beyond the deep salt-water.
One is a ‘Shakanah’ (Englishman), ‘the
other a ‘“Naimewa ” from the ‘Maha-mate-
kosh-ehoj’ ‘(an exile from the French). They
are’ good and they are brave: they have
learned wisdom from the ‘Macota Konayas’
(priests), and Owato Wanisha knows how to
build strong forts, which he can better defend
than the Watchinangoes have defended theirs.

DP have invited’ him and his brother to come

and taste the buffalo of our prairies, to ride
our horses, and’smoké the calumet of friend-
ship. They Have come, and will remain with
us till we ourselves go to the big stony river
(the Colorado of the West). They have
come ; they are our guésts ; the’ best we can
command is'theirown already ; but they aré
chiefs’ and warriors... A chief’ ‘is a chief
everywhere. We must treat’ them as chiefs,
and let’ them select a band of warriors for
themselves to follow them till they go away
from ust

“You have heard what otir scouts’ have
said ;'"they would have been eaten’ by’the
Cayugas, had it not been’for our guests, who
have ‘preserved not only the lives of four'meéen
—that is nothing—but the honour of the tribe;
I need'say no more; I know my young men ;
I know my warriors; I know they will love
the strangers as chiefs and brothers.’ I have
said.”
Having thus spoken, he walked slowly out
of the lodge; which was immediately deserted
for the ‘green lawn before the village.’ There
we were ‘sumptuously entertained by all the
principal’ chiefs and warriors of the’ ‘tribe,
after’ which they conducted us ‘to a new tent,
which«they had erected’ for us’ in the middle
of their principal square: There we found
also six-magnificent, horses, well caparisoned,
tied to the posts of the tent; they were’ the
presents of the'chiefs.’ “Ata few ‘steps from
the door was an immense shield, suspended

Americans,

"TRAVELS: AND ADVENTURES

upon four posts, and on which a’ beaver, the
head of an eagle, and the claws of a’ bear
were admirably painted—the first totem for

“me, the second ‘for Gabriel, and the third for

Roche. We gratefully thanked our hospitable
hosts, and retired to rest in our rich and
elegant dwelling.

The next morning, we awoke just in time
to witness the ceremony of departure ; a war
party, already on horseback, was waiting for
their chief, At the foot of our’ shield were
one hundred lances, whose owners belonged
to the family’ and kindred’ of the Indians
whom we had rescued from the Cayugas. A
few minutes afterwards ‘the owners of the
weapons appeared in the square, well mounted
and armed, to place themselves at our entire
disposal. We could not put our authority to
a better use than by joining our friends in
their expedition, so when the chief arrived,
surrounded by the elders of the tribe, Gabriel
advanced towards him.

“Chief,” hesaid, ‘“and: wise men of a
brave nation, youhave conferred upon usatrust
of which we are proud. To Owato Wanisha,
perhaps, it was due, for he is mighty in his
tribe ; but I and the Shakanah are no chiefs.
We will not decline your favour, but we must
deserve it. ‘The young beaver will remain in
the village, to learn the wisdom of your old
men, but the eagle and the bear must and will
accompany you in your expedition. You have
given them brave warriors, who would scorn
to remain at home ; we will follow you.”

This proposition was received with flatter-
ing acclamations, and the gallant army soon
afterwards left the village’ on its mission of
revenge.

The Cayugas were, before that expedition,
a powerful tribe, about whom little or nothing
had ever been’ ‘written or known. In’ their
customs and manners of living; they resemble
in every way the Club Indians of the Colorado,
who were destroyed by the small-pox. They
led a wandering’ prairie life, but’ generally
were too cOwardly to fight well, and ‘to inex- -
pert in hunting to surround themselves with
comforts, everi in the midst of plenty. Like
the ‘Clubs, ‘they are’ cannibals, . though, T
suspect, they would not eat @ white man.
They have’ but few horses,’ and these only
when they could be procured by stealth, for,
almost always starving, they could not’ afford
to breed:them; always eating the colts before
they ‘could be useful.

Their“ grounds lie in the vicinity of the
great fork of the Rio Puerco, by Tat. 35° and
long. 105° from Greenwich. The whole nation:
donot possess half a dozen of rifles, mo8t ‘all
of them being armed with clubs, bows, and
arrows. Some old Comanches ‘have assured.
me -that the’ Cayuga ‘country abounds with
fine gold. wd :

While T was with the Comanches, waitingthe return of the expedition, I. had an :acci-
dent ‘which nearly cost me ‘my Jlife. -Having
learned that there ‘were ‘many fine basses to
be fished ina stream Some twenty miles off, I
started on horseback, witha view of passing
the night there, 1 took with me a buffalo-
hide, a blanket, anda tin cup, and two hours
before sunset I arrived at the spot.

As the weather had: been dry for some
time, I could not pick any worms, so I
thought of killing some bird ‘or other ‘small
animal, whose flesh would answer for bait.
Not falling fh with any birds, I determined to
seek fora rabbit or a frog: . To savetime, I
lighted a fire, put my water to boil, spread my
hide and blanket, arranged’ my saddle for a
pillow, and ‘then went in search of bait, and
sassafras to make tea with.

While looking for sassafras, I perceived a
nest upon a small oak near to the ‘stream. I
climbed to take the young ones, ‘obtained two;
which I put in my round jacket, and looked
about me to see where I should jump upon
the ground. After much turning about, I
suspended myself by the hands from a hang-
ing branch, and allowed myself to drop down.
My left foot fell flat, but under the soft sole of
my right mocassin I felt something alive,
heaving or rolling. Ata glance, I perceived
that my foot was on the body ofa large rattle-
snake, with his head just forcing itself from
under my heel.

Thus taken by surprise, I stood motionless
and with my heart throbbing. The reptile
worked itself free, and twisting round my leg,
almost‘in ‘a second bit me two or three times.
The sharp pang which I felt from the fangs
recalled me ‘to consciousness, and though I
felt convinced that I was lost, I resolved that
my destroyer should die also. With my
bowie-knife I cut its body into a hundred
pieces ; walked away very sad and gloomy,
and sat upon my blanket near the fire.

How rapid and tumultuous were my
thoughts! To die so young, and such a
dog’s death! My mind reverted to the happy
scenes of my early youth, when) I had a
mother, and played ‘so merrily among the
golden grapes ‘of sunny France, and when
later I wandered with my father in the Holy
land, in Italy and Egypt. Ialso thought of
the Shoshones, of Roche and Gabriel, and |
sighed. It was a-moral agony ; for the
physical pain had subsided, and my leg was
almost benumbed by paralysis.

The ‘sun went down, and the last carmine
tinges of his departed glory reminded me how
soon my sun would set; then the big burn-
ing ‘tears smothered me, for: f:was young,
very young, and I could not command) the
courage and resignation to die such a horrible
death. Had I been’ wounded in the field,
leading my brave’ Shoshones, and hallooing
the war-whoop, I would have cared very

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET,

little about it ; but thus, like a dog! It, was
horrible ! and I dropped my head upon my
oie thinking how few hours 1 had new to
diwess
d was awakened from that absorbing tor-
por by my poor horse, who was busy licking
my ears... The faithful, animal -suspected
something was'wrong, for usually at such a
time I would sing Spanish ditties or some
Indian war-songs. Sunset was also the time
when I brushed and patted him. ‘The in-
telligent brute knew that I suffered, and, in
its own way, Showed me that it participated
in my affliction. My water, too, was boiling
on the fire, and the bubbling of the water
seemed to be a voice raised on purpose to
divert my gloomy thoughts. ‘‘Aye, boil,
bubble, evaporate,” exclaimed 1; ‘‘what do
I care for water or tea now ?”’

Scarcely had I finished these words, when,
turning suddenly my head round, my atten-
tion was ‘attracted by an object before me,
and agleam of hope irradiated. my gloomy
mind: close to my feet 1 beheld five or six
stems of the rattlesnake master weed... I well
knew the plant, but Ishad been incredulous
as to its properties. Often had I heard the
Indians speaking of its. virtues, but I had
never believed them. ‘‘A drowning man
will seize,at a floating straw.” By a violent
effort I got.up on my legs, went to fetch my
knife, which I had left near the dead snake,
and I commenced digging for two or three of
the roots, with all the energy of despair.

These roots I cut into ‘small slices, and
threw them in the boiling water. It soon
produced a dark green decoction, which 2
swallowed ; it was evidently a powerful alkali,
strongly impregnated with a flavour of tur-
pentine, I then cut my mocassin, for my
foot was already swollen to twice its ordinary
size, bathed the wounds with a few. drops of
the liquid, and, chewing some of the slices,
I applied them as a poultice, and tied them
on with my scarf and, handkerchief. I then
put some more water to boil, and, halfan
hour afterwards, having drank another pint
of the bitter decoction, I drew .my blanket
over me, In-a minute or less.after the second
draught,. my brain whirled, and a strange
dizziness overtook. me, which was followed
by a powerful perspiration, and soon after-
wards all was blank.

The next moming I was awakened by my
horse again licking me ; he wondered why I
slept so late, I felt my head ache dreadfully,
and-I perceived that the burning rays .of the
sun for the last two hours had, been darting
upon my uncovered face, It was some time
before I could collect my thoughts, and make
out where I was. , At last, the memory of the
dreadful. incident of. the. previous . evening
broke upon my-mind, and I regretted I had
not died during my unconsciousness; for I.thought that the weakness I: felt was an
effect of the poison, and that I should have
to undergo an awful lingering death. Yet
all around me, nature was smiling; thou-
sands of birds were singing their morning
concert, and, at a short distance, thelow and
soft murmuring of the stream reminded me
of my excessive thirst. Alas!*well hath the
Italian bard sung :— ~

‘¢ Nessun maggior dolore
_\Che riccordarsi del tempo felice
., Nella miseria! ’—DANTE.

As I lay and reflected upon my utter help-
lessness, again my heart swelled, and my
tears flowed freely. Thirst, however, gave
me the courage which the freshness and
beauty of nature had not been able to inspire
me with, I thought of attempting to rise to
fetch some water ; but first I slowly passed
my hand down my thigh, tofeel my knee. I
thought the inflammation would have’ ren-
dered it as thick as my waist. My hand was
upon my knee, and so sudden was the ‘shock
that my heart ceased to beat. Joy can be
most painful ; for i felt an acute pang through
my breast, as‘ from the -blow of a dagger,
When I moved my finger across the cap of
my knee, it was quite free from inflammation,
and perfectly sound. Again there 'was'a re-
action, Aye, thought I, ’tisall’on the ancle ;
how can I éscape ! Is not the poison a'deadly
one? I dared not throw away the blanket
and investigate further; I felt weaker and
weaker, and again covered my head to sleep.

I did sleep, and when I awoke this time,
I felt myself a little invigorated. though my
lips and tongue weré quite parched.” I re-
membered everything ; down my hand slided ;
I could not reach my ancle, so I put up my
knee. I removed the scarf and the poultice
of master weed.. My handkerchief was “full
of a dried, green, glutinous matter, and the
wounds looked clean. Joy gave me strength.
I went to the stream, drank plentifully, and
washed. TI still felt very feverish ; and, - al-
though I was safe from the immediate effects
of the poison, I knew that I had yet to suffer,

Grateful to Heaven for my preservation, I
saddled my faithful companion, and, wrapp-
ing myself closely in my buffalo hide, I sét
off to the Comanche camp. * My senses ‘had
left me before I arrived-there. “Théy found
me on the ground, and my horse standing by
me.
Fifteen days afterwards I awoke to con-
sciousness, a weak and emaciated being.
During this whole time I had been raving
under a cerebral fever,- death hovering over
me. It appears'that I had received a coup-
de-soleil, in addition to my other mischances,

When I returned to consciousness, I was
astonished to see Gabriel and Roche by my
side; the expedition had returned trium-

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

  

phant« The Cayugas’ villages had been
burnt, almost all their warriors destroyed,
and those who remained had sought a shelter.
in the fissures of the earth, or in the passes of
themountains unknown toany but themselves.
Two of the Mexican girls had also been res-
cued, ‘but what had become of the others
they could not tell.

The kindness and cares of my. friends,
with the invigorating influence of a beautiful
clime, soon’ restored me to comparative
health, but it was a long time before I was,
strong enough to ride and resume my former
exercise. During that time: Gabriel -made
frequent excursions to the southern and even
to the Mexican settlements, and on the-return
from.his last trip>he brought up news which
caused the Indians, for that year, to forsake
their hunting, and remain at home: - General -
Lamar and his associates had hit upon a plan
not only treacherous, but in open defiance of
all the laws of nations. But what, indeed,
could be expected from a people who -mur-
dered their guests, invited by . them, . and
under the sanction of a white flag? I refer
to the massacre of the Comanche chiefs at
San Antonio.

The President of Mexico, Bustamente,
had a view toa cessation of hostilities with
Texas. The Texians had sent ambassadors
to negotiate a recognition and treaty of
alliance and friendship with other nations;
they had despatched Hamilton in England
to supplicate the cabinet of St. James'to lend
its mighty influence towards the recognition
of Texas by Mexico ; and while these: nego-
tiations were pending, and- the peace with
Mexico still in force, Lamar, in defiance of
all good faith and honour, was secretly. pre-
paring an expedition, which, under the dis-
guise of a mercantile caravan, was intended
to conquer Santa Fé and all the northern
Mexican provinces. This expedition of the
Texians, as it would pass through the terri-
tory of the Comanches. whose villages, &c:,
if unprotected, would, in all probability, have
been plundered, and their women and. chil-
dren murdered, induced the Comanches to
break up their camp, and, return home as
speedily as possible.

CHAPTER XXIV.

During my. convalescence, my tent, or
I should say, the lawn before it, became a

kind of general divan, where the warriors and

elders of the tribe would assemble, to smoke

and relate the strange stories of days gone-by.

Some of them appeared to’me particularly
beautiful ; I shall, therefore, narrate them to
the reader. One old chief began as follows :—

‘*T will tell ye of the Shkote-nah, Pish-
kuan, or the boat of fire, when I saw. it for
the ‘first time. Since that, the grass haswithered. fifteen times in the prairies, and I-
have grown weak and old. Then I wasa
warrior, and many scalps have I taken on
the eastern -shores of the Sabine. Then,
also, the Pale-faces, living in the prairies were
good; we fought them because we were
enemies, but they never stole anything from
us, nor we from them.

“Well, at that time, we were once inthe
spring hunting the buffalo. The Caddoes,
who are now a small tribe of starved dogs,
were then a large powerful nation, extending
from the Cross Timbers:to the waters of the
gteat. stream, in the East, but they were
gamblers and drunkards; they would sell all
their furs for the ‘Shoba-wapo’ (fire-water),
and return to their villages to poison their
Squaws, and make brutes of their children.
Soon they get nothing more to sell; and as
they could not now do without the ‘Shoba-
wapo, : they began to steal. They would steal
the horses and oxen of the Pale-faces, and
say, ‘The Comanches did it.’ When they
killed trappers or travellers, they would go to
the fort of the Yankees and say to them, ‘Go
to the wigwams of the Comanches, and you
will see the scalps of your friends hanging
upon long poles.’ But we did not care, for
we knew it was not true.

‘‘A long time passed away, when the evil
spirit of the Caddoes whispered to them to
come to the villages of the Comanches while
they were hunting, and to take away with
them all that they could. They did so,
entering the war-path as foxes and owls,
during night. When they arrived, they found
nothing but squaws, old women, and little
children. Yet these fought well, and many of
the Caddoes were killed before they aban-
doned their lodges... They soon found us out
in the hunting-ground ; and our great chief
ordered me to start with five hundred war-
riors, and never return until the Caddoes
should have no home, and wander like deer
and starved wolves in the open prairie.

‘“‘T followed the track. . First, I- burnt
their great villages in the Cross Timbers, and
then pursued them in the swamps and cane-
breaks. of the East, where they concealed
themselves among the long lizards of the
water (the alligators). We, however, came
up with them again, and they crossed the
Sabine, to take shelter among the Yankees,
where they had another village, which was
their largest and their richest. We followed ;
and on the very shores of their river, although
a thousand miles from our own country, and
where the waters are dyed with the red clay
of the soil, we encamped round their wig-
wams and prepared to conquer.

‘It. was at the gloomy season, when it
rains night and day; the river was high, the
earth damp, and our young braves shivering,
even under their blankets, It was evening,

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET,

 

when, ~ far to the south, apove one of the
windings of the stream, I saw a thick black
smoke rising as a tall pine among the clouds,
and I watched it closely: It came towards
us ; and as the sky darkened and night came
on, sparks of fire showed the progress of the
strange sight. Soon noises were heard, like
those of the mountains when the evil spirits
are shaking them; the sounds were awful,
solemn, and: regular, like the throbs’ of a
warrior's heart ; and now and then a sharp,
shrill scream would rend the-air and awake
other terrible voices in the forest.

‘‘It came, and deer, | bears, panthers
were passing among us, madly flying before
the dreaded unknown. It came, it flew,
nearer and nearer, till we saw it plainly with
its two big: mouths, spitting fire like the burn-
ing mountains of the West. It rained very
hard, and yet we saw all. It was like a long
fish, shaped like a canoe, and its sides had
many eyes, full of bright light as the stars
above.

‘‘T saw no one with the monster ; he was
alone, breaking the waters and splashing
them: with his arms, his legs, or his. fins.
On the top, and it was very high, there was a
square lodge. Once I thought I could see a
man init, but it was a fancy ; or perhaps the
soul of the thing, watching from its hiding.
place for a prey which it might séize upon:
Happily it was dark, very dark, and being in
a hollow along the banks, we could not be
perceived ; and the dreadful thing passed.

““The Caddoes uttered a:loud scream of
fear and agony ; their hearts were melted.
We said nothing, for we were Comanches and
warriors ; and yet I felt strange, and was
fixed to where I stood. - A manis but/a man,
and even a Red-skin cannot struggle with a
spirit. The scream of the Caddoes, how-
ever, frightened the monster; its flanks
opened and discharged some tremendous .
Anim Tekis (thunders) on the village. I heard
the crashing of the logs, the splitting of the
hides" covering the lodges, and when the
smoke was all gone, it left asmell of powder ;
the monster was far, far off, and there was
no trace of it left, except the moans of the
wounded and the lamentations of the squaws
among the Caddoes.

‘‘T and my young’ men soon recovered
our senses; we entered the village, burnt
every thing, and killed the warriors. “They
would not fight ; but as they were thieves, we
destroyed them. We returned to our own
villages, every one of us. with many scalps,
and since that time the Caddoes have never
been a nation ; they wander from north to
south, and from east to west ; they have huts
made with the bark of trees, or they take
shelter in the burrows of the prairie dogs,
with the owls’ and the snakes; but they
have no lodges, no wigwams, no villages.Thus may it be with all the foes of our great
nation.” R

This is an historical fact. The steamboat
“« Beaver” ‘made its first exploration upon
the Red River, some eighty miles ‘above the
French settlement of Nachitochy, just ‘at the
very time that the Comanches were attacking
the last Caddoe village upon the banks of
the Red River. These’ poor savages yelled
with terror when the strange mass passed
thus before them, and, either from wanton
cruelty or from fear of an attack, the boat
fired four guns, loaded with grape-shot, upon
the village, from which they ‘were not a
hundred yards distant. ;

The following is.a narrative of events
which happened in the time of Mosh'Kohta
(buffalo), a great chief, hundreds of -years
ago, when the unfortunate ‘‘ La Salle’? was
shipwrecked upon the coast of Texas, while
endeavouring to discover the mouth of the
Mississippi.. ‘Such records are very nume-
rous among the great prairie tribes; they
bear sometimes the Ossianic type, and are
related every evening during the month of Feb-
ruary, when the ‘‘ Divines”” and the elders of
the nation teach to ‘the young men the tradi-
tions of former days.

‘‘It was in the time ‘ofa’ chief, a great
chief, strong, cunning, and wise, a chief of
many bold deeds. His name was Mosh
Kohta.

“Tt is along while! No Pale-faces dwelt
in the land ‘of plenty (the translation of the
Indian ‘word ‘'Texas’;) our grandfathers
had just received it from the Great Spirit,
and they had come from the setting of the
sun across the big mountains to take posses-
sion. We were a great nation—we are so
now, we have always been so; and we will
ever be. At that time, also, our tribe spread
all along the western shores of the great

 

« Stream Mississippi, for no Pale-face had yet

settled upon it. We were a great people,
ruled by a mighty chief; the earth, ‘the trees,
the rivers, and the air know his name. Is
there a place in ‘the mountains or the
prairies where the ‘name of Mosh’ Kohta
has not been pronounced and praised ?

‘At that time a strange warlike people of
the Pale-faces broke their big canoes ‘along
our coasts of the South, and they-all landed
on the shore, well armed with big guns and
long rifles, but they had nothing to ‘eat.
These ‘were the “‘Mahamatekosh-ehoj (the
French); their chief was a good man, a wat-
vior ; and a great traveller; he had started
from the northern territories of the Algon-
quins, to go across the salt water in far dis-
tant lands, and bring back with him many
good things which the Red-skins wanted +—
warm blankets to sleep upon, flints to stnke a
fire, axes to cut the trees, and knives'to skin
the bear and. the buffalo.,, He was‘a good

'

TRAVELS. AND ADVENTURES

man and loved the Indians, for they also were
good, and good people will always love each
other. a

“ He'met with Mosh Kohta ; our warriors
would not fight the strangers, for they were
hungry and their voices were soft ; they were
also too’ few to be feated, though their
courage seemed great under misfortune, and
they would sing and laugh while they suf-
fered. Wegave them food, we helped them
to take from the waters the planks of their big
canoe, and to’ build the first’ wigwam in
which the Pale-faces ever dwelt in Texas.
Two moons they remained hunting the buf
falo with our} young men, till at last their
chief and his bravest warriors started in some
small canoes of ours, to see if they could not
enter the great stream, by following the coast
tewards the sunrise. He was gone fout
moons, and when he returned, he had lost
half of his men, by sickness, hunger, and
fatisue ; yet Mosh Kohta bade him not
despair; the great chief promised the Pale-
faces to conduct them in the spring to the
great stream, and for several more moons we
lived all together, as braves and brothers
should. Then, for the first time also, the
Comanches’ got some of their rifles, and
other knives. Was it good—was it bad?
Who knows?. Yet the lance and arrows
killed as many buffaloes as lead and black
dust (powder), and the squaws could take off
the skin of a deer or a beaver without knives.
How they did it, no one knows now ; but
they did it, though they had not yet seen the
keen and sharp knives of the Pale-faces.

“« Frowever, it was’ not long time before
many of the strangers tired of remaining so
far from their wigwams?: their chief every
morning would look for hours ‘towards ‘the
rising of the sun, as if the eyes of his soul
could see through the immensity of the
prairies ; he became gloomy as a man of dark
deeds (a Médecin), and one day, with half of
his men, he began a long inland trail across
prairies, swamps, and rivers, so much did he
dread to die far from his lodge. Yet he did
die: not of sickness, not of hunger, but
under the knife of another Pale-face; and he
was the first one from ‘Strange countries
whose bones blanched without burial in the
waste. Often the evening breeze whispers his
name along the swells of the southern plains,
for he'was‘a brave man, and no doubt he is
now smoking with his great Manitou.

“Well, he started. At that time the
buffalo and the deer were plentiful, and the
men went on their trail gaily till they reached
the river of many forks (Trinity River), for
they knew that every day brought them
nearer and nearer to the forts of their people,
though ‘it was yet'a long way—very long.
The Pale-face chief had a son with him; a
noble youth, fair to look upon, active andStrong : the Comanches loved’ him. “Mosh
Kohta had advised him to distrust two of his
own warriors; but he was young and gene-
rous, incapable: of wrong or cowardice ; he
would not suspect it in “others; especially
among men of his own’ colour’and nation,
who had shared: his toils, his dangers, his
sorrows, and his. joys.

‘‘ Now these: two warriors our great chief
had spoken of were bad men and very greedy ;
they were ambitious too, and ‘believed that,
by killing their chief and his son, they would
themselves command the band. ‘One evening,
while they were all eating the meal of friend-
ship, groans’ were heard—a murder had been
committed. The other warriors’ sprang up;
they saw their chief dead, and the two war-
riors coming towards them ; their revenge
was quick— quick as that of the panther: the
two base warriors were killed.

“Then there was a ‘great fight among the
Pale-face band, in which many were slain ;
but: the young man and some other braves
escaped from their enemies, and, after two
moons, reached the: Arkansas, where they
found their friends and some Makota Gonayas
(priests—black-gowns). The remainder” of
the band who left us, and who murdered
their chief, our ancestors destroyed like rep-
tiles, for they were venomous and bad. ‘The
other ‘half of the Pale-faces, who had re
mained behind in their wood wigwams, fol-
lowed our tribe to.our great villages, became
Comanches, and took. squaws. Their chil
dren and grandchildren have formed a‘ good
and brave nation; they are paler than the
Comanches, but their heart is all the same >,
and often in the hunting-grounds they join
our hunters, partake of the same meals, and
agree like brothers: These are the nation of
the Wakoes, not far in’ the south, upon the
trail of the Cross: Timbers. But who knows
not the: Wakoes ?—even children can go ‘to
their hospitable lodges.”

This episode is historical. In the early
months of 1684,' four vessels left La Rochellé
in France, for the colonization of the: Missis-
sippi, bearing’ two hundred and eighty per-
sons. ‘The expedition was commanded by
La ‘Salle, who brought with him his nephew,
Moranget: After a delay at Santa Domingo,
which lasted two years; the expedition,
missing the mouth of the Mississippi, entered
the Bay of Matagorda, where’ they were ship-
wrecked. | ‘* There,’’’ says Bancroft in his
History of America, ‘‘under the suns of
June, with timber felled in an’ island grove,
and dragged for a league over the prairie
grass, the colonists’ prepared to build a
shelter, La Salle being the architect, and
himself making the beams,’ and tenons, and
mortises.”

This is the settlement which made Texas
apart of Louisiana. La Salle proposed to

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

seek ‘the Mississippi in the cances of the
Indians, who had showed themselves friendly,
and, after an absence of about four months,
and: the loss of thirty men, he returned in
tags, having failed to find “the fatal river.”
The eloquent American historian gives him a
noble character :—‘‘On the return of La
Salle,” says he, “he learned that a mutiny
had broken out among his men, and they had
destroyed a part of the colony's provisions,
Heaven and man seemed his enemies, and,
with the giant energy of an indomitable will,
having lost his hopes of fortune, his hopes of
fame, with his colony diminished to about one
hundred, among whom discontent had given
birth to plans of crime—with no European
nearer than the river Pamuco, and no French
nearer than the northern shores of the Mis-
Sissippi, he resolved to travel on foot to his
countrymen in the North, and renew his
attempts at colonization.”

It appears that La Salle left sixty men
behind him, and on the 20th of March, 1686,
after a buffalo-hunt, he was murdered by
Duhaut and L’Archevéque, two adventurers,
who had embarked their capital in the enter-
prise. They had long shown ‘a spirit of
mutiny, and the malignity of disappointed
avarice so maddened them that they mur-
dered their unfortunate commander.

I will borrow a page of Bancroft, who
is more explicit than the Comanche chronic-
lers :-— pe

‘““Leaving sixty men at Fort St; Louis, in
January, 1687, La Salle, with the other
portion of his men, departed for Canada.
Lading their baggage on the wild’ horses
from the Cenis, which found their pasture
everywhere in the prairies, in shoes made of
green buffalo hides; for want of other paths,
following the track of the buffalo, and using
skins as the only shelter against rain, win-
ning favour with the savages by the con-
fiding courage of their leader—they ascended
the streams towards the first ridges of high-
lands, walking through beautiful plains and
groves, among deer and buffaloes,—now
fording the clear. ‘rivulets, now’ building a
bridge by felling a giant tree across a stream,
till they had passed the basin of the Colorado,
and in the upland country had reached a
branch of the Trinity River.

“*In the little company of wanderers there
were two men, Duhaut and L’Archevéque,
who had embarked their capital in the enter-
prise. Of these, Duhaut. had long shown a
spirit of mutiny ; the base malignity of dis-
appointed avarice, maddened by sufferings
and impatient’ of control, awakened the
fiercest passions of ungovernable hatred.
Inviting: Moranget to take charge of the
fruits of a buffalo hunt, they quarrelled with
him and murdered him.

““Wondering at the delay of his nephew’s

  
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
    
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
    
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
  

«return, La Salle, on the 2oth of March, went
to seek him. At the brink of the river, he
observed eagles hovering, as if over carrion,
and he fired an alarm-gun. Warned by the
sound, Duhaut and L’Archevéque crossed

the river: the former skulked in the prairie °

grass ; of the latter, La Salle asked, ‘ Where
is my nephew?’ At the moment of the
answer, Duhaut fired ; and, without uttering
a word, La Salle fell dead. ‘You are down
now, grand bashaw! You are down now!’
shouted one of the conspirators, as they des-
poiled his remains, which were left on the
prairie, naked and without burial, to be de-
voured by wild beasts.

‘Such was the end of this daring adven-
turer. For force of will and vast conceptions ;
for various knowledge, and quick adaptation
of his genius to untried circumstances ; for a
sublime magnanimity, that resigned itself to
the will of Heaven, and yet triumphed over
affliction by energy of purpose and unfaltering
hope,—he had no superior among his country-
men. He had won the affection of the
Governor of Canada, the esteem of Colbert,
the confidence of Seignelay, the favour of
Louis XIV. After beginning the colonization
of Upper Canada, he perfected the discovery

of the Mississippi from the Falls of St. An- |

thony to its mouth; and he will be remem-
bered through all times as the father of colo-
nization in the great. central valley of the
Wese®

Jontel, with the brother and son of La
Salle, and others, but seven in all, obtained a
guide from the Indiansfor the Arkansas, and,
fording torrents, crossing ravines, making a
ferry over rivers with rafts or boats, of buffalo
hides, without meeting the cheering custom
of the calumet, till they reached the country
above the Red River, and leaving an es-
teemed companion in a wilderness grave, on
the 24th of July, came upon a branch of the
Mississippi. There they beheld on an island
a large cross : never did Christians gaze on
that enblem with more. deep-felt emotion,
Near it stood a log hut, tenanted by two
Frenchmen. A missionary, of the name of
‘Tonti, had descended that river, and, full of
grief at not finding La Salle, had established
a post near the Arkansas...

As the reader may perceive, there is not
much difference between our printed records,
and the traditions of the Comanches.

CHAPTER | XXV.

It was during my convalescence that the.

fate of the Texian expedition to Santa Fé
was decided; and as the real facts have
been studiously concealed, and my intelli-
gence, gained from the Indians,, who
were disinterested parties, was afterwards
fully corroborated by an Irish gentleman who

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

had been persuaded to join it, I may as well
relate them here. Assuming the character of
friendly traders, with somes hundred dollars’
worth of goods, as a blind to their real inten-
tions, which were to surprise the Mexicans
during the neutrality which had been agreed
upon, about five hundred men were collected
at Austin, for the expedition.

Although the report was everywhere cir-
culated that this was to be a trading experi-
ment, the expedition, when it quitted Austin,
certainly wore a very different appearance.
The men had been supplied with uniforms ;
generals, and colonels, and majors were dash-
ing about in every direction, and they quitted
the capital of Texas with drums beating and
colours flying. -Deceived by the Texians, a
few respectable Europeans were induced to
join this expedition, either for scientific re-
search or the desire to visit a new and unex-
plored country, under such protection, little
imagining that they had associated them-
selves with a large band of robbers, for no
other name can be given to these lawless
plunderers. But if the force made atolerable
appearance on its quitting the capital, a few
hours’ march put an end to all discipline and
restraint.

Although othe country abounded» with
game, and it was killed from mere wanton-
ness, such was their improvidence, that they
were obliged to resort to their salt pork and
other provisions; and as, in thirty days,
forty large casks of whisky were consumed,
it is easy to, suppose, which was indeed the
fact, that every night that they halted, the
camp was a scene of drunkenness and riot.

During the last few days of the march
through the game country, they killed more
than a hundred buffaloes, yet, three days
after they had quitted the prairies and had
entered the dreary northern deserts, they had
no provisions left, and were. compelled to eat
their worn-out and miserable horses.

A true account of their horrible sufferings
would beggar all description; they became
so weak and so utterly helpless, that half-a-
dozen Mexicans, well mounted; could havedes-
troyed them all. Yet, miserable asthey were,
and under the necessity of conciliating the
Indians, they could not forego their piratical
and thieving propensities. They fell upon a
small village of the Wakoes, whose warriors
and hunters were absent, and, not satisfied
with taking away all the eatables they could
carry, they amused themselves with firing the
Indian stores and shooting the children, and
did not leave until the village was reduced to
a heap of burning ashes. This act of
cowardice sealed the fate of the expedition,
which was so constantly harassed. by the
Wakoe warriors, and had lost already so
many scalps, that afterwards meeting with a
small party of Mexicans, they surrendered tothem, that they might escape the well-
deserved, and unrelenting vengeance of the
warlike Wakoes. :

Such was the fate of the Texian expedi-
tion; but there is another portion of the
history which has been much talked of in the
United States; I mean the history of their
captivity and sufferings, while cn their road
from Santa Fé to Mexico. Mr. Daniel Web-
ster hath made it a government question, and
Mr. Pakenham, the British ambassador in
Mexico, has employed all the influence of his
Own position to restore to freedom the half-
dozen of Englishmen who had joined the ex-
pedition. Of course they knew nothing of the
circumstances, except from the report of the
Texians themselves. Now it is but just that
the Mexicans’ version should be heard also.
‘The latter is the true one, at least so far as I
can judge by what I saw, what I heard upon
the spot, and from some Mexican documents
yet in my possession.

The day before their capture, the Texians,
who for the last thirteen days had suffered all
the pangs of hunger, came suddenly upon a
flock of several thousand sheep, belonging to
the Mexican government. As usual, the
flock was under the charge of a Mexican
family, living ina small covered waggon, in
which they could remove from spot to spot,
shifting the pasture-ground as required. In
that country, but very few individuals are
employed to keep the largest herds of ani-
mals; but they are always accompanied by
a number of noble dogs, which appear to be
particularly adapted to protect and -guide the
animals. These dogs do not run about, they
never bark or bite, but, on the contrary, they
will walk gently up to any one of the flock
that happens to stray, take it carefully by the
ear, and lead it back to its companions. The
sheep do not show the least fear of these dogs,
nor is there any occasion for it. These use-
ful guardians are a cross of the Newfound-
land and St. Bernard breed, of a very large
size, and very sagacious.

Now, if the Texians had asked for a hun-
dred sheep, either for money or ‘in barter (a
sheep is worth about sixpence), they would
have been supplied directly ; but as soon as
the flock was perceived, one of the Texian
leaders exclaimed, with an oath, ‘‘ Mexicans’
property, and'a welcome booty ; upon it my
boys, upon it, and no mercy.” One of.the
poor Mexicans who ‘had charge was shot
through the head, the others succeeded in
escaping by throwing themselves down
among the thick ranks of the affrighted ani-
mals, till-out of rifle distance ;.then began a
carnage without discrimination, and the
Texians never ceased firing, until the prairie
was for miles covered with the bodies of their
victims. Yet this grand victory was not pur-
chased without a severe loss, for the dogs

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

 

defended the property intrusted to their care :
they scorned to run away, and before they
could all be killed, they had torn to pieces
half a-dozen of the Texians, and dreadfully
lacerated as many more.. The evening was,
of course, spent in revelry : the dangers and
fatigues, the delays and vexations of the
march were now considered over, and high
were their anticipations of the rich plunder in
perspective. But this was the only feat ac-
complished by this Texian expedition : the
Mexicans had not been deceived ; they had
had intelligence of the real nature of the ex-
pedition, and advanced parties had been sent
out to announce its approach. ‘Twenty-four
hours after they had regaled themselves with
mutton, one of these parties, amounting to
about one hundred men, made its appear-
ance. All the excitement of the previous
evening had evaporated, the Texians sent out
a flag of truce, and three hundred of them
surrendered themselves unconditionally to
this small Mexican force.

On one point the European nations have
been much deceived, which is as to the cha-
racter of the Mexican soldier, who appears to
be looked upon with a degree of contempt.
This is a great mistake, but it has arisen from,
the false reports and unfounded aspersions of
the Texians, as to the result of many of their
engagements. I can boldly assert (although
opposed to them) that there is not a braver
individual in the world than the Mexican ; in
my opinion, far superior to the Texian, al-
though probably not .equal to him, in the
knowledge and use of fire-arms.

One great cause of the Mexican army
having occasionally met with defeat, is that
the Mexicans, who are of the oldest and best
Castile blood, retain the pride of the Spanish
race toan absurd degree. ‘The sons. of the
old nobility are appointed as officers ; they
learn nothing, know nothing of military tactics
—they know how to die bravely, and that is all.

The battle of St. Jacinta, which decided
the separation of Texas, has been greatly
cried up by the Texians ; the fact is, it was
no battle at all; The Mexicans were com-
manded by Santa Anna, who kas great
military talent, and the Mexicans reposed full
confidence inhim, Santa Anna feeling very
unwell, went to a farm-house, at a small dis-
tance, to recover himself, and was captured
by half-a-dozen Texian robbers, who took him
on to the Texian army.

The loss of the general with the know-
ledge that there was no one fit to supply his
place, dispirited the Mexicans, and they re-
treated; but since that time they have proved
to the Texians how insecure they are, even at
this moment. England and other European
governments have thought proper very
hastily, to recognize Texas, but Mexico has
not, and will not.The expedition to Santa Fé, by! which the
‘Texians’ broke the’ peace, occurred im the
autumn of 1841 ; the Mexican army: entered
‘Texas in the spring of 1842, sweepmg every
thing before them, from San Antonio di
Bejar to the Colorado; but'the Texians had
sent emissaries to Yucatan, to induce. that
province to declare its independence, ‘The
war in Yucatan obliged the Mexican army to
march back in that direction to quell the in-
surrection, whjch it did, and then returned to
‘Texas, and again took possession of San
Antonio di Bejar m September of the same
year, taking many prisoners of consequence
away with them.

It was the intention of the Mexicans to
have returned to. Texas in ‘the spring. of the
year, but fresh disturbances in Yucatan pre-
vented Santa’ Anna from executing his pro-
jects. Texas is, therefore, by no means
secure. Its population is decreasing, and
those who had respectability attached to: their
character have left it. I hardly need observe
that the Texians national debt, now amiount-
ing to thirteen millions of dollars, may, for
many reasons, turn out to be not a very pre-
fitable investment.*

But to return to the Santa Fé expedition.
The Texians were deprived of theimarms and
conducted to’ a small village, called) Anton
Chico, till orders should have been received
as to their future disposition, from General
Armigo, governor of the province.

It is not to be supposed that, in a small
village of about one. hundred government
shepherds, several hundred famished men

* Perhaps the English. reader will find it extraordi-
nary that Santa Anna, once freed from his captivity,
should not have re-entered Texas with an overwhelming
foree. The reason is very simple: Bustamente was’ a
rival of Santa Anna for the presidency; the general's ab-
sence allowed him to intrigue; .and'- when \the news
reached the capital that Santa Anna had fallen a. prisoner,
it became necessary to elect a new president. Busta-
mente had never been very popular, but having promised
to the American population of the sea-ports, that nothing
should be attempted against Texas if he were; elected,
these, through mercantile interest, supported him, not
only with their influence, but also, with their money,

When, at last, Santa. Anna: returned. to Mexico, his
power was lost, and his designs upon Texas were dis-
carded by his successor, Bustamente was a mat en-
tirely devoid of energy, and he looked‘ with apathy upon
the numerous aggressions made by the Texians upon the
borders of Mexico. As soon, however, asthe Mexicans
heard that the Texians, in spite of the law of nations,
had sent an expedition to Santa Fé, at the very time that
they were making overtures for peace and recognition of.
their independence, they called upon Bustamente to. ac-
count for his culpable ‘want of energy. Believing him-
self secure against any revolution, the president ‘answered!
with harsh measures, and: the soldiery now exasperated,
put Santa Anna at their head, forcing him to re-assume
the presidency. Bustamente ran away to Paris, the Santa
Fé expedition was soon defeated, and, as we have seen,
the president, Santa Anna, began. his dictatorship with the
invasion of Texas (March, 1842).

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

could be supplied with: all the necessaries and
superfluities of life. .The Texians. accuse.the.
Mexicans of having starved them im Anton
Chico, forgetting that: every Texian had the
same ration of provisions as the Mexican
soldier.

Of course the Texians now attempted to
fall back upon the original falsehood, that
they were:a trading expedition, and had beer
destroyed and plundered by; the Indians; but,
unfortunately, the assault upom the sheep and
the cowardly massacre of the shepherds were
not to be. got over. As Governor Armigo
very: justly observed to; them, if they were
traders, they had committed murder; if
they were not traders, they were prisoners, of
war.

After a painful journey of four months,
the prisoners arrived in the old capital of
Mexico,. where the few strangers who: had
been. induced: to. join the expedition, in. igno-
rance of its destination, were immediately
restored to: liberty; the rest were sent, some
to: the mines, to dig) for the metal they were
so anxious t@ obtain, and. some were passed
over to: the police of the: city,, to be employed
in the clearing: of the: streets.

Many American newspapers have filled
their columns: with all manner of histories.
relative to this expedition ; catalogues of the
cruelties: practised by the. Mexicans, have been
given, and the sympathizing Ameriean, public
have been called: upon to relieve the unfor- .
tunate men. who: had eseaped.|; 1,, will only
give one instance of misrepresentation, in, the
New Orleans: Picayune, and. put in, juxta-
position the real truth. | It will. be quite suffi-
cient.. Mr. Kendal says -—

“ As the sun was about setting those of
us’ who were. in front were startled by the
report.of two guns, following, each other in
quick succession. We turned. to. ascertain
the: cause, and soon found, that a poor, un-
fortunate: man, named Golpin, a merchant,
and. who:had started upon the expedition with
a small amount of goods; had been shot by
the: rear-gudrd, for no other reason than that
he was too sick and weak to keep up. He
had made a bargain with one of the guard to
ride his mule'a short distance,. for which he
was to pay him his only shirt! While in
the act of taking it off, Salazar (the com-
manding: officer), ordered. a. soldier to- shoot
him. The first) ball only. wounded the
wretched man, but the second. killed him in-
stantly, and he fell with his, shirt still about
his face. Golpin was a citizen of the United
States, and reached Texas a short time before
the expedition.. He was a harmless, inoffen-
sive mam, of most delicate constitution, and,
during a greater part of the time we were
upon the road, was obliged to ride in one of
the waggons,’

This story is; of course, very wennOF MONSIEUR VIOLET,

but here we have a few lines taken from the
Bee, a New Orleans newspaper :—

‘ Fanuary, 1840. HORRIBLE MURDER!
—Yesterday,. at the plantation of William
Reynolds, was committed one of those acts,
which revolt human nature. Henry Golpin,
the overseer, a Creole, and strongly suspected
of being a quadroon, had for some time
acted improperly towards Mrs, Reynolds. and
daughters. A few days ago, a letter from
W. R. was received from St. Louis, stating
that he would return home at the latter end
of the week; and Golpin, fearing that the
ladies would complain. of his.-conduct and
have him turned out, poisoned them with the
juice of some berries poured into their coffee.
Death was almost instantaneous. A pretty
mulatto girl of sixteen, an attendant and f7o-
Zegée of the young ladies, entering the room
where the corpses were already stiff, found
the miscreant busy in taking off their jewels
and breaking up some recesses,, where he
knew that there were a few thousand dollars,
in specie and paper, the produce of a recent
sale of negroes. At first, he tried to coax the
girl, offering to run away and marry her, but
she repulsed him with indignation; and,
forcing herself off his hold, she ran away to
call for help. .Snatching suddenly a rifle, he
opened a window, and as the honest girl ran
across the square towards the negroes’ huts,
she fell quite dead, with a ball passing across
hertemples. The governor and police of the
first and second municipalities offer one thou-
sand dollars reward for the apprehension of
the miserable assassin, who, of course, has
absconded.” .

This is the ‘‘ harmless and tnofensive man
of delicate constitution, a citizen of the United
States,” which Mr. Kendal would give us as
a martyr of Mexican barbarism. During the
trip across the prairie, every man, except two
or three, had shunned him, so well did every
one know his character; and now I will: de-
scribe the events which caused him to be shot
in the way above related.

Two journeys after they had left Santa
Fé they passed the night in a little village; four
men being billeted in every house under the
charge of one soldier. .-Golpin. and another
of his stamp were, however, left without any
guard in the house of a small retailer of
aguardiente, who, being now absent, had left
his old wife:alone in the house. She, was a
good hospitable soul, and thought: iit a Chris-
tian duty to. administer to the poor prisoners
all the relief she could afford. She gave them
some of her husband's linen, bathed their
feet with warm, water mixed with whisky, and
served up to them a plentiful supper.

Before they retired to rest, she made them
punch, and gaye them a small bottle of liquor,
which they could conceal about them; and ‘use
on the road. The next morning the sounds

 

87

of the drums called the prisoners:inthe'square
to get ready for their departure. Golpin
went to the old woman’s. room, insisting that
she should give them more of the liquor.
Now the poor thing had already done: much.
Liquor in these far inland countries, where
there are no distilleries, reaches the enormous
price of from sixteen to twenty dollars a
gallon. So she mildly but firmly refused,
upon which Golpin seized from the nail, where
it was hung, avery heavykey, which he knew
to be that of the little cellar underground,
where the woman kept the liquor. She tried
to regain possession of it, but during the
struggle Golpm beat her brains out with a
bar of iron that wasn the room. ‘This deed
perpetrated, he opened the trap-door to the
cellar, and among the folds of his. blanket
and that of his companion concealed as many
flasks as they.could carry. They’then shut
the street-door and joined their companions.

Two hours afterwards, the husband re-
turned, and knockedin vain’; at last, he broke
open the door, and beheld his helpmate bar-
barously mangled. A neighbour soon told
him about the two Texian guests, and the
wretched man having made his depositions to
analcade, oriconstable, they both started upon
fresh horses, and at moon overtook the pri-
soners. ‘The commanding officers soon ascer-
tained who were the two men that had been
billeted at the old woman’s, and found them
surrounded by a group of Texians, making
themselves merry with the stolen liquor.
Seeing that they were discovered, to: save his
life, Golpin’s companion immediately peached,
and related the whole of the transaction. Of
course the assassin was executed.

 

CHAPTER XXVI.

At that time, the Pawnee Picts, themselves
an offset of the Shoshones and Comanches,
and speaking the same language——a tribe re-
siding upon the northerm shores of the Red
River, and who had always ‘been at peace
with their ancestors—had committed some de-
predations upon the northern territory.of the
Comanches.

The chiefs, as usual, waited several moons
for reparation tobe offered by the offenders,
but as none came, it was feared that the
Picts ‘had been influenced by the American
agents to forget their long friendship, and
commence ‘hostilities with them. It ‘was,
therefore, resolved that we should enter the
war-path, and obtain by force that justice
which friendship could no longer command.

The road which we had to travel to arrive
at the town of the Pawnee Picts, was rough
and uneven, running over hillsand intersected
by deep gullies. Bad asit was, and faint and
tired vas. were our horses, in ‘ten days we

SE |
——— ae
"an nt tas teri teint

88 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

reached a small prairie, within six miles of the
river, on the other side of which lay the prin-
cipal village of the Pawnee Picts.

The heavens now became suddenly over-
cast, and a thunderstorm soon rendered it
impossible for evén our best wartiors to ‘see
their way. A halt was consequently ordered,
and, notwithstanding a: tremendous rain; we
slept soundly ‘till morn, ‘when a drove of
horses, numbering some hundreds was 'dis-
covered some distance to our left... In all ap-
pearance they were tame animals, and many
thought they could see the Pawnee warriors
fiding them. Four of us immediately started
to reconnoitre, and we made our preparations
for attack ; as we gradually approached there
appeared to be no little commotion among the
herd, which we now plainly perceived to be
horses-without any riders. i

hen we first noticed them, we discerned
two or three white spots, which Gabriel and I
mistook for flags; a nearer view convinced us
that they were young colts.

We continued our route. The sun had
scarcely risen when we arrived on the shore of
the river, which was lined with hundreds of
canoes, each carrying green branches at their
bows and white flags at their sterns. Shortly
afterwards, several chiefs passed over to ‘our
side, and invited all our principal chiefs to
come over to the village and talk to the
Pawnee Picts, who wished to remain brothers
with their friends—the Comanches. This
was consented to, and Gabriel, Roche, and I
accompanied them. This village was ad-
mirably protected from attack on every side ;
and in front, the Red River, there clear and
transparent, rolls its deep waters. At the
back of the village, stony and perpendicular
mountains rise to the height of two thousand
feet, and their ascent is impossible, except by
ladders and ropes, or where steps have been
cui into the rock.

The wigwams, one thousand in number,
extend, for the space of four miles, upon a
beautiful piece of rich alluvial soil, in a very
high state of cultivation ; the fields were well
fenced and luxuriant with maize, pumpkins,
melons, beans’ and squashes. The space
between the mountains and the river, on each
side of the village, was thickly planted with
close ranks of prickly pear, impassable to
man or beast, so that the cnly way in which
the Pawnees could be attacked was in front,
by forcing a passage across the river, which
could not be effected without a great loss of
life, as the Pawnees are a brave people and
well supplied with rifles, although in their
prairie hunts they prefer to use their lances
and their arrows.

When we entered the great council lodge,
the great chief, Wetara Sharoj, ‘received us
with great urbanity, assigned to us places next
to him, and gave the signal for the Pawnee

 

elders to enter the lodge. I was very much
astonished to ‘See among them some white
men, dressed in splendid military uniforms ;
but the ceremonies having begun; and it being
the Indian custom to assume ‘indifference,
whatever your féelings may be, I remained
where I was. Just at the moment that the
pipe-bearer was lighting the calumet of peace,
the venerable Pawnee chief advanced to the
middle of the lodge, and addressed the Co-
manches :—

‘‘My sight is old, for I have seen a hun-
dred ‘winters, and. yet I can recognize those
who once were friends. I see among you
Opishka Koaki (the White Raven), and ‘the
leader of a great people : Pemeh-Katey (the
Long Carbine), and the wise Hah-nee (the
Old Beaver). You are friends, and we should
offer you at once the calumet of peace, but
you have come as foes ; as long as you think
you have cause to remain so, it would be
mean and unworthy of the Pawnees to sue
and beg for what perchance they may obtain
by their courage. Yet the Comanthes and
the Pawnees have been friends too longa time
to fall upon each other as a starved wolf does
upon a wounded buffalo. A strong cause
must excite them to fight against each other,
and then, when it comes, it must ‘be a war of
extermination, for when a man breaks with
an old friend, he becomes more bitter in his
vengeance than against an utter stranger.
Let me hear what the brave Comanches have
to complain of, and any reparation, consistent
with the dignity of a Pawnee chief, shall
be made, sooner than risk a war between
brothers who have so long hunted together
and fought together against a common enemy:
I have said.”

Opishka Koaki ordered’ me to light the
Comanche calumet of peace, and advancing
to the place left vacant by the ancient chief,
he answered :—

‘‘T have heard words of great wisdom; @
Comanche always loves and respects wisdom ;
I love and respect my father, Wetara Sharoj ;
I will tell him what are the complaints of our
warriors, but before, as we have come as foes,
it is but just that we should be the first to
offer the pipe of peace ; take it, chief, for we
must be friends; I will tell our wrongs, and
leave it to the justice of the great Pawnee to
efface them, and repair the loss ‘his young.
men have caused to a nation of friends-”

The pipe was accepted, and the “talk”
went on. It appeared that a party of one
hundred Pawnee hunters had had their horses
estampeded one night, by some hostile In-
dians. For five days they forced their way
on foot, till entering the northern territory of
the Comanches, they met with a drove of
horses and. cattle. They would never have
touched them, had it not been that, a short
time afterwards, they met with another veryOf MONSIEUR VIOLET.

numerous party of their inveterate enemies— could be taken so
the Kiowas, by whom they were pressed so league, defensive and offensive, against the
yery hard, that they were obliged to return to Americans and the Texians, and which was
the place’ where. the Comanche, herds of to extend from the Mississippi to the western
horses were grazing, and to take them, to seas.
escape their foes. So far, all was right ; it Such a proposition of
was nothing more than what the Comanches
would have done themselves in the land of leave from the Comanches to take the
the Pawnees; but what had angered the two strangers with us, and we all returned
Comanche warriors was, that the hundred together. It would be useless to relate to the
horses thus borrowed in necessity, had never reader that which passed between me and the‘
been returned, although the party had ar- emissaries of the Mormons: Jet it suffice to
rived at the village two moons ago, say, that after a residence of three weeks in
When the Pawnees heard that we had no the village, they were conducted back to the
other causes for complaint, they: showed, by Pawnees.. With the advice of Gabriel, I
their expressions of friendship, that the ties of determined to go myself and confer with the
long brotherhood were not to be so easily principal Mormon leaders’: resolving in my

. . . . P ie
broken ; and indeed the Pawnees had, some own mind that if our interview was not satis-
time before, sent ten of their men with one

I factory, I would continue on to Europe, and
hundred of their finest horses, to compensate

endeavour either to engage a company of
for those which they had taken and rather ill- merchants to enter into direct communication
treated, in their hurried escape from the with the Shoshones, or to obtain the support

Kiowas. But they had taken a different road of the English government, in furtherance of
from that by which we had come, and conse- the objects I had in view for the advantage
quently we had missed them. Of course, the of the tribe,
council broke up, and the Indians, who had As a large portion of the Comanches were
remained on the other side of the river, were making preparations for their annual migra-
invited. in the village to partake of the tion to the east of Texas, Roche, Gabriel,
Pawnee hospitality. and I joined this party, and having exchanged

Gabriel and I soon accosted the Strangely- an affectionate farewell with the remainder of
dressed foreigners. In fact, we were seeking the tribe, and received many valuable pre-
each other, and I learned that they had been sents, we Started, taking the direction of the

a long time among the Pawnees, and would Saline Lake, which forms the head-waters of
have passed over to the Comanches, in order the southern branch or fork of the river
to confer with me on certain political matters, Brazos. There we met again with our old
had it not been that they were aware of the friends, the Wakoes, and learned that there
great antipathy the chiefs of that. tribe was a party) of sixty or seventy Yankees or
entertained against the inhabitants of the Texians roaming about the upper forks of
United States. the Trinity, committing all sorts of depreda-

The facts were as follows :—These people tions, and painting their bodies like the In:
were emissaries of the Mormons, a new: sect dians, that their enormities might be laid to
which had sprung up in the States, and the account of the Savages. This may appear
which was rapidly increasing in numbers. strange to the reader, but it has been a com.

This sect had been created by a certain mon practice for some time. . There have
Joseph Smith. Round the standard of this always been in the United States a numerous
bold and ambitious leader, swarms of people body, of. individuals,’ who, having by their
crowded from every part, and had settled crimes been compelled to quit the settlements
upon a yast extent of ground on the eastern of the east, have sought’ shelter out of the
shores of the Mississippi, and there estab- reach of civilization. These individuals are
lished a civil, religious, and military power, all desperate characters, and, uniting them-
as anomalous as it was dangerous to the selves in small bands, come fearlessly among
United States. In order to accomplish his the savages, taking squaws, and living among
ulterior views, this modern apostle wished to them till a sufficient period has elapsed to
establish relations of peace and friendship enable them to venture, under an assumed
with all the Indians in. the great western name and in a distant,state, to return with
territories, and had for that purpose sent impunity and enjoy the wealth acquired by
messengers among the various tribes east of plunder and assassination.
the Rocky Mountains. Having also learned, This is the history of the major portion of
by ‘the ‘St. ‘Louis trappers, ‘that Strangers, the western pioneers,’ whose courage and

long established among the Shoshones of the virtues have been so much celebrated by

Pacific Ocean, were now residing among the American writers. As they” incréased in

Comanches, Smith had ordered his’ emissaries numbers, these pioneers conceived a plan by
among’ the! Pawnees to’ endeavour to meet us, which they .acquired great. wealth. They
and. concert together as to what’ measurese united together, forming a: society of land

as to secure a general

' ] course could not be
immediately answered, I therefore obtainedTRAVELS AND

privateers or buecaneers, and’made incursions
into. the very heart of the French and Spanish
settlements; of the west, where, not being
expected, they surprised the people and car-
ried off great booty. When, however, these
Spanish and French possessions were incor-
porated into the United States, they altered
their system of plunder and, under the name
of Border’s Buggles, they infested the states
of the Mississippi and Tennessee, where they

- obtained, such a dreaded reputation that the

government sent out many expeditions against
them, which, however, were useless, as all
the principal magistrates of these states had
contrived even themselves to be elected mem-
bers of the fraternity. The increase of popu-
lation broke up. this) system, and the
‘ Buggles.”” were compelled to. resort’ to
other measures. Well acquainted with In-
dian, manners, they would ‘dress and’ paint
themselves as.savages, and attack the cara-
vans. to Mexico... The traders, in their re+
ports, .would attribute the deed to some tribe
of Indians, probably, at thé moment of the
attack, some five or six hundred miles distant
from the spot.

This land. pirating isi) now carried to a
greater extent than ever. Bands of fifty or
sixty, pioneers steal horses, cattle, and slaves
from; the west of Arkansas and Louisiana,
and sell them in, Texas, where they have their
agents; and then, under the disguise’ of In-
dian warriors, they attack plantations in
Texas, carrying away with them large herds
of horses and, cattle, which they drive to
Missouri, through the lonely mountain passes
of the Arkansas, or to: the Attalapas and
Opelousas. districts) of Western Louisiana,
forcing their way through the Jakes and
swamps on both shores. of ‘the river Sabine.
‘The party mentioned by the Wakoes: was one

of this last description.

We left our friends, and, after a journey
of three days, we crossed) the Brazos, close to
a rich copper mine, which has for ages. been
worked by the Indians; who used, as they do
now, this, metal for the points: of their arrows
and lances... Another: three days” journey
brought us, to one of the. forks of the Trinity,
and there we met with two companies of
‘Texian rangers and spies, under'the command
of a certain’ Captain Hunt, who: had been
sent from the lower part of the river to ‘pro-
tect the northern plantations. With him Ff
found five gentlemen, who, tired of residing
in Texas, had taken the opportunity of this
military escort to return to the Arkansas. ‘As
soon ‘as they heard that I was. going there
myself, they. offered to joim me, which I
agreed to, as it was: now arranged that
Gabriel and. Roche should not accompany me
farther than to the Red: River.*

* It may appear singular to the reader that the
Comanches, being always at war. with the Texians,

 

ADVENTURES

The next morning I received a visit from
Hunt and two or three inferior officers, to
advise upon the following subject. An agri-
cultural company from Kentucky had ob-
tained from the Texian government a grant
of Jands on the upper forks of the Trinity.
There twenty-five or thirty families had
settled, and they had with them numerous
cattle, horses, mules, and donkeys, of a very
superior breed. On the very.evening I met
with the Texian rangers, the settlement had
been visited by a party of ruffians, who stole
every thing, murdering sixty or seventy men,
women, and children, and firing all the cot-
tages and log-houses of this rising and
prosperous village. All the corpses were
shockingly mangled and. scalped, and as the
assailants were painted in the Indian fashion,
the few inhabitants who had escaped and
gained the Texian camp declared that the
marauders were Comanches.

This I denied. stoutly, as did the Co-
manche party, and we all proceeded with the
Texian force to Lewisburg, the site of the
massacre. As soon as I viewed the bodies,
lying here'and there, I at once was. positive
that the deed had been committed by white
men. ‘Fhe Comanche chief could scarcely
restrain his indignation; he rode close to
Captain Hunt and sternly said to. him——

“Stoop, Pale-face of a Texian, and look
with thy eyes open; be honest if thou canst,
and confess that thou knowest by thine own
experience that this deed is that of white
men, What Comanche ever scalped women
and children. Stoop, I say, and behold
a shame on thy colour and race—a race of
wolves preying upon each other, a race of
jaguars, killing the female after having forced
her—stoop and see.

‘*The bodies of the young women. have
been atrociously and cowardly abused—seest
thou? Thou well knowest the Indian is too
noble and too proud to level himself to. the
rank of a Texian or of a brute.”

Twenty of our Comanches started on the
tracks, and in the evening brought three pri-
soners to the camp. ‘They were desperate
blackguards, well known to every one of the
soldiers under Captain Hunt, who in spite
of their Indian disguise, identified them. im-
mediately. Hunt refused to punish them, or
to make any further pursuit, under the plea
that he had received orders to act against
Indian depredators, but not against white man.

“Tfsuch is the case,’” interrupted the
should not have immediately attacked the party: under
the orders of Hunt. But we were merely a hunting-
party; that is to say, our band was composed chiefly;
of young hunters, not yet warriors. On such occa-
sions, there is ffequently, though not always, an‘ ancient
warrior for every: eight hunters, just to show to: them
the crafts of Indian mode., of hunting, These: parties
often bring with, them. their squaws and, children, and
never fight but when obliged to doso,

 

 

ae cee
aeOF MONSTEUR VIOLET.

Comanche chief, ‘retire immediately with These »worthies who came Over were
thy men, even to-night, or the breeze of even- Captain Hunt, of whom I have before made
ing will repeat thy words. to my young men; mention, and General Smith, commanding
who would give a lesson of justice to the the’Texian army, who was a certain. butcher
Texians, Away with thee, if thou. valuest from Indiana, who had been convicted of
thy scalp ; justice shall be done by Indians'; having murdered. his wife and condemned to
it Is time they should take it into theirown be hanged. He had, however. succeeded in
hands, when Pale-faces are afraid of each escaping from the gaol, and making his way
other. to Texas. The third eminent personage was
_ Captain Hunt was wise enough to retire a Colonel Hookley, and the other two were
without replying, and. the next morning the interpreters, As an Indian will never hurt a
Indians, armed ‘with cords and switches, gave foe who comes with a flag of truce, the Co-
@ severe whipping to the brigands, for having manches brought these gentlemen up to the
assumed the‘Comanche paint and war-whoop. camp.
This first part of their punishment being over, AS soon as General Smith presented ‘him-
their paint was washed off, and the chief self before the Comanche chief, he com:
passed them over to us, who were, with the menced a bullying harangue, not Stating for
addition I have, mentioned, now eight white what purpose he had come, telling us gra-
men. ‘’ They are too mean,” said the chief, tuitously that he was the greatest general in
“to receive a warrior’s death; judge them the land, and that all the other officers were
according to ,your laws ; justice must. be fools); that he had with him an innumerable
done, number of stout and powerful warriors, who
F It was an awful responsibility ; but we had no equal in the world; and thus he went
judged them according to the laws of the on for half an hour, till, breath: failing him;
United States and of Texas: they were con- he was obliged to.stop.
demned to be hung, and at. sunset they were After a silence of a few minutes, he asked
executed, . For all, I know, their bodies may the Comanche chief what he could answer to
still hang from the lower branches of the three that? The chief looked at him and replied,
large cotton-wood trees upon the head waters with the most ineffable contempt: ‘‘ What
of the Trinity River, should Ianswer?” said he; “(I have heard
nothing but the words ofa fool abusing other
fools. I, have heard the howl of the wolf
; long before the buffalo was wounded,; there
CHAPTER XXVII, can be no answer to no question; speak, if
We remained a few days where we were thou canst ; say what thou wishest, or return
encamped to repose our horses and enable from whence thou. comest, lest the greatest
them to:support the fatigues of our journey warrior of Texas :should. be whipped. by
through the rugged and swampy wilderness squaws and, boys.??
of North-east Texas.. Three days after the The ex-butcher was greatly incensed at
execution of the three prisoners, some of our the want -of breeding and manners. of the
Indians, on their return from a buffalo chase, ‘‘ poor deyil of a savage,’’ but-at last he con-
informed) us that several Texian companies, descended tocome to the point. First of all,
numbering two hundred men, were advancing having learned from Captain Hunt the whole
in our direction, and that probably they were transaction at Lewisburg, and that the Co-
out upon an €xpedition against the Indians of manches had detained the prisoners, he
the Cross Timbers, as they had with them wished to have them restored to him. . Next
many waggons evidently containing nothing he wanted to get the three young Pale-faces,
but provisions and ammunition. who were with the Comanches (meaning me,
We were encamped in a strong position, Gabriel, and Roche), | They. were. three
and of course did not think of retiring. We thieves, who had escaped from the gaols, and
waited for the Texian army, determinedtogive he, the general, wanted. to punish them.
them a good drubbing if they dared toattempt After all, they were three vagabonds, d—d
to molest us. Notwithstanding the security of strangers, and strangers had nothing to doin
our position, we kept a good watch during Texas, so he must have them. , Thirdly and
the night, but nothing happened. to give us lastly, he wanted to have delivered unto him
alarm. The next morning, two hours after the five Americans who had left Captain
sunrise, we saw the little army halting two Hunt to join us. He suspected. them to be
miles from us, on the opposite shore of a rascals or traitors, or they would not have
deep stream, which they must necessarily joined the Indians. He, the great general,
pass to come to us. A company of the Co- wished to investigate closely into the matter,
manches immediately darted forward to dis- and so the ‘Comanches had better think
pute the passage; but some flags of truce quick about it, for he was ina hurmy.
being displayed by the Texians, five or six of I should here add, thatthe five Americans,
them were allowed to swim.over unmolested. though half-ruined by the thefts. of the

—_—_——.Texians, had yet with them four or five hun-
dred dollars‘in good bank-notes, besides
which each had a gold watch, weli-furnished
saddle bags, a good saddle, and an excellent
travelling horse.

_ The chief answered him: ‘‘ Now I can
answer, for I have heard words. having a
meaning, although I know them to be great
lies. 1 say first, thou shall not have the
prisoners who murdered those of thine own
colour, for they are hung yonder upon the
tall trees, and there they shall remain till the
vultures and: the crows have picked their
flesh,

‘‘T say, secondly, that the three young
Pale-faces are here and will answer for them-
selves, if they will’or will not follow thee ; but
I see thy tongue can utter big lies; for I
know they have never mixed with the Pale-
faces of the south. As to ‘the five Yankees,
we cannot give them back to thee, because
we can give back only what we have taken.
They are now our guests, and, in our hospi-
tality, they are secure till they leave us of
their own accord. I have said !”’

Scarcely were these words finished, when
the general and his four followers found
themselves surrounded by twenty Comanches,
who conducted them back to the stream in
rather an abrupt manner. ‘The greatest offi-
cer in the land swore revenge: but as his
guides did not understand him, he was lucky
enough to reserve his tongue for more lies
and more swearing at a more fitting time. —

He soon rejoined his men, and fell back
with them about a mile, apparently to pre-
pare for an attack upon our encampment.
In the evening, Roche and. some five or six
Indians passed the stream'a few miles below,
that they might observe what the. Texians
were about ; but unfortunately they met with
a party of ten of the enemy hunting, and
Roche fell heavily under his horse, which
was killed by a rifle-shot. One of the Co-
manches immediately jumped from his horse,
rescued Roche from his dangerous position,
and, notwithstanding that the Texians were
at that instant charging, he helped Roche to
his own saddle and bade him fly. Roche
was too much stupefied by his fall that he
could not reflect, or otherwise his generous
nature would never have permitted him to
save his life at the expense of that of the
noble fellow who was thus sacrificing him-
self. As it was, he darted away, and his
liberator, receiving the shock of the assailants,

' killed two of them, and fell pierced: with

their rifle-balls. *
The report of the rifles recalled Roche to

_. *® So sacred are the laws of hospitality among these
Indians, that a dozen lives would be sacrificed, if re-
quired, to save that of a guest. In sacrificing himself for
Roche, the Comanche considered that he was doing a
mere act of duty,

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

his senses, and joining once more the three
remaining Indians, he rushed madly upon
the hunters, and, closing with one of them,
he ripped him up’ with his ‘knife, while the
Comanches had each of them successfully
thrown their lassoes, and now galloped across
the plain, dragging after them three mangled
bodies. Roche recovered his saddle and hol-
sters, and taking with him the corpse of the
noble-minded Indian, he gave to his com-
panions the signal for retreat, as the remain-
ing hunters were flying at full speed towards
their camp, and succeeded in giving the
alarm. An hour after, they returned to us,
and, upon their report, it was resolved that
we should attack the Texians that very
night.

About ten°o'clock we started, divided
into three bands of seventy men each, which
made our number about equal to that of the
Texians; Roche, who was disabled, with
fifteen Indians and the five Americans re-
maining in the camp. Two of the bands
went down the river to crossit without noise,
while the third, commanded by Gabriel and
me, travelled up the stream for two miles,
while we safely effected our passage. We
had left the horses ready, in case of accident,
under the keeping of five men for every band.
The plan was to surprise the Texians, and
attack them at once in front and in rear ; we
succeeded beyond all expectations, the
Texians, as usual, being all more or less in-
toxicated. We reached their fires before any
alarm was given.

We gave the war-whoop and rushed
among the sleepers. Many, many were killed
in their deep sleep of intoxication, but those
who awoke and had time to seize upon their
arms fought certainly better than they would
have done had they been sober. ‘The gal-
lant General Smith, the bravest of the brave
and ex-butcher, escaped at the very beginning
of the fray, but I saw the Comanche chief
cleaving the skull of Captain Hunt with his
tomahawk.

Before their onset, the Indians had se-
cured almost all the enemy’s ‘waggons and
horses, so that flight to many became im-
possible. At that particular spot the prairie
was undulatory and bare, except on the left
of the’ encampment, where a’ few bushes
skirted the edge ofa small stream ; but these
were too few and too small to afford a
refuge to the Texians, one hundred of whom
were killed: and scalped. The remainder of
the night was passed in ‘giving chase to the
fugitives, who, at last, halted at a bend of
the river, in a position that could not be
forced without great loss of life; so the
Indians left them, and) after having collected
all the horses and the booty they thought
worth taking away, they burnt the waggons
and returned to their own camp.OF MONSIEUR VIOLE Le 93

AS we quitted the spot, I could not help whole force of the Indians, who had with
occasionally casting a glance behind me, and them some twenty half-breeds and French
the spectacle was truly magnificent. Hun- and English traders. In Spite of their dis-
dreds of barrels, full of grease, Salt pork, gin,

1 advantages, the Texians repulsed the Co-
and whiskey, were burning, and the confla- Manches with considerable loss, till the
gration had now extended to the §tass and morning, when the men were. literally tired,

the dry bushes. with killing, and the prairie was covered with

We had Scarcely crossed the river when the corpses of two thousand Savages; the
the morning breeze sprung up, and now the Texians themselves having lost but thirty. or
flames, extended in every direction, gaining forty men, and these people of little conse-
rapidly upon: the spot where the remaining quence, being emigrants recently arrived
Texians had stood at bay. So fiercely and from the States. During the day, the stench
abruptly did the flames rush upon them, that became so intolerable, that. General Smith
all simultaneously; men and horses, darted caused the Prairie to be set on fire, and
into the water for shelter against the devour- Crossing the river, returned home by slow
ing element. Many were drowned ‘in the marches, knowing it would be quite useless
whirlpools, and those who Succeeded in to pursue the Comanches in the. wild and
reaching the opposite shore were too mise- broken prairies of the north. Only. one
rable and weak to think of anything, except Texian of note had perished during the con-

of regaining, if possible, the southern settle- flict—the brave and unfortunate Captain
ments.

Hunt ; so that, upon the whole, considering
Though protected from ‘the immediate the number of the enemy, the republic may
reach of the flames by the branch of the river consider this expedition as the most glorious

upon the shore of which we were encamped, enterprise since the declaration of Texian
the heat had become so intense, that we were independence.”
obliged to shift farther to the west. Except The paragraph went on in. this manner
in the supply of arms and ammunition, we till it filled three close columns, and as a
perceived that our booty. was worth nothing. finale, the ex-butcher made an appeal to all
This Texian expedition must have been com- the Senerous and ‘‘liberty-loving” sons of
posed of a very beggarly set, for there was the United States and Texas, complaining
not a single yard of linen, nor a miserable _ bitterly against the cabinets of St. James and
worn-out pair of trousers, to be found in all the Tuileries, who, jealous of the prosperity
their bundles and boxes, and glory of Texas, had evidently sent agents
Among the horses taken, some thirty or (trappers and half-breeds) to’ excite. the
forty were immediately identified by the Co- Savages, through malice, envy, and hatred of
manches as their own property, many of them the. untarnished hame and honour of the
during the preceding year, having been stolen great North American Republic.
by a party of Texians, who had invited the ~The five Americans who accompanied. us
Indians to a grand council, Gabriel, Roche, were of a superior class, thtee of them from
and I, of course, would accept none of the Virginia and two from Maryland. Their
booty ; and as time was now becoming to me history was that of Many others of their
a question of great importance, we bade countrymen. | Three of them had studied the
farewell to our Comanche friends, and pur- law, one divinity, and the other medicine.
sued ‘our journey east, in. company with the Having no opening for the exercise of their
five Americans. profession at home, they had gone westward,
During the action, the Comanches had to carve a fortune in the new States ; but
had forty men wounded and only nine killed. there everything was in sucha state of anarchy
Yet, two months afterwards, I read in one that ‘they could not eam their subsistence;
of the American newspapers a very singular they remoyed farther west, until they entered
account of the action. It was a report of Texas, ‘a country sprung up but yesterday,
General Smith, commandant of the central and where an immense wealth can be made.”
force of Texas, relative to the glorious expe- They found, on theif arrival at this anticipated
dition against the savages, in which, the gal- paradise, their chances of success in their pro-
lant ‘soldiers of the infant republic had fession still. worse than in their own country.
achieved the most wonderful exploits. It The lawyers discovered that, on a moderate
said, ‘‘That Gen, Smith having been ap- Computation, there were not less than ten
prized, by the unfortunate Captain. Hunt, thousand attorneys in Texas, who. had emi-
that five thousand savages had destroyed the grated from the Eastern States ; .the presi-
rising city of Lewisburg, and murdered all dent,: the secretaries, constables, tavern-
the inhabitants, had immediately hastened keepers, generals,. ‘privates, sailors, porters,
with his ‘intrepid fellows to the neighbour- and horse-thieves were all of them originally
hood of the scene : that there, during the lawyers, or had been brought up to.that. pro-
night, and when every man was broken fession:
down with fatigue, they were attacked by the AS to the doctor, he soon found that theTRAVELS AND. ADVENTURES

apologue of the ‘‘ wolf and the stork’? had of bank-notes higher that five or ten dollars,
been written purposely for medical practice except one of the glorious Cairo Bank twenty-
in Texas, for'as soon as he had cured a dollar notes; which his father presented to him
patient (picked the bone out of his throat), he in Baltimore, when he advised him most
had to consider himself very lucky if he could paternally. to try his luck in the West.

escape from half-a-dozen inches of the bowie- By the bye, that twenty-dollar Cairo note’s
knife, by way of recompense; moreover, every adventures should be written in gold letters,
visit cost him his pocket-handkerchief or his for it enabled the traveller to eat, sleep, and
"bacco-box, if he had any.’ I have to remark drink, free of cost, from Louisville to St. Louis,
here, that kerchief-taking is a most common through Indiana and Illinois ; any, tavern-
joke in Texas, and I wonder very much at it, keeper preferring losing the price of a bed, or
48 no individual of the male species, in that of a meal, sooner than run the risk of return-
promised iand, will ever apply that commo- ing good .change for bad money. The note
dity to its right use, employing for that pur- was finally changed in St. Louis for a three-
pose the pair of snuffers which natural instinct dollar bank of Springfield, which being yet
has Supplied him with. <At the same time, it current, at a discount of four cents to the
must be admitted that no professional man dollar, enabled the fortunate owner to take
can expect employment, without he can flou- his last tumbler. of port-wine sangaree before
rish’a pocket-handkerchief. his departure for Texas,

As for the divine, he soon found that Of course, the lawyer had no remorse of
religion was not a commodity required in so conscience, in sweating that the note had
young a country, and that he might just aS never been his, but. the, tavern-keeper and
well have speculated in sending a cargo of two witnesses swore to his having given it,
skates to the West Indies, or supplying and the poor fellow was condemned to recash
Mussulmans with swine. The merits of the and pay expenses. Having not acent, he was
voluntary system had not been yet appreciated allowed to go, for it so happened that the
in Texas: and if he did preach, he had to gaol was not built for such vagabonds, but
preach by himself, not being able to obtain a for the government officers, who had their
clerk to make the responses. sleeping apartments in it. This circumstance

As we travelled along the dreary prairies, occasioned. it to be remarked by a few. com-
these five Eldorado seekers proved to be monly honest people of Galveston, that if the
jovial fellows, and there was about them an gates of the gaol were closed at night, the
elasticity of temper which did not allow them community would be much improved.
to despond. The divine had made up_ his Three days afterwards, a poor captain,
mind to go to Rome, and convert the Pope, from a Boston vessel was summoned for the
who after all, was a clever old doz vivant; the very identical bank-note, which he was obliged
doctor would go to Edinburgh, and get select- to pay, though he had never set his foot into
ed, from his superior skill, as president of the the Tremont Hotel.

Surgical College ; one of the lawyers deter- There is in Galveston a new-invented trade,
mined he would ‘run for legislature,” or called ‘‘the rag-trade,”” which is very profitable.
keep a bar (a whiskey one); the second I refer to the purchasing and selling of false
wished to join the Mormons, who were a bank-notes, which are, as in the lawyer's
set of clever blackguards; and the ‘third case, palmed upon any stranger suspected of
thought of going to China, to teach ‘the having money. On such occasions, the
celestial. brother of the sun to use the Ken- magistrate and the plaintiff share the booty.
tucky rifle and ‘‘brush the English.” Some I may as well here. add a fact which is well
individuals in England have reproached me known in France and the United. States.
with indulging too much in building castlesin Eight days after the Marquis de Saligny's
the air; but certainly, compared to those of (French chargé d'affaires) arrival in Houston,
a Yankee in search after wealth, mine have he was summoned. before a magistrate, and,
been most sober speculations. upon the oaths of the parties, found guilty of
Fach of our new companions had some having passed seven hundred dollars in false
little ‘Texian history to relate, which they notes to a land speculator. He paid the
declared to be the most rascally, but smartish money, but as he never kad had in_ his
trick in the world. One of the lawyers was possession any money, except French gold,
once summoned before a magistrate, and a and notes of the Banque de France, he com-
false New Orleans fifty-dollar bank-note was plained to his government : and this ,speci-
presented to him, as the identical one he had men of Texian honesty was the principal
given to the clerk of Tremont House (the cause why the banker (Lafitte) suddenly broke
great hotel at Galveston), in payment of his the arrangement he had entered into. with
weekly bill. Now, the lawyer had often General Hamilton (chargé d'affaires from
dreamed of fifties, hundreds, and even of Texas to England and France) for a loan of
thousands + but fortune had been so fickle seven millions of dollars. :
with him, that he had never been in possessionCHAPTER XXVIII,

We had now entered a tract of Jand
similar to that which we had travelled over
when on our route from the Wakoes to the
Comanches.. The prairie was. often’ inters
sected by chasms, the bottoms of which were
perfectly dry, so that we could procure water
but once every twenty-four hours, and that,
too, often so hot and so muddy, that’ even
our poor horses would not drink it freely,
They had, however, the advantage ove? us
in. point of feeding, for the grass’ was‘ sweet
and tender, and moistened during night by
the heavy dews ;-as for ourselves, ‘we were
beginning to starve in earnest. °°

We had anticipated regaling’ ourselves
with the juicy humps of the buffaloes; which
we Should kill, but although we’ had entered
the very heart of their great pasture-land! we
had not met with one, nor even with a ground-
hog, a, snake, or a frog. One evening, the
pangs of hunger became so ‘sharp, that we
were. obliged to chew tobacco and ‘pieces ‘of
leather to allay our cravings; and we deter-
mined that if, the next day at sunset, we had
no better fortune, we would draw lots, to ll
one of our horses... That evening, we could
not sleep, and as, murmuring was of no avail;
the divine entertained us with 'a Texian’story,
just, as he said, to pump the superftuous dir
out of his body.. I shal givehis own'terms :-—

“Well, I was coming down the Wabash
River (Indiana), when, as it happens nine
times out of ten, the steam-boat got aground;
and that so firmly, that there was no hope-of
her floating again till the next flood’; so I took
my wallet, waded for two hundred yards, with
the water up to, my knees, till I got’ safe on
Shore, upon, a thick-timbered ‘bank, ‘full of
rattle-snakes, thorns ‘of thé locust-trée; ‘and
spiders’ webs, so strong that Iwas’ obliged
to cut them with my nose, to clear the way
before me. I soon got so entangled by’ the
vines and the briars that I thought I had
better turn my back to'the stream till should
get to the upland, which I could ‘now and
then perceive through the clearings opened
between, the trees by, recent thunderstorms.
Unhappily, between the upland and the little
ridge on which'I steod there was a wide river
bottom,* into. which. I had scarcely advanced
fifty yards when I got bogged. Well; it took
me a long while to get out of my miry hole,
where I was as fast as a swine in its Arkansas
sty ; and then I looked about for my wallet,
which I had dropped. I could see which way
it had gone, for, close to. the yawning circle

from which I had just extricated myself, there °

was. another. smaller one two yards off, into

* River bottom is-a space, sometimes of many many
miles in width, on. the side of the river, running parallel
with it, It.is;always. very valuable and productive land,
but unhealthy, and dangerous to cross, from its boggy
nature, ee

OF MONSIEUR) VIOLET:

 

  

95

which my -wallet had sunk deep, though it
was comfortably light,:which goes to illustrate
the Indiana saying, that there is no conscience
so light but: will’ sink in the bottom of the
Wabash... "Well, I. did not care much, as in
my wallet: } had only an eld. coloured shirt
and a:dozen of ay own: sermons, which I knew
by heart, having repeated them a hundred
times: over:

* Being now in a regular fix, I eut.a stick:
and’ began  wittling and whistling, to lighten
my Sorrows, till at last { perceived at the bank
of the river; and’ five hundred yards: ahead,
one of those: large rafts, constructed - pretty
much like: Noah’s: ark, im which-a Wabash
farmer embarks his cargo of women and fleas,
pigs and chickens, corn, whiskey, rats, sheep,
and stolem niggers; imdeed,-in most cases,
the whole! of the cargo is stdlen;, except the
wif and children, the only portion, whom the
owner would «very much like 'to be rid of f
but these willistick to. hiux:as ‘naturally as a
prairie fly toa horse, as long-asyhe:has spirits
to drink, pigs to: attend: to, and: breeches to
mend.

‘OWell, asishe was close to the bank, I got
in. The owner was General John Meyer,
from Vincennes, and: his’ three,’ sons, ‘the
colonel, the: major, and the judge. They
lent mea. sort 'of thing which, many years
before; had probably. beem a horse-blanket.
Withcit: I covered myself, while one of the
‘boys spread my clothés to dry; and, as I
had. nothing: left: in the world. except thirty
doliars in: my, pocket-book, I kept! that; con-
stantly ini my hand till the evening, when, my
clothes: being dried, k recovered the use! of my
pocket. “Fhe general was free with: his ‘ Wa-
bash water” (western appellation: for whiskey),
and, ‘finding me to his taste, as he said, he
offered mea passage, gratisito New Orleans,

if I could but submit to his homely fare ; that

is to: say, ‘salt pork, with plenty of gravy,
four ‘times. a day, and a decoction of burnt

‘bran. and grains of maize, going under the

name of coffee all over the States—the whis-
key was to be ad lzbctum.

‘“As'T considered the terms moderate; I
agreed, and the: hospitable general soon
entrusted, me ‘with’ his’ plans. He had
gone many times’to. Texas; he loved Texas—

it was a free country, according to his heart ;

and now he had ‘collected all ‘his: own (he
might have said, ‘and other people's too’),
to go to New Orleans, where. his pigs and
corn, exchanged against goods, would enable
him to settle with his family in Texas ina
gallant style. Upon my inquiring what.could
be the cause-of a certain abominable smell
which pervaded the cabin, he apprized. me
that, in''a’ small closet adjoining, he’ had
secuted a dozen of runaway negroes, for the
apprehension of whom he would be: well. re-
warded. 'en ee

i eh NERA ts NED TR haga

‘* Well,, the next: morning we ‘went on
pretty snugly, and I had nothing tocomplain
of, except: the fleas and the ‘gals,’ who
bothered me not a little. Three days after-
wards we entered the Ohio, and the. current
being very strong, I began to think myself
fortunate, as I should ‘reach ‘New ‘Orleans in
less than forty days, passage free... We went
on till night, when we stopped, three or four
miles from the junction with the Mississippi.
The cabin being! very warm, and’the deck in
possession: of the pigs, I thought I would
sleep ashore, under a tree. | The general said
it was a’ capital» plan,: and,! after’ having
drained half-a-dozen cups: of “stiff, true,
downright Yankee No. 1,’ we all of us took
our blankets {I mean >the» white-skinned
party), and having lighted a great fire, the
general, the'colonel, the major, and the judge
Jaid down,—an example which I followed as
soon as I had neatly folded up ‘my coat and
fixed it upon a bush, with my hat and boots,
for I was now getting particular, and wished
to cut a figure in New Orleans ; my thoughts
running upon plump and rich widows, which
you know \are the ‘only provision for us
preachers. ies

‘‘Well, my dreams were, nothing: but: the
continuation of :my thoughts during the day.
I fancied I was married, and the owner of a
large: sugar plantation... I had a good soft
bed, and my pious wife was feeling about:me
with her;soft) hands, probably) to: see’ if my
heart beat quick, and if Ithad'good dreams ;
—a pity I'did not awake then, for: I should
have saved my dollars, as the hand: which) I
was dreaming of was that »of ‘the hospitable
general ‘searching for my pocket-book. » It
was late when 1 opened ‘my eyes—and, lo!
the sleepers were gone, withthe boat, my
boots, my’ coat;!my hat,0and,: I «soon !found,
with; my money. Thad been left alone, swith
a greasy’ Mackinaw blanket, ‘and ,as in: my
stupefaction I gazed ‘allround, and up.and
down, Iisaw my pocket-book: empty, :which,
the, generous. general ;shad -humanely. left
tg me to put other.notes in, “when I could
get! any’: Inkicked) it owith my ‘foot, and
should) indubitably «have» been ; food. for
cat-fish, hadI not: heard’ most:.a propos the
puffing of a steam-boat coming down, the
river.” ) Sait 5

At» that moment the [parson interrupted
his narrative, by observing ; |

‘“Well, I'd noidea that)I had -talked.so
long; why,man, look to the east, ‘tis almost
daylight.”

And sure enough the: horizon of ‘the prairie
was skirted with thatired tinge which always
announces the ‘break of day in ‘these immense
level solitudes. : Cur ‘companions, had all
fallen asleep, and our horses, looking to the
east, snuffed the air andstamped upon the
ground, as if to express their impatience to

TRAVELS AND. ADVENTURES

leave so inhospitable a region. I replied to
the parson,

‘“‘Tt is now too late for us to think of
sleeping ; let us stir the fire, and go on with
your story.’ :

We. added fuel to the nearly consumed
pile, and shaking our blankets, which were
heavy with the dew, my companion resumed
his narrative :-— , ; ics she

‘‘ Well, I reckon it was more than half an
hour, before .the steam-boat. came: in sight,
and as.the channel of. the river ran close. in
with the shore, I was soon picked up. . The
boat was going to St. Louis, and. as I had
not a cent left to pay my passage, I was
obliged, in way of payment, to. relate my ad-
venture. Everybody laughed. All the men
declared the joke was excellent, and that
General Meyer was a clever rascal ; they told
me I should undoubtedly meet him at New
Orleans, but it would be of nouse. Every
body knew Meyer and his pious family, but
he was so smart, that nothing could be done
against him, . Well, the clerk was,.a good-
humoured fellow; he lent me an old coat
and five dollars; the steward brought me a
pair of slippers, and somebody gave me a
worn-out loose cap... This 'was very good,
but my luck was better still. The cause of
my own ruin had been the grounding of a
steam-boat ;, the same accident happening
again set me on my legs, Just as we turned
the southern point of Illinois, we buried our-
selves in a safe bed of mud. It was so

‘common an occurrence, that nobody cared

much about it, except a Philadelphian going
to Texas ; he was ina great hurry to go on
westward, and no wonder, I learned after-
wards that he had absconded from the bank,
of which he was a cashier, with sixty 'thou-
sand’ dollars.

~~ Well,’.as I said, we, were bogged ;
patience was necessary, laments were of no
use, So we dined with as’ much ‘appetite as if
nothing had happened, and some of the regu-
lar ‘boys’ took to ‘ Yooka,’ to kill the time.
They were regular hands, to be sure, but I
was myself trump No. 1. Pity we have no
cards with us ; it would be amusing to be the

first man introducing that game into the

western prairies, Well, I looked on, and by-
and-by, I got tired of being merely a spec-
tator. ._My nose itched, my fingers too. I
twisted my-five-dollar bill in all senses, till a
sharp, took me for a flat, and ‘he proposed

‘kindly. to pluck. me out-and-out. ‘I plucked

him in. less than no ‘time, winning eighty
dollars ata sitting ; and when we left off for
tea, I felt that I had acquired consequence,
and even merit, for money gives both. During
the night’ I’ was so successful, that when I
retired to my berth I found myself the owner
of four hundred and fifty ‘dollars, a gold

watch, a gold pin, anda silver ’bacco-box. ©Everything is useful in this world, even
getting aground. .Now, I never repine at
anything. ;

‘The next day another steam-boat passed,
and picked us up. It was one of those light
crafts which speculate upon misfortune ; they
hunt after stranded boats, as a wolf after
wounded deer—they take off the passengers,
and charge what they please. From Cincin-
nati to St. Louis the fare was ten dollars, and
the unconscious. wreck-seeker of a captain
charged us twenty-five dollars each for the
remainder of the trip—one day's journey.
However, I did not care.

‘‘An Arkansas man, who had no more
money, sold me, for fifteen dollars, his wallet,
a fine great-coat, two clean shirts, and a hat :
from another I purchased a pair of bran-new,
Boston-made, elegant black breeches, so that
when I landed at St. Louis I cut a regular
figure, went to Planter's Hotel, and in the
course of a week made a good round sum
by three lectures upon the vanities of the
world and the sin of desponding. Well, to
cut matters short by the by, there must
be something wrong stirring in. the prairie;
look at our horses, how uneasy they seem to
be. Don’t you hear anything?”

Our horses, indeed, were beginning to grow
wild with excitement, and thinking that their
instinct had told them that wolves were near,
I tied them closer to where we bivouacked,
and then applied my ears to the ground, to
try and catch any sound.

“I hear no noise,” said I, ‘‘except the
morning breeze passing through the withered
grass. Our horses have been smelling
wolves, but the brutes will not approach
our fire.”

The parson, who had great faith in my
‘‘ white Indian nature,” resumed the thread
of his narrative :—

‘« To cut the matter short, I pass over my
trip to New Orleans and Galveston. Suffice
it to say, that I was a gentleman preacher,
with plenty of money, and that the Texians,
president, generals, and all, condescended to
eat my dinners, though they would not hear
my sermons ; even the women looked softly-
upon me, for I had two trunks, linen in
plenty, and I had taken the precaution in
Louisiana of getting rid of my shin-plasters
for hard specie. I could have married any-
body, if I had wished, from the president's
old mother to the barmaid atthe tavern. «I
had money, and to me all was smiles and
sunshine. One day, I met General Meyer ;
the impudent fellow came immediately to me,
shook my hand in quite a cordial manner, and
inquired how my health had been since he
had seenme last. That was more than my
professional meekness could. endure, so I re-
proached him with his rascality and abuse
of hospitality towards me, adding that I ex-

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET:

97

pected he would now repay me what he had
sO unceremoniousty taken from me while I
was asleep. General Meyer looked perfectly
aghast, and calling me a liar, a scoundrel,
and a villain, he rushed upon me with his
drawn bowie-knife, and would have indubi-
tably murdered me, had he not been prevented
by a tall powerful chap, to whom, but an hour
before, I had lent, or given, five dollars, partly
from fear of him and partly from compassion
for his destitution.

‘““The next day I started for Houston,
where I settled, and preached to old women,
children, and negroes, while the white male
population were getting drunk, swearing, and
fighting, just before the door of the church.
I had scarcely been there a month when a con-
stable arrested me on the power of a warrant
obtained against me by that rascally Meyer.
Brought up before the magistrate, I was con-
fronted with the blackguard and five other
rascals ofhis stamp, who positively took their
oaths that they seen me taking the pocket-
book of the general, which he had left acci-
dentally upon the table in the bar of Tre-
mont's. The magistrate said, that out of
respect for the character of my profession he
would not push the affair to extremities, but
that I must immediately give back the two
hundred dollars Meyer said I had stolen from
him, and pay fifty dollars besides for the ex-
penses. In vain I remonstrated my innocence ;
no choice was left to me but to pay or go to
gaol.

‘“By that time I knew pretty well the
character of the people among whom I was
living ; I knew there was no justice to whom
I could apply; I reckoned also that, if once
put in gaol, they would not only take the two
hundred and fifty dollars, but also the whole
I possessed. So I submitted, as it was the
best I could do, I removed immediately to
another part of Texas, but it would not do.
Faith, the Texians are a very ugly set of
gents.”

‘“‘And Meyer,” I interrupted, ‘‘ what of
him?”

‘‘Oh!”. replied the parson, ‘‘that is
another story. Why, he returned to New
Orleans, where, with his three sons, he com-
mitted an awful murder upon the cashier of
the legislature; he was getting away with
twenty thousand dollars, but being caught in
the act, he was tried, sentenced, and hanged,
with all his hopeful progeny, and the old
negro hangman of New Orleans had the
honour of making, in one day, a close ac-
quaintance with a general, a colonel, a major,
and a judge.”

‘‘ What, talking still!’ exclaimed the
doctor, yawning: he had just awoke. ‘‘ What
the devil can you have babbled about during
the whole blessed night? Why, 'tis morn.”

Saying this, he took up his watch, looked

4Pf POA

 

sabi

 

98

at it, applied it to his ear to see if it had not
stopped, and exclaimed—

‘‘ By jingo, but I am only half-past one.”

The parson drew out his also, and re-
peated the same, ‘‘ half-past one.”

At that moment the breeze freshened, and
[heard the: distant and: muffled noise which
in the West announces either an earthquake
or an ‘‘estampede” of herds of wild cattle
and other animals. Our horses, too, were
aware of some danger, for now they were
positively mad, struggling to break the lassoes
and escape.

“‘Up !” Teried, ‘fup, Gabriel, Roche, up !
—up, strangers, quick! saddle your beasts !
run for your lives !' the prairie is on fire, and
the buffaloes are upon us !’

‘They all started upon their feet; but not a
word was exchanged ; each felt the danger of
his position ; speed was our only resource, if
it was not already too late. Ina minute our
horses were, saddled, im another we were
madly galloping:across the prairie, the bridles
upon the necks of our steeds, allowing them
to follow their instinct. Such had» been our
hurry, that all our blankets were left behind,
except that: of Gabriel ; the lawyers had never
theught of their saddle-bags, and the parson
had forgotten: his: halsters and his rifle.

For an hour we dashed on with undi-
minished speed, when we felt the earth trem-
bling behind us, and soon afterwards the
distant bellowing, mixed up with the roaring
and sharper cries of other animals, wete
borne down unto our ears. © The atmosphere
grew oppressive and heavy, while the flames,
swifter than the wind, appeared raging upon
the horizon. The fleeter game of all kinds
now shot past us like arrows; deer were
bounding over the ground in company with
wolves and’ panthers; droves of elks and
antelopes passed swifter than a dream ; then
a solitary horseor a huge buffalo bull. From
our intense anxiety, although our horses

strained eyery nerve, we almost appeared to

stand still.

The atmosphere rapidly became more
dense, the heat more oppressive, the roars
sounded louder and louder in our ears; now

und then they were mingled with terrific howls

and slirill sounds, so unearthly that even our
horses would stop their mad career and
tremble, as if they considered them super-
natural; but it was only for a second, and
they dashed on.

A noble stag’ passed close to us; ‘his
strength was exhausted : three minutes after-
wards, we passed him—dead, But soon,
with the rushing noise of a whirlwind, the
mass of heavier and less speedy animals
chosed upon us: buffaloes and wild horses,
all mixed together, an immense dark body,
miles in front, miles in depth; on they came,
trampling: and dashing through every ob-

   

TRAVELS: AND ADVENTURES

stacle. This:phalanx was but two miles from
us. Our horses were nearly exhausted ; we
gave ourselves up for lost; a few minutes
more, and we-should be crushed to atoms.

At that’ moment the sonorous voice of
Gabriel was heard, firm and imperative. He
had long been accustomed to danger, and
now he faced it with his indomitable energy,
as if such’ scenes’ were his proper element.
‘‘Down from your horses,’’ cried he; ‘‘ let
two of you keep them steady. Strip off your
shirts, linen, anything that will catch fire ;
quick, not a'minute is to be lost.”" Saying this,
he ignited some tinder with the pan of his:
pistol, and was soon busy in making a fire
with all the clothes we now threw to him.
Then we toré up withered grass and buffalo-
dung, and dashed them on the heap.

Before three minutes had passed, our fire
burned fiercely. On came the terrified mass:
of animals; and) perceiving the flame of our
fire before: them; they: roared with. rage and
terror, yet they turned not, as we had hoped.
On they came, and already we could dis-
tinguish their horns, their feet, and the white
foam ; our fuel was burning out, the flames
were: lowering ; the parson gave a scream,
and fainted. Oncame the maddened myriads,
nearer and nearer; I could see their wild eyes
glaring. ‘They wheeled not, opened not a
passage, but came on like messengers: of
death—nearer—nearer—nearer still. My brain
reeled, my eyes grew dim; it was horrible,
most horrible! I dashed down, with my =
covered, to meet my fate.

At that moment I heard an expats:
then a roar, as if proceeding from ten millions
of buffalo-bulls—so stunning, so stupifying
was the sound from the mass of animals, not
twenty yards from us. Each moment I ex-
pected the hoofs which were to trample us to
atoms, and yet death came not. I only heard:
the rushing as of a mighty wind and the
trembling of the earth. I raised my head and
looked.

Gabriel at the critical moment had poured
some whiskey upon the flames, the leathern
bottle had exploded, with a blaze like light-
ning, and, at the expense of thousands crushed
to death, ‘the animals had swerved from con-
tact with the fierce blue column of fire which
had been created. Before and behind, all
around us, we could see nothing but the
shaggy wool of the huge monsters; not a
crevice: was to be seen in the flying masses’

- but the narrow line which had’ been opened

to avoid our fire.

In this dangerous position we remained
for one hour, our lives depending upon the
animals not ‘closing’ the line ; but Providence
watiched over-us, and after what appeared an
eternity of intense suspense, the columns
became thinner and’ thinner, till we found
ourselves only encircled with ‘the weaker andmore exhausted animals, which brought up
the rear. Our first danger was over, but we
had still to escape from one as imminent—
the pursuing flame now so much closer to us.
The whole prairie behind us was on fire, and
the roaring element was gaining on us-with.a
frightful speed. Once more we sprang upon
our saddles, and the horses, with recovered
wind and with strength tenfold, increased by
their fear, soon brought us to the rear of the
buffaloes.

It was an awful sight! a sea.of fire roar-
ing in its fury, with its heaving waves and
unearthly hisses, approaching nearer and
mearer, rushing on swifter than .the sharp
morning breeze. _Had we not just escaped
sO unexpectedly a danger almost as-terrible,
we should have despaired, and left off an
apparently useless struggle for our. lives.

Away we dashed, over hills and down
declivities ; for now the ground had become
more broken. ‘The fire was gaining fast upon
us, when we perceived that, a mile ahead,
the immense herds before us had entered a
deep, broad chasm, into which they dashed,
thousands upon thousands, tumbling head-
long into the abyss. But now, the-fire rush-
ing quicker, blazing fiercer than before, as if
determined not to lose its/prey, curled its
waves above our heads, smothering us with
its heat and lurid smoke.

A few seconds more we spurred in agony;
‘speed was life ; the chasm was to be our pre-
servation or our tomb. Down we darted,
actudlly borne upon the backs of the descend-
‘ing mass, and landed, without sense or mo-
tion, more than a hundred. feet. below. -As
soon as we recovered from the shock, we
found that we had been most mercifully pre-
served. Strange to say, neither horse nor
rider had received any serious. injury. We
heard above our heads the hissing and crack-
ling of the fire; we contemplated with awe
the flames, which were roaring along ‘the edge
of the precipice—now rising, now. lowering,
just as if they would leap. over the space and
annihilate all life in these western, solitudes.

We were preserved; our fall had been
broken by the animals, who shad taken the
leap a-second before us, and by the thousands
of bodies which were heaped up jas a heca-
tomb, and received us as a cushion below.
With difficulty we extricated ourselves and
horses, and descending the mass of :car-
casses, we at last succeeded in reaching a few
acres of clear ground. It was.elevated a few
feet above the water of the torrent, which ran
through the ravine, and offered to our broken-
down horses a magnificent pasture of sweet
blue grass. But the ,poor things were too
terrified and exhausted, and they stretched
themselves down upon the ground, a painful
spectacle of utter helplessness. ;
We perceived that the crowds of flying

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

animals had sueceeded in finding, some way
further down, an ascent'to the Opposite prairie:
and as the earth and rocks stil] trembled, we
kmew that the ‘‘estampede ” had not ceased
and that the millions of fugitives had resumed
their mad career. Indeed there was still
danger, for the wind was high, and carried
before it large sheets of flames to the Oppo-
site side, where the dried grass and bushes
soon became ignited, and the destructive
element thus passed the chasm, and con-
tinued its pursuit.

We congratulated ourselves upon having
thus found \security, and returned thanks to
Heaven. for our wonderful escape ; and as we
were now safe from immediate danger, we
lighted.a fire, and feasted upon a young

-buffalo-calf, every bone of which we found
‘had been broken into splinters.*

 

CHAPTER “XXIX.

Two days. did we remain in our shelter, to
regain our strength and to rest our horses.
‘Thus deeply buried in the bosom of the earth,
‘we were safe from the devastating elements.
On ‘the second day we heard tremendous
claps of thunder; we knew that a storm was
raging which would quench the fire, but we
eared little about what was going on above.

We had plenty to eat and to drink, our
steeds were recovering fast, and, in spite of
the horrors we hadijust undergone, we were
not a little amused by the lamentations of the
parson, “who, ‘recollecting the destruction of
his shirts, forgot his professional duty, and
swore against ‘Texas.and the Texians, against
the prairies, the buffaloes, and the fire; the
last event had produced so deep an impres-
sion upon hismind, that he preferred shiver-
ing all night by the banks of the torrent to
sleeping near our comfortable fire ; and as to
eating of the delicate food before him, it was.
out of the question: he would suck it, but
not masticate nor swallow it ; his stomach
and his teeth ‘refused to accomplish their
functions upon ‘the abhorred meat; and he
‘solemnly declared that never again would he
taste beef—cow or calf—tame or wild—even if
he were starving,

One'of ‘the lawyers, too, was loud in his

* J have said, at a venture, that we descended more
than a ‘hundred feet into the chasm’ before we fairly
landed on’ ‘the bodies of the animals. The chasm itself
could not have. been less thar two hundred and fifty to
three hundred feet deep at the part that we plunged down.
This will give the reader some idea of the vast quantity of
hodies of animals, chiefly buffaloes, which were there
piled up. I consider that this pile must have been formed
wholly from the foremost of the mass, and that when
formed it broke the fall of the others who followed them,
as it did our own; indeed, the summit of the heap was
pounded into a sort of jelly.100

complaints, for although born in the States,
he had in his veins no few drops of Irish blood,
and could not forget the sacrifice Gabriel had
made of the whiskey. ‘‘ Such stuff !'’ he would
exclaim, ‘‘ the best that ever came into this
land of abomination, to be thrown in the face
of dirty buffaloes ! the devil take them! Eh!
Monsheer Owato Wanisha,—queer outlandish
- name, by the bye, —please to pass me another
slice of the varmint (meaning the buffalo-calf).
Bless my soul, if I did not think, at one
tine, it was after the liquor the brutes were
running !”

Upon the morning of the third day, we
resumed our journey, following the stream
down for a few miles, over thousands of dead
animals, which the now foaming torrent could
not wash away. We struck the winding path
which the ‘‘estampedados"’ had taken; and
as it had been worked by the millions of fugi-
tives into a gentle ascent, we found ourselves,
long before noon, once more upon the level of
the prairle. What a spectacle of gloom and
death! As far as the eye could reach, the
earth was naked and blackened. Nota stem
of grass, not a bush, had escaped the awful

conflagration; and thousands of half-burnt ,

bodies of deer, buffaloes, and mustangs covered
the prairie in every direction.

The horizon before us was concealed by
a high and rugged ridge of the rolling prairie,
towards which we proceeded but slowly, so
completely was the track made by the buffa-
loes choked by burnt bodies ofall descriptions
of animals. At last we reached the summit
of the swell, and perceived that we were upon
one of the head branches of the Trinity River,
forming a kind of oblong lake, a mile broad,
but exceedingly shallow ; the bottom was of
a hard white sandy formation, and as we
crossed this beautiful sheet of clear water, the
bottom appeared to be studded with grains of
gold and crystals.

This brought round the characteristic
elasticity of temper belonging to the Ameri-
cans, and caused the doctor to give way to
his mental speculations :—He would not go
to Edinburgh; it was nonsense; here was a
fortune made. He would form a company in
New York, capital one million of dollars—
the Gold, Emerald, Topaz, Sapphire, and
Amethyst Association, in ten thousand shares,
one hundred dollars a-piece. In five years
he would be the richest man in the world ; he
would build ten cities on the Mississippi, and
would give powder and lead to the Coman-
ches for nothing, so that they could at once
clear the world of Texians and buffaloes. He
had scarcely finished, when we reached the
other side of the lake; there we had to pass
over a narrow ridge, covered with green
bushes, but now torn and trampled down ;
the herds had passed over there, and the fire
had been extinguished by the waters of this

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

‘‘fairy lake,” for so we had baptized it. Half
an hour more brought us clear out from the
cover, and a most strange and unusual sight
was presented to our eyes.

On a rich and beautiful prairie, green and
red, the wild clover and the roses, and occa-
sionally a plum-tree, varying the hues, were
lying prostrate, as far as the eye could reach,
hundreds of thousands of animals of all spe-
cies, some quietly licking their tired Jimbs,
and others extending their necks, without
rising, to graze upon the soft grass around
them. ‘The sight was beautiful above all de-
scription, and recalled to mind the engravings
of the creation affixed to the old Bibles.
Wolves and panthers were lying but a few
paces from a small flock of antelopes ; buffa-
loes, bears, and horses were mixed together,
every one of them incapable of moving from
the spot on which they had dropped from ex-
haustion and fatigue.

We passed a large jaguar, glaring fiercely
at a calf ten feet from him ; on seeing us, he
attempted to rise; but, utterly helpless, he
bent his body so as to form a circle, conceal-
ing his head upon his breast under his huge
paws, and uttered a low growl, half menac-
ing, half plaintive. Had we had powder to
waste, we would certainly have rid the gram-
nivorous from’ many of their carnivorous
neighbours, but we were now entering a tract
of country celebrated for the depredations of
the Texians and Buggles free bands, and
every charge of powder thrown away was a
chance the less, in case of a fight. ‘

As by this time our horses were in want
of rest, we took off their saddles, and the poor
things feasted better than they had done for
along while. As for us, we had fortunately
still a good supply of the cold calf, for we
felt arepugnance to cut the throats of any of
the poor broken-down creatures before us.
Close to us there was a fine noble stag, for
which I immediately took a fancy. He was
so worn out that he could not even move a
few inches to get at the grass, and his dried,
parched tongue showed plainly how much he
suffered from the want of water. I pulled up
two or three handfuls of clover, which I pre-
sented to him, but though he tried to swallow
it, he could not.

As there was a water-hole some twenty
yards off, I took the doctor's fur cap, and
filling it with water, returned to the stag.
What an expressive glance! What beautiful
eyes! I sprinkled at first some drops upon
his tongue, and then, putting the water under
his nose, he soon drained it up. My com-
panions became so much interested with the

sufferings of the poor animals, that they took
as many of the young fawns as they could,
carrying them to the edge of the water-hole,
that they might regain their strength and
fly away before the wolves could attack them.Upon. my presenting a second capful of
water to the stag, the grateful animal licked
my hands, and, after having drunk, tried to
tise to follow me, but its Strength failing, its
glances followed me as I was walking to and
fro ; they spoke volumes ; I could understand
their meaning. I hate to hear of the superior-
ity of man! Man is ungrateful as a viper,
while a hotse, a dog, and many others of
the ‘‘soulless brutes,’” will never forget a
kindness.

I wondered what had become of our three
lawyers, who had wandered away without
their rifles, and had been more than two
hours absent. I was about to propose a
search after them when they arrived with their
knives and tomahawks, and their clothes all
smeared with blood. They had gone upon a
cruise against the wolves, and had killed the
brutes until they were tired and had no more
Strength touse their arms.

. The reader, comfortably seated in his
elbow-chair, cannot comprehend the hatred
which a prairie traveller nourishes against
the wolves. As soon as we found out what
these three champions of the wilderness had
been about, we resolved to encamp there for
the night, that we might destroy as many as
we could of these prairie sharks. Broken-
down as they were, there was no danger at-
tending the expedition, and, tightening on our
‘belts, and securing our pistols, in case of an
attack from a recovering panther, we started
upon our butchering expedition. On our way
we met with some fierce-looking jaguars, which
we did not think prudent to attack, so we let
them alone, and soon found occupation
enough for our knives and tomahawks among
a close-packed herd of wolves.

How many of these detested brutes we
killed I cannot say, but we did not leave off
until our hands had become powerless from ex-
haustion, and our tomahawks so blunted as to
be rendered of no use. When we left the scene
of massacre, we had to pass over a pool of
blood ankle-deep, and such was the howling
of those who were not quite dead, that the
deer and elk were inevery direction struggling
to rise and fly.* Wehad been employed more
than four hours in our work of destruction,
when we returned to the camp, tired and
hungry. Roche had picked up a bear-cub,
which the doctor skinned and cooked for us
while we were taking our round to see how
our protégés were going on. All those that
had been brought up to the water-hole were
So far recovered that they were grazing about,
and bounded away as soon as we attempted
to near them. My stag was grazing also,

* The prairie wolf is a very different animal from
the common wolf, ‘as will be understood by the reader
when I give a description of the animals found in Cali-
fornia and Texas,

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

but he allowed me to caress him, just as if
we had been old friends, and he never left the
place until the next Morning, when we our-
selves started.

The doctor called us for our evening meal,
to which we did honour, for, in addition to
his wonderful culinary talents, he knew some
plants common in the prairies, which can
impart even to a bear's chop a most savoury
and aromatic flavour. He was in high glee,
as we praised his skill, and so excited did he
become, that he gave up his proposal of the

‘‘Gold, Emerald, Topaz, Sapphire, and
Amethyst Association, in ten thousand
shares,”

and vowed he would cast away his
lancet and turn cook in the service of some
bon vivant, or go to feed the padres of a
Mexican convent. He boasted that he could
cook the toughest old woman, so as to make
the flesh appear as white, soft, and sweet as
that of a spring chicken ; but upon my pro-
posing to send him, as a cordon bleu, to the
Cayugas, in West Texas, or among the Club
Indians, of the Colorado of the West, he
changed his mind again, and formed new
plans for the regeneration of the natives of
America.

After our supper, we rode our horses to
the lake, to water and bathe them, which
duty being performed, we sought that repose
which we were doomed not to enjoy ; for we
had scarcely shut our eyes when a tremendous
shower fell upon us, and in a few minutes we
were drenched to the skin. The reader may
recollect that, excepting Gabriel, we had ail
-of us left our blankets on the spot where we
had at first descried the prairie was in flames,
so that we were now shivering with cold, and,
what was worse, the violence of the rain was
such, that we could not keep our fire alive.
It was an ugly night, to be suré ; but the cool
shower saved the panting and thirsty animals,
for whose sufferings we had felt somuch, All
night we heard the deer and antelopes trotting
and scampering towards the lake; twice or
thrice the distant roars of the panthers
showed that these terrible animals were
quitting our neighbourhood, and the fierce
growling of the contending wolves told us
plainly that, if they were not strong enough
to run, they could at least crawl and prey
upon their own dead. It has been asserted
that wolves do not prey upon their own
species, but it is a mistake, for I have often
seen them attacking, tearing, and eating each
other.

The warm rays of the morning sun at last
dispersed the gloom and clouds of night ; deer,
elks, and antelopes were all gone except my
own stag, to which I gave a handful of salt,
as I had some in my saddle-bags. Some few
mustangs and buffaloes were grazing but the
larger portion, extending as far as the eye
could reach, were still prostrate on the grass.

oe102 TRAVELS AND ADKENTURES

As to the wolves, either from, their greater

‘ fatigue they had undergone,.or from ‘their

being. glutted with the blood and flesh of their
companions, they seemed stiffer than ever.
We.watered our horses, replenished our
flasks, and, after a hearty meal upon the cold
flesh of the bear, we resumed, our journey to
warm ourselves by .exercise and dry our
clothes, for we ,were.wet to -the ,skin, and
benumbed with cold:

The reader may bejsurprised at these wild
animals being in.the state of utter exhaustion
which I have described ; but he must be 're-
minded that, in all probability, this prairie fire
had driven them -before it forshundreds of
miles, and that.at a speed. unusual to them,
and which nothing but a panic could have
produced. I think itvery probable that the
fire ran over an extent of five hundred miles:
and my reason for so estimating it is, -theex-
ehausted state of the carnivorous animals.

A panther can ,pass. over two hundred
miles ormore at full speed without great ex-
haustion ; so woulda jaguar, or, indeed, an
elk,

I do not mean to)say that all the animals,
as the buffaloes, mustangs, deer, &c., had
run this distance ; of course,:as the fire rolled
on, the animals were gradually collected, till
they had formed the astounding ;mass which
{ have described, and thousands had probably

-already perished, long before the fire ‘had

reached. the prairie where we were encamped ;
still I have at other times witnessed the extra-
ordinary exertions which animals are capable
of when under the influence-of fear. ‘At one
estampede, I knew some oxen, with their
yokes.on their necks, to accomplish :sixty
miles in four hours.

On another occasion, onthe eastern shores

. of the Vermilion Sea,I witnessed.an estampede,

and, returning twelve ;days afterwards, I
found the animals still lying in every direction
on ‘the prairie, although much.recovered' from
their fatigue. On this last occasion, the
prairie had been burnt for three hundred
miles, from east to west, and there’is no doubt
‘but that the animals had estampedoed the

~ whole distance at the utmost of theirspeed.

Our horses having quite recovered ‘from
their past fatigue, we started ata brisk canter,
under the beams of a genial sun, and:soon
felt the warm blood stirring in ourveins. ‘We

-had. proceeded about six or (seven miles,
.gkirting the edge-of the: mass ofibuffaloes -re-

clining on the prairie, when we witnessed:a
scene which filled us with :pity. Fourteen
hungry wolves, reeling and sstaggering «with
weakness, were attacking a splendid black
stallion, which was so exhausted, that he
could not get up upon hislegs. His neck and
sides were already covered with wounds, and
his agony was'terrible. Now, the horse is:too
noble an animal-not “9 find a protector in man

‘against »stich bloodthirsty “foes ;"so°we dis-
‘mounted :and despatched the-whole of ‘his

assailants); but as ‘the poor stallion was
wounded ‘beyond all cure, and would indubi-
tably have fallen a prey to another “pack of
his prairie foes, we also ‘despatched ‘him with
a Shot of a rifle. It was an act of humanity,
but still the:destruction of this noble animal
in the wilderness threw a gloom over our
spirits. The doctor perceiving this,’thought
it advisable to enliven us with the followmg
stery :—

‘“ All the New York amateurs of oysters
know well the most jovial tavern-keeper in the
world, old Slick Bradley, the owner of the
‘Franklin,’ in Pearl-street. When ‘you go to
New York, mind to call upon him, and ifyou
have any relish ‘for a cool sangaree, ‘a mint
jullep, or a savoury oyster-soup, none can
make it better than Slick Bradley. Besides,
his bar is snug, his little, busy wife neat and
polite, and if you are inclined to a ‘spree,
his private rooms up-stairs are.comfortable as
canbe.

“Qld Slick is»good-humoured and always
laughing ; proud of his cellars, of ‘his ‘house,
of hiswife, and, above all, proud of the sign-
post hanging before his door; that -is ‘to say,
a yellow head of :Franklin, ‘painted ‘by ‘some
bilious chap, who Jooked ‘in the glass ‘fora
model. :

““ Now Slick has kept house for more than
forty «years, and though he “has made up a
pretty round sum, he don't ‘wish ‘to leave off
the business. No! :tillthe day of his death
he will. remain in his bar, smoking his Hava-
nas,° and mechanically playing with ‘the ‘two
pocket-books in his deep waistcoat pockets—
one for the ten-dollar notes and-above, the
other'for the fives, andunder. ‘Slick Bradley
is the most independent man in‘the world’; he
jokes familiarly with his icustomers, and be-
sides their bill-of ‘fare, he knows how ‘to gét
more of their money by betting, for ‘betting
is the great passion of ‘Slick ; he will bet any
thing, upon every thing: contradict him in
what he says, and down come the two pocket-
books under your nose. ‘I know better,’ he
will say, ‘don’t 1? What will-you*bet—five,
ten, fifty, hundred? ‘Tush! you dare not
bet, you know you are wrong :’ and with an
air of superiority and self-satisfaction, he ‘will
take long strides: over his ~well-washed floor,
repeating, ‘ I/know better.’

‘Slick ‘used. once to boast that he had
never lost:a ‘bet ;!but since a little ‘incident
which made all New York laugh at him, he
confesses: that -he idid once ‘meet ‘with *his
match, forthough he‘certainly won the bet,
he had paid the stakes fifty times over. Now,
as I heard the circumstance from the. jolly
landlord himself, here it goes, just as I.had
it, neither more.nor Jess.

‘“‘One day, two smart young fellowsentered the ‘ Franklin ;’ they alighted’ from a
cab, and’ were dressedin the tip-top of fashion.
As they were new customers, the landlord was
all smiles and courtesy, conducted them into
saloon No. 1, and making it up in his mind
that his guests could be nothing less than
Wall-street superfines, he resolved that they
should not complain of his fare.

“A splendid dinner was served to them,
with sundry bottles of old wines and choice
«lavanas. and’ the worthy host was reckon-
ing in his mind all the items he could decently
introduce in the bill, when ding, ding, went
the bell, and away he goes up-stairs, capering,
jumping, smiling, and holding his two. hands
before his bow-window in front.

““*Eh, old Slick,’ said one of the sparks,
‘ capital dinner, by Jove; good’ wine, fine
cigars : plenty of customers, eh !”

“Slick winked ; he was in all his glory,
proud and happy.

“Nothing better in life than a good
dinner,” resumed the spark No: 1; ‘some eat
only to live—they are fools; I live only toeat,
that is the true philosophy. Come, old chap,
let us have your bill, and mind, make it out
as for old customers, for we intend to return
often ; don’t we?’

“This last part of the sentence was ad-
dressed to'spark No. 2, who, with his legs
comfortably over the corner of the table, was
picking his teeth with his fork.

*“*T shall, by jingo!’ slowly: drawled out
No. 2, ‘dine well here! d—d comfortable;
nothing wanted but the champagne.’

***Lord, Lord! gentlemen,’ exclaimed:
Slick, “why did you not say so? Why, IE
have the best in town,’

“« «Faith, have you?” said No. 1, smack-
ing his lips ; ‘now have you the real genuine
stuff? Why, then, bring a bottle, landlord,
and you must join us; bring three glasses;
by Jove we will drink your health.’

““ When Slick returned, he found his cus-
tomers in high glee, and so convulsive was
their merriment, that they were obliged to
hold their sides. Slick laughed too, yet: los-
ing no time ; ina moment, he presented the
gentlemen with the sparkling liquor. They
took their glasses, drank his health, and then
recommenced their mirth.

“** And’ so you lost the wager?’ asked
No. 2.

*«* Yes, by Heaven, I paid the hundred
dollars, and, what was worse, was laughed
at by everybody.’

‘« Slick was sadly puzzled, the young men
had been laughing, they were now talking of
a bet, and he knew nothing of it. He was
mightily inquisitive: and knowing, by ex-
perience, that wine opens the heart and un-

looses the tongue, he made an attempt to
ascertain the cause of the merriment.
‘eT beg your pardon, gentlemen, if I

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

make too bold; but please, what was the
subject of the wager, the recollection of which
puts you in so good a humour?’

“Tl tell you,’ exclaimed No. x, ‘and
you will see what a fool I have made of my-
self. You must know that it is impossible. to
follow the pendulum of a clock with the hand,
and to repeat ‘‘ Here she goes—there she
goes,” just as it swings to and fro, thatis,
when people are talking all round you, as it
puts yowout. One day I was with a set of
jolly fellows in a dining-room, with a clock
just like this in your room ; the conversation
fell upon the: difficulty of going on ‘‘ Here
she goes,” and ‘‘ there she goes,” for half an
hour, without making a mistake. Well, I
thought it was’ the easiest thing in the-world,
to do it: and, upon my saying so, I was
defied to do it: the consequence was a bet
of a hundred dollars, and, having agreed that
they could talk to me as much as they pleased,
but not touch me, I posted myself before the
clock and went on—‘‘ Here {she goes, there
she goes,’’ while some of my companions
began singing, some shouting, and some
laughing. Well; after three minutes, I felt
that the'task was much more difficult than I
had expected ; but yet I went on, till I heard
somebody saying, ‘‘As I am alive, there is
Miss Reynolds walking arm-in-arm with that
lucky dog, Jenkins.’’’ Now, you must know,
landlord, that Miss Reynolds was my sweet-
heart, and Jenkins my greatest enemy, so I
rushed to the window to see if it was true,
and, at that moment a roar of laughter an-
nounced to me that I had lost the bet.’

‘“Now, Slick Bradley, as I have said, was
very fond of betting, Moreover, he prided
himself not a little upon his self-command,
and as he had not any mistress. to be jealous
of, as soon as the gentleman had finished. his
story, he came at once to the point.

““* Well,’ saidke, ‘youlost the wager, but
it don’t signify. I: hink, myself, as you did,
that it is the easiest tning in the world. Iam
sure I could do it half an hour, aye, and, an
hour too.’

‘The gentlemen laughed, and said they
knew better, and the now-excited host pro-
posed, if the liberty did not offend them, to
make any bet that he could doit for half an
hour. At first they objected, under the plea
that they would not like to win his money, as
they were certain he had no chance, but: upon
his insisting, they consented to bet twenty
dollars; and Slick, putting himself face to
face with his great-grandfather’s clock, began
following the pendulum with his hand, repeat-
ing ‘ Here she goes, there she goes.’

“The two gentlemen. discovered many
wonderful things through the window : first a
sailor had murdered a woman, next the stage
had just capsized, and afterwards they were
sure that the shop next.doer was on fire.TRAVELS AND

104

Slick winked and smiled complacently, with-
out leaving his position. He was too old a
fox to be taken by such childish tricks. All
at once, No. 2 observed to No. 1, that the
bet would not keep good, as the stakes had
not been laid down, and both addressed the
host at'the same time. ‘Not cunning enough
for me,’ thought Slick, and poking his left
hand into the right pocket of his waistcoat,
he took out his pocket-book containing the
larger notes, and handed it to his customers.

‘C« Now,’ exclaimed No. 2 to his com-
panion, ‘I am sure you will lose the wager ;
the fellow is imperturbable ; nothing can move
him.’

<<} Wait a bit; I'll soon make him leave
off,' whispered the other, loud enough for
Slick to hear him.

««¢J andlord,’ continued he, ‘we trust to
your honour to go on for half an hour; we
will now have a talk with bonny Mrs. Slick.’
Saying this, they quitted the room without
closing the door.

“Slick was not jealous. Not he; besides,
the bar was full of people ; it was all a trick
of the gents, who were behind the door
watching him. After all they were but
novices, and he would win their money, he
only regretted that the bet had not been
heavier,

‘‘ Twenty minutes had fairly passed, when
Slick’s own little boy entered the room. ‘ Patt
said he, ‘there is a gemmman what wants you
below in the bar.’ ;

««* Another trick,’ thought the landlord ;
‘they shan't have me, though. Here she
goes, there she goes,’ And as the boy ap-
proached near to him to repeat his errand,
Slick gave him a kick. ‘Get away—Here
she goes, there she goes."

“The boy went away crying, and soon
returned with Mrs. Slick, who cried, in an
angry tone, ‘ Now don't make a fool of your-
self ; the gentleman you sold the town-lot to
is below with the money.’

‘©©They shan't have me though,’ said
Slick to himself. And to all the invectives
and reproaches of Mrs. Slick he answered
only with, ‘Here she goes, there she goes.”
At last the long needle marked the half hour ;
and the landlord, having won the wager,
turned round. .

«Where are they?’ said he to his wife.

ceeThey ; who do you mean?’ answered
she.

““«The two gentlemen, to be sure.’

«Why, they have been gone these last
twenty minutes.’

«Slick was thunderstruck, ‘and the
pocket-book?” he uttered convulsively.

“Fis wife looked at him with ineffable
contempt.

«Why, you fool, you did not give them
your money, did you? ’

   

  

ADVENTURES

‘Slick soon discovered that he was minus
five hundred dollars, besides the price of the
two dinners. Since that time he never bets
but cash down, and in the presence of wit-
nesses.”

CHAPTER. KXX.

We continued our route for a few days,
after we had left the buffaloes, and now
turned our horses’ heads due east. Having
left behind the localities frequented by the
wild herds, we soon become exposed to the
cravings of hunger. Now and then we would
fall in with a prairie hen, a turkey, or a few
rattlesnakes. but the deer and antelopes were
so shy, that though we could see them sport-
ing ata distance, we could never come within
a mile of them.

The ground was level
though short, was excellent pasture, and
richly enamelled with a variety of flowers. It
was a beautiful country. We had. fine
weather during the day, but the nights were
exceedingly cold, and the dew heavy. Having
lost our blankets, we passed miserable nights:
There was no fuel with which we could light
our fires; even the dung of animals was so
scarce, that we could not, during seven days,
afford to cook our scanty meals more. than
thrice, and the fourlast grouse that we killea
were eaten raw.

About the middle of the eighth day; @
dark line was seen rising above the horizon,
far in the south-east, and extending as far as
the eye could reach. We knew it was a
forest, and that when we gained it, we were
certain of having plenty to eat; but it was
very far off, at least twenty miles, and were
much exhausted. In the evening we were
almost driven to desperation by hunger, and
we found that the approach to the. forest
would prove long and difficult, as it was
skirted by a bed/of thick briars and prickly
pears, which in breadth, could not be less

than three leagues, and that a passage must
be forced through this almost impassable
barrier. The forest was undoubtedly the
commencement of that extended line of noble
timber which encircles as a kind of natural
barrier, the States of Louisiana, Arkansas and
Missouri. By reaching it, we should soon
leave privation and fatigue behind us, where-
as, on the contrary, travelling to;the north,
would have added to our sufferings, as the
same level and untenanted prairie extended
to the very shores of the Red River. We
consequently determined to force our way
through the thorns and briars, even if we
were obliged to cut a road with our knives
and tomahawks. »We: journeyed on till sun-
set, when we came to a deep dry gully, on
the very edge of the prickly pear barrier, and
there we encamped for the night. To go

, and the grass, al-farther without something to eat was im-
possible. The wild and haggard looks of my
companions, their sunken eyes, and sallow,
fleshless faces, too plainly showed that some
subsistence must be speedily provided. more
nutritious than the unripe and _ strongly
acidulated fruit presented to us. We drew
lots, and the parson’s horse was doomed; in
a few minutes his hide was off, and a part of
the flesh distributed.

The meat of a. young mustang is excel-
lent, but that of an old broken-down horse is
another affair. It was as tough as India-
rubber, and the more a piece of it was mas-
ticated, the larger it became in the mouth.
A man neyer knows what he can eat, until
driven to desperation by a week’s starving,
and the jolly parson, who had pledged him-
self never to eat even calf’s meat, fiercely
attacked the leathery remains of his faithful
ambler.

The next morning we directed our steps
in a south course, and crossing the gully, we

entered in what appeared to be a passage, or -

a bear’s path through the prickly pears ; but
after travelling some six or eight miles, we
found our further progress cut off by a deep
and precipitous chasm, lined with impassable
briars. ‘To return was our only alternative,
and at noon we again found ourselves near to
the point from whence we had started in the
morning.

A consultation was now held as to our
future course. The lawyers and Roche pro-
posed to go farther south, and make another
attempt, but recollecting that on the morning
of the preceding day we had passed a large
though shallow sandy stream, Gabriel and I
thought it more advisable to. return to it.
This stream was evidently one of the tribu-
taries of the Red River, and was running in
an easterly direction, and we were persuaded
that it must flow through the chasm and enter
into the forest.

Our proposal was agreed to, and without
any more loss of time, each of us taking with
him a piece of horse-flesh, we retraced our
steps. The parson was on foot, and though
I proposed many times that we should ride
alternately, he always refused, preferring now
to travel on foot, as he was heartily tired. of
riding. Indeed, I never saw a better walker
in my life; the man had evidently mistaken
his profession, for he would have gained more
money with his legs as an Indian runner or a
scout than he had any chance of obtaining in
the one to which he belonged, and for which
he was most unqualified.

The next day, at noon, we encamped on the
stream, and though with little hope of success,
I threw in my fishing-line, baiting my hook
with horse-flies and grasshoppers. My hooks
had scarcely sunk in the water when the bait
was taken, and ta my astonishment and de-

OF MONStEOR VIOLET.

  

light I soon dragged out of the water two very
large trout. I shouted to my companions,
who were soon round me, and we resolved to
pass the night there, as we considered that a
good meal or two would enable us so much
better to continue our fatiguing journey. A
little above us was also discovered a large
quantity of drift timber, left dry upon the
sand, and in a short time every one of us
were actively employed in preparing for a
jovial meal. Gabriel, being the best marks-
man, started for game, and I continued fish-
ing, to the great delight of the doctor and
the parson; the first one taking under his
care the cooking department, and the last
scouring the prairie to catch grasshoppers and
horse-flies.. In less than three hours I had
twenty-large trout and a dozen cat-fish, and
Gabriel returned with two Canadian geese.
Invigorated by an abundant meal and a warm
fire, we soon regained our spirits, and that
night we slept sound, and made up for our
former watching and shivering.

The next morning, after breakfast, we
filled our saddle-bags with the remainder of
our provisions, and following the stream for
ten miles, with water to our horses’ shoulders,
as both sides of the river were covered with
briars. The parson had been obliged to ride
behind one of the lawyers, who had a strong-
built, powerful horse; and great was our
merriment when one of our steeds stumbled
into a hole, and brought down his master with
him. For nine miles more we continued
wading down the river, till at last the prickly
pears and briars receding from the banks,
allowed us once more to regain the dry
ground: but we had not travelled an hour
upon the bank when our road was interrupted
by a broken range of hills.

After incredible fatigue to both horses and
men—for we were obliged to dismount and
carry our arms and saddle-bags—the ascent
was finally achieved. When we arrived at
the summit, we found below us a peaceful and
romantic valley, through the centre of which
the river winded its way, and was fed by in-
numerable brooks, which joined it in every
direction. Their immediate borders were
fringed with small trees, bushes of the deepest
green, while the banks of the river were skirted
with a narrow belt of timber, of larger and
more luxuriant growth. add

This valley was encircled by the rater a
hills we had ascended, so far as to the jn 2
the forest. We led our horses dowiawyers
clivity, and in less than an hour fcigands,
selves safe at the bottom. A bris firmly
three or four miles through the vallee whole
us to the edge of the forest, whe preach-
camped near a small creek, and aftsrisoners,
good night's rest we pushed on the least
mass of the noblest maple and pinengside of
ever seen. Now game aboundeabears, ‘and deer were seen almost every minute,
and, as we advanced, the traces of mules and
jackasses were plainly visible. A little further
on, the footprints of men’were also discovered,
and from their appearance they:were but afew
hours old. This sight made ‘us forget our
fatigues, and»we hurried on, with fond antici-
pations of finding a speedy termination to all
our sufferings,

Late in the afternoon I killed a yery fat
buck, and although we wereianxious to follow
the 'wacks, to ascertain what description of
travellers were before ‘us, our horses were ‘so
tired, and our appetites so sharpened, ‘that
upon reflection we thought it desirable to ‘re-
main where we were. I took’this opportunity
of making myself a pair of mocassins with
the now useless ‘saddle-bags of the parson.

That evening we were/inshigh glee, think-
ing that we had arrived ‘at one'of the ‘recent
settlements of western ‘emigration, for, as I
have observed, we had ‘seen tracks ’of jack-
asses, and these animals are never employed
upon any distant journey. We fully expected
the mext morning to find some log-houses,
within ten or fifteen miles, where we should
be able to procure another horse’for the par-
son, and some more ammunition, ‘as we had
seareely half a pound of balls left between us.
The lawyer enjoyed by anticipation the happi-
ness of once more fillmg his half-gallon flask,
and the doctor promised to:give us dishes of
his own invention, as‘soon as ‘he could meet
with a frying-pan. In fine, so exuberant were
our spirits, that. it was ‘late before we laid
down to sleep.

At about two-o'clockin ‘the morning, feel-

img a.pressure upon mybreast, I opened *my

eyes, and saw Gabriel with a finger upon his
lips, enjoining me to silence. He ‘then ‘in-
formed me, in a whisper, that»a numerous
party of thieves were im our neighbourhood,
and that they had already discovered ‘our
horses, Taking with us only our knives and
tomahawks, we crawled silently tillwe came
to asmall opening in the forest, when ‘we saw
some twenty fellows encamped, without any
light or fire, but all armed «to the >teeth.
@hree or four of them appeared animated in
their conversation, and being favoured ‘by the
darkness, we approached :néarer, 'till we were
able to hear every word.
. “Ail sleeping sound,’’said one «of them,
‘t looking mighty wretched ; not ‘a cent
“x them, I am<sure. If I:can judge by
she. othing,.threeofthem are half-breeds.”
“Id the horses?’’ saidbanother voice.
‘““Werasto them, they have only seven,”
twenty he first voice, ‘‘and ‘they are ‘broken
‘‘Slq tied, although ‘fine animals. They
rll aftera three weeks'ierazing.”
> thlem away, ‘then. ‘Are'they tied?”
contemp: two,”
“Wk the halters, then, and start them
your moi

   

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
   
      
  
   
  
  
     

106 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

full speed, as'if they were frightened 3 it -will
not awaken their suspicion.”
‘‘Why not settle the matter with them all
at/once? we would get their saddles.”
‘“Fool ! suppose they are a vanguard “of
General Rusk’s army, and one of them should

‘escape? No ; to-morrow at sunrise they will

run upon the tracks of their horses, and leave
their saddles. and saddle-bags behind ; three
men shall remain here, to secure the plunder,
and when the ducks (travellers) are fairly
entangled in the forest, being on foot, we can
do what we please.”

‘Others then joined ‘the conversation, and
Gabriel and I returned to ourfriends'as'silently
as we left them. Half an hour afterwards we
heard the galloping of our horses in a southerly
direction, and Gabriel going once more to
reconnoitre, perceived the band taking another
course, towards the east, leaving, as they had
proposed, three of their men behind them.
For a few minutes he heard these men can-
vassing as to the best means of carrying the
saddles, and having drunk pretty freely from
a large’stone jug, they wrapped themseélves in
their blankets, and crawled into a sort of
burrow, which had probably been dug out
by the brigands, as'a cachette for their pro-
visions and ‘the booty which they could not
conveniently carry.

By the conversation of the three fellows,
Gabriel conjectured that the band had gone
to a place of rendezvous on the bank of some
river, and that'the party who had’carried away
our horses was to proceed only six miles south,
to a stream where the track of the horses
would be effaced and lost in case of our pur-
suit. “As ‘soon as they considered that we
were far enough from our encampment, they
were to return by another road, and rejoin
the three men left behind. Gabriel conjec-
tured that only four men had gone away with
the horses. After a little consulation we awoke
our comrades, and explaining to them how
matters stood, we determined upon a counter-
plot.

It was at first proposed to shoot the three
scoundrels left for our saddle-bags, but re-
flecting that*they were better acquainted than
we were with the locality, and that the re-
port of‘one of their fire-arms would excite the
suspicion of ‘those who had charge of our
horses, we determined upon another line of
conduct. ‘Before daylight, I took my bow
‘and arrows, and ‘succeeded in reaching a
secure position, a few yards from ‘the burrow
where the thieves were concealed. Gabriel
did the same, in a bush, half way between
the “burrow and our encampment. In the
meantime, Roche, with the five Americans,
played their part admirably—walking near to
the burrow, ‘swearing that our horses had
been frightened by some varmint -and
escaped, and started upon the tracks, withas much-noise as they could’ make’; ‘to des
ceive the robbers the more,. they left their
rifles behind.

As‘ soon’ as they were gone; the thieves
issued from their places of concealment, and
one. arming: himself with his-rifle,, “went,” as
he said, ‘‘to. see if the coast was: clear:”
He soon returned with two of our rifles and a
blazing. piece of wood, and the: worthies
began laughing together ati the success: of
their ruse. They lighted a:fire;, took another
dram, and. while one-busied: himself, with pre-
paring coffee, the other two started; with no
other weapon. bué. their knives, to fetch the
saddle-bags.and saddles.

They had not. been. gone: five! minutes;
when I perceived an enormous rattlesnake,
ready to. spring, at not half a» yard: from me:
Since. my snake. adventure among~ the C€o-
manches, I had imbibed the greatest dread of
that animal, and my alarm. was so great, that

I rushed out of my concealment, and, at ai

single bound, found myself ten yards from
the. fellow, who was. quietly blowing: his. fire
and stirring his coffee. He arose: immedi-
ately, made two. steps. backwards; and, quite
unnerved by so sudden an. apparition, he
extended his hand. towards a tree, against
which the rifles had been placed.

That movement. decided. his fate; for not
choosing to be shot at, nor to close with a
fellow so. powerful that he could. have easily
crushed my. head. between. his thumb. and
finger, I drew at him,; though rapid, my aim
was certain, and he fell dead, without. utter-
ing a single word, the arrow having pene-
trated his heart.. I then crawled to Gabriel,
to whom I explained the matter, and left him,
to take my station near. the two remaining
brigands. I found them busy searching the
saddle-bags and. putting aside. what they
wished to secrete for their own use,

After they had. been thus employed for
half an hour, one of them: put, three saddles
upon his.head, and, thus.loaded, returned to
the burrow, desiring his companion to come
along, and drink his coffee while it was: hot.
Some five minutes afterwards, the noise of a
heavy fall was heard.(it was that of the thief
who had just left, who was. killed by: the
tomahawk, of Gabriel), and the remaining
robber, loading himself with the saddle-bags,
prepared. to follow, swearing aloud against
his companion, ‘‘who could. not see before
his eyes, and would break the pommels of the
saddles.”

I had just drawn my bow, and was taking
my aim, when Gabriel, passing me; made a
signal to forbear, and rushing upon. the thief,
he. kicked him in the back, just as. he was
balancing the saddles upon his head. The
thief fell down, and attempted to. struggle,
but the prodigious muscular strength of
Gabriel was.too much for him; in a moment

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET,

 

he: layhalf strangled’ and motionless. We
bound him firmly hand’ and foot, and‘carried
him to his: burrow ; we laid’ the two bodies
by hisvside, stowed‘ our luggage in the bur-
row, and having déstroyed’ all traces of the
struggle, we prepared for the reception of the
horse-thieves,

Chance’ befriended ‘us!’ While we Were
drinking the coffee thus left'as a prize to the
conquerors, we heard: at a distance the
trampling of horses.. I seized one of? the
rifles, and Gabriel; after a moment of intense
listening, prepared his lasso, and glided
behind the bushes: It'was not long before I
perceived my own horse; who having un-
doubtedly thrown his rider; was galloping
back to the:camp: He was closely pursued
by one of the rascals; mounted upon Gabriel's
horse, and calling’ out to the three robbers:
“Stop: him; Russy; Carlton—stop him:!’’
At that moment, Gabriel’s lasso fell upon his
shoulders, and he féll off the Horse’ as dead
asif struck’ by lightning’: his neck was broken.

Having» gained’ our horses, we saddled
them, and: took’ our rifles, not doubting, but
that. we would easily capture the remaining
rascals, asthe speed’ of our two steeds was
very superior to: that of the others, After
half an hour’s hard riding, we fell in with
Roche: and) our companions, who had’ been
equally» fortunate. it’ appeared that the
fellow who.had been riding my horse had re-
ceived a severe fall against a tree’; and’ while
one of his companions started in chase of the
animal, who had galloped off, the two others
tied their horses to the trees, and went to his
assistance... When thus' occupied, they’ were
surprised, and bound hand’ and foot by
Roche:and:his:party.

We brought back'our: prisoners, and when
we arrived atthe burrow, we found that, far
from having lost anything by the robbers; we
had; on the contrary; obtained articles which
we wanted. One of the lawyers found:in the
stone jug enough of whiskey to fill his flask ;
the. parson ‘got another rifle, to replace that
which he» had: lost in the prairie, and the
pouches: and powder-horns' of the three first
robbers:were: found well supplied with powder
and balls. We also took possession of four
green. Mackinaw’ blankets) and a bag of
ground coffee:

We heartily thanked providence, who had
thrown the rascals in our way, and after a
good: meal, we' resumed’ our journey in 2
southern direction, each of the three lawyers
leading, bya stoutrope, one of the brigands,
who were gagged, and their hands firmly
bound behind their'backs: During the whole
day, the parson amused himself with preach-
ing’ honesty and morality to our prisoners,
who seeing now that they had not the least
chance:to escape, walked briskly alongside of
the horses,18 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

Towards evening we encamped in one of
those plains, a mile in circumference, which
are so frequently met with in the forests of
the west. We had performed a journey of
twenty miles, and that with the forced ride
which our beasts had performed in the morn-
ing, had quite tired them out. Besides,
having now four men on foot, we could not
proceed so fast as before. We lighted a fire
and fed our prisoners, putting two of them in
the centre of our circles, while the two others,
who were much bruised by their falls of the
morning, took their station near the fire, and
we covered them with a blanket. Though
we believed we had nothing to fear from our
prisoners, the two first being bound hand and
foot, and the two last being too weak to
move, we nevertheless resolved that a watch
should be kept, and as Gabriel and [ had not
slept during the night before, we appointed
Roche to keep the first watch.

When I awoke, I felt chilly, and to my
astonishment I perceived that our fire was
down. I rose and looked immediately for
the prisoners. The two that we had put
within our circle were still snoring heavily,
but the others, whose feet we had not bound
on account of their painful bruises, were
gone. I looked for the watch, and found
that it was one of the lawyers, who having
drank too freely of the whiskey, had fallen
asleep. ‘The thieves had left the blanket ; I
touched it, perceived that it was yet warm,
so that I knew they could not have been
gone a long while.

The day was just breaking, and I awoke
my companions; the lawyer was much
ashamed of himself, and offered the humblest
apologies, and as a proof of his repentance,
he poured on the ground the remainder of
the liquor in his flask. As soon as Gabriel
and Roche were up, we searched in the grass
for the footprints, which we were not long in
finding, and which conducted us straight to
the place where we had'left our horses loose
and grazing. Then, for the first time, we
perceived that the horses which were shod,
and which belonged to the three lawyers, had
had their shoes taken off, when in possession
of the thieves the day before.

By the foot-prints, multiplied in every
direction, it was evident that the fugitives
had attempted, though in vain, to seize upon
some of our horses. Following the foot-
marks a little farther, brought us to a small
sandy creek, where the track was lost; and
on the other side, to our great astonishment,
we saw plainly (at least the appearance
seemed to imply as much), that help had
been at hand, and that the thieves had
escaped upon a tall American horse, ambling
so lightly, that the four shoes of the animal
were comparatively but feebly marked :on the
ground. It seemed, also, that the left fore-

 

leg of the animal had been at some time
hurt, for the stopping was not regular, being
sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, and
now and then deviating two or three inches
from the line.

I thought immediately that we had been
discovered by another roving party of the
brigands, and that they had gone to get a
reinforcement to overpower us, but upon a
closer examination of the track, I came at
once to the solution of the mystery. I re-
marked that on the print left by the shoes,
the places upon which the head of the nails
should have pressed deeper, were, on the
contrary, convex, the shoes were, therefore,
not fixed by nails; and my suspicions being
awakened, I soon.spied upon a soft sandy
spot, through which the track passed, that
there was something trailing from the left
hind foot, and I satisfied myself that this last
slight mark was made by a piece of twine.
A little afterwards I remarked that on the
softer parts of the ground, and two or three
inches behind and before the horse-shoe
prints, were two circular impressions, which I
ascertained to be the heel and the toe-marks
left by a man’s mocassins.

‘The mystery was revealed. We had never
searched our prisoners, one of whom must
have had some of the shoes taken off the
horses, which shoes, in these districts, are
very valuable, as they cannot be replaced.
Having tried in vain to catch some of our
horses, they had washed out the tracks in the
creek, and had fixed the horse-shoes to their
own feet with pieces of twine ; after which,
putting themselves in a line at the required
distance one from the other, they had started
off, both with the same foot, imitating thus
the pacing of a swift horse.

The plan was cunning enough, and proved
that the blackguards were no novices in their
profession, but they had not yet sufficiently
acquired that peculiar tact natural to savage
life. Had they been Indians, they would
have fixed small pieces of wood into the holes
of the shoe to imitate the nails, and they
would then have escaped. We returned to
the camp to arm ourselves, and the lawyers,
wishing to recover our confidence, entreated
that they might be permitted to chase and
recapture the fellows.
quite exhausted, but they had been success-
ful; the prisoners were now bound hand and
foot, and also tied by the waist to a young
pine, which we felled for the purpose. It
was useless to travel further on that day, as
the lawyers’ horses were quite blown, and
having now plenty of ammunition, some of
us went in pursuit of turkeys and pheasants,
fora day or two's provisions. All my efforts
to obtain information from the prisoners were
vain. To my inquiries as to what direction
lay the settlements, I received no answer.

At noon they returned :

   

 

 

Fat ee a iainTowards evening, as we were taking our
meal, we were visited by a band of dogs,
who, stopping ten yards from us, began to
bark most furiously. Thinking at first they
Belonged to the band of robbers, who em-
ployed them to follow travellers, we hastily
seized out arms, and prepared for a fight;
but Gabriel asserting the dogs were a par-
ticular breed belonging to the Cherokees,
Choctaws, Creeks, and other tribes of half-
civilized Indians, established upon the Red
River, we began shouting and firing our rifles,
so as to guide towards us the Indians, whom
we presumed could not be far behind their
dogs. We did not wait long, for a few
minutes afterwards a gallant band of eighty
Cherokees dashed through the cover, and
teined up their horses before us. All was
explained in a moment.

A system of general depredation had been
carried on, for a long while with impunity,
upon the plantations above the great bend of
the Red River. The people of Arkansas
accused the Texians, who, in their turn,
asserted that the parties were Indians. Go-

'vernor Yell, of the Arkansas, complained to
Ross, the highly talented chief of the Chero-
kees, who answered that the robbers were
Arkansas men and Texians, and, as a proof
of his assertion, he ordered a band to scour
the country, until they had fallen in with and
captured the depredators. For the last two
days, they had been following some tracks,
till their dogs, having crossed the trail left by
the lawyers and their prisoners, guided the
watricrs to our encampments.

We gave them all our prisoners, whom
we were very glad to get rid of; and the
Indian leader generously ordered one of his
men to give up his horse and saddle to the
parson. To this, however, we would not
consent, unless we paid for the animal; and
each of us subscribing ten dollars, we pre-
sented the money to the man, who certainly
did not lose by the bargain.

The next morning, the leader of the
Cherokee party advised me to take a southern
direction, till we should arrive at the head
waters of the River Sabine, from whence pro-
ceeding either northward or eastward, we
should, in a few days, reach the Red River,
through the cane-brakes and the clearings of
the new settlers. Before parting, the Indians
made us presents of pipes and tobacco, of
which we were much in want; and after a
hearty breakfast, we resumed our journey.

CHAPTER XXXI.

The Cherokee Indians, a portion of whom
we had just met on such friendly terms, are
probably destjned to act no inconsiderable
part in the fupie history of Texas. Within
the last few years, they have given a severe

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

lesson to the governments of both Texas and
the United States. The reader is already
aware that, through a mistaken policy, the
government of Washington have remoyed
from several southern states those tribes of
half-civilized Indians which indubitably were
the most honourable and industrious portion
of the population of these very states. The
Cherokees, the Creeks, and the Choctaws,
among others, were established on the
northern banks of the Red River, in the
territory west of the Arkansas,

The Cherokees, with a population of
twenty-four thousand individuals; the Creeks,
with twenty thousand, and the Choctaws,
with fif¥en, as soon as they reached their
new country, applied themselves to agricul-
ture, and as they possessed wealth, slaves,
and cattle, their cotton plantations soon be-
came the finest west from the Mississippi,
and latterly all the cotton grown by the
Americans and the Texians, within one
hundred miles from the Indian settlements,
has been brought up to their mills and
presses, to be cleaned and put into bales,
before it was shipped to New Orleans. Some
years before the Independence of Texas, a
small number of these Cherokees had settled
as planters upon the Texian territory, where,
by their good conduct and superior manage-
ment of their farms, they had acquired great
wealth, and had conciliated the good will of
the warlike tribes of Indians around them,
such as the Cushates, the Caddoes, and even
the Comanches.

As soon as the Texians declared their in-
dependence, their rulers, thinking that no
better population could exist in the northern
districts than that of the Cherokees, invited a
few hundred more to come from the Red River,
and settle among them ; andto engage them so
to do, the first session of Congress offered
them a grant of two or three hundred thou-
sand acres of land, to be selected by them in
the district they would most prefer. Thus
enticed, hundreds of wealthy Cherokee
planters migrated to Texas, with their wealth
and cattle. Such was the state of affairs
until the presidency of Lamar, a man utterly
unequalto the task of ruling over anew country.

Under his government, the Texians, no
longer restrained by the energy and honour-
able feelings of an Austin or a Houston, fol-
lowed the bent of their dispositions, and were
guilty of acts of barbarism and cruelty which,
had they, at the time, been properly repre-
sented to the civilized people of Europe, would
haye caused them to blot the name of Texas
out of the list of nations.

I have already related the massacre of the
Comanches in San Antonio, and the miserable
pilfering expedition to Santa Fé, but these
two acts had been preceded by one stiJl more
disgraceful.IIo

The Cherokees, who had migrated to
Texas, were flourishing in their new settle-
ment, when the bankruptcy of the merchants
in the United States was followed’ by that of
the planters. The consequence was, that
from ‘Tennessee, Mississippi, Alabama, and
Arkansas, hundreds of planters smuggled
their negroes and other property into Texas,
and as they dared not locate themselves too
far west, from their dread of the Mexicans
and Indians, they remained in the east
country, upon the rivers of which only, at
that time, navigation had been attempted.

These new comers, however, had to strug-
gle with many difficulties; they had to clear
the ground, to build bridges, to dry up mud-
holes and ‘swamps ; and, moreover, they found
that they could not enter into competition with
the Cherokees, who having been established
there for a longer time, and raising abundant
crops of maize, cotton, and tobacco, were
enabled to sell their provisions at one-half the
price which the white planter wished to realize.
The Europeans, of course, preferred to settle
near the Cherokees, from whom they could
obtain their Indian corn at fifty cents a bushel,
while the American planters demanded two
dollars and sometimes three. In a short
time, the Cherokee district became thickly
Settled, possessing good roads, and bridges
and ferries upon every muddy creek ; in short,
it was, in civilization, full a century ahead of
all the other eastern establishments of
‘Texas.

The Texian planters from the United
States represented to the government that
they would have no chance of cultivating the
country and building eastern cities, as long as
the Cherokees were allowed to remain; and,
moreover, they backed their petition with a
clause showing that the minimum price the
Cherokee land would be sold at to new comers
from the United States was ten dollars an
acre. ‘This last argument prevailed, and in
spite of the opposition of two or three honest
men, the greedy legislators attacked the
validity of the acts made (MlOs¢ ‘the former
presidency. The Cherokef hiertgt was re-
called, and notice given? inspect at they
should forthwith give up t?d upon t Rens and
retire from Texas. rene

To this order, the Che Or a Norwegian,”
to give an answer, and, e2t Iowa contained
ter of the. Texians, they ©™igrants of these
appeal for justice ; but ‘that is a luxury rarely
pared themselves to -ller in the prairie, but
from any invasion. No matter, havesome
mined, the Texians’; _ :
they offered the Ind: 4nd saw a dirty woman
for their land, whic™bering upon a stool, by
tended (6 ; and pttumney. i
the fear which | inquired, rousing her up.
have been ino? 2t me and shook her head ;
of the greate did not understand me ; how-

   

LRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

Texian governments and a most guilty indif-
ference on that of the United States.

In Alabama, Tennessee, and Arkansas,
labour had fallen so low, that thousands of
individuals had abandoned their farms to
become horse-thieves and negro smugglers.
Many among them had'’gone to sell the pro-
duce of their depredations to the Cherokees,
who not only did not condescend to deal with
them, but punished them with rigour, sub-
jecting them to their own code of laws. These
ruffans nurtured. plans of vengeance which
they dared not themselves execute, but,
knowing the greedy spirit of their country-
men, they spread the most incredible stories
of Cherokee wealth and comforts. The plan
succeeded well, for as soon as the altercation
between the Texians and Cherokee Indians
was. made known to the Western States,
several bands were immediately formed, who,
in the expectation of a rich booty, entered
Texas, and offered the Congress to drive
away the Cherokees. As soon as this was
known, representations were made by honour-
able men to the government of the United
States, but no notice was taken, and the
Western States, probably to get rid at once of
the scum of their population, gave every en-
couragement to the expedition.

For a few months the Cherokees invariably
discomfited their invaders, destroying their
bands as soon as they were newly formed,
and treating them as common robbers ; but,
being farmers, they could not fight and culti-
vate their ground at the same time, and they
now thought of abandoning so unhospitable
a land; the more so as, discovering that the
Cherokees were more than a match for them
in the field, a system of incendiarism and
plunder was resorted to, which proved more
disastrous to the Cherokees than the previous
open warfare.

The Cherokees wisely reflected, that as
long as the inhabitants of the Western States
would entertain the hope of plunder and
booty, they would constantly pour upon them
their worthless population. They, therefore,
destroyed their farms and their bridges; and
collecting their horses and cattle, they re-
treated upon the Red River among their own
people. The Cherokee campaign is a topic

\of much boasting among the Texians, as they

1S~xthey expelled the Indians from their coun-
Pextayut a fact, which they are not anxious to
to gamDyis, that for every Cherokee killed,
under its ‘sjans bit the dust.
of alllaw. \4 period the Cherokees, @ ‘+
The dinnetxeeks have had g-ft¥ aS
arrival, and for oubt not that blown, and
myself at an Anortunityto re¢“O™, SOME ne
astonished, as an ff the entire) Racca
fore my Sees All my efforts
sit down and make fat a demdPTSoners were

dish, all was disappless whe’ at direction
: P acon no answer.

{OF MONSIEUR. VIOLET.

so ‘utterly .depraved. Austin, the father of our horses and asked for accommodation for
Texian colonization, quitted the:country in ourselves and beasts. Three or four smart
disgust. Houston, whose military talentsand -young ‘boys rushed out, to take care of our
well-known courage obtained for him the horses, and a venerable old man invited us
presidency, has declared his intention:to do ‘to-honour his hearth. He was a Mormon,
the same, and to retire to the United States, and informed us that hundreds of farmers
to follow up his original profession of a belonging to that sect had established them-
lawyer. Such is the demoralized state of ‘selves in East Texas, at a short distance from
Texas at the present moment; what it may -each other, and that, if we were going to
hereafter be is in the womb of Time. travel through the Arkansas, and choseito do
so, we could stop every other day at a Mor-
mon farm, until we arrived at the southern
borders of the state of Missouri.
CHAPTER XXXII. We resolved to avail ourselves of this in-

We had now entered thewhite settlements formation, anticipating that every Mormon
of the Sabine river, and found, to our aston- dwelling would be as clean and comfortable
jishment, that, far from arriving at civilization, -as the one we were in; but we afterwards
we were receding from it; the farms of the found out our mistake, for, during the fifteen
Wakoes and well-cultivated fields of the days’ journey which we travelled between the
Pawnee-Picts, their numerous cattle and Sabine and a place called Boston, we stopped
comfortable dwellings, werea strong contrast at six different Mormon farms, either for
to the miserable twelve-feet-square mud-and- night or for noon meals, but, unlike the first,
log cabins we passed by. ‘Every farmer we they were anything but comfortable ‘or pros-
met was a perfect picture of wretchedness perous. One circumstance, however, attracted
and misery ; their women dirty and covered particularly our attention ; it was, that rich or
with rags, which could scareely conceal their »poor, the Mormon planters had superior cattle
nudity ; the cattle lean and starving ; and and horses, and that they had invariably stored
the horses so weak, that they could scarcely up in their granaries or -barns the last year’s
stand upon their legs. crop of everything that would keep. After-

Where was the boasted superiority of the wards I learned that these farmers were only
Texians over the Indian race? or were these stipendiary agents of the elders of the Mor-
individuals around us of that class of beings .mons, who, in the case of a westward inva-
who, not daring to reside within the jurisdic- sion being decided upon by Joe Smith and his
tion of the law, were obliged to lead a bor- people, would immediately furnish their army
derer’s life, exposed to all the horrors of Indian with fresh horses and all the provisions neces-
warfare and famine? Upon inquiry, we dis- ‘sary for a campaign.
covered that these frontier men were all, One morning we met with a Texian con-
more or less, eminent members of the Texian stable going to arrest a murderer. He
republic, one being a general, another a asked us what o'clock it was, as he had not a
colonel ; some speakers of the House of Re- watch, and told us that a few minutes’ ride
presentatives ; and many of them members of would bring us to Boston, a new Texian city.
Congress, judges, and magistrates. Notwith- We searched in vain for any vestiges which
standing their high official appointments, we could announce our being in the vicinity of
did not think it prudent to stop among them, even a village ; at last, however, emerging
‘but pushed on briskly, with our rifles across from a-swamp, through which we had been
the pommels of our saddles ; indeed, from the forcing our way for more than an hour, we
covetous eyes. which these magistrates and big descried bety~- the trees a long building,
men occasionally cast upon our horses and made of the ; be ¥ logs of the black pine, and

saddle-bags, we expected at every moment as we aq, e perceived that the space

men | ee
that we should be attacked. betweerg Pee about. ‘six inches) had not
: any ably to obtain a more free

A smart ride of two hoursbroughtus toa begeq as accid tail
second settlement which contrasted most Sin-,ched. the merchan This building, a naked
gularly with the first. Here, all pe MOUSK, Von shoulda navel oh WS Ambassador's Hall,
were neat and spacious, with fine barn7 merely wished to kill otel of Texian Boston.
stables ; the fields were well enclohaye wall.” ards farther we perceived

 

  

 
 

  

  

 
 

 
 

covered with a green carpet of clowhitt- “ Capital idea,” crie iduals swarming around
“teh were grazing cattle and Hel Qed if itwas not a Wee description, but
*~ eed. aly, I then molasses that I wished to k

The Ch ht of comfort anil, and, as I At that moment one of
€ Uhercre in civilizai soon learned proached the merchant and a
we had just mj totally lost’ Texas, or, at alow voice; I could not hearw
probably dest, fallen it wijpeared thatthe I heard the parting words of
part in the fies, a dwellier and general which were, « All's right!”

1e last few yoed withsc Two or three penser of justice succeeded another

 
  

oxing-match ; but
ellers, etter ac-
and/ customs of
s |the ‘‘ Court
© do there, we¥I2 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

turned our horses’ heads towards the tavern,
and the barking of a pack of hungry dogs
soon called around us a host of the Bos-
tonians.

It is strange that the name of city should
be given to an unfinished log-house, but such
is the case in Texas ; every individual pos-
sessing three hundred acres of land calls his
lot a city, and his house becomes at once the
tavern, the post-office, the court-house, the
gaol, the bank, the land-office, and, in fact,
everything. I knew a man near the Red
River, who had obtained from Government
an appointment of postmaster, and during
the five years of his holding office he had not
had a single letter in his hand.

This city mania is a very extraordinary
disease in the United States, and is the cause
of much disappointment to the traveller. In
the Iowa territory, I once asked a farmer my
way to Dubugue.

“A stranger, I reckon,” he answered ;
‘‘but no matter, the way is plain enough.
Now, mind what I say. After you have
forded the river, you will strike the military
road till you arrive in the prairie ; then you
ride twenty miles east, till you arrive at Cale-
donia city ; there they will tell you all about
It.

I crossed the river, and after half an
hour’s fruitless endeavours, I could not find
the military road, so I forded back, and re-
turned to my host:

Law ! he answered ; ‘‘ why, the trees
are blazed on each side of the road,”

Now, if he had told me that at first, I
could not have mistaken, for I had seen the
blazing of a bridle-path; but as he had
announced a military road, I expected, what
it imported, a military road. I resumed my
journey and entered the prairie. The rays of
the sun were very powerful, and, wishing to
water my horse, I hailed with delight a
miserable hut, sixteen feet square, which I
saw at about half a mile from the trail. Ina
few minutes I was before the door, and tied
my horse to a post, upon which was a square
board bearing some kind of hiereglyphics on
both sides. Upon a closer inspection, I saw
upon one side ‘‘Ice,” and upon the other,
HPOStTOrr.

“A Russian, a Swede, or a Norwegian,"'
thought I, knowing that Iowa contained
eight or ten thousand emigrants of these
countries. ‘‘ Ice—well, that is a luxury rarely
to be\ found by a traveller in the prairie, but
it must \be pretty dear.” No matter, have some
I must.” yi

I entered the hut, and saw a dirty woman
half naked, and slumbering upon a stool, by
the corner of the chimney.

“Any milk?’ I inquired, rousing her up.

She looked at me and shook her head ;
evidently she’did not understand me ; how-

ever, she brought me a stone jug full of
whiskey, a horn tumbler, and a pitcher of
water.

‘“‘Can you give my horse a pail of water ?”
I asked again.

The woman bent down her. body, and
dragging from under the bed a girl of four-
teen, quite naked, and with a skin as tough
as that of an alligator, ordered her to the
well with a large bucket. Having thus pro-
vided for my beast, I sat upon a stump that
served for a chair, and once more addressed
my hostess.

‘“ Now, Iny good woman, let us have the
ice!

‘“The what?” she answered.

As I could not make her understand what
I wanted, I was obliged to drink the whiskey
with water almost tepid, and my horse beri’
refreshed, I paid my fare and started.

I rode for three hours more, and was con-»
fident of having performed twice the distance
named by mine host of the morning, and yet
the prairie still extended as far as the eye
could reach, and I could not perceive the city
of Caledonia. Happily, I discovered a man
at a distance riding towards me: we soon met.

‘* How far,”’ said I, ‘“‘ to Caledonia city”

‘‘ Fighteen miles,” answered the traveller.

‘Is there no farm on the way?” I re-
joined, ‘‘for my horse is tired.’’

The horseman stared at me in arnazement.
“Why, sir,’’ he answered, ‘“you turn your
back to it; you have passed it eighteen miles
behind.”

‘“Impossible!” I exclaimed ; ‘°T never
left the trail, except to water my horses at a
little hut.”

‘‘ Well,” he answered, ‘‘that was at General
Hiram Washington Tippet’s; he keeps the
post-office. Why, sir, that was Caledonia
city.”

y thanked him, unsaddled my horse, and
bivouacked where I was, laughing heartily at
my mistake in having asked for 7ce when the
two sides of the board made post-office.

But I must return to Boston and its
court-house. As it was the time of the
assizes, some fifty or sixty individuals had
come from different quarters, either to witness
the proceedings or to swap their horses, their
saddles, their bowie-knife; or anything ; for it
is-while law is exercising its functions that a
Texian is most anxious to swap, to cheat,
to gamble, and to pick pockets, and quarrel
under its\nose, just to show his independence
of all law.

The dinner-bell rang a short time after our
arrival, and for the first time in my life I found
myself at an American ‘tadble-d’héte. I was
astonished, as an Indian well might be.  Be-
fore my companions and self had had time to
sit down and make.a choice of any particular
dish, all was disappearing like a dream: Ageneral opposite to me took hold of a fowl,
and in the twinkling of an eye severed the
wings and legs. I thought it was polite of
him to carve for others as well as himself,
and was waiting for him to pass over
the dish after he had helped himself,
when, to my surprise, ne retained all -he
had cut off, and pushed the carcase of the
bird away from him. Before I had recovered
from my astonishment his plate was empty.
Another seized a plate of cranberries, a fruit I
was partial to, and I waited for him to help
himself first and then pass the dish over to
me; but he proved to be more greedy than
the general, for, with an enormous horn
spoon, he swallowed the whole.

The table was now deserted by all except
by me and my companions, who, with doleful
faces, endeavoured to appease our hunger
with some stray potatoes. We called the
landlord, and asked him for something to eat.
It was with much difficulty that we could get
half a dozen of eggs and as many slices of
salt pork. This lesson was not thrown away
upon me; and afterwards, when travelling in
the States, I always helped myself before I
was seated, caring nothing for my neighbours.
Politeness at meals may be and is practised
in Europe, or among the Indians, but among
the Americans it would be attended with
starvation.

After dinner, to kill time, we went to the
court-house, and were fortunate enough to
find room in a position where we could see
and hear all that was going on.

The judge was seated upon a chair, the
frame of which he was whittling with such
earnestness, that he appeared to have quite
forgotten where he was. Oneach side of him
were half-a-dozen of jurymen, squatted upon
square blocks, which they were also whittling,
judge and jurymen having each a cigar in the
mouth, and a flask of liquor, with which now
and then they regaled themselves.. The
attorney, on his legs, addressing the jury, was
also smoking, as well as the plaintiff, the de-
fendant, and all the audience. The last were
seated, horseback fashion, upon parallel low
benches, for their accommodation, twenty feet
long, all turned towards the judge, and look-
ing over the shoulders of the one in front of
him, and busily employed in carving at the
bench between his thigh and that of his
neighbour. It was a very singular cowf-d' il,
and a new-comer from Europe would have
supposed the assembly to have been a ‘‘ whitt-
ling club.”

Having surveyed the company, I then
paid attention to the case on trial, and, as I
was just behind the defendant, I soon learned
how justice was executed in Texas, or, at
least, in Texiay Roston. It appeared that the
defendantne truth t postmaster and general
merchyter of an Icountry. Two or three
sabriel,”’ replied

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

 

133

weeks back, the son of the plaintiff had
entered his shop to purchase his provision of
coffee, sugar, and flour, and had given him
to change a good one-hundred-dollar bill of
one of the New Orleans banks. The mer-
chant had returned to him a fifty-dollar note
and another of ten. Two hours afterwards,
the young man, having swapped _ his horse,
carriole, and twenty dollars, for a waggon
and two couple of oxen, presented the fifty
dollar note, which was refused as being
counterfeited. The son of the plaintiff re-
turned to the merchant, and requested him to
give him a good note. The merchant, how-
ever, would not : ‘‘ Why did you. take it 2?”
said he ; ‘‘I be d—dif I give you any other
money for it.’” Upon which the young man
declared it was shameful swindling, and the
merchant, throwing at him an iron weight of
nine pounds, killed him on the:spot.

The attorney, who was now pleading for
the defendant, was trying to impress upon
the jury that the murder had been merely
accidental, inasmuch as the merchant haa
thrown the missile only in sport, just to scare
away the fellow who was insulting him in his
own house ; but, strange to say, no mention
was made at all of the note, though every-
body knew perfectly well that the merchant
had given it, and that it was a part of his trade
to pass forged notes among his inexperienced
customers. As soon as the lawyer had ended
the defence, the merchant was called upon by
the judge to give his own version of what
occurred. He rose:

‘“Why,” said he, ‘‘ it was just so as has
been said. I wished not to hurt the fellow 5
but he called me a swindler. Well, I knew
the man was ina passion, and I did not care.
I only said, ‘ How dare you, sir?’ and I threw
the piece of iron just to frighten him. Well,
to be sure, the blackguard fell down like a
bull, and I thought it was a humbug. I
laughed and said, ‘ None of your gammon ;’
but he was dead. I think the thing must
have struck something on the way, and so
swerved against his head. I wished not to
kill the fellow—I be damned if I did.”

The jurymen looked at each other with a
significant and approving air, which could be
translated as accidental death. Gabriel
touched the merchant upon the shoulder,
‘“You should have said to him, that you
merely wished to kill a mosquito upon the
wall.”

‘Capital idea,” cried the defendant. ‘I
be d—d if it was not a mosquito eating my
molasses that I wished to kill, after all.”

At that moment one of the jurymen ap-
proached the merchant and addressed him in
alow voice ; I could not hear what passed, but
I heard the parting words of the juryman,
which were, ‘‘All’s right!” ©To this dis-
penser of justice succeeded another’; indeed,Tay. TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

all the jurymen followed in succession, to
have a little private conversation with the
prisoner. At last the judge condescended
to cease his whittling, and come to make his
own bargain, which he did openly :

“« Any good saddles, Fielding ? mine looks

rather shabby.’

‘Yes, by Jingo, a fine one, bound with
blue cloth, and silver mnails—Philadelphia
made—prime cost sixty dollars.”

“That will do,” answered the judge,
walking back to his seat.

Ten minutes afterwards ‘the verdict of

manslaughter was returned:against ‘the defen-
dant, who was considered; in a speech from
the judge, sufficiently punished by the afflic-
tion which such an accident must produce to
a generous mind. The court broke up, and
Fielding, probably to show how deep was his
remorse, gave three cheers, to which ‘the
whole court answered with a hurrah, and the
merchant was called upon to treat the whole
company: of course he complied, and they
all left the court-house. Gabriel and I re-
mained behind. He had often tried to per-
suade me to abandon my ideas of ‘going to
the States and Europe, pointing out to me
that I should be made a dupe and become a
prey to pretended well-wishers. He had nar-
rated to me many incidents of his own life,
of his folly and credulity, which had thrown
him from an eminent station in civilized
society, and had been the cause of our meet-
ing in the Western World. He forewarned
me that I should be disappointed in my ex-
pectations, and reap nothing but vexation
and disappointment. He knew the world
too well, I knewnothing of it, and I thought
that he was moved by bitterness of spirit to
railso loud against it. He would fain persuade
me to retnrn with him to my own tribe of
Shoshones, and not go in search of what I
never should obtain. Hewas right, but I was
obstinate. Hedid not let pass this oppor-
tunity of giving me alesson.
_ You have now witnessed,” said he, ‘‘a
sample of justice in this soz-disant civilized
country. Two hundred dollars, perhaps,
have cleared a murderer; ten millions would
not have done it among the Shoshones.”’

‘« But Texasis not Europe,’ replied I.

“ No,’’ said Gabriel, ‘‘it is not; but in
Europe, as in Texas, with money you can do
anything, without money nothing.”

At that moment we perceived a man
wrapped in his blanket, and leaning against
a tree.

He surveyed the group receding to the
tavern, and the deepest feelings of hatred and
revenge were working evidently within him.
He saw us not, so intense were his thoughts.
It was the plaintiff whose son had been mur-
dered. Gabriel resumed.

“‘ Now mark that man; he was the plain-

  

tiff, the father of the young fellow so shametully
plundered and murdered; he is evidently a
poor farmer, or the assassin would have been
hung. He is now brooding over revenge; the
law gave not justice, he will take it into his own
hands, and he will probably have it to-night,
or to-morrow.’ Injustice causes crime, and
ninety-nine out of a’hundred are forced into
it by the impotency of the law ; they suffer
once, and afterwards act towards others as
they have been acted by. That man may
have been till this day a good, industrious, and
hospitable farmer ; to-night he will be a mur-
derer, in a week he will have joined the free
bands, and will then revenge himself upon
society at large, for the injustice he has re-
ceived from a small portion of the com-
munity.”

Till then I had never given credit to my
friend for any great share of penetration, but he
prophesied truly. Late in the night the
father announced his intention of returning
to his farm, and entered the general sleeping-
room of the hotel to light a cigar. A glance
informed him of all that he wished to know.
Forty individuals were ranged sleeping in
their blankets, alongside of the walls, which,
as I have observed, were formed of pine logs,
with a space of four or six inches between
each : parallel with the wall, next to the yard,
lay-the murderer Fielding.

The father left the room, ‘to ‘saddle his
horse. An hour afterwards the report of a
rifle was heard, succeeded’ by screams and
cries of ‘‘ Murder! help! murder!” Every
one in the sleeping-room was up in a moment,
lights were procured, and the judge was seen
upon his knees with his hands upon his hinder
quarters; his neighbour Fielding was dead,
and the same ball which had passed through .
his back and chest had blazed ‘the bark off
the nether parts of this pillar of Texian
justice.

When 'the first surprise was over, pursuit
of the assassin was resolved upon, and then
it was discovered that, in his revenge, the
father had not lost sight of prudence. All
the horses were loose; the stable and the
court-house, as well as the bar and _ spirit
store of the tavern, were in flames. While
the Bostonians endeavoured to steal what
they could, and the landlord was beating his
negroes, the only parties upon whom he could
vent his fury, our companions succeeded in
recovering their horses, and at break of day,
without any loss but the gold watch of the

doctor, which had, probably been stolen’ from
him during his ‘sleep, we ‘started for the last
day’s journey which we had to makein Texas.

As we rode away, nothing remained of
Texian Boston ‘except three patches of white
ashes, and a few half-burrd fags, nor do I
know if that important citf any parti-been re-

built. ie a idreams? siCHAPTER: XXXIM,

We were now but twenty miles from the
Red River, and yet this short distance proved
to be the most difficult travelling we had ex-
perienced fora long while. We had to cross
swamps, lagoons, and canebrakes, in which
our horses were bogged continually; so that
at noon, and after a ride of six hours, we had
only gained twelve miles. We halted upon a
dry knoll, and there, for the first time since
the morning, we entered into conversation :
for, till then, we. had been too busy scruti-
nizing the ground before our horses’ feet. I
‘had a great deal to say both to Gabriel: and
to Roche; we were to part the next morning,
—they to return to the Comanches and the
Shoshones, I to go on to the Mormons, and
perhaps to Europe.

I could not laugh at the doctor's Jon mors,
for my heart was full; til then, I had never
felt how long intercourse, and sharing’ the
same privations and dangers, will attach men
to each other ; and the perspective of a long
separation rendered me _ gloomier and
gloomier, as the time we still had to pass
together became shorter.

Our five American companions had altered
their intention of travelling with me through
the Arkansas. They had heard on the way,
that some new thriving cities had lately sprung
up on the American side of the Red River ;
the doctor was already speculating upon the
fevers and agues of the ensuing summer ; the
parson was continually dreaming of a neat
little church and a buxom wife, and the three
lawyers, of rich fees from the wealthy cotton
planters. The next day, therefore, I was to
be alone, among a people less hospitable than
the Indians, and among whom I had to per-
forma journey of a thousand miles on horse-

ack, constantly on the outskirts of civiliza-
tion, and consequently exposed. to all the
dangers of border travelling.

When we resumed our march through the
swampy canebrake, Gabriel, Roche, and I
kept a little behind our companions.

*« Think twice, whilst it is yet time,” said
Gabriel to me, ‘‘and believe me, it is better
to rule over your devoted and attached tribe
of Shoshones than to indulge in. dreams of
establishing a western empire; and, even if
you will absolutely make the attempt, why
should we seek the help of white men? what
can we expect from them and their assistance
but exorbitant claims and undue interference ?
With a few months’ regular organization, the
Comanches, Apaches, and Shoshones can be
made equal to any soldiers of the civilized
world, and among them ycu will have no
traitors.”’

I felt the truth of what he said, and for
a quarter of an hour I remained silent:
“Gabriel,’’ replied I at last, ‘‘I have now

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

gene too far to recede, and the plans which
I have devised are not for my own advantage,
but for the general welfare of the Shoshones
and of all the friendly tribes. I hope to live
to see them a great nation, and, at all events,
it is worth a trial.”

My friend shook his head mournfully ; he
was not convinced, but he knew the bent of
my temper, and was well aware that all he
could say would now be useless.

The natural buoyancy of our spirits would
not, however, allow us to be grave long ; and
when the loud’ shouts of the doctor announced
that he had caught sight of the river, we
sputred our horses, and soon rejoined our
company. We had by this time issued from
the swampy canebrakes, and were entering a
lane between two rich cotton-fields, and at the
end of which flowed the Red River; not the
beautiful, clear, and transparent stream
running upon a rocky and sandy bed, as in
the country inhabited by the Gomanches and
Pawnee Picts, and there termed the Colorado
of the West; but a red and muddy, yet
Tapid stream. We agreed that we should
not ferry the river that evening, but seek a
farm, and have: a feast before parting com-
pany. We learned from a negro that we
were in a place called Lost Prairie, and that
ten minutes’ ride down the bank of the stream
would carry us to Captain Finn’s plantation.
We received this news with wild glee, for
Finn was a celebrated character, one whose
life was so full of strange adventures in the
wilderness, that it would fill volumes’ with
hairbreadth encounters and events of thrilling
interest.

Captain Finn received us with a cordial
welcome, for unbounded hospitality is the
invariable characteristic of the older cotton
planters. A great traveller himself, he knew
the necessities of a travelling life, and, before
conducting us to the mansion, he guided us
to the stables, where eight intelligent slaves,
taking our horses, rubbed them down before
our eyes, and gave them a plentiful supply of
fodder and a bed of fresh straw.

“That will do till they are cool,” said our
kind host; ‘‘to-night they will have their
grain and water; letus now go to the old
woman and see what she can give us for
supper.”

A circumstance worthy of remark is, that,
in the western states, a husband always calls
his wife the old woman, and she calls him
the old man, no matter how young the couple
may be. I have often heard men of twenty-
five sending their slaves upon some errand
“to the old woman,” who was not probably
more than eighteen years old. A boy of ten
years callshis parentsin the same way. ‘‘ How
far to Little Rock?” I once asked of a little
urchin ; ‘‘I don’t know,” answered he, ‘‘ but
the old ones will tell you.” A few yards far-ther I met the ‘‘old ones;” they were both
young people, not much more than twenty.

In Mrs. Finn we found a stout and plump
farmer's wife, but she was a lady in her
manners. Born.in the wilderness, the daugh-
ter of one bold pioneer and married to
another, she had never seen anything but
woods, canebrakes, cotton, and negroes, and
yet in her kindness and hospitality, she dis-
played a refinement of feeling and good
breeding. She was daughter of thecelebrated
Daniel Boone, a name which has acquired a
reputation even in Europe. She immediately
ransacked her pantry, her hen-roost, and
garden, andwhen wereturned from the cotton-
mill, to which our host, in his farmer's pride,
had conducted us, we found, upon an immense
table, a meal which would haye satisfied fifty
of those voracious Bostonians whom we had
met with the day before at the Zad/e-d'-hdte.

Well do I recollect her, as she stood before
us on that glorious evening, her features
beaming with pleasure, as she witnessed the
rapidity with which we emptied our plates.
How happy she would look when we praised
her chickens, her honey, and her coffee ; and
then she would carve and cut, fill again our
cups, and press upon us all the delicacies of
the Far West borders—delicacies unknown in
the old countries ; such as fried beaver-tail,
smoked tongue of the buffalo-calf, and (the
gourmand's dish par excellence) the Louisiana
gombo. Her coffee, too, was superb, as she
was one of the few upon the continent of
America who knew how to prepare it.

After our supper, the captain conducted
us under the piazza attached to the building,
where we found eight hammocks suspended,
as white as snow. ‘There our host disinterred
from a large bucket of ice several bottles of
Madeira, which we sipped with great delight ;
the more so as, for our cane pipes and cheap
Cavendish, Finn substituted a box of genuine
Havana cazadores. After our fatigues and
starvation, it was more than comfortable—it
was delightful. The doctor vowed he would
become a planter, the parson asked if there
were any widows in the neighbourhood, and
the lawyers inquired if the planters of the
vicinity were any way litigious. By the bye,
I have observed that Captain Finn was a
celebrated character. As we warmed with
the Adadére frappé a glace, we pressed him to
relate some of his wild adventures, with which
request he readily complied ; for he loved, to
rehearse his former exploits, and it was not
always that he could narrate them to so
numerous an assembly. As the style he em-
ployed could only be understood by indivi-
duals who have rambled upon the borders of
the Far West, I will relate the little I remem-
ber in my own way, though I am conscious
that the narrative must lose much when told
by any one but Finn himself.

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

When quite aninfant, he had been taken
by the Indians and carried into the fastnesses
of the West Virginian forests ; there he had
been brought up till he was sixteen years old,’
when, during an Indian war, he was recap-
tured bya party of white men. Who were
his parents, he could never discover, and a
kind Quaker took him into his house, gave
him his name, and treated himas his own
child, sending him first to school, and then to
the Philadelphia college. The young man,
however, was little fit for the restrictions of a
university ; he would often escape and wander
for days in the forests, until hunger would
bring him home again. At last, he returned.
to his adopted father, who was now satisfied
that his thoughts were in the wilderness, and
that, in the bustle ofa large city and restraint
of civilized life, he would not live, but linger
on till he drooped and died.

This discovery was a sad blow to the kind’
old man, who had fondly anticipated that the’
youngster would be a kind and grateful com-
panion to him, when age should make him
feel the want of friendship; but he was a
just man, and reflecting that perhaps a short
year of rambling would cure him, he was the
first to propose it. Young Finn was grateful ;
beholding the tears of his venerable protector,
he would have remained and attended him
till the hour of his death; but the Quaker
would not permit him, he gaye him his_ best
horse, and furnished him with arms and
money. At that time, the fame of Daniel
Boone had filled the Eastern States, and
young Finn had read with avidity the adven-
tures of that bold pioneer. Hearing that he
was now on the western borders of Kentucky,
making preparations for emigration farther
west, into the very heart of the Indian
country, he resolved to join him and share the
dangers of his expedition.

The life of Boone is too well known for
me to describe this expedition. Suffice it to
say, that, once in Missouri, Finn conceived
and executed the idea of making alone a trip
across the Rocky Mountains, to the very
borders of the Pacific Ocean. Strange to say,
he scarcely remembers anything of that first
trip, which lasted eleven months.

The animals had not yet been scared out
of the wilderness ; water was found twice
every day ; the vine grew luxuriantly in the
forests, and the caravans of the white men
had not yet destroyed the patches of plums
and nuts which grew wild in the prairies.

Finn says he listened to the songs of the
birds, and watched the sport of the deer, the
buffaloes, and wild horses, in a sort of dream-
ing existence, fancying that he heard voices i
the streams, in the foliage of the trees, in the
caverns of the mountains ; his wild imagina-

tion sometimes conjuring’ up strange and
beautiful spirits of another world, who werehis guardians, and who lulled him asleep
every evening with music and perfumes.

I have related this pretty nearly in the
very terms of our host, and many of his
listeners have remarked at different times, that
when he was dwelling upon that particular
portion of his life, he became gloomy and ab-
stracted, as if still under the influence of
former indelible impressions. Undoubtedly
Captain Finn is of a strong poetical tempera-
ment, and any one on hearing him narrate
would say the same ; but it is supposed that,
when the captain performed this first soli-
tary excursion, his brain was affected by an
excited and highly poetical imagination.
After eleven months of solitude, he reached
the Pacific Ocean, and awoke from his long
illusion in the middle of a people whose lan-
guage he could not understand; yet they
were men of his colour, kind and hospitable;
they gave him jewels and gold, and sent him
back east of the mountains, under the protec-
tion of some simple and mild-hearted savages.
The spot were Finn had arrived was at one
of the missions, and those who released him
and sent him back were the good monks of
one of the settlements in Upper California.

When Finn returned to the Mississippi,
his narrative was so much blended with
strange and marvellous stories, that it was
not credited ; but when he showed and pro-
duced his stock of gold dust in bladders,
and some precious stones, fifty different pro-
posals were made to him to guide a band of
greedy adventurers to the new western Eldo-
rado. Finn, like Boone, could not bear the
society of his own countrymen ; he dreaded
to hear the noise of their axes felling the
beautiful trees ; he feared still more to intro-
duce them, like so many hungry wolves,
among the good people who knew so well
the sacred rites of hospitality.

After a short residence with the old back-
woodsman, Finn returned to Virginia, just in
time to close the eyes of the kind old Quaker.
He found that his old friend had expected his
return, for he had sold all his property, and
deposited the amount in the hands of a safe
banker, to be kept for Finn’s benefit. ‘The
young wanderer was amazed ; he had nuw
ten thousand dollars, but what could he do
with so much money? He thought of a
home, of love and happiness, of the daughter
of old Boone, and he started off to present
her with his newly-acquired wealth. Finn
entered Boone's cottage, with his bags and
pocket-books in each hand, and casting his
burden into a corner, he entered at once upon
the matter.

‘“Why, I say, old man, I am sure I love
the gal.”

‘* She is a comely and kind girl,” said the
father.

‘*T wish she could love me.”

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

‘* She does."’

‘‘ Does she? well, I tell you what, Boone,
give her to me, I'll try to make her happy.”

‘‘T will, but not yet,” said the venerable
patriarch. ‘‘Why, you are both of you
mere children; she can’t get a house, and
how could you support her 2?”

Finn jumped up with pride and glee.
‘‘ Look,” said he, while he scattered on the
floor his bank-notes, his gold, and silver,
‘that will support her bravely ; tell me, old
father, that will keep her snug, won't it?”

The pioneer nodded his head. ‘“ Finn,”
answered he, ‘‘you are a good young man,
and I like you; you think like me; you love
Polly, and Polly loves you ; mind, you shall
have her, when you are both old enough ;
but remember, my son, neither your pieces of
taoney nor your rags of paper will ever keep
a daughter of mine. No, no! you shall have
Polly, but you must first know how to use the
rifle and the axe.”

A short time after this interview, Finn
started upon another trip to unknown lands,
leaving old Boone to make the most he could
of his money. Now, the old pioneer,
although a bold hunter and an_ intrepid
warrior, was a mere child in matters of in-
terest, and in less than two months he had
lost the whole deposit, the only ‘‘gentle-
man’ he ever trusted having suddenly dis-
appeared with the funds. © In the meanwhile
Finn had gone down the Mississippi, to the
thirty-second degree of north latitude, when,
entering the western swamps, where no white
man had ever penetrated, he forced his way
to the Red River, which he reached a little
above the old French establishment of Nachi-
toches. Beyond this point, inland navigation
had neyer been attempted, and Finn, pro-
curing a light dug-out, started alone, with his
arms and his blanket, upon his yoyage of
discovery. During four months he struggled
daily against the rapid stream, till he at last
reached, in spite of rafts. and dangerous
eddies, its source at the Rocky Mountains.
On his return, a singular and terrible adven-
ture befel him; he was dragging his canoe
over a raft, exactly opposite to where now
stands his plantation, when,- happening to
hurt his foot, he lost hold of his canoe. It
was on the very edge of the raft, near a
ruffled eddy ; the frail bark was swamped in
a moment, and with it Finn lost his rifle, all
his arms, and his blanket.*

Now that cotton grown on the Red River
has been acknowledged to be the best in the
States, speculators have settled upon both
sides of it as far as two hundred miles above

* Rafts are an assemblage of forest trees, which
have been washed down to the river, from the under-
mining of its banks. At certain points they become
interlaced and stationary, stretching right across the
tiver, preventing the passage of even a canoe,118

Lost Prairie ; but at the time that Finn made
his:excursion, the country was’ a wilderness
of horrible morasses, where the alligators
basked unmolested. . For' months Finn found
himself a prisoner at Lost: Prairie, the spot
being surrounded with impenetrable swamps,
where the lightest foot would’) have sunk
many fathoms below the surface. As to
crossing the river, it was out of the question,
as it was more than half a: mile broad, and
Finn was no swimmer ; even'now) no human
being or animal can cross’ it at this-particular
spot, for so powerful are: the eddies; that,
unless: a pilot is: well acquainted’ with the
passage, a boat will be capsized in the whirl-
pools. Human life can be sustained upon
very: little, for Finn) managed to: live for
months upon a marshy ground’ six miles in
extent, partially covered with prickly pears,
sour grapes, and mushrooms. Birds he
would occasionally kill with sticks ; several
times he surprised tortoises coming on shore
to deposit their eggs, and once, when much
pressed by hunger, he gave'battle to a huge
alligator. Fire he had none; his clothes had
long been in rags; his beard had grown toa
great length, andvhis nails were sharp.as the
claws of a wild beast: At’ last there was
flood in the river; and above the raft. Finn
perceived two immense pine trees afloat in
the middle of the stream. Impelled by the
force of the current, they cut through the
raft, where the timber was: rotten, and then

‘grounded.

This was’ a chanee which Finn lost no
time in profiting by ; out of the fibrous sub-
stance of the prickly pear, he soon manufac-
tured sufficient rope to lash the two trees
together, with great labour got them afloat,
and was carried down the stream with the
speed of an arrow. He succeeded in landing
many miles below, on the eastern bank, but
he was so bruised, that for many days he was
unable to move.

One day a report was‘spread in the neigh-
bourhood of Port Gibson, that a: strange
monster, of the ourang-outang species, had
penetrated the canebrakes’ upon the western
banks of the Mississippi. Some negroes
declared to have’ seen him’ tearing’ down a
browm bear ; an Arkansas hunter had sent to
Philadelphia'an’ exaggerated’account of this
recently discovered animal, and the members
of the academies had written to him to catch
the animal, if possible, alive, no matter at
what expense. A hunting expedition was
consequently formed, hundteds- of dogs
were let loose in‘ the canebrakes; and the
chase began.

The hunters were assembied, waiting till
the strange animal should break cover, when
suddenly he burst upon them, covered with
blood, and. followed. closely by ten or: fifteen
hounds. He was armed-with a heavy:club,

 

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

    

with which he now and then turned upon the
dogs, crushing them at ablow. The hunters
were dumb with astonishment ; mounting
their horses, they sprang forward to witness,
the conflict ; the brute, on seeing them, gave
a loud shout; one of the hunters being.
terrified, fired at him with his rifle; the
strange’ animal put one of his hairy paws,
upon its breast, staggered, and fell; a voice,
was heard; ‘“The Lord forgive. you this
murder !””

On coming near, the hunters found that
their victim was a man, covered. with hair
from. head to foot; he was senseless, but. not
dead. They deplored their fatal error, and
resolved that.no expense or attention should’
be spared upon the unfortunate sufferer..
This hunted beast, this hairy man, was Finn.
The, wound, not being mortal, was soon
cured; but he became crazy, and did not
recover his reason for eight months. He
related his adventures up to his quitting the
Lost Prairie; after which all was a blank..
His narrative soon spread all over the States,
and land speculators crowded from every
part to hear Finn’s, description of the. un-
known countries. The government became
anxious to establish new settlements in these
countries, and Finn was induced to com-
mence the work of colonization by the gift of
the ‘‘Lost Prairie.” Money was also, sup-
plied to him, that he might purchase slaves ;
but, before taking possession of his grant, he
went to Missouri to visit his old friend, and
claim his bride. Her father had been dead’
some time, but the daughter was constant.

With. his wife, his brother-in-law, his.
negroes, and several waggons loaded with
the most necessary articles, Finn forced his
way to Little Rock, on the Arkansas River,
whence, after a short repose, he again started
in a S.S.W. direction, through.a hilly and
woody country never before travelled. At
last he reached the ‘‘ Lost Prairie ;” nothing
was heard of him for two years, when he
appeared ‘at Nachitoches in a long cow,* laden
with produce.

From Nachitoches Finn proceeded to New.
Orleans, where the money received. for his.
cotton, furs, and honey enabled him to pur-
chase two more negroes and a fresh supply
of husbandry tools. A company was imme-
diately formed for the purpose of exploring
the Red River as far as it might prove navi-
gable, and surveying the lands susceptible of
cultivation. A small steamboat was procured,
and its command offered to Finn, who thus:
became a captain. Although the boat could
not proceed higher than Lost Prairie, the re-

* A cow is a kind of floating raft peculiar to: the
western rivers of America, being composed of immense
pine trees tied together, and upon which a log cabin is
erected, :“sult of the survey induced hundreds of planters
to settle upon the banks of the river, and Cap-
tain Finn lived to become rich and honoured
by his countrymen. His great spirit of enter-
prise never deserted him, and it was he who
first proposed to the Government to cut
through the great rafts which impeded ‘the
navigation. His plans were followed, and
exploring steam-boats have. since:gone’nearly
a thousand miles above Captam Finn's plan-
tation at Lost Prairie.

 

CHAPTER XXXIV.

The next morning our American com-
panions bade us farewell, and resumed their
journey; but Captain’ Finn insisted that
Gabriel, Roche, and I should not leave him
so soon. He pointed out that my steed would
not be able to travel much farther, if I did
not give him at least two or three days’ re-
pose. As for the horses of my two.com-
panions, they had become quite useless, and
our host charged himself with procuring them
others, which would carry them back to the
Comanches.

Captain Finn’s hospitality was not, how-
ever, so heavily taxed, for during the day a
flotilla of fifteen canoes stopped before the
plantation, and a dozen of French traders
came up to the house. hey were intimate
friends of the captain, who had known them
for a long time, and it fortunately happened
that they were proceeding with goods to pur-
chase the furs of the Pawnee Picts. They
offered a passage to Gabriel and Roche, who,
of course, accepted the welcome proposition.
They embarked their saddles, with sundry
provisions, which the good Mrs. Finn forced
upon them, while her hospitable husband,
unknown to them, put into the canoes a bale
of such articles as he thought would be useful
to them during their long journey. ‘The gift,
as I afterwards learned, was composed of
pistols and holsters, a small keg of powder,
bars of lead, new bits and stirrups, and of
four Mackinaw blankets.

At last the moment arrived when I was
to part with my friends. I felt a bitter pang,
and I wept when I found myself alone. How-
ever, I consoled myself with the reflection
that our separation was not to be a long one,
and, cheered up by the captain, I soon over-
came the bitterness of the separation. Yet
for months afterwards I felt lonely and tired
of myself ; I had never had an idea how’ pain-
ful it is to part from the only few individuals
who are attached to you. My worthy host
showed much interest in my welfare. As he
had some business to transact at the Land
Office in the Arkansas, he resolved ‘that he
would accompany me two or three days on

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

 

 

my journey. Five days after the departure of
Gabriel and Roche, we crossed the Red River,
and ‘soon arrived at Washington, the only
place of any importance in the west of
Arkansas.

From Washington to Little Rock, the
capital of the state, there isa mail-road, with
farms at every fifteen or twenty miles ; but the
captain informed me that they were inhabited
by the refuse from other states, and that west
of the Mississippi (except in Louisiana and
Missouri) it was always safer to travel through
the wilderness and camp out. We accord-
ingly took the backward-trail, across a hilly
and romantic country, entirely mineral, and
full of extinct volcanoes. The quantity of
game found in these parts is incredible ; every
ten minutes we would start a band of some
twenty turkeys. Atiall times deer:were seen
grazing within rifle-shot, and I don’t think
that, on our first day's journey-over the hills,
we met less: than twenty bears.

Independent of ‘his love forthe wilderness
and his hatred of bowie-knife men, Captain
Finn had another reason for not following
the mail-road. He had business to transact
at the celebrated hot springs, and he had to
call on his way upon one of his brothers-in-
law, a son of Boone, and a mighty hunter,
who had settled in the very heart of the
mountains, and who made it a rule to take a
trip every spring to the Rocky Mountains.
The second day, at noon, after a toilsome
ascent of a few thousand feet, we arrived at a
small clearing on the top of the mountains,
where the barking of the dogs and the crow-
ing of the fowls announced the vicinity of a
habitation, and, ere many minutes had
elapsed, we heard the sharp report of a rifle,

““Young Boone's own, I declare,” ex-
claimed Finn; ‘‘’twas I that gave him the
tool. I should know its crack amidst a
thousand. Now‘mark me, chief, Boone never
misses ; he has killed a deer or a ‘bear ; if the
first, search for a hole between the fifth and
sixth rib ; if a bear, look to the eye. At all
events, the young chap is a’capital cook, and
we arrive in good time. Did I not'say so?
By all the alligators in the swamps! (Eh,
Boone, my boy, how fares it with ye?”

We had by this time arrived at the ‘spot
where the buck/lay dead, and near the body
was standing the gaunt form of a man, about
forty years old, dressed in tanned leather, and
standing six feet nine in his mocassins.
Though we were within a yard of him, he
reloaded his rifle with imperturbable gravity,
and it was only when he had finished that
job that I could perceive his grim’ features
beaming with a smile.

“Welcome, old’ boy ; welcome, stranger ;
twice welcome to the hunter's home. Iknew
somebody was coming, because I saw the
pigeons were flying up from the valley below;cahlae se a see
“a” wd =

 

    
  
    
 
  
     
    
 
  
   
   
    
   
     
 
  
  
  
    
  
   
   
 
   
   
 
  
    
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
    
  

 

 

120 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

and as dried venison won't do after a morning
trip, why, I took the rifle to kill a beast out of
my flock.”’ The hunter grinned at his conceit.
‘You see,” he continued, ‘‘this place of
mine is a genuine spot for a hunter. Every
morning, from my threshold, I can shoot a
deer, a bear, or a turkey. I can’t abide living
in a country where an honest man must toil a
whole day for a mouthful of meat; it would
never do for me, Down, Blackey; down,
Judith; down, dogs. Old boy, take the
scalping-knife and skin the beast under the
red oak.”

This second part of the sentence was ad-
dressed to a young lad of sixteen, an inmate
of the hunter’s cabin; and the dogs, having
come to the conclusion that we were not
robbers, allowed us to dismount our horses,
‘The cabin was certainly the ze plus ultra of
simplicity, and yet it was comfortable. Four
square logs supported a board—it was the
table ; inany more were used as fauteuzls ;
and buffalo and bear hides, rolled in a corner
of the room, were the bedding. A stone jug,
two tin cups, and a large boiler, completed
the furniture of the cabin. There was no
chimney ; all the cooking was done outside.
In due time we feasted upon the hunter's
spoil, and, by way of passing the time, Boone
related to us his first grizzly bear expedition.

While a very young man, he had gone to
the great mountains of the West with a party
of trappers. His great strength and dex-
terity in handling the axe, and the deadly
precision of his aim with the rifle, had given
him a reputation among his companions, and
yet they were always talking to him asif he
were a boy, because he had not yet followed
the Red-skins on the war-path, nor fought a
grizzly bear, which deed is considered quite as
honourable and more perilous.

Young Boone waited patiently for an
Opportunity, when one day he witnessed a
terrible conflict, in which one of these huge
monsters, although wounded by twenty balls,
was so closely pursuing the trappers, his com-
panions, that they were compelled to seek
their safety by plunging into the very middle
of a broad river. There, fortunately, the
strength of the animal failed, and the stream
rolled him away. It had been a terrible
fight, and for many days the young man
would shudder at the recollection ; but he
could no longer bear the taunts which were
bestowed upon him, and, without announcing
his intention to his companions, he resolved
to leave them, and bring back with him the
claws of a grizzly bear, or die in the attempt.
For two days he watched in the passes of the
mountains, till he discovered, behind some
bushes, the mouth of a dark cave, under a
mass of rocks. The stench which proceeded
from it and the marks at the entrance were
sufficient to point ont to the hunter that it

contained the object of his search; but, as
the sun had set, he reflected that the beast
was to a certainty awake, and most probably
out in search of prey. Boone climbed up.a
tree, from which he could watch the entrance
to the cave ; having secured himself and his
rifle against a fall by thongs of leather, with
which a hunter is always provided, fatigue
overpowered him, and he slept.

At morn he was awakened by a growl and
a rustling noise below; it was the bear
dragging to his abode the carcase of a buck.
When he thought that the animal was glutted
with flesh, and sleeping, Boone descended the
tree, and leaning his rifle against the rock, he
crawled into the cave to reconnoitre. It must
have been a terrible moment; but he had
made up his mind, and he possessed all the
courage of his father: the cave was spacious
and dark. The heavy grunt of the animal
showed that he was asleep.

By degrees, the vision of Boone became
more clear, and he perceived the shaggy mass
at about ten feet from him, and about twenty
yards from the entrance of the cave. The
ground under him yielded to his weight, for
it was deeply covered with the bones of ani-
mals, and more than once he thought himself
lost, when rats, snakes, and other reptiles,
disturbed by him from their meal, would start
away in every direction, with loud hissing
and other noises. “The brute, however, never
awoke, and Boone, haying finished his sur-
vey, crawled out from this horrid den to pre-
pare for the attack,

He first cut a piece of pitch-pine, six or
seven feet Jong, then, taking from his pouch
a small cake of bee’s-wax, he wrapped it
round one end of the stick, giving it at the
extremity the shape of a small cup, to held
some whiskey. ‘This done, he re-entered the
cavern, turned to his left, fixed his new kind
of flambeau upright against the wall, poured
the liquor in the wax cup, and then went out
again to procure fire. With the remainder of
his wax and a piece of cotton twine, he made
a small taper, which he lighted, and crawled
in again over the banes, shading his light with
one hand till he bad applied the flame to the
whiskey. The liquor was above proof, and
as Boone returned and took up his position
nearer the entrance, with his rifle; it threw up
a vivid flame, which soon ignited the wax and
the pitch-pine itself.

The bear. required something more than
light to awake him from his almost lethargic
sleep, and Boone threw bone after bone at
him, till the brute woke up, growled with
astonishment at the unusual sight before him,
and advanced. lazily to examine it. The
young man had caught up his rifle by the
barrel; he took a long and steady aim, as he
knew that he must die if the bear was only
wounded ; and as the angry animal raised hispaw to strike down the obnoxious torch, he
fired. There was a heavy fall, a groan, and
a struggle—the light was extinguished, and
all was dark as before. The next morning
Boone rejoined his companions as they were
taking their morning meal, and, throwing at
their feet his bleeding trophies, he said to
them, ‘‘ Now, who will dare to say that [am
not aman?’’

The history of this bold deed spread in a
short time to even the remotest tribes of the
North, and when, years afterwards, Boone
fell a prisoner to the Black-feet Indians, they
restored him to liberty and loaded him with
presents, saying that they could not hurt the
great brave who had vanquished in his own
den the evil spirit of the mountains.

At another time, Boone, when hardly
pressed by a party of the Flat-head Indians,
fell into a crevice, and broke the butt of his
rifle. He was safe, however, from immediate
danger ; at least, he thought so, and resolved
he would remain where he was till his pursuers
should abandon their search. On examining
the place which had afforded him so oppor-
tune a refuge, he perceived it was a spacious
natural cave, having no other entrance than
the hole or aperture through which he had
fallen. He thanked Providence for this for-
tunate discovery, as, for the future, he would
have a safe place to conceal his skins and
provisions while trapping ; but as he was pro-
secuting his search, he perceived with dismay
that the cave was already inhabited.

In a corner he perceived two jaguars,
which followed his movements with glaring
eyes.. A single glance satisfied him they were
cubs ; but a maddening thought shot across
his brain; the mother was out, probably not
far; she might return in a moment, and he
had no arms, except his knife and the barrel
of his broken rifle. ‘While musing upon his
perilous situation, he heard a roar, which sum-
moned all his energy ; he rolled a loose mass
of rock to the entrance; made it-as firm
as he could by backing it with other stones;
tied his knife to the end of-his rifle barrel,
and calmly waited for the issue. A minute
passed, when’ a tremendous jaguar dashed
against the rock, and Boone needed all his
giant’s strength to prevent it from giving way.

Perceiving that main force could not clear
the passage, the animal began scratching and
digging at the entrance, and its hideous roars
were soon responded to by the cubs, which
threw themselves upon Boone. He kicked
them away, but not without receiving several
ugly scratches, and, thrusting the blade of
his knife through the opening between the
large stone and the solid rock, he broke it
in the shoulder of the female jaguar, which,
with a yell, started away. ‘This respite was
fortunate, as by this time Boone's strength
was exhausted ; he profited by the suspension

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Ler

of hostility, so as to increase the impediments
in case of a new attack ; and reflecting that
the mewings of the cubs attracted and en-
raged the mother, he knocked their brains
out with the barrel of his rifle. During two
hours he was left to repose himself after his
exertions, and he was beginning to think the
animal had been scared away, when another
terrible bound against the massive stone forced
it a few inches into the cave. For an hour
he struggled, till the jaguar, itself tired, and
not hearing the mewings of her cubs, retired
with a piteous howl.

Night came, and Boone began to despond.
Leaving the cave was out of the question, for
the brute was undoubtedly watching for him ;
and yet remaining was almost as dangerous,
as long watching and continual exertion
weighed down his eyelids and rendered sleep
imperative. . He decided to remain where he
was, and after another hour of Jabour in
fortifying the entrance, he lay down to sleep,
with the barrel of his rifle close to him, in
case of attack.

He had slept about three or four hours,
when he was awakened by a noise close to his
head. ‘The moon was shining, and shot her
beams through the crevices at the mouth of
the cave. A foreboding of danger would not
allow Boone to sleep any more; he was
watching with intense anxiety, when he ob-
served several of the smaller stones he had
placed round the piece of rock rolling towards
him, and that the rays of light streaming into
the cave were. occasionally darkened by
some interposed body. It was the jaguar,
which had been undermining the rock : one
after the other, the stones gave way ; Boone
rose, grasped his heavy rifle barrel, and deter-
mined to await the attack of the animal,

In a second ortwo, the heavy stone rolled
a few feet into the cave ; the jaguar advanced
her head, then her shoulders, and at last, a
noiseless bound brought her within four feet
of Boone, who at that critical moment collect-
ing all his strength for a decisive blow,
dashed her skull to atoms. Boone, quite
exhausted, drank some of her blood to allay
his thirst, pillowed his head upon her body,
and fell into a deep sleep,

The next morning Boone, after having
made a good meal off one of the cubs, started
to rejoin his companions, and communicated
to them his adventure and discovery.. A short
time afterwards, the cave was stored with all
the articles necessary’ to a -trapper’s life, and
soon became the’ rendezvous of all the adven-
turous men from the banks of the river Platte
to the shores of the Great Salt Lake.

Since Boone had’ settled in his present
abode, he had had a hand-to-hand fight with
a black bear; in the: very room where we were
sitting. When he had'built his log cabin, it
was with the intention of taking to himself a122 TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

wife. At that time he courted the. daughter.
of one of the old Arkansas’ settlers, and he
wished to have ‘‘a place and a crop. on foot”’
before he married.. The girl was killed. by
the fall of a tree, and Boone, in his sorrow,
sent away the men whom he had hired. to help
him in ‘‘ turning his field,” forhe wished to be
alone.

Months elapsed, and his crop of corn. pro-
mised an abundant harvest; but he cared
not. He would. take his rifle and remain
sometimes for amonth in the woods, brooding
over hisloss. The season was far advanced,
when, one day returning home, he perceived
that the bears, the squirrels, and the deer had
made rather free with the golden. ears of his
corn. ‘The remainder he resolved to save for
the use of his horse, and as he wished to be-
gin harvest next morning, he slept that night
in the cabin, on his solitary pallet. The heat
was intense, and, as usual. in these countries
during summer, he had left his door wide
open.

It was about midnight, when he heard
something tumbling in the room ; he rose in
amoment, and, hearing a short ‘and heavy;
breathing, he asked who it was, for the dark-
ness was such, that he could not see two
yards before him. No answer being given,
except a kind of haif-smothered grunt, he ad-
vanced, and, putting out his hand, he seized
the shaggy coat ofa bear. Surprise rendered
him motionless, and the animal giving him a
blow in the chest with his terrible paw, threw
him down outside the door. Boone could
have escaped, but, maddened with the pain
of his fall, he only thought of vengeance, and,
seizing his knife and tomahawk, which were
fortunately within his. reach, he darted
furiously at the beast, dealing blows at ran-
dom. Great as was his strength, his toma-
hawk could not penetrate through the thick
coat of the animal, which, having encircled
the body of his assailant with his, paws, was
pressing him in one of those deadly embraces
which could only have been resisted by a
giant like Boone. Fortunately, the black
bear, unlike the grizzly, very seldom. uses his
claws and teeth in fighting, contenting hin
self with smothering his victim. Boone’ dis-
entangled: his left: arm; and) with his. knife
dealt a. furious: blow upon the snout of the
animal, which, smarting with pain, released
his hold.. The snout is: the only vulnerable
part’ in an old black: bear. Even at. forty
yards, the ball of a rifle will flatten against his
skull, and ifin any other part of the body,, it
will scarcely: produce any serious effect.

Boone, aware of this, and not daring to
risk another hug, darted away’ from. the
cabin. The bear, now quite angry, fol-

lowed and overtook him near the: fence.
Fortunately the clouds were clearing . away;
and the moon: threw light sufficient to enable

 

the hunter to-strike with a more certain aim 2
chance also favoured him ; he found on the
ground one of the rails made of the blue ash,
very heavy, and ten feet in length ; he dropped
his knife and tomahawk, and seizing the rail;
he renewed the fight with caution, “for it had
now; become a. struggle for life or death.

Had it been a bull or a panther, they
would have have had their bones shivered to
pieces by the tremendous blows which Boone
dealt upon his adversary with all the strength
of despair ; but Bruin is by nature an admira-
ble fencer, and, in spite of his unwieldy shape,
there isnot in the world an animal whose
motions are more rapid in a close encounter.
Once or twice he was knocked down by the
force of the, blews, but generally he would
parry them with a wonderful agility. At last,
he succeeded in seizing the other end of the
rail and dragged it towards him with irre-
sistible. force. Both man and. beast fell,
Boone rolling to the place where he had
dropped, his arms, while the bear advanced
upon him; the moment was a critical one,
but Boone was accustomed to look at and brave
death under every shape, and with a. steady.
hand he buried his tomahawk in the snout of
his enemy, and, turning round, he rushed to
his, cabin, believing he would have time to
secure the door. He closed the latch, and
applied his shoulders to it ; but it was of no
avail, the terrible brute dashed in head fore-
most, and tumbled in the room with Boone
and the fragments of the door. The two
foes rose and stared at each other; Boone
had nothing left but bis knife, but Bruin was
tottering and unsteady, and Boone felt that
the match was;more equal ; once more they
closed.

A few: hours. after sunrise, Captain Finn,
returning home from the Legislature at Little
Rock, called upon his friend, and, to his
horror, found him apparently lifeless on the
floor, and alongside of him, the body of the
bear. Boone soon recovered, and found that
the lucky blow which had saved him from
being crushed to:death had buried the whole
blade of his knife, through the left eye, in the
very brain of the ‘animal. *

 

CHAPTER XXXV.

The next morning, we all three started,
and, by noon we: had crossed the Washita
River. It is the most beautiful stream I
know of, being cool and. transparent, averag-
ing a. depth of eight or ten feet, and running

* The black bear does not. grow to any great size in
the eastern and northern, parts of America, but in Arkan>
sas and the adjacent states it becomes, from its size and
strength, almost as formidable an antagonist as a grizzly
bear, It is. very common to find them eight hundred
weight, but sometimes:they weigh above a thousand
pounds,

   

supon a hard sandy bottom. While wewere
crossing, Boone told us that as soon as we
arrived at the summit of the woody hills
before us, if we looked’ sharp, we should ‘see
some bears, for he had never passed that way
without shooting one or two.

We forded the stream, and entered into’a
noble forest of maple trees, the ground now
rising in gentle swells for several miles, when
the fir-pines, sugceeding to the maple, told us
that we had reached the highest point. of the
hills. Hearing some trampling and _ rustling
at a distance, I spurred my horse to take the
lead and have the first chance of a shot, when
I perceived to my left, not twenty:yards from
me and in a small patch of briars, a large she-
bear playing with her cub. I-was just raising
my rifle to fire, when Boone's voice called me
back, and I perceived that he and Finn had
just dismounted and entered .a thicket.
Knowing that they must. have an ‘object in
view, I joined them, and asked them what
was the maiter.

‘Rare sport,” answered Finn, extending
his hand towards a precipitous and rocky
part of the mountain.

It was sport, and of a very singular des-
cription.

A large deer was running vat full speed,
closely pursued by a puma. ‘The chase had
already been a long one, for as they came
nearer and nearer, | could perceive both their
long parched tongues ,/hanging ‘out of their
mouths, and their bounding, though power-
ful, was no longer so elastic as usual. The
deer, having now arrived within two hundred
yards of the bear, stopped a moment to sniff
the air ; then coming still nearer, he made a
bound, with his head extended, to ascertain
if Bruin was still near him. .As the puma
was closing with him, the deer wheeled sharp
round, and turning back.almost, upon his own
trail, passed within thirty yards.of his pursuer,
who, not being able at once to:stop his career,
gave’an angry growland followed the deer
again, but .at a distance of some hundred
yards; hearing the growl, Bruin drew her
body half out of the briars, remaining: quietly
on the look-out.

““Gone,’’ I exclaimed.

“Wait a bit,’’ answered.Boone; ‘‘here he
comes again.”

He was right ; the deer again appeared,
coming towards us, but his speed was much
reduced, and as he approached us, it was
evident that the animal was calculating his
distance with admirable precision.
puma, now expecting to seize his prey, fol-
lowed about thirty yards behind ; the bear,
aware of the close vicinity of her enemy,
cleared the briars and squared - herself for
action, when the deer, witha ‘beautiful and
powerful spring, passed the bear’s head and
disappeared. At the moment he took the

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

The °

leap, ithe puma was :close‘upon him, and was
just balancing himself for a ‘spring, when ‘he
perceived, to his astonishment, that now he
was faced by a formidable adversary, not the
least disposed to fly. .He crouched, lashing
his flanks with his long tail, while the bear,
about five «yards ‘from him, remained like a
Statue, looking at the puma with ‘his little
glaring eyes.

One minute they remained thus : the puma,
itssides heaving with exertion, agitated, and
apparently undecided; the bear, perfectly
calm and motionless. Gradually the puma
crawled backwards, till'at a right distance for
a spring, when, throwing all its weight upon
its hind parts, to'increase its power, it darted
upon the bearlikelightning, and fixed its claws
into her back. The bear, with ‘irresistible
force, seized ‘the puma with ‘her two fore-
paws, pressing it with all the weight’ of her
body and rollmg: over it. ‘We heard a heavy
grunt, a plaintiff howl, a ‘crashing ‘of ‘bones,
and the pumawas dead. The cub of the
bear:came'to ascertain what was going on,
and after a few minutes’ examination of the
victim, it strutted down the slope of the hill,
followed. by itsmother, which-was apparently
‘unhurt. Wedid not attempt to prevent their
retreat, for among real hunters in the wilds,
there is: a feeling which restrains them from
attacking an animal which has just undergone
a deadly strife. This is a very common
practice of the deer, when chased by a puma
—that of leading him'to’the haunt of a’ bear :
I have often witnessed it,.although I never
before-knew ‘the deer'to turn, as it did in this
instance.

This incident “reminds ‘me of ‘another,
which was witnessed! by ‘Gabriel, a short time
before the «murder of the Prince ‘Seravalle.
Gabriel had left his companions, to look after
game, and ‘he soon.came upon the track of a
wild boar, which led toa grove of tall -persi-
mon. trees*; then, for the first time, ‘he per-
ceived that he had left his pouch and powder-
horn in ‘the camp; but he cared little about
it, as he knew that his aim was certain.
Within sixty yards of the grove, hespied the
boarat the foot of one of the outside trees ;
the animal ‘was eating the fruit which had
fallen. Gabriel ‘raised his eyes to the thick-
leaved branches of ‘the tree, and perceived
that there was ‘a'large black bear in the tree,
also regaling himself with the fruit. Gabriel
approached >to ‘within’ thirty yards, and
was quite absorbed with the novelty of the
sight.

At every ‘motion of Bruin, hundreds of
persimons would fall down, and these, of
course, were the ripest. This the bear knew
very well, and it was with no small jealousy
that he witnessed the ‘boar ‘below making so
luxurious a meal ‘at his expense, while he
could:only pick the green fruit, and that with324. TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

difficulty, as he dared not trust his body too
far upon the smaller limbs of the tree. “Now
and then he would growl fiercely, and put
his head down, and the boar would look at
him with a pleased and grateful motion of
the head, answering the growl by a grunt,
just as to say, ‘‘ Thank you; very polite to
eat the green ones and send me the others.”
This Bruin understood, and he could bear it
no longer; he began to shake the tree vio-
lently, till the red persimons#ell like a shower
around the boar; then there was a duet of
growls and grunts—angry and terrific from
the bear above, denoting satisfaction and
pleasure on the part of the boar below.

Gabriel had come in pursuit of the boar,
but now he changed his mind, for, considering
the present angry mood of Bruin, he was cer-
tain to be attacked by himif discovered. As
to going away, it was a thing he would not
think of, as long as his rifle was loaded ; sohe
waited and watched, until the bear should
give him an opportunity of aiming at a vital
part. This he waited for in vain, and, on
reflection, he determined to wound the bear;
for knowing the humour of the animal,
he felt almost positive it would produce a
conflict between him and the boar, which the
bear would attack in his wrath. He fired:
the bear was evidently wounded, although
but slightly, and he began roaring and
scratching his neck in a most furious manner,
and looking vindictively at the boar, which,
at the report of the rifle, had merely raised
his head for a moment, and then resumed his
meal, Bruin was certainly persuaded that
the wound he had received had been inflicted
by the beast below. He made up his mind
to punish him, and, to spare the trouble and
time of descending, dropped from the tree,
and rushed upon the boar, which met him at
once, and, notwithstanding Bruin’'s great
strength, he proved to him that a ten years’
old wild boar, with seven-inch tusks, was a
very formidable antagonist. Bruin soon felt
the tusks of the boar ripping him up; ten or
twelve streams of blood were rushing from
his sides, yet he did not give way; on the
contrary, he grew fiercer and fiercer, and at
last the boar was almost smothered under the
huge paws of his adversary. The struggle
lasted a few minutes more, the grunting and
growling becoming fainter and fainter, till
both combatants lay motionless. They were
dead when Gabriel came up to them; the
bear horribly mangled, and the boar with
every bone of his body broken. Gabriel filled
his hat with the persimons which were the
cause of this tragedy, and returned to the
camp for help and ammunition.

Finn, Boone, and I resumed our journey,
and after a smart ride of two hours we entered
upon a beautiful spot, called ‘‘ Magnet Cove.”
‘This is one of the great curiosities of the

 

Arkansas, and there are few planters who do
not visit it at least once in their lives, even if
they have to travel a distance of one hundred
miles.

It is a small valley surrounded by rocky
hills, one or two hundred feet high, and
forming a belt, in the shape of a horse-shoe.
From these rocks flow hundreds of sulphuric
springs, some boiling and some cold, all pour-
ing into large basins, which their waters have
dug out during their constant flow of so
many centuries. These mineral springs are
so very numerous in this part of the country,
that they would scarcely be worth mention-
ing, were it not that in this valley, for more
than a mile in circumference, the stones and
rocks, which “are of a dull black colour and
very heavy, are all magnetic.

It is a custom for every visitor to bring
with him some pieces of iron, to throw against
the rocks: the appearance is very strange ;
old horse-shoes, forks. knives, bars of iron,
nails, and barrels of pistols, are hanging from
the projecting stones, the nails standing up-
right, asif they were growing. These pieces
of iron have themselves become very power-
fully magnetic. I picked up a horse-shoe,
which I afterwards found lifted a bar of stee}
of two pounds weight.

Half a mile from this singular spot dwelt
another old pioneer, a friend of my com-
panions, and at his cabin we stopped to pass
the night. Our host was only remarkable for
his great hospitality and greater taciturnity ;
he had always lived in the wilds, quite alone,
and the only few words he would utter were
incoherent. It appeared as if his mind was
fixed upon scenes of the past. In his early
life he had been one of the companions of the
celebrated pirate La Fitte, and after the de-
fence of New Orleans, in which the pirates
played no inconsiderable part (they had the
management of the artillery), he accepted the
free pardon of the President, and forcing his
way through the forests and swamps of
Louisiana, was never heard of for five or six
years. Subsequently, circumstances brought
about an intimacy between him and my two
companions, but, contrary to the habits
of pioneers and trappers, he never reverted
to his former adventures, but always evaded the
subject.

There were mysterious rumours afloat
about treasure which had been buried by the
pirates in Texas, known only to him; a thing
not improbable, as the creeks, lagoons, and
bays of thatcountryhad always been afavourite
resort of these freebooters; but nothing
had ever been extracted from him relative to
the question. He was now living with a
Indian woman of the Flat-head tribe, by whom
he had several children, and this was also a
subject upon which the western farmers had
much to say,Had the squaw been a Creek, a Cherokee,
or an Osage woman, it would have created no

surprise ; but how came he in possession of a ~

woman belonging to so distant a tribe? More-
Over, the squaw looked so proud, so imperious,
So queenly ; there was a mystery, which every
one was anxious, but unable to solve,

We left our host early in the morning, and
arrived at noon at the hot springs, where I
was to part company with my entertaining
companions.

I was, however, persuaded to remain till
the next morning, as Finn wished to give me
a letter fora friend of his in South Missouri.
Of the hot springs of the Arkansas, I can give
no better description, than by quoting the
following lines from a Little Rock news-
paper :— ;

‘“The warm springs are among the most
interesting curiosities of our country : they are
in great numbers. One of them, the central
one, emits a vast quantity of water ; the ordi-
nary temperature is that of boiling water.
When the season is dry, and the volume of
water somewhat diminished, the temperature
of the water increases, .

‘‘The waters are remarkably limpid and
pure, and are used by the people who resort
there for health, for culinary purposes. They
have been analyzed, and exhibit no mineral
properties beyond common spring water.
Their efficacy, then; for they are undoubtedly
efficacious to many invalids-that resort there,
results from the shades of the adjacent moun-
tains, and. from the cool and oxygenated
mountain breeze; the convenience of warm
and tepid bathing; the novelty of fresh and
mountain scenery, and the necessity of temper,
ance, imposed by the poverty of the country
and the difficulty of procuring supplies. The
cases in which the waters are supposed to be
efficacious, are those of rheumatic affection,
general debility, dyspepsia, and cutaneous
complaints.. At a few yards from the hot
Springs is one strongly sulphuric and_re-
markable for its coldness. In the wild and
mountain scenery of this lonely region, there
is much of grandeur and novelty to fix the
curiosity of the lover of nature,”’

The next morning I bade farewell to Finn
and Boone, and set off on my journey. I
could not help feeling a strange sensation of
loneliness, as I passed hill after hill, and
wood after wood. It seemed to me as if
Something was wrong ; I talked to myself,
and often looked behind to see if any one was
coming my way. ‘This feeling, however, did
not last long, and I soon learned that, west
of the Mississippi, a man with a purse and a
good horse must never travel in the company
of strangers, without he is desirous to lose
them and his life to boot.

I rode without stopping the forty-five
miles of dreary road which leads from the

  

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET

hot springs to Little Rock, and ‘I arrived in
that capital early at noon,

Foreigners are constantly visiting eve
part of the United States, and yet very few,
if any, have ever visited the Arkansas. ‘They
seem all to be frightened away by the nume-
rous stories of Arkansas murders, with which
a tourist is always certain to be entertained
on board one of the Mississipi steam-boats.
Undoubtedly these reports of murders and
atrocities have been, as all things else are in
the United States, much exaggerated, but
none can deny that the assizes of Arkansas
contain more cases of stabbing and shoot-
ing than ten of the other states put to-
gether.

The very day I arrived at Little Rock I
had an opportunity of witnessing two or
three of these Arkansas incidents, and also to
hear the comments made upon them. . Legis-
lature was then sitting. Two of the legisla-
tors happened to be of a contrary opinion,
and soon abused each other. From words
they came to blows, and one shot the other
with one of Colt’s revolving six-barrel pistols.
This event stopped legislative business for
that day; the corpse was carried to the
tavern where I had just arrived, and the
murderer, having procured bail for two thou-:
sand dollars, ran away during the night,
and nobody ever thought of searching for
him.

The corpse proved to be a bonus for my
landlord, who had it deposited in a room
next to the bar, and as the news spread, all
the male population of Little Rock came in
crowds to see with their own eyes, and to
give their own opinion of the case over a
bottle.of wine or a glass of whisky.

Being tired, I went to bed early, and was
just dozing, in spite of the loud talking and
Swearing below, when I heard five or six
shots fired in rapid succession, and followed
by yells and screams. | got up and stopped
a negro girl, as she was running upStairs, a
picture of terror and despair.

‘“What is the matter, Blackey?” said I,
“‘are they shooting in the bar ?”

‘“Oh, yes, massa,” she answered, ‘‘ they
shoot terrible. Dr, Francis says, Dr. Gray is
a blackguard ; Dr. Grey says, Dr, Francis is
a ruffian ; Dr. Francis shoots with big pistols
and kills Dr. Grey ; Dr. Grey shoots with
Other pistols and kills Dr. Francis.”

‘“What,” I exclaimed, ‘after he was
dead?”

‘‘Oh no, massa, before he was dead ;
they shoot together—pan, pan, pan.”

I went downstairs to ascertain the cir-
cumstances attending this double murder. A
coroner's inquest had been held upon the body
of the legislator killed in the morning, and
the two surgeons, who had both drunk freely
at the bar, had quarrelled about the direction126

which the ball had taken. As they did not
agree, they came to words; from words to
blows ; ending in the grand fizale of shoot-
ing each other.

I was so sickened and disgusted with the
events of one day, that I paid my bill, saddled
my horse myself, and got a man to ferry me
over the Arkansas river, a noble, broad, and
rapid stream, on the southern bank of which
the capital is situated. I rode briskly for a
short hour, and camped in the woods alone,
preferring their silence and dreariness to re-
maining to witness, under a roof, further
scenes of bloodshed and murder.

North of the Arkansas river, the popula-
tion, though rough and ‘‘not better than it
should be,’’ is less sanguinary and much
more hospitable ; that is to say, a landlord
will show you civility for your money, and in
Batesville, a city (fifty houses, I think) upon
the northern bank of the White River, I found
thirty generals, judges, and majors, who con-
descended to show me every bar in the place,
purchasing sundry dozens of Havannahs and
drinking sundry long toasts in iced wine,
which wine and tobacco, although ordered
and consumed by themselves, they left me to
pay for, which I was willing to do, as I
was informed that these gentlemen always
refrain from paying anything when a
stranger is present, from fear of wounding
his delicacy.

It was in Batesville that I became en-
lightened as to the western paper currency,
which was fortunate, as I purchased one
hundred and forty dollars in ‘‘ shin plasters,’
as they call them, for an English sovereign ;
and for my travelling expenses they answered
just as well. In the White River ferry-boat,
I met with one of those itinerant Italian ped-
lars, who are found, I think, everywhere
under heaven, selling pins, needles, and
badly-coloured engravings, representing all
the various passages of William ‘Tell’s_his-
tory, and the combats during the ‘‘ three
days,” in 1830. Although not a refined com-
panion, the Genevese spoke Italian, and I
was delighted to converse in that soft tongue,
not a word of which I.had spoken since the
death of Prince Seravalle. I invited my
companion to the principal tavern, and
called at the bar for two tumblers of iced-

mint tulip.

“How much?” I asked from the bar-
keeper.

‘« Five dollars,’’ he answered.

I was quite thunderstruck, and, putting my
money back in my pocket, I told him I would
not pay him at all. The man then began to
swear I was a queer sort of a chap, and
wondered how a geztleman could drink at a
bar and not pay for his liquor.

‘«7 always. pay,’ JI answered, . ‘‘ what
others pay; but I will not submit to sucha

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

   

swindling, and give five dollars for what is
only worth twenty-five cents.”’

The host then came to me, with a smile.

‘“Why, ‘sir, we don't charge more to you
than to others. Five dollarsin ‘shin plasters,’
or twenty-five cents. in specie.” °

All was thus explained, and the next
morning I satisfied my bill of twenty-two
dollars, with one dollar and twelve cents. in
silver.

This may appear strange tothe English
reader, who prefers bank-notes'to gold; but
he must reflect that England is not Arkansas,
and that the Bank of England is not the
‘Real Estate Bank of Arkansas,” capital
two millions of dollars.

Notwithstanding the grandeur of the jast
five words, I have been positively informed
that the bank never possessed five dollars,,
and had not been able to pay the poor Cin-
cinnati engraver who made the notes. ‘The
merchants of Little Rock, who had ‘set up
the bank, were the usual purchasers of the
produce from the farmer; but the credit of
the bank was so bad, that they were obliged
to offer three dollars in their notes for a
bushel of wheat, which, in New York, com-
manded only eighty-four cents in specie.

The farmers, however, were as Sharp as
the merchants, and, compelled to deal with
them, they hit upon'a good plan. The princi-
pal landholders of every county assembled,
and agreed that they would also have a
farmer's bank, anda few months afterwards
the country was inundated with notes of six-
anda quarter, twelve-and-a-half, twenty-five,
and fifty cents, with the following inscription :
“‘We, the freeholders and farmers of such
county, promise to:pay (so much) in Real
Estate Bank of Arkansas notes, but not
under the sum of five dollars.”

The bankers were caught in their own
snares. They were obliged to accept the
‘shin plasters’ for the goods in their stores,
with the pleasing perspective of being paid
back with their own notes, which made their
faces as doleful as the apothecary who was
obliged to swallow his own pills.

 

CHAPTER XXXVI.

From Batesville to the southern Missouri
border, the road continues, for a hundred
miles, through a dreary solitude of rocky
mountains and pine forests, full of snakes and
a variety of game, but without the smallest
vestige, of civilization. There is not .a single
blade of grass to be found, except in the
hollows, and these are too swampy for a horse
to venture upon. Happily, small clear and
limpid. brooks are passed every half-hour,~

and I-hadvhad the precaution to»provide: my=
self, at a farm, with a large bag of maize for
my horse.. After all, we fared better than we

_ should haver done at the log huts, and my
faithful steed, at all events, escaped the
‘‘ring.” What the “ring” is, I will explain
to’ the reader.

In‘ these countries; it always requires: a
whole day's smart riding to go irom one farm
to another ; and when the travelleris a ‘‘ raw
trotter ’ or a. ‘‘ green one” (Arkansas’ de-
nomination for a stranger), the host employs
all his cunning to ascertain if his guest has
any money, as, if so, his object is to detain
him as long as he can. To gain this infor-
mation, although there are always at: home
half-a-dozem strong boys to take the horses,
he sends a pretty girl (a daughter, or a
niece), to show you the stable and the maize-
store. This nymph becomes the traveller’s
attendant ; she shows him the garden and the
pigs, and the stranger's bedroom, etc. The
consequence is, that the traveller becomes
ti gallant, the girl insists upon washing his

handkerchief and mending his jacket before
he starts the next morning, and by keeping
c jonstantly with him, and continual conversa-
tijglon, she is, generally speaking, able to find
ou ;t whether the traveller has money or not,
ar jd reports accordingly.

vurtenaving supped, slept, and breakfasted, he
Péyed sq@is bill and asks for his horse.

« be réby, sir,” answers thehost, ‘‘ something
iSurtenayt With the animal—he is lame.”

ke shelt¢raveller thinks it is only a trifle ; he
‘egroes to 1d discovers, before he has made a
and vegetalt his beast cannot possibly go on ;

‘Pivee quims to the farm, and is there de-
astonished er 2 week perhaps, until his horse is
him the gél. 3 ,
them, sayij Once cheated in this very manner,
when. they/2° idea that I had been tricked ; but,
ng another farm, on the following
found my horse was again lame.
ed at having been delayed so long, I
ined to go on, in spite of my horse's
I travelled on for three miles, till
last I met with an elderly man also on
orseback. He stopped and surveyed: me
attentively, and then addressed me :-—

‘I see, youngster, you are a green one.”’

Now I was in uncommon bad temper that
morning, and I answered his question with a
“What do you mean, you old fool?”

‘« Nay, pardon me,’’ he resumed; ‘‘I would
not insult a stranger. I am Governor Yell,
of this state, and I see that some of my
‘clever citizens’ have been playing a trick
upon you. If you will allow me, I will cure
the lameness of your horse in two minutes.”’

At the mention of his name, I knew I was
speaking toa gentleman. 1 aplogized for my
rough rejoinder, and the governor, Gismount-
ing, then explained to me the mystery of the

po

   
 
 
  
   

OF MONSIEUR. VIOLET.

  

‘‘ring.” Just above my horse’s hoof, and
well concealed under the hair, was a stout
silken thread, tied very tight ; this being cut,
the horse, ina moment, got rid of his lame.
ness.

As the governor and I parted, he gave me
this: parental advice :—

‘* My dear young man,” said he, ‘‘I wif
give you a hint, which will enable you to trae
vel safely through the Arkansas. Beware of
pretty girls, and honest, clever people ; never
say you are travelling further than from the
last city to the nearest, as a long journey
generally implies that you have cash; and,
if possible, never put your horse in a stable.
Farewell.”

The soil in the Arkansas is rocky and
mountainous as far as to the western border
of the state, when you enter upon the great
American desert, which continues to the other
side of the Cimarron, nearly to the foot of
the Cordilleras. The eastern portion of
Arkansas, which is watered by the Mississippi,
is. an unknown swamp, for there the ground is
too soft even for the light-footed Indian ; and,
I may say, that the whole territory contained
between the Mississippi and the St. Francis
river is nothing but a continued river bottom.

It is asserted, on the authority of intelli-
gent residents, that the river bottoms of the
St. Francis were not subject to be overflowed
previous to the earthquakes of r81rand 1812,
when an extensive tract in the valley of that
river sank to a considerable depth. According
to Stoddart, who knew nothing of the shocks
of 1821, earthquakes have been common here
from. the first settlement of the country ; he
himself experienced several shocks at Kas-
kaskia, in: 1804, by which the soldiers sta-
tioned there were aroused from.sleep, and the
buildings: were much shaken and disjointed..
Oscillations still occur with such frequency
as. to be regarded with indifference by the
inhabitants, who familiarly call them shakes.
But the earthquakes of 18rr and 1812, which
were felt:from New England to New Orleans,
are the only ones known to have left per-
manent traces, although there is every pro-
bability that this part of the valley of the
Mississippi has been much convulsed at for-
mer periods.

In 1812, the earth opened in wide chasms,
from which columns of water and sand burst
forth ; hills disappeared, and their sites were
occupied by lakes ; the beds of the lakes were
raised, aud their waters flowed off, leaving
them dry; the courses of the streams’ were
changed by the elevation of their beds and the
falling of their banks ; for one whole hour the
current of the Mississippi was turned back-
wards towardsits source, until its accumulated
waters were able to break through the barrier
which had damned them up; boats were
dashed on: the banks, or suddenly left dry inTRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

the deserted channel, or hurried backwards just as 4 terrible shower had commenced.
and forwards with the surging eddies ; while When within fifteen yards from the threshold.
in the.midst of these awful changes, electric the parson, with his wife and daughter, a
fires, accompanied by loud rumblings, flashed pretty girl of sixteen, in tears, came up to. me
through the air, which was darkened with to apologize. The mother declared. the girl
clouds and vapour. would be the Geath of her, and the parson in-
In some places, submerged forests and formed me, with great humility, that his
cane-brakes are still visible at a great depth, daughter, having entered the room, and: see-
on the bottom of lakes, which were then ing the saddle-bags, had taken and hidden
formed. That the causes of these convulsions them, believing that they belonged to her
were not iocul, as some have imagined, is sweetheart, who was expected on a visit.
evident from the fact, that the Azores, the Upon this, the girl cried most violently, say-
West India Islands, and the northern coast of ing she only wished to playa trick to Charley.
South America were unusually agitated atthe She was an honest girl, and no thief.
same time, and the cities’ of Carracas, I thought proper to pretend to be satisfied
Laguayra, and some others were totally with this explanation and ordered my supper,
destroyed. and, shortly afterwards, to my great relief,

I had been advised not to stop at any new guests arrived; they were four Missourian
house on the borders, and would have pro- planters, returning home from a bear-hunt
ceeded on to Missouri, bivouacking during in the swamps of the St. Francis. One of
the night, had it not been that the rainy them was a Mr. Courtenay, to whom I hada
season had just commenced, and it was far letter from Captain Finn, and, before the day
from pleasant to pass the night exposed tothe had closed, I received a cordial invitation to
most terrific showers of rain that could be go and stay with him for at leasta week.
imagined. When I arrived upon the St. As he spoke French, 1 told him, in
Francis river, I found myself compelled by that language, my saddle-bag adventure > he
the state of the weather to stop ata parson’s. was not surprised, as he was aware of the
—J don't know what particular sect he pro- character of our host. It was arranged that
fessed to belong to ; but he was reputed to be Mr. Courtenay and I should sleep ina double
the greatest hypocrite in the world, and the bedded room on the first floor; the otha
‘« smartest scoundrel ” in the Arkansas. hunters were accommodated in another Wi-

My horse was put into the stable, my of the house. Before retiring for the pled,
saddle into the hall, and I brought my saddle- they all went to visit their horses, anve a
bags into the sitting-room, ‘Then, as usual, young girl took that opportunity to lisvards
I went to the well for a purification after my to the room. f six-
day's ride. To my astonishment, I found, on ‘© Oh sir,”” she said to me, after sy-five,
my return, that my saddle-bags had already closed the door, “‘pray do not tgtion:
disappeared. I had in them jewels and money | other travellers what I did, or they wf such
to rather a considerable amount fora person | say that I am. courting Gharley, and 3 Real
in my position, and I inquired of a woman racter would be lost.” jot net
cooking in the next room what had become of ‘« Mark me,’ replied I, ‘‘T have
them. She answered’ she did not know, but. told the story, and I know the Charlr own
that probably her father had put them out'of is nothing but,a—-— what your fatht the
the way. dered you to say. When I went to the ores,

I waited a long while, standing at the house, the tracks I followed were those naid
door, with no small anxiety, till at last I per- by your father’s heavy boots, and noteir
ceived the parson crossing an Indian corn-) your light pumps and small feet. The parss
field, and coming towards the house. I went is a villain: tell himthat ; and ifit were nob,
to meet him, and asked what he had done too much trouble, I would summon him before
with my saddle-bags ; to ‘which question he. some magistrate.”
answered angrily, he did not know what I The girl appeared much shocked, and I
meant; that I had no saddle-bags when I repented my harshness, and was about to ad-
came to his house; that he suspected I’ was dress her more kindly; when she interrupted
a knowing one, but could not come round so me.
old a fox as he was. ‘Spare me, sir,” she said, ‘1 know all ;

As by that time I was perfectly aw fait to” 1am so unhappy, if I‘had but a place: to go
all the tricks of Arkansas’ smartness, I ‘re- | to where I could work for bread, f would do
turned to the hall, took my pistols from the it in’ a minute, for here [ am very,’ very
holsters, placed them in my belt, ‘and, seizing miserable.”
my rifle, I followed his trail upon the soft Atthat moment the poor girl heard the
ground of the fields. It led me toa corn” footsteps of the hunters returning froin the
house, and there, after an hour's search) I’ stable, and'she quitted me in haste.
found my lost saddle-bags. 1 threw them When Mr. Courtenay entered the room,
upon my shoulders, and returned to the house’ he told me expected that the parson W.tsh

planning some new iniquity, for he had seen
him ‘just then crossing the river in a dug-out.
As everything was to be feared from the ras-
cal, after the circumstance of the saddle-bags,
we resolved that we would keep a watch ; we
dragged our beds near the window, ‘and laid
down without undressing,

To pass away the time, we talked of Cap-
tain Finn and of the Texians. Mr,Courtenay
related to me a case of negro stealing by the
same General John Meyer, of whom my fel-
low companion, the parson, had already
talked so much while we were! travelling in
‘Texas. ‘One winter,’ Mr. Courtenay, return-
ing from the East, was stopped in Vincennes
(Indiana) by the depth of the snow, which for
afew days rendered the roads impassable.
‘There he saw’ a very fine breed of sheep,
which he determined to introduce upon his
plantation; and hearing. that the general
would be coming down’the river in a large
flat boat as soon as the ice would permit, he
made an agreement-with him that he should
bring a dozen of the animals to. the planta-
tion, which stood a few miles below the
mouth of the Ohio, on the other side of the
Mississippi.

. Meyer made his bargain, and two months
Tterwards delivered the live stock, for which
f received the price agreed upon. | Then
“1 asked permission to encamp upon Mr.

ourtenay’s land, as his* boat had = re-

Fived some very serious injury, which could
. t be repaired under five or six days. «Mr.
urtenay allowed Meyer and his people’ to

ke shelter in a brick barn, and ordered ‘his
negroes to furnish the boatmen with potatoes
and vegetables of all descriptions.

Three or four days ‘afterwards he was
astonished by several of his slaves informing
him the general had ~ been: tampering with
them, saying they were fools to remain slaves,
when they could be as free as white men, and
that if they would come down. the river with
him, he would take them to Texas, where: he
would pay them twenty dollars a month for
‘their labour.

Courtenay advised them, by all means, to
‘'seem:to accede to. the proposition, and gave
them instructions as to how they: were to act.
He, then despatched notes to, some twenty
neighbours, requesting them to come to the
plantation, and bring their whips with them,
as they would be required.

Meyer having repaired his boats, came to
return thanks, and to announce his departure
early on the following morning. At. eleven
o'clock, when he thought everybody in the
house was asleep, he hastened, with two of his
sons, to a lane, where he had: made an) ap-
pointment with the negroes to meet him and

. accompany him to his boat, which was ready

\to.start. He found half-a-dozen of the negroes,
nd, advising them not to speak before they
ere fairly off the plantation, desired them to

OF MONSTEUR VIOLET.

  

follow him to the boat ; but, to his astonish-
ment, he soon discovered that the lane was
occupied with other negroes: and white men,

‘armed with the much-dreaded cow-hides. He

called out to his two sons ‘to fly, but ‘it was
too late.

‘The! general and his two sons were un-
doubtedly accustomed to such disasters, for
they showed amazing dexterity in taking ad-
vantage of the angles of the fences, to evace
the’ lashes ; but,.in spite of all their devices,
they were cruelly punished, as they had nearly
a quarter of amile of gauntlet‘to run through
before they were clear of the lane. - In vain
they groaned, and swore, and prayed; the
blows fell thicker and thicker, principally from
the hands of the negroes. who, having now
and then tasted of the cow-hide, were in high
glee at the idea of flogging white men.

The worshipful general and his dutiful sons
at last arrived at their boat, quite exhausted,
and almost fainting under the agony of the
well-applied lashes. .Once on board, they
cut their cable, and pushed into the middle of
the stream; and although Meyer had .come
down the river at least ten times since, he
always managed to pass the plantation during
night, and close to the bank of the opposite
shore. Daas

I told Mr, Courtenay what I knew myself
about General John Meyer; while I was talk~
ing, his attention was attracted by a noise
near the stables, which were situated at the
bottom of a lane, before our windows. We
immediately suspected that there would be
an attempt to steal our horses ; so, I.handed
my rifle to my companion, who posted him-
self in a. position commanding -the lane,
through which the thief or thieves must neces-
sarily pass,

We. waited thus in suspense for a few
minutes, till Mr. Courtenay desired me to take
his place, saying—

‘‘If any one passes the lane with any of
our horses, shoot him; I will go down myself
and thrash the blackguard, for I. suspect the
parson will turn them into the swamps, where
he is pretty certain of recovering them after-
wards.”

Saying this, he advanced to the door, and
was just putting his hand upon the latch,
when we heard a most terrific yell, which
was followed by a neighing, which I recog-
nized as that of my horse. Taking our
pistols and bowie-knives, we hurried down the
lane.

We found that our two-horses, with a
third, belonging to one of the, hunters, were
out of the stable, and tied neck and tail, so.as
to require only one person to lead them. The
first one had the bridle on, and the last, which
was mine, was in.a state of excitement, as if
something unusual had happened to him, On.
continuing our search, we found the body of
a young man, most horribly mangled, the

5130

breast being entirely open; and the heart and
intestines hanging outside.

It appeared; that. my faithful steed, which
had already shown, in Texas, a great dislike
to being taken away. from me,\had given ‘the
thief the terrible kick, which had thrown him
ten or fifteen yards, as I have said, a mangled
corpse, » By; this time, the other hunters; came
out tous; lights were procured, and. then we
learned that the victim was the parson’s,eldest
son, newly martied, and. settled on. the’ east
side of the St. Francis, The parson-was not
long himself in ‘making ‘his appearance ;, but
he came from an opposite direction to that of
the house, and he was dressed as.on the evyen-
ing before : he had evidently not, been to bed
during that night,

Asi; soon as) he. became ‘aware -of ‘the
melancholy circumstance,’ he raved and swore
that: hé: would’ haye the lives of the damned
Frenchman and his damnation horse; but
Mr. Courtenay went to him and said—

“ Holcdbyour tongue, miserable:man! See
your Own work, ‘for you shave’ caused’ this
death. lt was to fetch your son:to help you
to steal’ the horses that you crossed the river
in thé dug-out. Be silent, I say; you know
me. Look at your eldest born, villain that
you are! May the chain of your future misery
be Jong,.and/’ the! last: link of it ithe gibbet,
which you désérve!”’

The:parson was silent; even when his sob-
bing ‘wifesreproached him. , ‘‘ I warned thee,
husband,’ she ‘said; ‘‘even now has. >this
come, and I°fear that worsecis: still to come,
Unhacky was: thechour owe met; still more
so''when the child, was born;'' and, leaning
against the fence, she wept bitterly.

I will) pass over the 'remaindeér of: 'this
melancholy scene. We all felt for the mother
and the'poor girl, who stood by with a look
of despair. »Saddling our horses, '! Mr; Cour-
tenay and I resumed our journey,’the. hunters
remaining behind till the artival of the magis-
trate, whom he promised’ to’ send.. To pro-
cure ‘one, we'were obliged to quit: the high
road, ‘and,‘after a ride of several miles, having
suceeeded in finding’ his house, we’ awoke
him, gave him the necessary directions; and
at sunrise forded the river,

CHAPTER XXXVIL

At iastwe arrived at the plantation of: Mr.
Courtenay’; the house was’ one of \the very
few buildings in the United States in’ which
taste was displayed. A ‘graceful portico; sup

ported ‘by columns:; large verandahs, ‘shel-
tered by jessamine; and the garden‘so green
and so smiling, with its''avenues' of acacias
and hive fences of holly and locust, all recalled
to my mind ‘the scenes of ‘my childhood in

 

    

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

Eyrope, Everything was so neat and .com-
fortable ; the stables so. airy, the dogs so well
housed, and tthe. slaves so. good-humoured-
looking, so.clean and well dressed.

When we. descended from, our horses, a
handsome lady appeared at the portico, with
joy and love beaming. in. her face, as.five or
six beautiful, children, having at. last “per-
ceived our arrival, left their play. to welcome
and kiss their father... A lovely vision, of youth
and beauty also made its appearance—one of
those slender girls.of the South, a woman of
fifteen years old, with her dark eyelashes and
her streaming ebony hair ; slaves of all ages—
mulattoes and quadroon girls, old negroes
and boy negroes, all calling together—‘‘ Eh !
Massa Courtenay, kill plenty bear, daresay ;
now plenty, grease, for black family, .good
Massa. Courtenay.’

Add to all this, the dogs barking and the

horses. neighing, and truly the whole zadleau |

was one of unbounded affection and. happi-
ness. . I doubt if, in all North America, there

is another plantation equal to.that of Mr. |

Courtenay.

I. soon. became an inmate of the family,
and for the first time enjoyed the pleasure of
highly polished society.
an admirable performer upon the harp ; Miss
Emma Courtenay,-her niece, was a delightful
pianist ; and my, host himself was no mean
amateur upon the flute. . Our.evenings would
pass, quickly away in reading Shakespeare,
Corneille, Racine, Metastasio, or the modem

Mrs. Courtenay was |

   

i]

 

 

D |
i
}
i
|
}

|
|

writers of: English,literature,. after which we

would remain till the night was far advanced,,

enjoying: the beautiful ‘compositions of Beet—_

hoven, Gluck,;and,Mozart, or the. brilliant
overtures of. Donizetti, Bellini, and» Meyer-
been.

Thus my time passed like a happy dream,
and as, from the rainy season: having: fast’ set
in, all'travelling was impossible, D> remained:
many iweeks with my kind ‘entertainers, the

more willingly, that the ‘various? trials I had —

undergone had; at:so early an:age, convinced
me that, upon earth, happiness was-too scarce
not to beenjoyed when presented to you.’ Yet
in the midstiof pleasure I did not forget the
duty d owed to my tribe, andI sentiletters to
Joe Smith; the Mormon leader: at Nativoo,
that we might at once enter into an arrange-
ment,
had some few days of sunshine, in which

pretty Miss\ Emma and I would take long ©

rambles:in the-woods; and sometimes, too,

my host’ would invite the hunters of his ‘neigh- '

bourhood, for a general datzwe against. bears,
deer, and wild cats; -Then we would encamp
out: under) good tents, and during the even~
ing, while’ smoking near our blazing fires, 1:
would hear stories which taught’ me more of
life in:the ‘United States than if I had! been: tes
siding ‘there’ for*years.

‘* Dis-moi qui.tw fréqeuntes, je te dirai qui

Notwithstanding the bad season, we |tu’ es," is the old Frénch proverb. Mr.
Courtenay never chose his companions but
among the more intellectual classes of the
society around him, and, of course, these
stories were’ not only well told, but interesting
in their subject. Often the conversation would
fall upon the Mormons, and perceiving’ how
anxious I was to learn’ anything about ‘this
new sect, my host introduced ‘me to a very
talented gentleman, who’ had. every informa-
tion connected with their history’ From him
{ learned the particulars: which gave rise to

Mormonism, undoubtedly’ the most © ex-
traordinary imposition of the nineteenth
century.

There existed years ago a Connecticut
man, named Solomon Spalding, a relation of
the’ one ‘who invented the wooden nutmegs.
By following him through ‘his career, the
reader will’ find him a Yankee of the true
stock. He appears at first’ as a law student,
then as a preacher, a merchant, anda bank-
rupt ; afterwards he becomes a blacksmith in
a small western village : then a land specula-
tor and a county schoolmaster ; later still, he
Becomes the owner of an iron-foundry ; once
more a bankrupt; at last, a writer and’a
dreamer.

As might be expectéd, he died a beggar
somewhere in Pennsylvania, little thinking
that, by a singular coincidence, one of his pro-
ductions' (the | ‘‘ Manuscript’ found”) — re-
deemed from oblivion by a few rogues, would
prove in their hands a powerful weapon, and
be thé basis of one of the most anomalous,
yet powerful secessions which has ever been
experienced by the Established ‘Church.

We find, under the title of the ‘* Manu-
script found,’” an historical romance of the
first settlers of America, endeavouring to
show that the American Indians are the de-
scendants of the Jews, or the lost tribes. It
gives a detailed'account of their journey from
Jerusalem, by land’ and by sea, till theyarrived
in America, under the command of Nephi
and Lehi. They afterwards had quarrels
and contentions, and separated into two dis-
tinct nations, one of which is denominated
Nephites, and the other Lamanites.

Cruel and bloody wars ensued, in which
great multitudes were slain. They buried
their dead in large heaps, which caused the
mounds now so commonly found on the con-
tinent of America. Their knowledge in the
arts and sciences, and their civilization, are
dwelt upon, in order to account for all the
remarkable ruins of cities and’ other curious
antiquities, found in various parts of North
and South America.

Solomon Spalding writes in the biblic style,
and commences almost every sentence with,
«« Andit came to pass,’—‘' Now, it came to

ass.”

Although some powers of imagination,
and a’degreé of ‘scientific information are dis-

 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

played throughout the whole romance, it
remained for several years unnoticed, on the
shelves of Messrs. Patterson and Lambdin,
printers, in’ Pittsburg.

Many years passed, when Lambdin the
printer, having failed, wished zo xazse the wind
by some book speculation. . Looking ‘over, the
various manuscripts then in his possession, the
‘“Manuscript found,’ venerable in its dust,
was, upon examination, looked upon as a
gold’ mine, which would restore to affluence
the unfortunate publisher. But death sum-
moned Lambdin away, and put anend to the
speculation, as far as his interests were con-
cerned.

Lambdin had. intrusted the ‘precious
manuscript to his bosom friend, Sidney
Rigdon, that he might embellish and alter it,
as he might think expedient. The publisher
now dead, Rigdon allowed this chef-d’euvre
to remain in his desk, till, reflecting ‘upon his
precarious means, and upon his chances of
obtaining a future livelihood, a’ sudden idea
struck him, Rigdon well knew his country-
men, and their avidity for the marvellous ; he
resolved 'to give to the world the ‘‘ manuscripz
found,’ not as a mere work of imagination or
disquisition, as its writer had intended it to
be, but as a new code of religion, sent down
to man, as of yore, on awful Sinai, the tables
were given unto Moses.

For some time, Rigdon worked very hard,
studying the Bible, altering his. book, and
preaching every Sunday. As the reader may
easily imagine, our Bible student had been,
as well’ as Spalding, a Jack-of-all-trades,
having successively filled the offices of attor-
ney, bar-keeper, clerk, merchant, “waiter;
newspaper editor, preacher, and, finally, a
hanger-on about printing-offices,' where he
could always pick up some little job in the
way of proof correcting and so forth.

To us this variety of occupation’ may ap-
pear very strange, but among the, unsettled
and ambitious population of the United
States, men at the age of fifty have been, or
at least have tried to be, everything, not in
gradation, from the lowest up to the highest,
but just as it may happen—doctor yesterday
and waiter to-day—-the Yankee philosopher
will to-morrow run-for-a seat in the legisla-
ture; if he fails, he may turn a Methodist
preacher, a Mormon, a land-speculator, a
member of the ‘‘ Native American Society,”
or a mason—that is to say, a journeyman
mason.

Two words more upon Rigdon, before we
leave him in his comparative insignificance!
He is undoubtedly the father of Mormonism,
and the author of the ‘‘ Golden. Book,” with
the exception of a few subsequent alterations
made by Joe Smith. It was easy for him, from
the first planning of his intended imposture
to publicly discuss, inthe pulpit, many strange
points of controversy, which’ were eventuallySTN TH

 

 

 

to become the corner-stones of the, structure
which he wished to raise. ‘

he novelty of the. discussions was
greedily received by many; and, of course,
prepared them for that which was coming. Yet,

it- seems that. Rigdon soon . perceived the

_evils which his wild imposture would generate,
and he recoiled: from his task, not. because
there remained lurking in his breast some few
sparks of honesty, but, because he wanted
courage ; he was a scoundrel, but a_ timorous
one, and always in dread of the penitentiary.
With him, Mormonism was a mere money
Speculation, and he resolved to shelter
himself ‘behind some fool who might. bear
the whole odium, while he would reap a
golden harvest, and quietly retire before the
coming of a storm. But, as is often the case,
he reckoned without his host; for it so hap-
pened that, in searching for a tool of this de-
scription, he found in: Joe Smith one not pre-
cisely what he had calculated upon. He

- Wanted a compound of roguery and folly as

his,tool and slave; Smith was a rogue and
an unlettered man, but he was what Rigdon
was not aware of—a man of bold conception,
full of courage. and mental energy, one of
those unprincipled, yet lofty, aspiring beings,
who, centuries past, would have succeeded as
well as Mahomet, and who has, even in this
more enlightened age, accomplished that
which is wonderful to contemplate.

hen it. was too late to retract, Rigdon
perceived with dismay that, instead of acquir-
ng a-silly bondsman, he had_ subjected him-
selfto a superior will; he was now himself a
slave, bound by fear and interest, his two
great guides through life. Smith consequently
became, instead of Rigdon, ‘‘the elect. of
God,” and is now at the head of thousands,
a great religious and political leader.

From the same gentleman, I also learned
the history of Joseph Smith ; and I will lay
before the reader what, from various docu-
ments, I have succeeded in collecting con-
cerning this remarkable impostor, together
with a succinct account of the rise and pro-
gress of this new sect, as it is a remarkable
feature in the history of nations.

CHAPTER: XXXVIII.

My readers have already been made
acquainted with the history of the ‘‘ Book,"’
upon which the imposture of Mormonism has
been founded, and of the acquaintance which
took place between Rigdon and Joe Smith,
whose career | shall now introduce.

The Father of Joe was one of a nume-
rous class of people who are termed, in the
west, ‘“‘money, diggers,” living a sort. of
vagrant life, imposing upon the credulous

 

     

, 132 TRAVELS AND: ADVENTURES

farmers by pretending that they knew of trea-
sure concealed, and occasionally... stealing

-horses and cattle. Joseph Smith was the

second,son, anda great favourite of his father,
who. ,stated -everywhere that Joe. had, that
species of second sight, which enabled him to
discover. where treasure was hidden. . Joe did
certainly turn out very smart, and it was pro-
phesied by the ;‘‘ old ones’’ that, provided he
was not hung, Joe would certainly become. a
general, if he did not gain the office of. Presi-
dent of the United States, . But Joe's smart-
ness was so, great, that, Palmyra, where his
father usually resided, became too small. for
the exercise of his talents, and our hero set
off on. his. travels. sigelt

Some time afterwards Joe was again heard
of.. In. one: of his rambles, he had gone to
Harmony. (Pennsylvania), and .there formed
an acquaintance with a young woman. In
the fall of 1826, being then at Philadelphia,
he, resolved, to. go and get married to her,
but; being destitute of means, he now set his
wits to. work to raise some money,and get a
recommendation, so as to obtain the fair one
of his choice, .He went to a man named
Lawrence, and stated that he had discovered
in Pennsylvania, on the bank of the Sus-
quehanna ‘river, ‘a: very rich mine of silver,
and if he, Lawrence, would go there with
him, he might have a share: in. the profits ;
that it was. near high water mark, and that
they could put the silver into boats, and take
it down the river to Philadelphia, and dispose
of it. Lawrence asked Joseph if he was not
deceiving him.

‘‘No,”. replied Joe, ‘for I have: been
there-and. seen it with my own eyes, and if
you do not find it so when we get there, I
will bind. myself to be your servant for three
years.”

By oaths, asseverations, and fair promises,
Lawrence was induced to believe in Joe's
assertion, and agreed to go with him ; and as
Joseph was out of money, Lawrence had to
defray the whole expenses of the journey.
When they arrived at Harmony, Joseph was
strongly. recommended by, Lawrence, who
was well known to the parents of the young
woman ; after which, they proceeded :on their
journey to the silver mine, made a diligent
search, and of course found nothing. » Thus
Lawrence had his trouble for. his pains,
and returned home with his pockets lighter
than when he started, whilst. honest Joe
had not only his expenses paid, but a good
recommendation to the father of his fair
one,

Joe now promised to marry the girl, but
the parents were opposed to the match. One
day, when they happened to be from home,
he took advantage of the oppgrtunity, went
off with her, and the knot was tied.

Being still» destitute.of money, he now’

again set his wits to work, to contriv> to getback to Manchester, at that time his place of
residence, and he hit upon the following plan,
which succeeded. | He went to an honest old
Dutchman, by the name of Stowel, -and told
him that he had discovered on the banks of
the Black River, in the vilage of Watertown
(Jefferson County, N: Y.), a cave, in which he
found'a bar of gold as bigi as his leg, and
about three or four feet long ; that be could
not get it out alone on account of its great
weight ; and if Stowel would frank him and
his wife to Manchester (N. -¥.), they would
then:.go together to the cave, and Stowel
should share the prize with him. The good
Dutchman consented.

A short time after their arrival at Man-
chester, Stowel reminded Joseph of’ his pro-
mise, but he coolly replied: that he could not
go just then, as his wife was amongst
strangers, and would be very lonesome if he
quitted her. Mr. Stowel was, like Mr. Law-
rence, obliged to return without any remune-
ration, and with less money!than he came.
I. mention thesé two freaks of Joe Smith,
as they explain the money digger’s system of
fraud.

It would hardly be believed that, especially
among the cunning Yankees, such! ‘‘mines
and treasures’’ stories should be cre+
dited ; but it is. a peculiar feature: in. the
U. S. that the inhabitants, so difficult to
oyerreach ‘in other, matters, will: greedily
take: the bait when ‘‘mines’”’; or »‘‘ hidden
treasure”’ are spoken of. In: Missour? and
Wisconsin, immense beds of copper ore and
lead have been discovered in every direction.
Thousands of poor, ignorant farmers, emi-
grants from the East, have turned diggers,
Miners, and smelters. Many: have accumu-
lated large fortunes in the space of a few
years, and haye returned ‘wealthy gentle-
men.” to theirown native state, much to the
astonishment of their neighbours.

Thus has the ‘‘ mining spirit’’ been kept
alive, and: impostors of every variety have
reaped their harvest, by speculating upon
the well-known avidity of the ‘“feople of
America!”

It was in the beginning of 1827; that Joe,
in a trip to Pittsburg, became acquainted
with Rigdon. A great intimacy took place
betwixt them, and they paid each other alter-
nate visits—Joe coming to Pittsburg and
Rigdon going to the Susquehanna, jor plea-
sure excursions at a friend's. It was also
during the same year that the Smith family
assumed anew character. In the month of
June; Joseph Smith, sen., went to a wealthy,
but eredulous farmer, and related the fol-
lowing story :—

‘‘That some years ago, a spirit had ap-

ed to’ Joe, his son, and, in a vision; in-
formed him that in a certain place there was
a record on plates of gold, and that he» was
the person who must obtain them, and this he

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

must do in the following manner :—On the
22nd of September, he must repair to the place
where these plates of gold were deposited,
dressed in black clothes; and riding a black
horse, with a switch tail, and demand the
plates in a certain ‘name; and, after obtain-

ing them, he must immediately go away,

ae neither lay them down nor Jook behind
im.” a :

‘The farmer gave credit’ to old Smith's
communication. He accordingly fitted out
Joseph with a suit of black clothes, and bor-
rowed a black horse. Joe (by his own ac-
count) repaired to the place of deposit, and
demanded the plates, which were in a stone
box unsealed, and so near the surface of the
ground that he could see one ‘end of it ; rais-
ing the lid up, he took out the plates of gold;
but fearing some one’ might discover where
he got them, he laid them down, to replace
the top stone as he had found it ; when, turn-
ing) round, to his surprise, there were no
plates to be seen. He again opened the box,
and saw' the plates in it; he attempted to
take them’ out, but was not able. He per-
ceived in the box’ something like a toad,
which gradually assumed the appearance of a
man, and’ struck him'on the side of his head.
Not being discouraged at trifles, Joe again
stooped down and attempted to take the
plates, when the spirit struck him again,
knocked him backwards’ three or four rods,
and ‘hurt him very much: recovering from
his fright, he inquired’ of the spirit, why he
could not take the ‘plates ;_to’ which the spirit
made reply, ‘‘ Because ‘you have not obeyed
your orders.” He then inquired when he
could have them, and was answered thus :
‘Come one year from this’ day, and bring
with you your eldest brother; ‘then you shall
have them.”

“This spirit,” ‘said ‘the elder Joseph
Smith, ‘‘was the spirit of the’ prophet who
wrote this book, and ‘who was sent to Joe
Smith, jun., to make known these things to
him. Before the expiration of the year, the
eldest brother died; which,” the old man
said, ‘‘was a decree of Providence.” He
also added—

‘‘Joe’ went one year from that day to
demand the plates, and the spirit inquired for
his brother, and Joe replied that he was dead.
The’ spirit then commanded him to come
again in one year from ‘that day, and bring 2
man with him. On asking who might be the
man, he was answered that he would know
him when he saw him.” :

Thus, while Rigdon was concocting his
Bible and preaching new doctrines, the Smith
family were preparing the minds of the people
for the appearance of something wonderful;
and although Joe Smith was well known to
be a drunken vagabond, he succeeded. ‘in: in-
spiring, in hundreds of uneducated farmers,
a feeling of awe which they could not accountfor. J must. here stop..iny my narrative, to
make afew observations. ..

in the great cities.of Europe and America,
elvilization; education, and the active, bustle
of every-day life, have,,.to, a great, degree,
destroyed. the, superstitious, feelings so. com-
mon among the lower.olasses, and have -com-
pletely removed the fear of. evil, geniuses,
goblins, and spirits. But such is not the case
in the Western, country of the United States,
on, the borders of the immense, forests and
amidst the wild and broken: scenery of glens
and mountains;\where torrents: roll’ with im-
petuosity. through cayes and cataracts ; where,
deprived of the amusements, and: novelties
which, would. recreate. his imagination, the
farmer allows his. mind. to..be appressed, with
Strange fancies, and ,though. he may. never
avow the. feeling, froma the fear of not meeting
with. sympathy,,.:he broods. over it and. is a
slave to. the wild phantasmagoria.of his brain.
The. principal cause. of this is, the-monotony
and solitude of his existence, {
_. At these. confines of Civilization, the
American is.always.a-hunter, and those who
dwell on the smaller farms, at. the edges, of
forests, .often depend,., for. their animal food,
upon.the skill of the,male; portion,of their
community. ..Im, the: fall..of the year, the
American shoulders. his rifte, and goes, alone
into. the ,wilds, to. ‘‘ see after his pigs, horses,
and.cows.’’. Constantly on the look+out, for
deer and wild bees, he resorts to the most
secluded spots, to.swamps, mountain ridges,
or, along the bushy. windings; of some ‘cool
Stream., , Constant,.,views. of; nature. in her:
grandeur, the unbroken) silence of his wander-
ings, causes..a. depression. of the mind, and,.
as his faculties of. sight,.and, hearing are: ever
on.the stretch, it affects his, nervous system,
He starts at the falling of a dried’ leaf, and,
~snith a keen;and painful sensation, he. scruti-
nizes the, withered grass, before. him; aware
that at every step he.may, trample;upon some
venqmous and; deadly:reptile. . Moreover, in
his, wanderings, he) is:-often pressed with
hunger, and) is “exposed to, a, great,.deal. of
fatigue.

‘(Fast in the wilds, and you will dream.of
Spirits,” isan dndiancaxiom, andsa very true
one. If;to ithe above we,add, that his mind
is already prépaned! to; receive the impressions}
of the mysterious. and;marvellous, we; cannot
wonder at theiri becoming superstitious. ; As
children, «they» imbibe; a, disposition: for the
marvellous); during; the.long -evenings,, of
winter, when the snow jis) deep and»the wild
wind roars through, the» trees, the old people
will .smoke»their, pipes; near. huge’, blazing
logs, andirelate:to them some terrible adven-
ture. ‘They speak of unearthly: noises heard

near some 'cayes, of ;hair-breadth escapes in
encounters) with evil spirits; under the form of
wild animals); and many will whisper, that, at
such) atime of night, | returning from: some

 

TRAVELS; AND ADVENTURES

   

neighbouring market, they have met with
the’ evil. one instherforest, in ‘such .and such
a. spot, where the:two roads crossseach other,
or where , theooldi:oak: has been blasted: by
lightning - baisyooe

The: boy: grows tomanhood;: but: ‘these
family’ traditions are. deeply engraved: in his
memory, and:awhen aloneo ini the: solitude;
near» theis'“haunted. places,’’ ohis: ‘morbid
imagination embodies):the phantoms ‘of his
diseased brain. | Novwonder, then; that: such
menshould tamely yield to. the\superior:will
of one like Joe: Smith, who, 'to: their know-
ledge, wandersi‘alone’ by: moonlight: in’ the
solitude of forests, and> who; in their firm
belief, holds :communicatiom with spirits of
another’ world; For)»be! it»observed,, Smith
possesses) all the: qualitiesyand> exercises: all
the tricks of thei necromancers: during the
middle:ages;: His sspeech /isiambiguous;
solemn, and: oftem incomprehensible—a great
proof to: thesvulgar of his’ mystical vocation:

Cattle! and ‘horses:lost for’ many» months
have: been recovered! through the means: of
Joe; who; after: an inward prayer, looked
through a sacred stone, ‘‘the gift of God;
as sheo has. asserted; anid: discovered: what. he
wished’ ‘too know29»We need: nots say that,
while the farmer was: busy at home*with his:
crop, ‘Smith and ‘his: gang, ever rambling» in
woods) and) glens; ‘were well acquainted with
every retired,’ shady'spot, ithe usual abode of}
wild as welb as :ofiitame:animals; who’ seek:
there during the summer)a. shelter frome the:
hot rays of the sun.))o'Thus, notwithstanding
his. bad conduct, Smith had) spready his ree.
nown forshundreds: of miles; as that ofa’
‘estrange man ;"">vand , whén he ‘started: his:
new) ‘religion; andi.declared: himself: “‘ a: pro+
phet of God;’!)-the people did» not» wonder:
Had: Rigdon, or any-other,: présented him-=
self, insteadiof Joe; Mormonismywould! never
have been established); but’ in the performer
of wiysterious deeds, it’ seemed a natural ¢on-
sequence» As the sstone-we have mentioned.
did much: in raising Joe'to his present high
position, I willshere insert an affidavit made
relative to Joe Smith's obtaining possession
of this: miraculous treasure.

** Manchester, Ontario County, N.Y., 1833.

“I ‘became. acquainted with the Smith
family; knowm.as-theauthors of the: Mormon
Bible, in the: year:1820. At that time they
were engaged in the money-digging business,
which they followed until the latter part of the
seasomof1827. In the year 1822 I-was engaged
im digging a well; -I-employed Joe) Smith
to.assist me. Afterrdigging about twenty feet
below the surface of the earth,-we: discovered
a. singular-looking stone, which: excited my
curiosity... I brought it:to the top of the well,
and as we were: examining: it, Joseph laid: it
in, the-crown of: his, hat, and then put his face
into the ‘top of his ‘hat... It has»been said bySmith that he
this: is false:
“The next morning Joe came: to:me,’dnd
wished to.obtain the stone, alleging that he
could see in it’; but I told him I did not wish
to ‘part ‘with it, on account of its being .a
curiosity, but would lend it.. “After obtaining
the’stone, he began to publish: abroad what
wonders ‘he could discover by)looking: im it,
and’ made so much disturbance among. the
credulous part of the community, that~I
ordered ‘the stone to be returned to me again.
He.had it:in his possession about two years.
I believe; some time in 1825, Hiram. Smith
(Joe's: brother) came to: me, andywished to
borrow the same stone, alleging: that, they
wanted to accomplish some! business of im-
portance, which ‘ couldinot very well be done
without the aid of the ‘stone.’ I told. him, it
was of no «particular worth ‘to. me, but «I
merely wished to keep it as a curiosity, and
if he-would piedge me his word. and honour
that I) should have it» when: called: for, :he
might have it; which he did, and::took the
stone: I thought I could rely on: his word:at
this'time, as he had made a profession of re-
ligion: but in this I was disappointed, for he
disregarded both his word and honour.

‘(In the fall of 1826, a friend called upon
me, and wished to see that stone about which
so much had: been said ;.and I-told- him if he
would go with me to Smith's (a distance of
about half a mile), he mightisee it. . To my
surprise; however, on asking: Smith for the
stone,*he said, ‘ You cannot have it.’ I told
him it belonged to me ; repeated. to him the
promiise’ he had made me at. the time ofob-
taining,'the stone ; upon which jhe faced mé
witha malignant look, and said,‘ 7 don’ tieare
who ithedevit it belongs tos) you shall not
have tt,’

got ithe stone’ from God; but

‘*Col, NAHUM HOWARD.”

CHAPTER XXKIX,

I must pass over» many details interesting
in ‘thémselves, but too long to insert:in’ this
work, It must suffice to say, that aftera time
Joe: Smith stated that he had possession of
the golden: plates, and had: received’ from
heaven'a pair of spectacles, by means of
which the unknown ‘characters could) be de-
ciphered by him. . It may appear strange that
such absurd assertions should be credited,
but the reader must call to mind: the credetice
given in this country) to Johanna Southcote;
and the infatuation displayed: by her’ prose-
lytes 'to;the very last. .

‘The origin of Mormonism deserves: pecu-:
liar ‘examination from the success which has»

attended’ the: imposture, and the prospécts

 

OF MONSTE OUR VIOLET.

which it has: of becoming: firmly established.

  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
    
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
   
  
  
   
  
    
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
   
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  

135

as a|new:-creed,, At its first ospanization,
wich took place ,at the time. that, the golden
plates; were, translating; which the reader may
suppose was. nothing) more ‘than, the contents
of the book that Rigdon: had obtained, pos:
session’ ‘of;| and. which -had_. been. originally
written.-by S.. Spaltding;. there. were’. but six
members of ‘the new creed: :

These first) members, consisting mostly, of
persons who were engaged with,Smith. in the
translation. of the plates,, forthwith applied
themselves, with. great zeal.to, building up the
church. |, Their first efforts were confined to
Western New York and. Pennsylvania, where
they met with considerable success. ‘After a
number of converts. had ‘been made, Smith
received a, ‘revelation, that he and,all; his. fol.
lowers should go, to Kirkland, in Ohio, and
there. take up. their ,abode..,, Many, obeyed
this, command, selling their possessions, and
helping each, other to settle on the spot desig-
nated. This place was|the, head-quarters of
the Church and the residence of the, prophets
until 1838 ; but it does not appear that they
eyer regarded it,as a, permanent settlement’;
for, in the. Book of Covenants, it. isi/said, in
speaking of Kirkland, ‘‘ Lconsecrate this land
unto them for a little season, until I. the Lord
provide for. them 'to go home.”

In the spring of 1831, Smith, Rigdon, and
others, declared themselves. directed. by reye-
lation to-go on ‘a, journey. to,Missouri, and
there the Lord was to show. them the place of
the New Jerusalem,. ‘This,journey was accord~-
ingly taken, and when they arrived, a: revela-
tion, was received, pointmg out,the town of
Independence, in Jackson’s., county, as. the
central, spot. of the land) of promise, where
they were directed to-build a temple, ete., ete.
Shortly. after their, return. to :Kirkland, a
numberof. revelations. were. received,..com-
manding the saints throughout the country to
purchase and settle in, this land of promise.
Accordingly, many went,,and, began. to build
up ‘‘ Zion,’’ as they called it.

In 1831,'a,consecration law.was established
in the church by revelation..,.-It was ‘first -pub-
lished in the Book of. Convenants, in the fol-
lowing words :-—‘‘ If. thou. lovest’.me,.. thou
shalt keep my commandments, and thou shalt
consecrate. all ‘thy, properties unto.me witha
covenant and: deed which cannot,be broken.”
This’ law, however, has; been, altered since
that time. . As. modified, it-reads thus ;—‘‘ If
thou lovest.me, thou shalt serve and keep. all
of my commandments,, and, behold, thou
shalt remember the poor, and consecrate of
thy properties for their support that which,
thou ‘hast, to, impart .unto..them, with .a
covenant and a. deed which. cannot. be. bro-
ken.” sie

In April, 1832, a) firmwas -established by.
revelation; ostensibly. for. the .cenefit. of the
church, consisting of the. principal: members
in Kirkland and: Independence.- The mem-,236

ders of this firm were bound together by an
oath and covenant ‘to’ manage the affairs of
the poor, and all things pertaining to the
church, both in Zion’{Missouri) and in Shina-
kar (Kirkland). In June, 1833, ‘another re-
velation was received-to lay off Kirkland in
tots, and the proceeds of the sale were to go
to this firm. In 1834 or 1835, the firm was
divided by revelation, so that those in Kirk-
land continued as one firm, and those in
Missouri as another. ‘In the same revelation
they are commanded to divide the consecrated
property between the individuals of the firm,
which each separately’ were to manage as
stewards.

Previous to this (1833) a revelation was
received to build a temple, which was to be
done' by the consecrated funds, which were
under the control of the firm. In erecting
this building the firm involved itself in debt
to a large amount; to meet which, in the reve-
lation last mentioned, the following appears :
*‘Inasmuch as ye are humble and faithful,
and call on my name, behold I will give you
the victory. I give unto you. a promise that
you shall be delivered this once out of your
bondage, inasmuch as you obtain a chance to
loan money by hundreds and thousands, even’
till you have obtained enough to deliver your-
selves out of bondage.” This was a com-
mand to borrow money, in order to free
themselves from the debt that oppressed them.
They made the attempt, but failed to get
sufficient to meet their exigencies. ‘This led
to another expedient.

In 1835. Smith, Rigdon, and others formed
a mereantile house, and purchased goods in
Cleveland and in Buffalo to averylarge amount,
on a credit of six months: In the fall, other
houses were formed, and goods purchased in
the eastern cities to a still greater amount.
A great part of the goods of these houses
went to pay the workmen on the temple, and
many were sold on credit, so that when the
notes came due the housé was not able to
meet them. Smith, Rigdon, and ‘Co. ‘then
attempted to borrow money, by issuing their
notes, payable at different periods after date.
This expedient not being effectual, the idea
of a bank suggested itself. Accordingly, in

4837, the far-famed Kirkland bank: was. put

into operation, without any charter.

This institution, by which so’ many have
been swindled, was formed after the following
manner. ‘Subscribers for stock were allowed
to pay the amount of their subscriptions in
town lots, at five or Six times their real value ;
ethers paid in personal property at a high
valuation ; and’ some paid the cash. When

the notes were first issued, they were current
in the vicinity, and Smith took advantage of
their credit to pay off with them ‘the debts he
and the brethren had contracted in the neigh-
Ddourhood for land and other’ purchases. The
eastern creditors, however, refused to take

 

  

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

their notes. This led to the expedient of ex-
changing them for the notes of other banks.

“Accordingly the elders were sent off the
country to barter Kirkland money, which they
did with great zeal, and continued the opera-
tion until the notes were not worth sixpence
to the dollar. As might have been expected,
this institution exploded after a few months,
involving Smith and his brethren in inextri-
cable difficulties. The consequence was, that
he and most of the members of the church
set off, in the spring of 1838, for Missouri,
pursued by their creditors, but to no effect.

We must now go back for a short period
to state another circumstance. | In 1836, an
endowment meeting, or solemn assembly, was
called, to be held in the temple at Kirkland.
It was given out that those who were in at-
tendance at the meeting should receive an
endowment or blessing similar to that expe-
rienced by the disciples. of Christ on the day
of Pentecost.. When the day arrived, great
numbers convened from the different churches
in the country. .They spent the day in. fast-
ing and prayer, and in washing and perfum-
ing their bodies ; they also washed their feet
and anointed their heads with what they called
holy oil, and pronounced blessings.

In the evening, they met for the endow-
ment ; the fast was then broken, by eating
light wheat bread, and drinking as) much
wine as they thought proper. Smith knew
well how to infuse the spirit which they ex-
pected to receive; so’ he, encouraged the
brethren to crink freely, telling them that the
wine was consecrated, and would not make
them drunk: As may be supposed, ‘they
drank to some purpose; after this, they
began to prophesy, pronouncing blessings
upon their friends and curses upon their
enemies; after which the meeting ad-
journed.,

We now return to Missouri. The Mor-
mons who had settled in and about Indepen-
dence, in the year 1831, having become very
arrogant, claiming ‘the land as their own,
saying, the Lord had given it to them, and
making the most haughty assumptions, so ex-
asperated the old citizens, that a mob was
raised in 1833, aud expelled the. whole. Mor-
mon body from the county. They: fled to
Clay county, where the citizens permitted them
to live in quiet till 1836, when a mob spirit
began to manifest itself, and the Mormons
retired toa very thinly-settled district of the
country, where they began to make improve-
ments.

This district was at the session of 1836-7
of the Missouri: legislature; erected into a
county; by the name of Caldwell, with Far-
West for its capital. Here the Mormons
remained in quiet until‘after the bank explo-
sion in. Kirkland, in 1838, whensSmith,
Rigdon; and others of the heads: of the sect
arrived. Shortly after this, the DaniteSociety was organized, the object of which,
at first, was to drive the dissenters out of the
county. The members of this society were
bound by an oath and covenant, with the
penalty of death attached’to a’ breach of it,
to defend the presidency, and each other, unto
death, right or wrong. They had’ their secret
signs, by which they knew each other, either
by day or night ; and were divided into bands
of tens and fifties, with a captain over each
band, and a'general’ over the whole. After
this body was formed, notice was given to
Several of the dissenters to leave the county,
and they were threatened severely in case of
disobedience. The effect of this was, that
many of the dissenters left ; among these were
David Whitmer, John Whitmer, Hiram Page,
ana Oliver Cowdery, all witnesses to the Book
of Mormon ; also Lyman Johnson, one of the
twelve apostles.

The day after John Whitmer left his house
in Far-West, it was taken possession of by
Sidney Rigdon. About. this time Rigdon
preached his famous ‘' Salt Sermon.” The text
was—‘‘ Ye are the salt of the earth, but if the
salt has lost its savour, wherewith shall it be
salted ? it is henceforth good for nothing, but
to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot
of men.’’ He informed the Mormons that
the Church was the salt ; that dissenters were
the salt that had lost its flavour; and that
they were literally to be trodden under the
foot of the Church, until their bowels should
gush out.

In one of the meetings of the’ Danite
band, one of the leaders informed them that
the time was not far distant, when the elders
of the Church should go forth to the world
with swords at their sides, and that they
would soon have to go through the state of
. Missouri, and slay every man, woman, and
child ! They had itin contemplation at one
time to prophesy a dreadful pestilence in Mis-
souri, and then to poison the waters of the
state, to bring it about, and thus to. destroy
the inhabitants.

In the early part of the fall of the year
1838, the last disturbance between the Mor-
mons and the Missourians commenced. It
had its origin at an election in Davies county,
where some of the Mormons had located. A
citizen of Davies, in a conversation with a
Mormon, remarked that the Mormons all
voted one way : this was denied with warmth ;
a violent contest ensued, when, at last, the
Mormon called the Missourian a liar. They
came to blows, and the quarrel was followed
by a-row ‘between the Mormons and the Mis-
sourians.

A day or two after this, Smith, with a com-
pany of men from the Far-West,’ went into
Davies county, for the purpose, as they said;
of quelling the mob; but when they arrived,
the mob had’ dispersed: The citizens of
Davies gathered in their turn ; however, the

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

Mormons soon collected a forceto the amount
of ‘five hundred men, and compelled the
citizens to retire ; they fled, leaving the cotin-
try deserted for many miles around. At this
time, the Mormons killed between two and
three hundred hogs, and a number of cattle -
took at least forty or fifty-stands of honey, and
at the same time destroyed several fields of
corn. The word was given out, that the Lord
had. consecrated, through the Church, the
spoils unto his host.

All this was done when they had plenty of
their own, and previous to'thé citizens in that
section of the country taking anything from
them. They continued these depredations for
near a week, when the Clay County Militia
was ordered out. ' The contest was a bloody
one: suffice it to say, that, finally, Smith,
Rigdon, and many others were taken, and, at
a court of inquiry, were remanded over for
trial. Rigdon was afterwards discharged on
habeas corpus, and Smith and his comrades,
after being in prison several months, escaped
from their guards, and ‘reached Quincy,
Illinois. The Mormons had been before
ordered to leave the state, by direction of the
governor, and many had retired to Illinois
previous to Smith’s arrival.

The Mormons, as'a body, arrived in
Illinois in the early part of the year 1839, in
a state of great destitution and wretchedness.
Their condition, with their tales of persecu-
tions and privations, wrought powerfully upon
the sympathies of the citizens, and ‘caused
them to be received with the greatest hospi-
tality and kindness.’ After the arrival of
Smith, the greater part of’ them settled at
Commerce, situated’ upon the Mississippi
river, at the lower rapids, ‘just opposite the
entrance of the river Des Moines, a site equal
in beauty to any on ’the river.’ Here they
began to build, and in the short time of four
years they have raised a city. At first, as
was before said, on account of their former
sufferings, and also from the great political
power which they possessed, from their unity,
they were treated by the citizens of Illinois
with great respect; but subsequent events
have turned the tide of feeling against them.

In the winter of 1840, they applied to the
legislature of the state for several charters ;
one for the city of Nativoo, the name Smith
had given to the town of Commerce;
one for the Nauvoo legion, a military body ;
one for manufacturing purposes, and one for
the Nauvoo University. The privileges which
they asked for were very extensive, and such
was the desire to secure their political sup-
port, that all. were granted’ for the mere
asking; indeed, the leaders of the American
legislature seemed to vie with each other in
sycophancy towards this: body of fanatica?
strangers, so anxious was each party to do’
them some favour that would secure their
gratitude. This tended to produce jealousyin.the minds, of the neighbouring citizens, and
fears were expressed lest.a body so, united re-
ligiously and politically,, might. become dan-
gerous to liberal institutions,

The, Mormons had at every election voted
in. a body with their leaders.; this.alone made
them formidable,.. The legion, of Mormons
had been: amply supplied with arms by the
state, and.,the whole, body.was under. the
strictest military discipline. These facts, to+
gether with complaints similar to those which
were made.in Missouri, tended to arouse a
strong; feeling against them, and_.at. last, in
the early part of the summer.of 1841, the
citizens of Illinois organized. a strong force,in
opposition ; the Mormons were beaten in the
contest. - The. disposition now manifested by
the citizens, appears to. be to act upon the
defensive, but at all hazards to maintain, their
nights,

As regards the pecuniary transactions of
the Mormons,; since. they have. been, in. Illi-
nois, Smith, still uses. his, power for his-own
benefit., ,His present arrangements: are to
purchase land; at; a.low rate, lay it off into
town. lots, which he sells to,:his followers at.a
high price ;thus,lots, that.scarcely. cost, hima
dollar, are frequently sold fora thousand.
He has. raised several. towns.in.this manner,
both.in Illinois and in lowa.

During the; last year, he has made two
proclamations to-his followers: abroad, to
come and settle in the, county of Hancock.
‘These. proclamations, have been,obeyed to a
great, extent, and, strange to say, hundreds
have been. flocking xin from. the great. manu-
facturing. cities, of England. What is to be
the result.of all this, it is impossible. to. tell ;
but one. thing, is certain, that,,in. a political
point, of yiew,, the. Mormons are already
powerful, ,and.that the object of Smith is, evi-
dently to.collect all his followers: into. one
focus, and, thus concentrate all his power and
wealth. j

The, designs, of Smith and jhis coadjutors,
at the time, of. the first. publication of the
Book of Mormon, was,.doubtlessly, nothing
more. than, pecuniary .aggrandizement. We
do. not, believe. they, expectedat that time
that so many could eyer. be duped, to be. con-
verted; ;when,. however, the delusion, began
to spread, the publishers\saw the door opened
not only for wealth, but. also, for, extensive
power, .and) their history,.throughout. shows
that they, have not been. remiss in, .their, efforts
to,acquire both... The extent:of\their desires
is now, by no:means limited, for their writings
and. actions. show, a.design; to, pursue the
same path,.and attain the same end, by the
Same.means,;as did Mahomet... The. idea of

a, second ,Mahomet arising inthe nineteenth
century, may, excite a smile, but when we, con-
sider, the steps now: taken, by the, Mormons to
concentrate their numbers, and their ultimate
design to unite themselves, with the Indians,

 

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

  
  

 

it will not be.at,all/surprising, if scenes: un-
heard of, since; the days of feudalism should
soon be re-enacted.

I .will here.submit.to my readers, a letter
directed to,,Mr, Courtenay, in 1842, by a
superior officer of the United States’ artillery.

‘‘ Yesterday; (July the, roth), was a great
day among) the Mormons,; their legion, to the
number of three thousand,men, was reviewed
by Generals, Smith, Bennet, and, others, and
certainly. made.a; very, noble and imposing
appearance; the. evolutions of. the troops
commanded. by Joe would.do, honour to any
body. of regular, soldiers in England, France,
or. Prussia, What.does this mean? Why
this, exact discipline of the Mormon. corps?
Do they intend to, conquer, Missouri, Illinois,
Mexico? It is true they are, part of the
mInilitia of the state of Illinois, by the charter
of their legion, but then there are no, troops
in the States like them ,in point. of discipline
and, enthusiasm; and. led on: by ambitious
and talented officers, what may. not be effected
by. them ?: perhaps: the subversion of the con-
stitution of the United’ States; and if this
should be considered too great a task, foreign
conquest will most..certainly be, attempted.
The northern; provinces of Mexico. will, fall
into their hands, even if Texas should first
take possession of them.

‘« These. Mormons are accumulating, like
a snow-ball rolling down, an inclined. plane:
They are also enrolling among their officers
some of the first talent in the country, by
titles: which they. give and.by money which
they ,can command. ‘They have appointed
Captain. Henry Bennet,, late of the United
States’. army, Inspector-General of | their
legion, and he is. commissioned. as..such by
Governor Carlin., This gentleman.is. known
to, be well skilled in fortification, gunnery,
and military engineering generally ;and Iam
assured that;he is) receiving. regular, pay,
derived, from. the, tithing of. this, warlike
people. I have seen his, plans for fortifying
Nauvoo, which are equal to any of Vauban’s,

“General John’ .C., Bennet;,(a. New ,Eng-
land man) isthe prophet’s great. gun. They
eall him, though, a. man, of diminutive stature,
the...‘ forty-two. pounder.’ He, might have
applied -his }talents.in, a more, honourable
cause; but) I am-assured: that he is) well paid
for the. important: services) he, is rendering
this people, or, I should rather say, rendering
the prophet. , This gentleman. exhibits, the
highest degree, of field) military: talent. (field
tactics),) united with, extensive learning. . He
may yet become dangerous to the states. He
was quartermaster-general of the state of
Illinois, and,! at; another time, ,.a professor in
the, Erie, university. ._It will, therefore,,, be
seen that nothing,,but..a -high -price-could
have, secured him,to, these fanatics... Only a
part, of their,officers and professors are, Mor-
mons, ; but then they are united by;a,commoninterest, and will act together on main points
to/a man. ‘Those who ate ‘not Mormons
when they come here, very soon bécome ‘so,
either from interest or conviction.

‘“The Smiths are not! without talent’;
Joe, the chief; ‘isa noblelooking fellow, a
Mahomet,’ every inch of hitn ; ‘the ' post-
master, Sidney Rigdon; is 4 lawyer,’ a’ philo-
Sopher, and a saint. The other generals are
also men‘ of talent, dnd sonie of them men of
learning. -°I have no doubt they are all
brave, as they are most unquestionably ambi-
tious, “and ‘the tendency “of ‘their ‘religious
creed is to annihilate all other'$eéts. - We
may, therefore, seé ‘the ‘time when this
gathering host of religious fahaties will make
this country shake to its centre. A ‘western
empire is ‘certain. “Ecclesiastical history pre-
sents no ‘parallel'to this people, inasmuch as
they are’ establishing’ their religion ‘on a
learned basis. In. their college, they teach
all‘the sciences; “with Latin, “Greek, Hebréw,
French, Ttalian, and Spanish; the mathe
matical’ department is under an extremely
able: professor, of the hameé ‘of Pratt ; and a
professor of ‘Trinity College, Dublin} jis pre-
sident of their university.

“Tl arrived ‘here, incog., on the rst inst.,
and, from the great preparations for the mili-
tary paradé;° was inducéd ‘to Stay ‘to see the
turn-out, “which, J confess, “has ‘astonished
and filled me with fears for the future conse-+
quences. The Mormons, it is true, are now
peaceable, but the lion ig asleep. ' Take care,
and don’t’ rouse him.

“The city of “Nativod | contains About
fifteen thousand souls, ‘and’ is’ tapidly ind
creasing. © Tt is’ well’ laid out, and” the

municipal affairs appeir to ‘be well con:
ducted. The adjoining country is‘a beautiful
prairie. Who ‘will say ‘thatthe Mormon
prophetisnot amongthe great spirits of theage?

"The Mormons number, in Europe and
America, about. one “hundred and ‘fifty thou
sand, and are constantly pouring’ into
Nauvoo’ ‘and’ the neighbouring countty.
There are’ probably in‘ and About’ this city,
at a’short ‘distance from the ‘river, not: far
from ‘thirty thousand of 'thésé warlike fana-
tics, and it is but ‘a yea since they have
settled in'the Illinois.”

 

CHAPTER: XL.

While Tewas at Mr. \Cotrtenay's planta-
tion I had @ panther adventtire, ‘a circus
stance'‘wWhich, in“ itself; would be ‘scarcely
worth mentioning, ' were if! not that this fierce
animal was thought to ‘have entirely left! the
country for more than twenty! years. For
several days ‘there had been a rapid’ @iminu-
tion among the turkeys, lambs, and young
pigs inthe neighbourhood; and we had ‘un-
successfully beaten the briars’and canebrakes,
expecting at every moment to fallin with some

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

large tiger-cat, which had strayed from the
southern brakes: After much fruitless labour,
Mr, Courtenay came to the conclasion thata
gang of negro marroons were hanging about,
and he ordered’ that a’ watch should for the
fature be kept every night.

It happénéd ‘that ‘the whole family was
one ‘day invited to a wediling on the’ other
side ‘of the river!’ Not having any clothes
fit for a party, I remained At home, and“at
mid-day started’ on horseback alone, with’ all
the dogs, for a batttie. The ‘day was sultry,
although Windy; ‘as the roar of the wind in
the canes prevented me’ from: hearing the .
barking of the dogs, havine artived at one of
our former: hunting camping’ places, fifteen
milés from the house, F threw myself upon
the ground, and allowed my horse to ‘graze,
Thad scarcely been’ half-anchout occupied in
smoking my pipe, when all the dogs, in full
cry, broke from the briars, and’ rushed into
the canebrakes, passing me at a distance of
thirty yards. I knew it was Tiéither Bear nor
deer that they were running ‘after, and as 1
had observed & path through the ‘canes, f
leaped upon my’ saddlé, and! folidwea the
chase, wondering what it ‘could’ be; as, had
the animal been ay ‘of the smaller feline
species, it would have’ kept’ to ‘the: briars,
whete dogs have never ‘the’ Teast chance
against them. -

I rode briskly till I arrived |'4t°'2 large
cypress'swamp, on the ofher sidé of which I
could perceive through the openings another
cane-brake, higher and considerably. thicker.
I fastened my horsé) giving him “the whole
length of thé lasso, to Allow him ‘to browse
upon the young’ leaves of the canes, and with
my bowie knife and rifle’ entered the swamp,
following the trail of the’ dogs. When. I
came to the other cane-brakeé,’’T heard the
pack before me barking most furiously, and
evidently at bay. I could only be directed
by the noisé, as it was ‘impossible for the to
See anything ;'‘so high and ‘thick’ wére the
canes, that I was obliged’to’ open & way with
my ‘knife, and it was with much trouble aud
fatigue that: I arrived within twenty yards of
the dogs. J knew that I was’ once thote ap-
proaching a swamp, ‘for the’ Canes’ were
becoming ‘thinner ; raising “my EYCS, Theis
ceived that I was in the vicinity of 4 large
cotton tree,’ at the foot of which probably the
dogs weré standing, “Yet T'could not: see
them, and TI began to examine with Care the
upper limbs of the tree, to° ascértain if any
tiger-cat had ‘lodged ‘itself ‘upon'sSome of the
forks. But there was nothing’ that I could
discover; cutting the cares on the left and
on’ the right, I advanced ten’ yards more,
when, to my surprise, I perceived, thirty feet
above’ mé, a large panther embracing the
trunk of a tree with its huge paws, ‘and look-
ing angrily below at the’ dogs,” ' '

I would have retired; but I ‘dared not, asTI feared that the least noise would attract the
attention. of the animal, who. would, spring
upon me from its elevated position. The dogs
barked louder and. louder; twice I raised my
tifle, but did not fire, my nerves were too
much agitated, and my arms shook. At last
I regained my self-command, and reflecting
that among the pack there were some dogs
almost a match for the terrible animal, I
rested my rifle, upon the limb of one. of the
heavy canes, and fired: my aim was true, the
brute fell. mortally wounded, though not
dead ; half of the dogs were upon it ina
_™moment, but, shaking them off, the animal
attempted to re-ascendthe tree. The effort,
however, was above its strength, and, after
two useless springs, it attempted to slip away.
At that moment the larger dogs sprang upon
the animal, which could: struggle no longer,
as life was ebbing fast with the stream of blood.
Ere I had time to reload my rifle, it was
dead.

When I approached, all the dogs were
upon the animal, except a fierce little black
bitch, generally the leader of the pack; I
saw her dart through the canes with her nose
on the ground, and her tail hanging low.
‘The panther was.a female, very lean, and of
the largest size; by her dugs I knew she had
a cub which could not be far off, and I tried
to induce the pack to follow the bitch, but
they were.all too busy in tearing and drink-
ing the blood of the victim, and it was .not
safe to use force with them. For at least ten
minutes I stood contemplating them, wait-
ing till they would be. tired. All at once |
heard a bark, a growl, anda plaintive moan.
I thought at first that the cub had been dis-
covered, but as. the dogs started full speed,
following the chase for more than twenty
minutes, Isoon became convinced that it must
besome new game, eithera bearoraboar. I
followed, but had not gone fifty steps, when
a powerful rushing through the canes made
me aware that the animal pursued had turned
back on its trail, and, twenty yards before me,
I perceived the black bitch dead and horribly
mangled. Iwas going up to. her, when. the
rushing came nearer and nearer; I had“iust
time to throw myself behind a small patch of
briars, before another panther burst out from
the cane-brakes,

Thad rever seen before so tremendous,
and, at the same time, so majestic and. so
beautiful an animal, as with a long and light
spring it-broke out of the canes, It was a
male ; his jaws were covered with foam and
blood ; his tail was Jashing through the air,
and at times he looked steadily behind, as_if
uncertain if he would run. or fight his pur-
suers. At last his eyes were directed.to the
spot. where the bitch Jay dead, and with a
single bound he was again upon the body,
and rolled it under his paws till it had lost
all shape. As the furious animal stood thus

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

 

  

twenty yards before me, I could have fired,
but dared not to do so, while the dogs
were so far-off. _ However, they soon emerged
from the brake, and rushed, forward. A
spirited young. pup, a little ahead of the
others, was immediately crushed by his paw,
and making a few bounds towards a large
tree, he climbed to the height of twenty feet,
where he remained, answering to the cries of
the dogs with a growl as loud as thunder. _

I fired, and this time there was no struggle.
My ball had penetrated through the eye to
the brain, yet the brute in its death struggle
still clung on.

At last the claws relaxed from their hold,
and it fell down a ponderous mass, terrible
still in death. :

The sun had already set, and not wishing
to lose any time in skinning the animal, |
merely cut off its long tail, which I secured as
a trophy round, my waist. My adventures,
however, were not yet terminated, for while
I was crossing, the short width of cane-brake
which was between me and where the she-
panther laid dead, the dogs again gave
tongue, and, in less than three minutes, had
tracked another animal. Night was coming
on pretty. fast, and I was beginning to be
alarmed. ill now I had been successful, each
time having destroyed, with a single ball, a
terrible enemy, whom even the boldest hunters
fear to attack alone; but should I have the
same good luck in a third encounter? It was
more than I could expect, especially as the
darkness would render it more difficult to take
a certain aim. I therefore allowed the dogs
to bark as much as they pleased, and forced
my way to my first victim, the tail of which 1
also. severed, as a proof of my prowess. It,
however, occurred to me that if there were
many more panthers in the cover, it would be
very unsafe to return alone to where I had
left my horse. I therefore made sure that
my rifle was in good order, and proceeded
towards the place where the dogs were still
baying. There I ‘beheld another panther,
but this time it was a sport unattended by any
danger, for the animal was avery young cub,
who had taken refuge fifteen feet. from. the
ground upon a tree which had been struck by
lightning, and broken’ off about three yards
from its roots. The animal was on the broken
part which had its summit entangled in the
lower branches of another tree.

It was truly a pretty sight, as the little
animal's tail, hanging down, served as'a poént
de mire to all the dogs, who were jumping up
to catch it. The cub was delighted, mewing
with high glee, sometimes. running up, some-
times down, just to, invite his playfellows.to
come to him. I felt, great reluctance to kill
so. graceful and playful an animal, , but, it
became a necessity, as no endeavours of mine
could have forced the dogs to leave it. ; I shot
him, and, tying him round my neck, I nowbegan to seek, with some anxiety, for the

place where I had left my horse.

There is but little twilight in ‘America, in
the spring of the year especially’; great was
my hurry, and consequently less was my speed.
i lost my trail, bogged myself in a swamp,
tore my hands and face with the briars, and,
after an hour of severe fatigue, at last
heard my horse, who was impatient at being
left alone, neighing loudly. Though my dis-
tance to the house was only eighteen miles,
and the road quite safe, I contrived to lose
myself three or four times, till, ez désespotr, 1
threw the bridle on my horse's neck, trusting
to his instinct to extricate me from my diffi-
culties. ;

It was nearly midnight when I approached
the back fences of Mr. Courtenay’s plantation,
and I wondered very much at seeing torches
glaring in every direction. I galloped rapidly
through the lane, and learned*'from a negro
that the family had long returned home, and
that supper had been, as usual, served at
eight o'clock ; that they had been anxiously
waiting for me ; and that Mr. Courtenay, fear-
ing some accident had happened, had resolved
to go himselfin search of me with the major
portion of his negroes. Leaving my horse to
the care of the slave, I ran towards the house,
where the dogs had already announced my
arrival, The family came under the portico
to welcome me, and simultaneously asked me
what could haye detained mesolong. ‘I
have caught the robbers,” replied I, ap-
proaching the group, “I have killed them,
and lost two dogs; here are my sfolia
oprma.”

My host was thunderstruck ;. he was too
much of a hunter not to be able to estimate
the size of the animals by the tokens I
had brought with me, and he had believed
that for the last twenty or thirty years, not
one of these terrible animals was actually
tiving in the country. The fact was so very
remarkable, that he insisted on going himself
that very night with his negroes to, skin the
animals ; and, after a hasty meal, he left us
to fulfil his intentions. Relating my adven-
tures to my kind hostess and her niece, I had
the satisfaction of feeling that my narrative
excited emotions which could only arise from
a Strong interést in my welfare.

' This panther story got wind, and nothing
could convince the neighbouring farmers but
the very sight of the skins. All. the western
newspapers related the matter, and for two
months at least I was quite a ‘‘lion.”

A few days after that adventure, the Caro-
line, the largest and finest steam-boat upon
the ‘Mississippi, struck a snag in coming
down the stream, and sank immediately.
The river, however, being very low, the upper
decks remained above water, and help coming
down from the neighbouring plantations, all
the passengers were soon brought on shore

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

without any loss of life. Three hundred
sheep, one hundred hogs, eighty cows, and
twelve horses were left to their fate, and it
was a painful sight to witness the efforts of
the poor brutes struggling against the power-
ful current and looking towards the people on
shore, as if to implore for help.

Only one pig, two cows, and five horses
ever reached the bank of the river, many dis-
appearing under the repeated attacks of the
gar-fish, and other monsters, and. the re-
mainder carried by the stream: to feed the
alligators, and the cawanas of: the south.
But very few objects on board ‘were insured,
and hundreds of hogsheads of Missouri
tobacco and barrels of Kentucky flour were
several days afterwards picked up by the
Arkansas and Tennessee wreckers. Articles
thus lost by shipwreck upon the Mississippi
are seldoin reclaimed, as the principal owners
of the goods, on hearing the ‘news, generally
collect all the property which they can, run
away, change ‘their names, and enter upon
new speculations in another state.

Among the: passengers on board, Mr.
Courtenay recognized several of his friends,
whom he directly invited into the mansion,
while temporary: sheds were erected for the
others, till some steamboat should pass and
take them off. So sudden had been - the
catastrophe, that no luggage of any kind had
been saved, and several Englishmen, travel-
ling to purchase cotton and minerals, suffered
very serious loss. As to the Americans them-
selves, though they complained very loudly,
vowing they would bring an action against the
river, the steam-boats, against every boat,
and everything, for I don’t know how many
millions of.dollars, their losses were very
trifling, as it is the custom for a man in the
Western States to carry all his money in’ his
pocket-book, and his’ pocket-book in’ his
pocket ; as to luggage, he never has any ex-
cept a small valise, two feet long, in which
are contained a shirt, two bosoms, three frills,
a razor, and a brush, which may serve
for his head, clothing, boots, and perhaps
teeth.

It was amusing to hear all the complaints
that were made, and'to enumerate’ the’ sums
which were stated to have been lost ; there
was not one among the travellers, even among
those who had taken a deck-passage, who had
not lost from ten to fifty thousand dollars,
with which he was going to purchase'a' cotton
plantation, a steam-boat, or a whole cargo
of Havanna cigars. ‘’ What made’ it ‘more
ridiculous was the facility with which every-
body found a witness to certify his loss. ‘*I
had five thousand dollars,’ one would say ;
‘ask the general, he will tell you if it is true.”
“True, as I am an: honest’ man,” would
answer the general, “‘to wit, that I swapped
with the judge ‘my eastern notes for his
southern ones.”ie RG AITO

 

 

 

»,-At would be impossible to; explain to. a
sober Englishman the life that is led on, and
the numerous tricks that are played in a
Mississippi. steam-boat.’ One I will. mention,
which will:serve as a sample. An itinerant
preacher, well known as a knave upon. both
banks, and the whole length of the river,
used.(before he was sent to the Penitentiary
for. picking. pockets) to live comfortably. in
the steam-boats, without ever paying a. far-
thing... Hrom St. Louis he would book for
New Orleans, and the, passage money never
being asked in the West but at the termina-
tion of the trip, the preacher would go on
shore at Vicksburg, Natches, Bayon, Sarah,
or any other such station in the way. Then
he would get on-board any boat bound to the
Ohio, book himself for Louisville, and step on
shore at Memphis. .He had no luggage. of
any kind except.a. green cotton umbrella ;
but, in order to. lull all suspicion, he con-
trived_ always. to see the captain or clerk in
his office,.and to ask them. confidentially if
they knew the man sleeping in the upper bed,
if he was respectable, as he, the. preacher,
had in kis trunks considerable sums. intrusted
to. him by some societies... The consequence
was, that, believing him rich,.the captain and
officers would pay hima great. deal of atten-
tion, inviting him to,wine and liquor... When
he. disappeared, they would express. how
sorry they were to have been obliged to leave
the gentleman, behind, but they hoped,they
would see him at St. Louis, New Orleans, or
Louisville, or hear from him, so.as to know
where to direct his trunks. But they.would
soon ascertain that there were no trunks left
behind, that. there. had, never been any
brought.on board, and that they, had been
duped by a clever sharper.

In less than twenty four hours almost all
the passengers had got on board some other
boats, but .those who had. been invited by
Mr, Courtenay tarried,a few. days with. us,
for we were on the eve,.of.a. great fishing
party on the lake, which in the Far West. is
certainly a, very,.curious scene. Among the
new guests were several cotton planters from
the;South, and English cotton-brokers., .One
of them had, passed. a short time among the
Mormons, at. Nauvoo, and had many amusing
Stories to tell of them. One_I select among
many, which isthe failure of, an. intended
miracle by Joe Smith,

Towards, the close ofa fine summer's day,
a, farmer. of, lowa found. a.respectable-look-
ing man at)his.gate, who requested permission
to.pass the ; night under his roof... The hos-
pitable farmer readily complied : the stranger
was.invited into,the house, and. a warm and
substantialsupper, set before him.

After he had eaten, the farmer, who. ap-
peared,.to..be a jovial, ..warm-hearted,,
humorous, and withal. a. shrewd old. man,
passed several hours in conversation with his

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

guest, who, seemed.to. be very jill at ease,
both in body and mind; yet,.as if desirous. of
pleasing his entertainer, he replied courteous-
ly and agreeably to.whatever was said to
him. . Finally, he pleaded fatigue and illness
as an excuse for retiring to rest, and was
conducted by the farmer to.an upper chamber.
where he went to bed.

About the middle of the night, the farmer
and his family were awakened by dreadful
groans, which they soon ascertained pro-
ceeded. from the chamber of the traveller.
On going to ascertain the cause, they found
that the stranger was dreadfully ill; suffering:
the most acute pains and uttering the most
doleful cries, apparently quite unconscious of
what was passing around him. Everything
that kindness, and. experience could suggest
was. done to relieve the sick ;man; but al?
efforts were in vain, and, to the consternation
of the farmer and his, family, their guest, in
the course ofa few, hours, expired.

At an early hour in. the morning, in the
midst, of their trouble and anxiety, two. tra-
vellers came.to the gate,.and requested enter-
tainment;,. The.farmer told them that he
would willingly offer, them hospitality, but
that just now his household was. in the
greatest confusion, on. account. of the death
of a stranger, the particulars of which he
proceeded to. relate to them. . They appeared
to be much surprised and grieved at the poor
man's calamity, and politely requested per-
mission to. see the corpse. ‘This, of course,
the farmer readily granted, and conducted
them to the chamber in which laid the dead
body. ‘They looked at it for a few minutes in
silence, and. then .the. oldest. of the pair
gravely told the farmer that they were elders
of the chureh of Jesus Christ.of Latter-day.
Saints, and were empowered by God to per-
form miracles, even to the extent of raising:
the dead ;. and that they felt quite assured
they could bring to lite the man who laid dead
before them !

The farmer was,.of course, ‘' pretty cons
siderably’ astonished; at. the quality and
powers of the persons who addressed him,
and, rather incredulously asked if they were
quite.sure that they could perform all which
they professed...

‘“O certainly! not.a. doubt. of-it. The
Lord has; commissioned. us expressly to. work
miracles, .in order to prove the truth of the
prophet Joseph Smith, and the. inspiration..of
the, books. and..doctrines. revealed to him.
Send for all your. neighbours, that, in the
presence of a. multitude, we may bring
the dead. man to, life; and that the Lord
and..his .church may be glorified to all
men,”

The farmer,.after.a little consideration,
agreed to let. the .miracle-workers. proceed,
and, .as they desired,.sent his children to his
neighbours, who, attracted by the expectationof a miracle, flocked to the house’ in con-
siderable numbers.

‘The Mormon elders'commenced their task
by kneeling and praying before’ the body with
uplifted hands and eyes, and with most sten-
torian lungs. Before they had proceeded far
with their prayer, a sudden idea ‘struck the
farmer, who quietly quitted the house for a
few minutes, and then returned; and! waited
patiently by the bedside, until the prayer was
finished, and the elders ready to perform
their miracle, Before they began, he respect
fully said to them, that, with’ their permission,
he wished to ask them a few questions! upon
the subject of this miracle. “They replied
that they had no objection. The farmer then
asked, —

“You are quite certain that you can bring
this man to life again?”

“We are.”

“‘ How do you know that you can?”

“We have just received a revelation from
the Lord, informing us that we can.”’

**Are you quite sure that the revelation
was from the Lord ?’’

‘“Yes ; we cannot be mistaken about it.”

“Does your power to raise’ this’ man to
life again depend upon the particular’ nature
of his disease? or could you now bring any
dead man to life?”

““It makes no difference to us; we could
bring any corpse to life.”

“Well, if this man had been killed, and
one of his arms cut off, could you bring him
to life, and also restore to him his arm?”

“Certainly ! there is no limit to the power
given us by the Lord. It would make no
difference, even if both his arms ahd legs were
cut off.”

“Could you restore him, if his Head had
been cut off?”

‘Certainly we could!”

“Well,” said the farmer, with a’ quiet
smile upon his features, ‘‘ I do not doubt the
truth of what such holy men assert ; but I
am desirous that my neighbours here should
be fully converted, by having the miracle per-
formed in the completest’ manner possible,
So, by your leave, if it makes no difference
whatever, I will proceed to cut off the head
of this corpse.”

Accordingly, he produced a huge and well-
sharpened broad axe from beneath his coat,
which he swung aboye his head, and was,
apparently, about to bring it down upon the
neck of the corpse, when, lo and behold ! to
the amazement of all present, the dead’ man
Started up in great agitation, and swore that,
‘*by hell and jingo,” he would not have his
head cut off, for any consideration whatever!

‘The company immediately seized the
Mormons, and soon made them confess that
the pretended dead man was also a. Mormon
elder, ‘and that they had sent him to the
farmer's house, with directious to die there

OF ‘MONSIEUR VIOLET.

at a particular ‘hour, when they would drop
in, as if by accident, and perform a’ miracle
that would astonish everybody.’ The fatnier,
after giving the impostors a severe chastise-
ment, let them’ depart to practisé their Az
dug in’ some other quarter. x
These two ‘Elders of the church of Fess
Christ of Latter-day Saints,” wete honest
Joe and his worthy comfeer and ‘eoadjutor
Sidney Rigdon. ¥

CP AL; Les, ae.

The day of the fishing at length arrived?
our party of ladies and gentlemen) with (he
black cooks and twenty slaves) startéd’ two
hours before sunrise, and, after a smart tidé
of some twelve miles, we halted before 4 fong
row of tents, which had beén ‘erected for¢he
occasion, on the ‘shores of one ‘of “these
numerous and beautiful western lakes. “Fifty
negroes were already on the spot, some cutting
wood for fuel, some prepating breakfast,
while others made ready the baits and lines;
or cleaned empty barrels, in which our’ fa-
tended victims were to be salted! \ Wé
scarcely had had time to look around “usi,
when, from twenty different quarters, we be-
held the approach of as. many parties, who
had been invited to share the sport. ‘We
greeted them planter fashion :—‘' Are’ you
hungry, eh, eh?—Sam, Napoleon, Wash:
ington, Caesar—quick—the breakfast.”

For several days previous, ‘all the creeks
of the neighbourhood had been drained of
their cray-fish, minnows, and ‘shell-fish. All
the dug-outs and canoes from every stream
thirty miles round had also been dragged to
the lake, and it was very amusing fo seéa
fleet of eighty boats and canoes’ of every
variety, in which we were to embark to pro-
secute Our intentions against the unsuspecting
inhabitants of the water.

After a hearty, though somewhat hasty
meal, we proceeded to business, every white
man taking with him a negro, to bait his line
and unhook the fish; the paddles were soon
puttin motion, and the canoes, keeping a dis-
tance of fifty yards from each other, having
now reached the deepest part: of the lake,
bets were made.as to who would pull up the
first fish, the ladies on shore watching the
sport, and the caldrons upon the fire ready to
receive! the first victims. I must not omit to
mention, that two of the larger’ canoes,
manned only by negroes, ‘were ordered to pull
up and down the line of fishing boats and
canoes, to take cut the fish as they were
captured. :

Ata signal given by the ladies, the lines
were thrown into the lake, and, almost at the
same moment, a deafening hurrah of a hun-
dred voices announced that all-the baits had144 ; TRAVELS AND. ADVENTURES

been taken before reaching the bottom, every
fisherman imagining that he had won his bet.
‘The winner; however,.could never be ascer-
tained, and. nobody gave it a second thought,
all being now too much excited with the sport.
The variety of the fish was equal to: the
rapidity with which they were taken ; basses,
perch, sun-fish, buffaloes, trouts, and twenty
other sorts, In less than half an hour my
canoe was full to sinking ; and I should cer-
tainly have sunk with my cargo, had it not
been most opportunely.taken out by one of
the spare boats. All was high glee on
shore and on the lake, and the scene was now
and then still diversified by cotnic accidents,
causing the more mirth, as there was: no
possibility of danger.

The canoe next to me was full to the gun-
wale, which. was not two inches above water :
it. contained the English traveller and a
negro, who was quite an original in his way.
As fish succeeded to fish, their position be-
came exceedingly ludicrous: the canoe was
positively sinking, and they were lustily call-
ing for assistance. ‘Thespare boat approached
rapidly,.and had neared them to within five
yards, when the Englishman’s line was sud-
denly jerked bya very heavy fish, and so
unexpectedly, that. the sportsman lost his
equilibrium and fell upon the larboard side of
the canoe.

The negro, wishing to restore the equili-
brium, threw. his weight on the opposite side ;
unluckily, this had been the simultaneous
idea of: his white companion, who also rolled
over the fish to starboard. The canoe turned
the turtle with them, and away went minnows,
crawfish, lines, men, and all. Everybody
laughed most outrageously, as the occupants
of the canoe re-appeared upon the surface of
the water, and made straight for the shore,
not daring to trust to another canoe.after their
ducking. The others continued fishing till
about half-past nine, when the rays of the
sun were becoming so powerful as to compel
us to seek shelter in the tents.

If the scene on the lake had been exciting,
it became not less so on shore, when all the
negroes, male and female, crowding together,
began to scale, strip, and salt the fish. Each
of them had an account to give of some
grand fishery, where a inonstrous fish, a mile
in length, had been taken by some fortunate
“‘Sambo” of the South. The girls gaped
with terror and. astonishment, the men wink-
ing and trying to look grave, while spinning
these yarns, which certainly beat all the won-
ders of the veracious Baron Munchauser.

The call to renew the sport broke off their
ludicrous inventions. , Our fortune was as
great as in the forenoon, and at sunset we
returned home, leaying the negroes to, salt

_ and pack the fish in barrels, for the supply of

the plantation.
A few days afterwards, I bade adieu to

 

Mr. Courtenay and his delightful family, and
embarked myself and horse on board of one
of the steamers bound. to St. Louis, which
place I reached on the following morning.

St. Louis,has been described by ‘so many
travellers, that it is quite useless to mention
anything about this ‘‘queen city of the
Mississippi."’. I will only ;observe, that my
arrival produced a great sensation among the
inhabitants, to whom the traders in the Far
West had often told stories about the wealth
of the Shoshones., In two or three days, I
received a hundred or more applications from
various speculators, ‘‘to go and» kill the
Indians in the West, and take away. their
treasures ;’? and I should have undoubtedly
received ten thousand more, had I not hit
upon;a good plan to rid myself of. all their
importunities. I merely sent all the.notes:to
the newspapers as fast as I received:them ;
and it excited a hearty laugh amongst: the
traders, when. thirty letters appeared in the
columns, allof them written in the same tenor
and style.

One evening I found: at the post-office a
letter from Joseph Smith, himself, in which he
invited me to.go to him without any. loss of
time, as the state of affairs haying . now
assumed a certain degree of importance, »it
was highly necessary that we should at once
come to a common understanding. Nothing
could have pleased me more than this com-
munication, and the next. morning I started
from. St. Louis, arriving before noon at
St. Charles, a)small town upon the Missouri,
inhabited almost: entirely by French creoles,
fur-traders, and trappers. There, for the
first time, I sawa steam-ferry, and, to say the
truth, Ido not understand well how horses
and waggons could have been. transported
over before the existence of steam-boats, as,
in that particular:spot, the mighty stream
rolls its muddy waters with an incredible
velocity, forming. whirlpools, which seem
strong enough to engulph anything. that may
come into them,

From St. Charles I crossed a. hilly land,
till I arrived once more upon the Mississippi,;
but there ‘‘ the father of the waters ”’ (as the
Indians call it). presented an aspect entirely
new : its waters, not having yet mixed with
those of. the. Missouri, were quite . trans-
parent : the banks, too, were several hundred,
feet high, and recalled to my mind the coun-
tries watered by the Buona Ventura River.
For two. days I continued my road almost
always in.sight of the stream, till at last, the
ground becoming too broken and hilly, I.em-
barked upon another steam-ferry at Louisiana,
arising and promising village, and landed
upon the shores of Illinois, where the level
prairies would allow of more rapid travelling.

The state of Missouri, in point of dimen-
sions, is the second state of the Union, being:
inferior in extent only to Virginia, It extendsfrom’36° to 40° 35’ N. lat., and from 89° 20!
to 95° West. long., having an area of about
68,500 square miles. Its boundaries, as
fixed by the Constitution, are a line drawn
from a point in the middle of the Mississippi,
in. 36° N, lat., and along that parallel, west to
its. intersection, a meridian line,. passing
through the mouth of the Kansas, Thence,
‘the western boundary was originally at that
meridian ; but, by act of Congress in 1836,
the triangular tract between it and the Mis-
souri, above the mouth of the Kansas, was
annexed to the state. On the north, the
parallel of latitude, which passes through the
rapids of the river Desmoines, forms. the
boundary between that river and the Mis-
souri.

The surface of that portion of the state
which lies north of the Missouri is, in general,
moderately undulating, consisting of an agree-
able interchange of gentle swells and broad
valleys, and rarely, though occasionally,
rugged, orrising into hills of much elevation.
With the exception of narrow strips of wood-
land along \the water-courses, almost. the
whole of this region is prairie, at least nine-
tenths being wholly destitute of trees. The
alluvial patches or river-bottoms are exten-
sive, particularly on the Missouri, and gene-
rally of great fertility ; and the soil of the
npland is equal, if not superior, to that of
any ¢ther upland tract in the United States.
The region south of the Missouri River, and
west of the Osage, is of the same description ;
the northern and western Missouri country is
most delightful, a soil of inexhaustible fertility
and a salubrious climate, rendering it a most
desirable and pleasant. residence ; but south-
east of the latter river, the state is traversed
by numerous ridges of .the Ozark mountains,
and the surface is here highly broken and
rugged.

This mountainous tract has a breadth of
from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
miles; but although it often shoots up into
precipitous peaks, it is believed that they
rarely exceed two thousand feet in height ; no
accurate measurements of their elevation have;
however, been made, and little is known of
the course and mutual relations of the chains,
The timber found here is pitch-pine, shrub
oaks, cedar, etc., indicative of the poverty of
the soil; in the uplands of the rest of the
state, hickory, post-oak, and white oaks, etc.,
are the prevailing growth ; and in the river
bottoms, the cotton-tree, sycamore or button-
wood, maple, ash, walnut, etc., predominate.
The south-eastern corner of the state; below
Cape Girardeau, and. east of the Black River,
is a portion of the immense inundated region
which borders the Arkansas. A considerable
part of this tract is indeed above the reach of
the floods, but these patches are isolated and
inaccessible, except by boats, during the; rise

of the waters,

OF MONSIEUR. VIOLET,..

My'friend Mr, Courtenay penetrated these
swamps with three Indians and two’ negroes.
His: companions wete bogged and lost ; he
returned, having killed seven fine elks and
two buffaloes. Some of these mighty animals
have been breeding there for a long while,
undisturbed by man.

The state of Missouri is abundantly sup-
plied with navigable channels, affording easy
access to all parts.. The Mississippi washes
the eastern border, by the windings of the
stream, for a distance of about four hundred
and seventy miles: Above St. Genevieve, it
flows forthe most part ‘between high and
abrupt cliffs of limestone, rising to an eleva.
tion of from one hundred to four hundred
feet above the surface of 'the river ; sometimes
separated from it by bottoms of greater or
less width, and at others springing up abruptly
from the water's edge.. A few miles below
Cape Girardéau, and about thirty-five miles
above, the mouth of the Ohio, are the rocky
ledges called the Little and Grand Chain ;
and about half-way between that point and
St. Genevieve is the Grand Tower, one of the
wonders of the Mississippi: It is a stupendous
pile of rocks, of a conical form, about one
hundred and fifty feet high, and one hundred
feet circumference at its base, rising up out of
the bed of the river.- It seems, in connection
with the rocky shores on both sides, to have
been opposed, at some former period, as a
barrier to the flow of the Mississippi, which
must here have had a perpendicular fall of
more than one hundred feet.

‘The principal tributaries of the Mississippi,
with the exception of the Missouri, are the
Desmoines, Wyacond, Fabius, Salt, and Cop-
per rivers, above that great stream ; and the
Merrimac, St. Francis, and White River,
below ; the two ‘last passing into Arkansas.
Desmoines, which is'only a boundary stream,
is navigable one hundred and seventy miles ;
and Salt River, whose northern sources are
in Iowa, and southern in Boone county, and
which takes its name from the salt licks or
salines on its borders, may be navigated by.
steam-boats up to Florida (a small village) ;
that is to say, ninety-five or a hundred miles;
The Riviere au Cuivre, or Copper River, is
also a navigable stream ; but the navigation
of all these rivers is interrupted by ice in
winter, and by shoals and bars in the dry
season,

‘The Missouri river flows through the state
for a distance of about six hundred miles; but
although steam-boats have ascended it two
thousand five; hundred miles from its mouth,
its navigation is rendered difficult and dan-
gerous by, sand-bars, falling banks, snags, and
shifting channels.

‘The bank of the Mississippi river, on the
Illinois side, is not by far so picturesque as
the country I have just described, but -its' fer-
tility is astonishing, Consequently, the farmsaaa

 

 

 

and villages are less scattered, and cities,
built with taste and a great display of wealth,
are found at a short ‘distance one from the
other. Quincy I:may mention, among others,
as being a truly beautiful town, and quite
European in its style of structure and neat-
ness. Elegant fountains are pouring their
cool waters at the end of every row of houses ;
some of the squares are magnificent, and, as
the town is situated upon a hill several hun-
dred feet above the’ river, the prospect’ is
truly grand.

At every place where I stopped between
St. Louis and: Quincy, I always heard ‘the
Mormons abused ‘and spoken of as a’ set of
scoundrels; but from Quincy to Nauvoo'the
reports were totally different. The higher or
more enlightened classes of the people have
overlooked the petty tricks of the Mormon
leaders, to watch with more accuracy the ad-
vance and designs of Mormonism. In Joe
Smith they recognize a great man, a man of
will and energy, one’ who has the power of
carrying everything before him, and they fear
him accordingly.

On leaving Quincy, I travelled about
seventy miles through a country entirely flat,
but admirably cultivated. I passed through
several little villages, and at noon of the
second day I reached my destination.

 

CHAPTER XLIL

Nauvoo, the holy city of the Mormons,
and present capital of their empire, is situated
in the north-western part of Illinois, on the
east bank of the Mississippi, in lat. 40° 35’ N.
It is bounded’ on the north, south, and west
by the river, which there forms a large curve,
and is nearly two miles wide. Eastward’ of
the city is a beautiful undulating prairie ; it is
distant ten miles from Fort Madison, in Iowa,
and more than two hundred from St. Louis.

Before the Mormons gathered there, the
place was named Commerce, as I havealready
said, and was but a small and obscure village
of some twenty houses ; so rapidly, however,
have they accumulated, that there are: now,
within four years of their first settlement, up-
wards of fifteen thousand inhabitants in ‘the
city, and as many more in its immediate
vicinity.

The surface of the ground upon which
Nauvoo’ is built is very uneven, though there
are no great elevations. A few feet below the
soil is a vast bed of limestone, from which
excellent building material can be quarried, to
almost any extent. A number of ¢umzxli, or
ancient mounds, are found’within the limits
of the city, proving it to have been a place of
some importance with the former inhabitants
of the country!

The space comprised within the city limits
is about four miles in its extreme length, and

    
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
 
   
  
  
    
    
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
    
   
 
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
   

146 TRAVELS. AND. ADVENTURES

three in its breadth; but is very irregular in
its outline, and does not cover so much
ground as the above measurement would
seem to indicate.

The city is regularly laid out, the streets
crossing each other at right angles, and gene-
rally of considerable length, and of convenient
width. The majority of the houses are stil! _
nothing more than log cabins, but lately 4
great number of’ plank and brick houses have
been erected. ‘The chief edifices of Nauvoo
are the Temple, and an hotel called the
Nauvoo House, but neither of them is yet
finished; the latter is of brick, upon 4 stone
foundation, and presents a front of one hun-
dred and twenty feet, by sixty feet deep, and
is to be three stories high, exclusive of the
basement. ’ Although intended chiefiy for the
reception and entertainment of strangers and
travellers, it contains, or rather will contain, a
splendid suite of apartments for the particular
accommodation of the: prophet Joe Smith,
and his heirs and descendants for ever.

The ‘privilege of this accommodation he
pretends was:granted to him by the Lord, in
a special revelation, on account of his Ser-
vices to the Church, It is most extraordinary
that the Americans, imbued with democrati¢
sentiments and with such an utter aversion to
hereditary privileges of any kind, could for a
moment be‘ blinded to the selfishness of the
prophet, who thus easily provided for himself
and his posterity a palace and a maintenance.

The Mormon Temple is a splendid strué-
ture of stone, quarried within the bounds of
the city; its breadth is eighty feet, and its
length one hundred and forty, independent
of an outer court of thirty feet, making the
length of the whole structure one hundred
and seventy feet. In the basement of the
temple is the. baptismal font, constructed in
imitation of the famous brazen sea of Solo-
mon; it is supported by twelve oxen, well
modelled and overlaid with gold.’ Upon the
sides of the font, in panels, are represented
various scriptural subjects, well painted. The
upper story of the temple will, when finished,
be used’as a lodge-room for the Order Lodge
and other secret societies. In the body of the
temple, where it is intended that the congre-
gation shall assemble, are two sets of pulpits,
one for the priesthood, and ‘the other for the
grandees of the church.

The cost of this noble edifice has been
defrayed by tithing the whole Mormon church.
Those who reside at' Nauvoo, and are able to
labour, have been obliged to work every tenth
day in quarrying stone, or upon the building
of the temple itself. Besides the temple,
there ‘are in Nauvoo two steam saw-mills, a
steam flour-mill, a tool-factory on a large
scale, a foundry, and a company of consider-
able wealth, from Staffordshire, have ‘also
established there a manufacture ‘of English
china.The population of the holy city itself is
rather a mixed kind. The general gathering
of the saints has, of course, brought together
men of all classes and characters. The
great majority of them are uneducated and
unpolished people, who are undoubtedly
sincere believers in the prophet and his. doc-
tines... A great proportion of them consist of
converts. from the English manufacturing dis-
tricts, who were easily persuaded by Smith’s
missionaries to exchange their wretchedness
at home for ease and plenty in the promised
land.. These men. are deyotedly attached to
the prophet’s will, and obey his orders. as they
would these of God himself.

These aliens can, by the. law. of Illinois,
vote after six months’ residence in the state,
and they,.consequently vote blindly, giving
their votes, according to the will ode Smith.
To such an extent does. his. will influence
them, that).at the election in Nauvoo (1842)
there were but.six votés against the candidates
he supported,, Of the Mormons, I believe
the majority-to be ignorant, deluded. men,
really.and earnestly devoted to their new. reli-
gions. But their leaders are.men. of intellect,
who. profess Mormonism. because of ..the
wealth, titles, rank, and power :which it pro-
cures them.

As a military position, Nauvoo, garrisoned
by twenty .or ,thirty thousand fanatics, well
armed and well supplied. with. provisions,
would .be .most, formidable. It..is unap-
proachable upon any side but the east, and
there the nature of the ground (boggy) offers
great.obstacles to any besieging operations.
itis Smith's intention to congregate his fci-
lowers ‘there, until. he accumulates a force
that can defy anything that can be brought
against him,

Nauvoo.is a Hebrew word, and signifies a
beautiful habitation fora man, carrying with
it. the idea of rest.. It is not, however, con-
sidered by the Mormons as their final home,
but,as a resting-place ; they only intend, to
remain there till they. haye gathered a force
sufficient to enable them to conquer Indepen-
dence (Missouri), which, according to them,
ts one of the most fertile, pleasant, and de-
sirable couztries on the face of the earth, pos-
sessing a soil unsurpassed by any region. In-
dependence they consider their Zion, and they
there intend to rear their great temple,. the
corner. stone of which is already laid. There
is to be the great gathering-place for all the
Saints, and, in that delightful and healthy
country, they expect to find their Eden and
build their. New Jerusalem.

What.passed between Joe Smith, and
myself I feel not at liberty to..disclose ; in
fact, publicity would interfere with any future
plans. tI will only say, that the, prophet re-
ceived. me with the greatest cordiality, and
confirmed the offers which his. agents. had
made to me when. I was among the Coman-

OF MONSIEUR: VIOLET;

ches.. ‘When, however, I.came’to the point;
and wished to ascertain whether the Mormons
would act up to the promises of their leaders, -
I perceived, to my great disappointment, that
the ‘‘means’’ at least,. for the present—the
operative méans—were not yet ready'to be put
in motion. .According to him, the Foxes,
Osages, Winnebegoes, Sioux, and. Menno-
monie. Indians, would act for him ata mo-
ment’s notice ; and, on my visiting the Foxes
to ascertain the truth of these assertions, J,
discovered that they had indeed promised: to
do, so, provided that, previously, the Mor-
mons should have fulfilled certain promises to
them, the performance of which I knew was
not yet.in the power of the Mormons.

In the: meanwhile, I heard from Joe Smith
himself how God had selected; him to. obtain
and. be. the keeper.of the. divine Bible ;. and
the reader .will. form his own idea of Joe
Smith by the narrative. ;The day appointed
was the 22nd of September,, and Joe told. me
that.on that day—

‘‘ He arose early in. the,morning, took a
one-horse waggon of some one that had stayed
overnight at his house, and, accompanied by
his wife, repaired to the hill which contained
the book. He left his wife in the waggon by
the road, and went alone to the hill, a distance
of thirty or forty.rods.. He. then. took the
book out of the ground, hid it in a tree top,
and returned home. .The next day he went
to work for some time in the. town of Mace-
don, but about ten days afterwards, it having
been suggested that some; one had got his
book, his. wife gave him notice of it; upon
which, hiring a_ horse, he..returned home in
the afternoon, stayed just time enough to drink
a cup of tea, went in search of hisbook, found
it safe, took off his. frock, wrapt it round his
treasure, put it under his arm, and: ran all
the way home, a distance of about two. miles.
He said he should think that, being written
on plates of gold, it. weighed. sixty. pounds,
but, at,all-events, was sure it was not less than
forty. ..On his return he was, attacked by two
men.in the woods, knocked them, both down,
made his. escape, and. arrived safe at) home
with his burden,”

The above were the exact words of Smith,
to.-which he adds, somewhere in histranslation
of the book, that, had it not been for the super-
natural virtues of the stone, he carried with him,
virtues which endowed him with divine strength
and courage, he would never have been able to
undergo the fatigues and.conquer the obstacles
he encountered during that frightful night,

Thus Smith gets possession of his precious
manuscript. . But, alas! ‘tis written in, Egyp-
tian hieroglyphics.. Joe. calls to his assistance
the wonderful stone, ‘‘the gift of God,” and
peeping hastily through it, he sees an angel
pointing somewhere .towards a miraculous

pair of spectacles!/ Yes, two polished pieces
of crystal were the, humble, means by, whichthe golden plates were to be rendered com-

. prehensible. By-the-bye, the said spectacles

are a heavy, ugly piece of workmanship of ‘the
last century ; they are silyer-mounted, and
bear the maker's name, plainly engraved,
“Schneider, Zurich.”

The Book of Mormon was published in
the year 1830. | Since that period its believers
and advocates have propagated its doctrines
and absurdities with a zeal worthy of a better
cause. Through every State of the Union,
and in Canada, the apostles of this wild de-
lusion have disseminated its principles and
duped thousands to believe it true. They
have crossed the ocean, and in England have
made many converts ; recently some of their
missionaries have been sent to Palestine. Such
strenuous exertions having been, and still
being made, to propagate the doctrines: of
this book, and such fruits having already ap-
peared from the labours of its friends, it
becomes a matter of some interest to investi-
gate the history of this strange delusion, and,

although it does not deserve it, treat the sub-

ject.seriously.

The Book of Mormon purports to be the
record or history of a certain people who in-
habited America previous to its discovery by
Columbus. According to the book, ‘this
people were the descendants of one Lehi,
who crossed the ocean from the eastern con-
tinent to that of America. - Their history and
records, containing prophecies and revelations,
were engraven, by the command of God; on
small plates, and deposited in the hill Comara,
which appears to be situated in Western New
York. ‘Thus was preserved an account of this
race (together with their religious creed) up to
the period when the descendants: of Laman,
Lemuel, andSam, who were the three eldest
sons of Lehi, arose and destroyed the descen-
dants of Nephi, who was the youngest son.
From this period the descendants of the eldest
sons *‘ dwindled in unbelief,” and ‘‘ became a
dark, loathsome, and filthy people.”’ These last-
mentioned are the present American Indians.

The plates above mentioned remained in
their depository until 1827, when they were
found by Joseph Smith, jun., who was directed
in the discovery by the angel of the Lord. On
these plates were certain hieroglyphics, said
to be of the Egyptian character, which Smith,
by the direction of God, being instructed by
inspiration as to their meaning, proceeded to
translate.

It will be here proper to remark, that a
narrative so extraordinary as that contained
in the Book of Mormon, translated from hiero-
glyphics, of which even the most learned have
but a limited knowledge, and that too, by an
ignorant ‘man, who pretended to no. other
knowledge of the characters than what he
derived ‘from inspiration, requires more than
ordinary evidence to substantiate it. | It will,

therefore, be our purpose to inquire into the

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

  

nature ana degree of testimony .which has
been given to the world to substantiate the
claims of this extraordinary book.

In the first place, the existence of the
plates themselves has ever since their ‘alleged
discovery been in dispute. On this point. it
would be extremely easy to give some proofs,
by making an exhibition of them to the world.
If they are so ancient as they are claimed to
be, and designed for the purpose of trans-
mitting the history of a people, and if they
have lain for ages deposited in the earth, their
appearance would certainly indicate the fact.
What evidence, then, have we of the exzstence
of these plates? Why, none other than the
mere dzctum of Smith himself and the certi-
ficates of eleven .other individuals, who say
that they have seen them; and upon this
testimony we are required to believe this most
extraordinary narrative.

Now, even admitting, for the sake of argu-
ment, that these witnesses are all honest and
credible men, yet what would be easier than
for Smith to deceive them? Could. he not
easily procure plates and inscribe thereon a
set of characters, no matter what, and exhibit
them to the intended witnesses as genuine?
What would be easier than thus to impose on
their credulity and weakness? And if it were
necessary to give them the appearances of
antiquity, a chemical process could effect the
matter. But we do not admit that these wit-
nesses were honest; for six of them, after
having made the attestation to the world that
they had seen the plates, left the Church, thus
contradicting that to which they had certified.
And one of these witnesses, Martin Harris,
who is frequently mentioned in the Book’ of
Covenants--who was a high-priest of the
Church—who was one of the most infatuated
of Smith’s followers—who even gave his pro-
perty in order to procure the publication of
the Book of Mormon, afterwards seceded
from the Church. Smith, in speaking of him
in connection with others, said that they were
so far beneath contempt, that anoticeof them
would be too great a sacrifice fora gentleman
to make.

Some of the Mormons have said that a
copy of the plates was presented to Professor
Anthon, a gentleman standing in the first
rank as a classical scholar, and that he at-
tested to the faithfulness of the translation of
the Book of Mormon, Now, let us read
what the professor himself has to say on this
matter. In a letter recently published he
expresses himself thus :—

‘Many years ago, the precise date I do
not now recollect, a plain-looking country-
man called upon me, with a letter from Dr.
Samuel L. Mitchell, requesting me to examine
and give my opinion upon a certain paper,
marked with various:characters, which the
doctor confessed he could not decipher, and
which the bearer of the note was very anxiousto have explained. A very brief examination
of the paper convinced me that it’ was’ not
only a mere hoax, but a very clumsy one.
The characters were arranged in columns,
like the Chinese mode of writing, and pre-
sented’ the most singular. medley I. ever
beheld. ‘Greek, Hebrew, and all sorts of
letters, more or less distorted, either through
unskilfulness or from actual design, were in-
termingled with sundry delineations of half-
moons, stars, and other natural objects, and
the whole ended in a rude representation of
the Mexican zodiac. The conclusion was
irresistible, that some cunning fellow had
prepared the paper in question, for the pur-
pose of imposing upon the countryman who
brought it, and I told the man so, without
any hesitation. He then proceeded to give
me the history of the whole. affair, which
convinced me that he had) fallen into the
hands of some sharper, while it left me in
great astonishment at his simplicity.’’

The professor also states that he gave his
opinion in writing to the man, that ‘the
marks on the paper appeared to be merely
an imitation of various alphabetic characters,
and had no meaning at all connected with
them.”

The following letter, which I received,
relative to the occupation of Joe Smith as a
treasure-finder, will probably remind the
reader of the character of Dousterswivel, in
Walter Scott’s tale of the Antiquary. One
could almost imagine that either Walter Scott
had borrowed from Joe, or that Joe had bor-
rowed from the great novelist.

‘I first became acquainted with Joseph
Smith, senior, and his family, in 1820." They
lived at that time in Palmyra, about one
mile and a half from my residence. A great
part of their time was devoted to digging for
money; especially in the night-time, when,
they said, the money could be most easily
obtained. I have heard them tell marvellous
tales respecting the discoveries they have
made in their peculiar occupation of money-
digging. ‘They would say, for instance, that
in such.and such a place, in such a hill, ora
certain man’s farm, there were deposited
kegs, barrels, and hogsheads of coined silver
and gold, bars of gold, golden images, brass
kettles filled with gold and silver, gold candle-
sticks, swords, etc., etc. They would also
say, that nearly. all the hills in this part of
New York were thrown by human hands, and
in them were large caves, which’ Joseph, jun.,
could see, by’ placing. a stone of singular: ap-
pearance in his hat, in such: a manner as to
exclude all, light; at which time they pre-
tended he could see all things within. and
under the earth ; that’ he could spy within
the above-mentioned caves large gold bars
and silver plates; that he: could also discover
the spirits in whose -charge these treasures
were, clothed in ancient dresses. At certain

OF MONSIEUR. VIOLET.

  

149

times, these treasures could be obtained very
easily ; at others, the obtaining of them was
difficult. The facility. of approaching them
depended in a great measure on the state of
the moon. New moon and Good Friday, I
believe, were regarded as the most favourable
times for obtaining these treasures. These
tales, of course, I regarded as visionary.
However, being prompted by curiosity, I at
length accepted their invitation to join them
in their nocturnal excursions. I will now
relate a few incidents attending these noc-
turnal excursions.

‘‘Joseph Smith, sen., came to me one
night, and told me that Joseph, jun., had
been looking in his stone, and had seen, not
many rods from his house, two or three kegs
of gold and silver, some feet under the sur-
face of the earth, and that none ‘others but
the elder Joseph and myself could get them.
I accordingly consented to go, and early in
the evening repaired to the place of deposit.
Joseph, ‘sen., first made a circle, twelve or
fourteen feet in diameter: ‘This circle, said
he, ‘contains the treasure.’ He then stuck
in the ground a row of witch-hazel sticks
around the said circle, for the purpose of
keeping off the evil spirits. Within this circle
he made another, of about eight or ten feet
in diameter. He walked around three times
on the periphery of this last circle, muttering
to himself something I could not understand.
He, next stuck a steel rod in the centre of
the circles, and then enjoined profound
silence, lest we should arouse the evil spirit
who had the charge of these treasures. After
we had dug a trench of about five feet in
depth around the rod, the old man, by
signs and motions, asked leave of absence,
and went to the house to inquire of the
son the cause of our disappointment.. He
soon returned, and said, that Joe had re-
mained all the time in the house, looking: in
his stone and watching the motions of the
evil spirit ; that he saw the spirit come‘up to
the ring, and, as soon as it beheld the cone
which we had formed around the rod, it
caused the money to sink. We then went
into the house, and the old. man observed
that. we had made a mistake in the com-
mencement of the operation ; if it had not
been for that,’ said he, ‘we should have got
the money.’

“At another time, they devised a scheme
by which they might satiate their hunger with
the flesh of one of my sheep. . They had seen
in my flock of sheep‘a large, fat, black wether.
Old Joseph and one of the boys came to me
one day, and said, that Joseph, jun., had dis-
covered some: very remarkable and: valuable
treasures, which could be procured ‘only ;in
one way. That way was as follows :—that a
black sheep should be taken on the ground
where the treasures were concealed ;' that,
after cutting its throat, it should be ledr50 TRAVELS-AND. ADVENTURES

around ‘a’ ‘circle’ while bleeding ; this being
done, ‘the wrath of ‘the éyvil spirit would be
appeased, the treasures ‘could ‘then be. 6b-
tained, and my shareof them would be four-
fold. To gratify my curiosity, I. let) them
have the: sheep. They afterwards. informed
me that the sheep. was ‘killed pursuant to
commandment ; but, as there was‘some mis-
take in the process, iit:did not have the desired
effect. This, I believe, is the only time’ they
éver made | money-digging/a profitable busi-
ness. They, however, had constantly around
them a worthless gang, whose employment it
was to dig formoney at night, and who, during
day, had more to dowith mutton than money.
' “When they found that ithe better classes
of people of this vicinity would no longer put
any’ faith in their schemes: for digging money,
they then spretended! to find:a gold Bible, of
which they said the Book .of ;Mormon was
only an introduction. This Jatter book was
at length. fitted for) the! press.: ~No means
were ‘taken, by any individual. to suppress its
publication; no ‘one. apprehended danger
froma book originating with individuals who
had neither influence, honesty, nor honour.
The two Josephs and Hiram promised. to
show me the plates after the Book of Mormon
was ‘translated; but. afterwards, they pre-
tended to have received an express command-
ment, forbidding: them ‘to .show. the plates.
Respecting the manner of obtaining . and
translating the Book of Mormon, their state-
ments were always discordant. The elder
Joseph would say, that he had seen the plates,
and that he knew them 'to be gold ; at other
times he would say; they looked. like gold;
and at other times he assetted:he had not
seen the plates at.all.

“I have thus briefly, stated a: few of the
facts, in. relation to the conduct and cha-
racter of this family qf Smiths ; probably suffi-
cient has been stated without my going into
detail. “WILLIAM STAFFORD,”

' The following is a curious document from
one of the very individuals who printed: the
Mormon. Bible :—

‘Having noticed in. a late number of the
Signs of the Times, a notice.of awork entitled
“Mormon Delusions. and Monstrosities, ' it
occurred to me that it might, perhaps, be-of
service:to the cause of truth to state one cir-
cumstance, relative to the authenticity of the
Book of Mormon, which occurred during its
publication, at which:time Iwas a practical
printer and. engaged ‘in the. office -where-it
was' printed,’ and became: familiar with the
men and. their | principles, through.-whose
agency it was ‘got: up.’

“The | circumstance alluded.to. was. as
follows :—Wehad heard much'said by Martin:
Harris, the, man who paid for the pxinting,
and, the only one.in the! concern -worth any
property, about the wonderful. wisdom of the
translators of the mysterious plates; :and We

 

resolved: to \tést: their wisdom, Accordingly;
after puttmg one»sheet in type, we laid it
aside, and told, Harris it was lost, and: there
would be a serious: defection in the: book in
consequence, unless. another sheet, like the
original, could be procured. The announce=
ment threw the old gentleman into’ great
excitement.) but, after a few moments’ reflece
tion, he said he would try to obtain another:
After two or'three’ weeks, another sheet was
produced, but no more like the original than
any: other sheet: of :paper would have! been;
written over by a common) schoolboy,\ after
haying read,» as they. had, ‘the manuscript
preceding and ‘succeeding the lost sheet. ~ As
might -be expected; the disclosure ‘of this
trick greatly annoyed the authors, and’ caused
no little ‘merriment ;arnong: those: who. were
acquainted with the circumstance. AS we
were none of us Christians, and only laboured
for the “gold that perisheth,’ we did)noticare
for the delusion; only'so far as to be careful
to avoid ,it ourselves and enjoy the» ‘hoax.
Not one-of the hands in the office where the
wonderful book, was printed. evér became a
convert to the system, although. the writer of
this was often assured by Harris, that ifthe
did not, he would be destroyed in 1832:
“V@oN Si Deke’
GROTON, MAY,.23, 1842. fo

CHAPTER XE 71T.

Let us now.’examine into the political
views of the Mormons, and follow Smith in
his lofty and aspiring visions of sovereignty
for the future. Heisa rogue and) swindler
—no-one can doubt that ; yet there is‘some=
thing grand: in his “composition, Joe, ‘the
mean, miserable, half-starved money-digger
of Western New York, was, as I have before
observed, cast) inthe mould of conquerors,
and out of that:same clay which’ Nature had
employed for the creation of a Mahomet;

His first: struggle ‘was successful 5 the
greater portion: of his followers. surrounded
him dn Kirkland; dnd acknowledged ‘hig
power, as. that»of) God's right hand’;' while
many individuals from among. ‘the ‘better
classes repaired to ‘him, attracted by the
ascendancy of a bold genius, or by the expec-
tation» of obtaining a share in ‘hig fanie,
power, and glory: Wo ¥a

Kirkland, however,was an*inland ‘place’:
there, on every side, Smith had’ to contend
with ‘opposition ; ‘his powerwas confined; and
his plans ‘had not sufficient room for develop-
ment. He tured his ‘mind otowards the
western borders: of Missouri :/it was) but @
thought 5 but withvhim, rapid action was as
mucha natural consequence of thought ‘as
thunder is of lightning. - Examine into: the
topography of that country, ‘the holy Zionand promised land -of the Mormons, .and_ it
will be easy to recognize the fixed. and. un-
changeable views of Smith, as connected with
the formation of a vast empire.

For the last twelve or fifteen years the
government of the United States has, through
a mistaken policy, been constantly engaged
in sending to the western borders all the
eastern Indian tribes that were disposed to sell
their land, and also the various tribes who,
haying rebelled against their cowardly des-
potism, had been overpowered and conquered
during the struggle. This gross. want of
policy is obvious.

Surrounded and demoralized by. white
men, the Indian falls into a complete state of
decadauce and abrutissement. Witness the
Choctaw tribes that hover constantly about
Mobile and New Orleans ; the Winnibegoes,
who have of late come into immediate con-
tact with the settlers of Wisconsin; the
Pottawatomies, on both shores of Lake
Michigan ; the Miamis of North Indiana;
and many more. On the contrary, the tribes
on the borders, or in the wilderness, are on
the increase. Of course, there are a few ex-
ceptions, such as the Kanzas, or the poor
Mandans, who have lately been almost
entirely swept, away from the earth by small-
pox. Some of the smaller tribes may be
destroyed by warfare, or they may incorporate
themselyes with others, and. thus lose their
mame and nationality; but the increase of
the Indian population is considerable among
the great uncontrolled nations ; such as the
Chippewas and Dahcotahs (Siouxes), of the
north United States ; the Comanches and the
Pawmnees, on the boundaries, or even in the
very heart, of Texas; the Shoshones (Snakes),
on, the southern limits of Oregon; and the
brave Apaches of Sonora, those bold Be-
douins. of the Mexican deserts, who, con-
Stantly. on horseback, wander, in immense
phalanxes, from the eastern shores of the
Gulf of California to the very waters of the
Rio Grande.

Admitting, therefore, asa. fact, that. the
tribes on the borders do increase, in the same
ratio with their material strength grows also
theirinyincible, stern, and unchangeable hatred
towards the American. In fact, more or less,
they have. all been ill-treated and abused, and
every additional outrage to one tribe is locked
up. in the memory of all, who wait for the
moment of retaliation and revenge. In the
Wisconsin war (Black. Hawk, 1832), even
after’ the poor starved warriors had surren-
dered themselves by treaty, after a.noble
struggle, more than two hundred old. men,
women, and. children were, forced by the
Americans to cross the river without boats or
eanoes.. The poor things endeavoured, to
pass it with the help of their horses.; the river
there was mote than half,a mile broad,,and
while these unfortunates were struggling

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET:

for life against. a current of nine miles an
hour, they were treacherously shot in. the
water.

This fact is known to all the tribes—even
to the Comanches, who are so distant. It
has satisfied them as to what they may. ex-
pect from those who thus violate all treaties
and all faith. ‘The remainder of that brave
tribe is now dwelling, on the west borders of
Iowa, but. their wrongs are too deeply dyed
with, their own blood to be forgotten even by
generations, and their cause. is ready to be
espoused by every tribe, even those who have
been their hereditary enemies; for what is,
afterall, their ,history but the history of
almost every Indian nation transplanted on
the other side of the Mississippi?

This belt, of Indian tribes, therefore, is
rather an unsafe neighbour, especially in the
event of a civil war or of a contest with Eng-
land. Having .themselves, by a. mistaken
policy, collected together a cordon of offended
warriors, the United States will some day
deplore, when too late, their former greedi-
ness, cowardice, and cruelty towards the
natural owners of their vast territories.

Itis among these tribes that Joe Smith
wishes to lay the foundation of his future
empire ; and settling at Independence, he was
interposing as a neutral force between two
opponents, who would, each of. them, have
purchased his massive strength, and effective
energy with the gift of supremacy over an im-
mense and wealthy territory. As wehave seen,
chance and. the fortune of war have thrown
Smith and the Mormons back on the eastern
shores .of the Mississippi, opposite the
entrance of Desmoines river; but when
forced back, the Mormons were an. unruly
and turbulent crowd, without means of mili-
tary tactics; now, such is not the case.
Already, the prophet has sent able agents
over the river; the Sacs and Foxes, the same
tribe, we have just spoken of as the much-
abused nation of Wisconsin, and actually
residing at about eighty miles N.N.W. from
Nauvoo, besides many others, are on a good
understanding with the Latter-day Saints.
A. few bold apostles. of Mormonism have also
gone to the far, far west,, among the uncon:
quered, tribes of the prairies, to organize an
offensive power, ever ready for action.

Thus, link after link,:Smith extends his
influence, which is. already felt in. Illinois, in
Lowa, in. Missouri, at Washington, and at the
very foot of the Rocky Mountains, More-
over, hundreds of Mormons, without avow-
ing their creed, have gone to Texas, and
established themselves there. They save all
their crops, and have numerous, cattle and
droves of horses, undoubtedly. to feed and
sustain a Mormon army on any. future in-
yasion.. Let us now examine further into this
cunning and. long-sighted policy, and we
shall,admire the great genius that presidesover it. We are not one of those, so common
in these days,. who have adopted the 72/
admirarz for their motto. Genius, well or
ill guided, is still genius ; and if we load with
shame the’ former life of Smith and his pre-
sent abominable religious impositions, still we
are bound to do justice to that ‘conquering
spirit which can form such’ vast ideas, and
work such a multitude to his will.

The population of Texas does not amount
to seventy thousand souls, among whom there
are twenty-five different forms of religion.
Two-thirds of the inhabitants are scoundrels,
who have there sought a refuge against the
offended laws of ‘their country. They’ are
not only a.curse and a check to civilization;
but they reflect dishonour upon the remaining
third portion of the Texians, Who have come
from distant climes for the’ honest purposes of
trade’ and agriculture. This mongrel ‘and
mixed congregation of beings, though firmly
united in one point (war with Mexico, and
that in the expectation ot a rich plunder), are
continually at variance ‘on other: points:
Three thousand ‘Texians would fight against
Mexico, but not two hundred against the
Mormons; and that for many reasons: go-
vernment alone, and not an individual, would
be a gainer by a victory ; in Texas, not a soul
cares for anything but himself, Besides, the
Mormons are Yankees, and can handle a rifle,
setting aside their good drilling and’ ex-
cellent discipline. In number, they would
also have the advantage; while I am now
writing, they can muster five thousand well.
drilled soldiers, and, in the event of an in-
vasion of Texas, they could easily march ten
thousand men from the Sabine to the Rio
Grande, from the Red River to the Gulf of
Mexico, Opposition they will not meet. A
year after the capture, the whole of Texas
becomes Mormon, while Joe—king, emperor,
Pharaoh, judge or regenerator—rules over a
host of two hundred and fifty thousand de-
voted subjects.

Let our readers observe that these are not
the wild Utopias of a heated imagination. No;
we speak as we do believe, and our inter-
course with the Mormons during our travels
has been sufficiently close to give us a clear
insight into their designs for the future.

_ Joe's policy is, above all, to conciliate the
Indians ; and that once done, there’ will not
be in America a power capable of successfully
opposing him. In order to assist this he joins
them in his new faith. In admitting the
Indians to be’ ‘‘ the right, though guilty ” de-
scendants of the sacred tribes, he flatters
them with an acknowledgment of their anti-
quity, the only point on which a white can
captivate and even blind the shrewd though
untutored man of the wilds.

In ‘explanation of the plans and proceed-
ings of Joe Smith and the Mormons, it’ may
not be amiss to make some remarks upon the

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

 

locality which he has designed as the seat of
his empire ‘and dominion, and where he has
already established his followers, as the de-
stined instruments of his ambition.

-' According to the Mormon prophets, the
whole region of country between the Rocky
Mountains and the Alleghanies was, at a
period of about thirteen hundred years ago,
densely peopled by nations descended from a
Jewish family who emigrated from Jerusaleny
in the time of the prophet Jeremiah, some
six or seven hundred years before Christ ; im-
mense cities were founded, and sumptuous
editices reared, and the whole land overspread
with’ the results of a high and extensive
civilization.

The Book of Mormon speaks of’ cities
with stupendous stone walls, and of battles
in which hundreds of thousands were slain.
The land afterwards became a waste and
howling wilderness, 'trayersed by a few strag-
gling bands or tribes of savages, descended
from a branch of the aforesaid Jewish family,
who, in consequence of their wickedness, had
their complexion changed from white to red +
but the emigrants from Europe and their de-
scendants, having filled the land, and God
having been pleased to grant a revelation by
which is made known the true history of the
past. in America, and the events which are
about to take place, he has also commanded
the Saints of the Latter Day to assemble
themselves together there, and occupy the
land which was once held by the members of
the true church.

The states of Missouri and Illinois, and
the territory of Iowa, are the regions to which
the prophet has hitherto chiefly directed his
schemes of aggrandizement, and which are
to form the nucleus of the Mormon empire,
The ‘remaining states are to be licked uf like
salt, and fall before the sweeping falchion of
glorious prophetic dominion, like the’ defence-
less lamb before the mighty king of the forest.

I have given the results of my notes takén
relative to the Mormons, not, perhaps, in very
chronological order, but as I gathered them
from time to time. The reader will agree
with me that the subject is well worth atten-
tion. Absurd and ridiculous as the ‘creed
may be, no creed ‘ever, in so short a period,
obtained so many or such devoted proselytes.
From information I have since received, they
may now amount to three hundred thousand;
and they have wealth, energy, ‘and unity—
they have ‘everything—in their favour ; and
the federal government has been so long
passive, that I doubt if it has the power to
disperse ‘them. Indeed, to obtain their poli-
tical’ support, they have received’ so many
advantages, and, I may say, such assistance,
that they are now so strong, that any attempt
to wrest from them the’ privileges which have
been conceded would be the signal for a
general rising,OF MONSIEUR, VIOLET.

They have fortified Nauvoo; they can
turn out a disciplined force as large as the
States are likely to Oppose to them, and, if
successful, can always expect the co-operation
of seventy thousand Indians, or, if defeated,
a retreat among them, which: will enable
them to coalesce for a more fortunate oppor-
tunity of action. Neither do I imagine that
the loss of their leader, Joe Smith, would
now much affect their strength; there are
plenty to replace him, equally capable, not
perhaps to have formed the coniederacy, re-
ligious and political, which he has done, but
to uphold it, now that it is so strong. The
United States appear to me to be just now
in a most peculiar state of progression, and
very soon the eyes of the whole world will be
directed towards them and the result of their
institutions, A change is about to take place :
what that change will be it is difficult to say;
but a few years will decide the question.

 

CHAPTER XLIV,

Having now related. the principal events
which I witnessed, or in which I was an actor,
both in California and in Texas, as these
countries are still new and but little known
(for, indeed, the Texians themselves know
nothing of their inland country), I will attempt
a topographical sketch of these régions, and
also make some remarks upon the animals
which inhabit the immense prairies and moun-
tains of the wilderness.

Along the shores of the Pacific Ocean,
from the 42° down to the the 34° North, the
climate is much the same ; the only difference
between the winter and summer being that
the nights of the former season are a little
chilly. The causes of this mildness in the
temperature are obvious. The cold winds of
the north, rendered sharper still by passing
over the snows and ices of 'the great northern
lakes, cannot force their passage across the
rocky chain south of the latitude 44° N., being
prevented by a belt of high mountains or by
impenetrable forests. To the eastward, on
the contrary, they are felt very severely ; not
encountering any kind of. obstacles, they
sweep their course to the very shores of the
Gulf of Mexico, so that in 262 N. latitude, on
the southern boundaries of Texas, winter is
still winter ; that is to say, fire is necessary
in the apartments during the month’ of
January, and flannel and cloth dresses are
worn; while, on the contrary, the same month
on the shores of the Pacific, up to 40°, is
mild enough to allow strangers from the
south, and even the Sandwich islanders, to
wear their light nankeen trowsers and ging-
ham roundabouts,

There is also a wide difference, between
the two coasts of the continent during: sum-
mer. In UppergCalifornia and the Shoshone
territory, although the heat from the rays of

the sun is intense, the temperature is so
cooled both by the mountain and sea-breeze,
as never to raise the mercury to more than
95° Fahrenheit, even in St. Diego, which lies
under the. parallel of 32° 39’; while in the
east, from 27° in South Texas, and 30%
at New Orleans, up to 49° upon Lake
Superior, the:mercury rises to 100° every year,
and frequently ro5°, roz° in St. Louis, in
Prairie du Chien, Green Bay, St. Anthony's
Falls, and the Lake Superior.

The résumé of this is simply that. the
climate of the western coast of America is
the finest in.the world, with an air so pure,
that during the intense heat of summer a
bullock, killed, cleansed, and cut into slices,
will keep for months without any salting or
smoking.

Another cause which contributes to render
these countries healthy and pleasant to live in
is, that there are, properly speaking, no
swamps, marshes, or bayous, as in the United
States, and in the neighbourhood ef Aca-
pulco and West Mexico. These lakes and
bayous drying during summer, and exposing
to the rays of the sun millions of dead fish.
impregnate the atmosphere with miasma,
generating typhus, yellow fever, dysenteries,
and pulmonary diseases.

If the reader will look over the map I have
sketched of the Shoshone country, he will
perceive how well the land is watered ; the
lakes are all transparent and deep, the rivers
run upon a rocky bottom as well as all the
brooks, and creeks, the waters of which are
always cool and plentiful. One more observa-
tion to convince the reader of the superiority
of the clime is, that, except a few ants in
the forests, there are no insects whatever to
be found. No mosquitoes, no prairie horse-
flies, no beetles, except the coconilla, or large
phosphoric fly of California, and but very
few worms.and caterpillars ; the consequence
is, that there are but two or three classes of
the smaller species of carnivorous birds ; the
large ones, such as the common and red-
headed vulture and crow, are very convenient,
fulfilling the office of general scavengers in
the prairies, where every year thousands of
wild cattle die, either from fighting, or, when
in the central deserts, from the want of water.
On the western coast the aspect of the country
in general is gently diversified ; the monotony
of the prairies in the interior being broken by
zslands of fine timber, and now and then by
mountains projecting boldly from their bases.
Near the sea-shore the plains are intersected
by various ridges of mountains, giving birth
to thousands of small rapid streams, which
carry their cool and limpid waters to the
many tributaries of the sea, which are very
numerous between th: mouth of the Calumet
and Buonayentura.. Near to the coast lies a

.belt of lofty pines and shady odoriferous

magnolias, which exten is in some places, tethe very beach, and) tpom the high ‘cliffs,
under which the shore’ is) so’bold that the
largest man-of-war could sail without danger.:
I remember to have once seen, above ‘the Bay
of San Francisco, the sailors. of a’ Mexican
brig sitting on the ends of their topsail yards,
and picking the flowers from the branches of
the trees as they glided by.

In that partof the country which is in-
tersected by mountains, the soil is almost
everywhere, mineral, while’ the mountains
themselves contain rich mines of copper. Iknow
of beds of gallena extending for more than a
hundred miles; and in some tracts, magne-
sian earths cover an immense portion of the
higher ridges.. Most of the sandy streams of
the Shoshone territory contain‘a great deal of
gold-dust, which the Indians collect.twice a
year and exchange away with the Mexicans,
and also with the Arrapahoes.

The principal streams containing gold’are
tributaries to the Buonaventura, but there are
many others emptying into small lakes of
volcanic formation. ‘The mountains in the
neighbourhood of the Colorado of the West,
and in the very country of the Arrapahoes,
are full of silver, and perhaps’ no people in
the world can show a greater profusion of this
bright metal than these Indians.

The Shoshone territory is of modern for-
mation, .at least in comparison with the more
southern countries, where the Cordilleras and
the Andes project to the very shores of the
ocean. It is evident that the best portion of
the land, west of the Buonaventura, was first
redeemed from the sea by some terrible vol-
canic eruption. Until about two centuries
ago, or perhaps less, these subterranean’ fires
have continued to exercise ‘their ravages;
raising prairies into mountains, and. sinking
mountains and forests many fathoms‘ below
the surface of the earth; their sites ‘now
marked by lakes of clear and transparent
water, frequently impregnated with a sli¢ht,
though not unpleasant, taste of sulphur;
while precious stones, such as 'topazes, sap-
phires, large blocks of amethysts, are’ found
every day in the sand and among the pebbles
on their borders.

In calm days I have often seen, at a few
fathoms deep, the tops of pine ‘trees «still
standing in their natural perpendiculat ‘posi-
tion. In the southern streams are found
emeralds of very fine water; opals also are
very frequently met with.

The formation of the rocks is in‘ general
basaltic, but white, black, and green marble,
red porphyry, jasper,and'red and greygtanite,
abound east of the Buonaventura: Quartz,
upon some of the mountains near the sea-
shore, is found in immense blocks, and prin-
cipally in that mountain range which is desig-
nated in the map as the ‘“‘Montagne dt
Monstre,”’ at the foot of which were dug up
the remains of the huge Saurian Lizard.

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

The greater portion of! the country'is, of
course, prairie; these prairies are ‘Covéréd
with blue grass, muskeet grass, clovers, Sweet
prairie hay, and the other’grasses common to
the east of the ‘continent of Ameri¢a.”*’Here
and there are ‘scattered’ patches of phims’ of
the greengage' kind, berries, and a peculiar
kind ,of shrub oak, never more’ than five feet
high, yet bearing a véry large and sweet
acorn; ranges of hazel nuts will often extend
thirty or forty miles, and are the abode’ of
millions of birds of the richest and deepest
dyes.

Along the streams which glide through the
prairies, there is a luxuriant growth of noble
timber, such as maple, magnolia, blue and
green ash, red oak, and cedar, around which
climb vines loaded with grapes. Near the
sea-shores, the pine, both black and White;
becomes exceedingly’ common, while the
smaller plains and hills ate covered with that
peculiar species of the prickly pear upon
which the cochineal insect: feeds: All round
the extinguished volcano, and principally in
the neighbourhood of the hill Nanawa.Ashta
jueri €, the locality of our settlement upon the
banks of the Buonaventura, the bushes are
covered with a very superior quality of the
vanilla bean. -

The rivers and streams, as wellas the lakes
of the interior, abound with fish ; inthe latter
the perch, trout, and carp are very common:
in the former, the salmon and white-cat fish,
the soft-shelled tortoise, the pearl oyster, the
sea-perch (Lupus Maritimes), the ecrivisse,
and a hundred families of the ‘ crevette spe-
cies,” offer to the Indian a great variety of
delicate food for the winter. In the bays
along the shore, the mackerel and bonita, the
turtle, and, unfortunately, the sharks, are very
numerous; while on the shelly beach, or the.
fissures of the rocks, are to be found lobsters,
and crabs of various sorts. ot

The whole country offers a vast field:'to the
naturalist; the most common birds of prey ,
are the bald, the white-headed eagle, the black
and the grey, the falcon, the common hawk, .
the epervier, the black and red-headed vul-
ture, the raven and the crow. Among the
granivorous, the turkey, the wapo (a small
kind of prairie’ ostrich), the golden and com-
mon pheasant, the wild peacock, of a dull
whitish colour, and the guinea-fowl; these
two last, which are very numerous, are not in-
digenous to this part of the country, butabout
a century ago escaped from the various mis-
sions of Upper California, at which they had
been bred, and*since have propagated in in-
credible numbers ; also the grouse, the prairie
hen, the partridge, the quail, the green parrot,
the blackbird, and many others which I cannot
name, not knowing their generic Genomina-
tion. The water-fowls are plentiful, such as
swans, geese, ducks of many different species,
and the Canadian geese with their long blacknecks, which;:from November to: March; graze
on the prairies'in thousands,
The quadrupeds are also much diversified:
‘inst in'rank, among the grazing animals, I
may mame the mustangs, or wild horses, which

wander in the natural pastures in herds of

hundreds of thousands, They vary in) species
ands size, according to the country where they
are found, but those found in California,
Sonora; and the'western district of Texas, are
the finest breed: in the world, ‘They were im-
ported from Andalusia by the Spaniards,

almost ‘immediately after: “the conquest of

Grenada, ithe Bishop’ of Leon
viously, by his prayers,“
out of their bodies.”

Mr. Catlin says, that in seeing the Coman-
che horse, he was’ much disappointed ; itis
likely; Mr. Catlin having ‘only: visited’ the
northern borders of Texas, and the poorest vil-
lage of the: whole Comanche tribe, If, how-
ever, he had proceeded’ as far as the Rio
Puerco, he would have seen the true Mecca
breed; with which ithe Moslems conquered
Spain. He would have also perceived how
much the advantages of a beautiful clime and
perpetualpasture has improved these noble
animals, making them superior to: the primi-
tive stock, both im size, speed, and bottom.
With one of them I madea journey of five
thousand miles} and‘on arriving in Missouri,
f soldvhim for eight hundred dollars: He was
am entire horse, as whiteas'snow, and’ 'stand-
ing seventeen anda half hands high... One
thousand pounds would’ not ‘have purchased
biny im England.

‘aNext, the lordly buffaloes; the swift wild-
goat, the deer, the antelope, the elk, the
prairie; dogs; the hare, and the rabbits. -The
catmivorous are. the red. panther, or puma,
therspotted ‘leopard, the ounce, the jaguar,
the: grizzly: black and) brown bear; the wolf,
black,» white and grey: the blue, red, and
black fox, the badgér, the porcupine, ‘the
hedgehog, and the coati (an animal peculiar
tor the: Shoshone ‘territory and Upper Cali-
fornia), ‘a kind! of mixture‘ of the fox and wolf
breed; fierce little animals with bushy tails and
large heads, anda quick, sharp:bark.

The: amphibious are the beaver, the fresh
water: and) sea-otter; the musk-rat,: anda
Species: of long, lizard, with sharp teeth, very
like-the cayman as regards the head and tail,
but with: a very short body. Itvis°a very
fierce animal, killing’ whatever’ it attacks,
dwelling in damp, shady’places, in the juncks,
upon the borders of some lakes, and:is much
dreaded by the Indians ; fortunately, it is’
very scarce. ‘The Shoshones have no par-
ticular name for it, but would sooner ‘attack
a grizzly bear than this animal, which they
havea. great dread: of, sometimes calling it'the
evil spirit, sometimes the scourge, and many
other such appellations. It has never yet been
described, by any naturalist, and i never yet

having’: pre-
exorcised. the devil

 

OF MONSTE UR VIOLET)

Saw one dead; although I have heard of their
having been killed,»

In ‘Texas, the country presents two diffe-
rent aspects, much at variance With éach
other, the eastern borders and Sea-coast being
only a continuation of the cypress ‘swamps;
mud creeks, and cane-brakes of south Ar:
kansas—and west Louisiana: ; while, on the
contrary, the north and west offer:much the
same ‘topography as that: of the countries I
have just'delineated|) The climate in-Texas
is very healthy two hundred) miles from the
sea, and one hundred west ‘of the Sabine;
which forms the eastern boundary of Texas;
but to'the:east and south the same: diseases
and epidemics’ prevail as in Louisiana, Ala+
bama, and the Floridas,

The whole of Texas is evidently of recent
formation, all the saline prairies east. of the
Rio’ Grande being even now covered” with
Shells of all the species common to the Gulf
of Mexico, ‘mixed up with skeletons of sharks,
and now and then with petrified turtle, dol-
phin, rock fish, and bonitas. » A) few. feet
below the ‘surface; and hundreds of miles dis-
tant from the sea, the sea-sand is found; and
although the ground seems to tise gradually
as it recedes from: the shores, the southern
plains are but a very little elevated above the
surface of the sea until you arrive at thirty
degrees north; when the prairies begin to
assumé'an undulating form, and continually
ascend till, at the foot of the Rocky: Moun-
tains, they acyuire a height» of four or: five
thousand feet above the level of the sea.

Texas does not: possess any range of
mountains with’ the exception that, one hun-
dred miles! north from San Antonio de Bejar,
the San Seba hills rise and extend themselves
in a line parallel with the Rocky Moun-
tains, as high as the green peaks in’‘the
neighbourhood of Santa Fé. The San Seba
hills’ contain several mines of silver, and. I
doubt not that this metal js very common
along the whole range east of the Rio Grande,
Gold is‘also found in great quantities in all
the streams tributary to the: Rio Puerco; but
Ihave never heard of precious stones of any
kind.

Excepting the woody districts. which
border Louisiana and Arkansas, the greater
proportion of Texas is prairie » a belt of land
commences upon one of the bends of. the
river Brasos, spreads northward to the very:
shores’ of the Red River, and is called by
the Americans ** The cross ‘Timbers ;”’ its
natural’ productions, together with those of
the prairies, are similar to those of the Sho-
shone' country: Before the year 1836, and I
dare say even now, the great western prairies
of Texas’ contained mo: animals and 2
greater variety of species then any other part
of ‘the’ world withinthe s me number of
square miles ; and‘ believerthat the Sunder-
bunds’ in’ Bengal do not'contain monstersmore hideous and terrible’ than are to be
found in the eastern portion of Texas, over
which nature appears to have’ spread ‘a male-
diction. ‘The myriads of snakes of all kinds;
the unaccountable diversity of venomous  rep-
tiles, and even the deadly tarantula spider or
“ vampire.” of the: prairies, are :trifles com-
pated with the awful. inhabitants. of the
eastern’ bogs, swamps, and muddy rivers.
The former are really dangerous only during
two’or three months of the year, and, more-
over, a considerable portion of the trails are
freé from their presence, owing to the fires

which break out in the dry grass almost every

fall. There the traveller knows what he has
to fear, and, independent of the) instinct and
knowledge of his horse, he himself keeps an
anxious look-out, watching the undulating
motion of the grass, and ever ready with his
rifle or pistols in the event of his being con-
fronted with bears, pumas, or any other
ferocious quadruped. If he is attacked,’ he
can fight, and only few accidents .have ever
happened in these encounters, as these ani-
mals always wander alone, with the exception
of the wolf, from whom, however, there is
but little to fear, as, in the prairies, this ani-
malis always glutted with food and timid at
he approach of man.
; As the prairie wolf is entirely different from
the European, 1 will borrow a page of Ross
€ox, who, ‘having had an opportunity of
meeting it, gives a very good description of
its manners and ways of living. Yetvas.this
traveller does not describe the animal itself;
Twill add, that the general colour of the
prairie wolf is grey mixed with black; the ears
are round and straight, it is about forty
inches long, and possesses the sagacity and
cunning of the fox. Z

‘The prairie wolves, says Cox, ‘fare
much smaller than those which inhabit the
woods. They generally travel together in
numbers, and a,solitary one 1s séldom met
with. Two or three of us have often pursued
from fifty to one hundred, driving them
before us as quickly as our horses could

arge.
: Their skins are of no value, and we do
not therefore waste much powder and ball in
shooting them. The ‘Indians, who. are
obliged to pay dear for their ammunition,
are equally careful not to throw it away on
objects that bring no remunerating value.
The natural consequence is, that the wolves
are allowed to multiply ; and some parts of
the country are completely overrun by them.
The Indians catch numbers of them in traps,
which they set in the vicinity of those places
where their tame horses are sent to graze.
‘The traps are merely excavations covered
over with slight switches and hay, and baited
with meat, &c., irto whic? the wolves fall,
and being unable to’ extricate themselves,
they perish by famine or the knife of the

TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES

 

Indian. -These destructive animals annually
destroy numbers of horses,’ particularly during
the winter Season, when the latter: get. en-
tangled inthe snow, in which : situation they
become an) easy prey» to’ their light-footed
pursuers, ten or) fifteen of which will: often
fasten on one animal, and :with their long
fangs in a few minutes separate the’ head
from the body. ‘If, however, the horses are
not prevented from ‘using their’ legs, they
sometimes punish the enemy severely ; as:an
instance of this, I saw one morning the bodies
of two of our horses which had been killed
the night. before; and. around were lying
eight dead and maimed wolves; some with
their brains scattered about, and others with
their limbs. and ° ribs broken by! the
hoofs of the furious animals in their vain
attempts to escape from their sanguinary
assailants.”

Although the wolves of America. are the
most daring of all the beasts of prey on that
continent, they are by no means so courageous
or ferocious as those of Europe, particularly
in Spain or the south of France, in which
countries, they commit dreadful ravages, both
on manand beast; whereas a prairie wolf,
except forced by desperation, will seldom or
never attack a human being.

I have said that the danger that: attends
the itraveller in the great prairies is trifling ;
but itis very different in the eastern swamps
and mud-holes, where the enemy, ever on the
watch, is also always invisible, and where the
speed of the horse and the arms of the rider
are of no avail, for they are then swimming
in the deep water, or splashing, breast-deep,
inthe mud. i amt

Among these monsters of the swamps and
lagoons of stagnant waters, the: alligator
ranks the first in size and voracity ; yet man
has nothing to! fear from him ; and though
there are many stories among» the cotton
planters about negroes being carried away by
this immense reptile, I do firmly believe that
few human beings have ever been seized alive
by the American alligator. But although
harmless to man, the monster is a: scourge to
all kinds of animals, and principally to dogs
and horses. It often happens: that a rider
loses his track through a swamp or a muddy
cane-brake, and then, if anew comerin East
‘Texas, he is indubitably lost.. While his poor
steed is vainly struggling in a yielding mass.
of-mud, he will fall into a hole, and: before
he can regain his footing, an irresistible force
will drag him deeper and _— deeper, « ‘till
smothered. This force is the tail of the
alligator, with which this animal masters: its
prey,, no matter how strong or heavy, when
once within its reach, M. Audubon has per-
fectly described its power: I will repeat his
words :— red

‘‘ The power of the. alligator is in its great
strength, and the chief means of its attackor: defence is its large tail, so well contrived
by nature to supply his wants, or guard him
from*danger, that it reaches, when curved
into «ay half-circle, to» his enormous mouth.
Woe be'to him who goes within reach of this
tremendous thrashing machine ; for, no mat-
ter how strong or muscular, if human, he
must suffer greatly, if he escape with life.
The:monster, as he strikes with this, forces
all objects within the circle towards his jaws,
which, as the tail makes a motion, are opened
‘to‘their full stretch, thrown a little sideways
to» receive the object, and, like battering-
Tams, to bruise it shockingly in a moment.”

Yet; as I have said, the alligator is but
little» formidable. to man. In Western

Louisiana and Eastern ‘Texas, where the ani-
mal is much hunted for the sake of his grease,
with: which the planters generally oil the
machinery of their mills, little negroes are
generally sent into the woods, during the fall,
““grease-making,” as at:that season the men
are better employed in cotton-picking or stor-
ing the maize. No danger ever happens to
the «urchins during these expeditions, as,
keeping within the sweep of the tail, they
contrive to chop it offwith an axe,

M.. Audubon says :—

‘““When autumn has ‘heightened the
colouring of the foliage of our woods, and
the air feels more rarified during the nights
and the early part of the day, the alligators
leave: the lakes to seek for winter quarters, by
burrowing under the roots of trees, or cover-
ing themselves simply with earth along their
edges. They become then very languid and
inactive, and, at this period, to sit or ride on
one would not be more difficult than for a
child: to mount ‘his wooden rocking-horse.
The negroes,/who now kill them, put all
danger aside by separating at one blow with
an axe the tail from the body. They are
afterwards cut up in large pieces, and boiled
whole in a good quantity of water, from the
surface: of which the fat is collected with
large ladles. One single man kills oftentimes
a dozen or more of large alligators in the
evening, prepares his fire in the woods, where
he has erected a camp for the purpose, and
by:morning has the oil extracted.”

As soon as the rider feels his horse sink-
ing, the first movement, if an inexperienced
traveller, is to throw himself from the saddle,
and: endeavour to wade or to swim to the
cane-brakes, the roots of which give to the
ground a certain degree of stability.. In that
case, his fate is probably sealed, as he is in
immediate danger of the ‘‘ cawana.”" This is
a terrible and hideous monster, with which,
strange to say, the naturalists of Europe are
not-yet acquainted, though it is too well
known to all the inhabitants of the streams
and lagoons tributary to the Red River. It
isan enormous turtle or tortoise, with the
head and'tail of the alizator, not tetractile;

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET,

as is;usual among the different species of
this reptile ; the: shell is one inch and a
half thick, and as impenetrable as steels, iit
lies in holes in the bottom of muddy rivers or
in the swampy canebrakes, and measures
often: ten feet in length and: six in breadth
over the shell, independent of the head and
tail, which must give often to this: dreadful
monster the length of twenty feet. Such an
unwieldly mass is not, of course, capable of
any rapid motion ; but in the swamps I men-
tion they are very numerous, and the unfor-
tunate man or beast going astray, and leaving
for a moment the small patches of solid
ground, formed by the thicker clusters of
the canes, must of a necessity come within
the reach of one of these powerful creature's
jaws, always extended and ready for prey.

Cawanas of a large size have never been
taken “alive, though often,» in draining the
lagoons, shells haye been found measuring
twelve feet in length. The planters of Upper
Western Louisiana have often fished to pro-
cure them for scientific acquaintances, but,
although they take hundreds’ of the smaller
ones, they could never succeed to drag on
shore any of the large ones after they have
been hooked, as thesé monsters bury. their
claws, head, and tail so deep inthe mud, that
no power short of steam’ can’ make them re-
linquish their hold.

Some officers of the United States army
and land surveyors, sent on the Red River by
the government at Washington, for a month,
took up their residence at Captain Finn's.
One day, when the conversation had fallen
upon the cawana, it was resolved that a trial
should be made to ascertain the strength of
the animal. A heavy jiror hand-pike was
transformed by a blacksmith into a large
hook, which was fixed to an iron chain be-
longing to the anchor of a small-boat, and as
that extraordinary fishing-tackle was not ofa
sufficient length, they added to it.a hawser,
forty fathoms in length, and of the size ofa
woman's wrist: » The hook was baited with a
lamb a few days old, and thrown into a deep
hole ten yards from the shore, where Captain
Finn knew that one of the monsters was lo-
cated ; the extremity of the hawser was made
fast to an old cotton-tree;

Late in the evening of the second day,
and as the rain poured down in torrents, a
negro slave ran to the house to announce that
the bait had been taken, and every one rushed
to the river side. They saw that,'in fact, the
hawser was in a state of tension; but the
weather being too bad to do anything that
evening, they put it off till the next morning.

stout horse was procured, who soon
dragged the hawser from the water till the
chain became visible, but all further attempts
of the!).animal were in vain; after the most
strenuous exertion, the* horse could not con-
quer the resistance or gain a single inch. The158

 

visitors were puzzled, and Finn then ordered
one.of the negroes to bring a couple of power-
ful oxen, yoked: to a gill, employed to drag
out the: stumps of old trees. For «many
minutes: the oxen were lashed and goaded in
vain; every yarn of the hawser°was'strained
to the utmost, till at last the two brutes,
uniting all their strength in one vigorous. and
final pull, it was dragged from the water ; but
the monster had escaped. | The hook shad
straightened, andito its barb were attached
pieces of thick bones and cartilages, which
must have belonged to the palate of. the
monster.

The unfortunate traveller has but little
chance of escaping with life, if, from wantiof ex-
perience, he is foundered in the swampy cane-
brakes. When the horse sinks and the rider
leaves the saddle, the only thing he can do is
to return back upon his track ; but let him
beware of these solitary small patches of
briars, generally three or four yards in cir-
eumference, which are spread here and there
on the edges of the canebrakes, for there he
will meet’ with deadly reptiles and snakes
unknown. in| the prairies, such asthe grey-
ringed water mocassin, the brown’ viper, the
black congo with red head, and the copper
head—all of whom congregate, and it may be
said make their nests, in’ these little dry oases,
and their bite is followed by instantaneous
death.

‘These’are the dangers attending travellers
in the:swamps, but: there. are many others to
be undergone in’ crossing lagoons, rivers, or
small lakes. All the streams, tributaries of
the Sabine and of the Red River below the
great bend (which is twenty miles north of the
Lost Prairie), have swampy banks and muddy
bottoms, and are impassable when the water
is too low to permit the’ horses to swim.
Some of these'streams have ferries, and some
lagoons have floating bridges in ‘the neigh-
bourhood: of the plantations ; but as it is a
mew. country, where government ‘has as yet
done’ nothing, these conveniences are private
property, and the owner:of a ferry, not being
bound. by a contract, ferries: only: when he
chooses, and at the price he wishes to com-
mand:

I will relate a circumstance: which will
enable the reader to understand the nature of
the country, and the ditfculties of overland
travelling in Texas. The Great Sulphur Fork
is. a tributary of the Red River, and it is one
of the most dangerous. | Its approach can
only be: made on both sides through belts of
swampy’ canebrakes, ten miles in breadth, and
so difficult to travel over, that the length of
the two swamps, short as it is, cannot be
passed by a fresh and strong. horse in less
than fourteen hours. At just half-way of this
painful. journey the river is to/be passed, and
this cannot be done without a ferry, for the
moment you leave the canes the shallow water

TRAVELS. ANDADVENTURES |

  

begins, and the bottom is so soft, that any

object touching it) must sink to a depth. of

several fathoms. Till 1834, no white: man

lived in that district, and’ the Indians resorted

to it only during the shooting season, always -
on foot, and; invariably provided: with half-a-

dozen of canoes om each ‘side of the stream

for their own use or for the benefit of tra-

vellers. ‘Fhe Texians are not so provident nor

so hospitable.

As the:white population increased in that
part of the country, ‘a man of the! name‘of
Gibson erected a hut on the southern bankrof
the stream, constructed a flat-boat, and began
ferrying over at the rate of three dollars a
head. As the immigration was very exten-
sive, Gibson soon grew independent, and he
entered into a kind of partnership’ with’ the
free bands which were already organized.
One day, about noon, a land speculator ‘pre-
sented himself on the other side of the river, ©
and called for the ferry. At that momentthe
sky: was covered with dark and heavy clouds,
and flashes of lightning succeeded each other
in every direction ; in fact, everything proved
that the evening would not pass’ without one
of those dreadful storms so common in that
country during the months of Apriliand May.
Gibson soon appeared in ‘his boat, but instead
of casting it loose, he entered into’ a con-
versation. ;

“Where dovyou come from, eh ?*’

‘““From: the’ settlements,” answered: the
stranger.

“ You've a'ticklish, muddish kind of a river
to: pass.”

‘** Aye,” replied the other, who:was fully
aware of ‘it.

“And a blackish, thunderish; damned
storm behind you,-I say.”’

The traveller knew that too, and as’he
believed that the conversation could as
well be {carried on while crossing over, he
added—

‘* Make ‘haste, I pray, my good’ man ;'T
amin a hurry, and I should not like to pass
the night here in these canes for a hundred
dollars.” ;

‘“‘Nor I, for a thousand,’’ answered Gib-
son. ‘‘ Well, stranger, what will you give
me'to ferry you over ?’’

‘« Phe usual fare, [ suppose—two or three
dollars.”

‘“Why, that may do for a: poor man in
fine weather, and having» plenty of time “to.
spare, but I be blessed if I take you for ten
times that money, now that you are in so
great a hurry and have such a storm behind.’’

The traveller knew at once he had to
deal witha blackguard ; but as he was him-
self. an Arkansas man of the genuine breed,
he resolved to give him a ‘ Roland for an
Oliver.”

‘It is a shameful imposition,” he cried;
‘“how much do you want, after all?”~—

\ Of water for a Season, are ‘transformed ‘into from which dart a quantity of black

     
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
     
   
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 

OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

‘| Why, not a cent less than fifty dollars,’ ! feet long, and is voracious, fierce and for-
The Stranger turned his horse round, as if midable, eyen to the human species, Its dart
he would 80 back ; but after a few moments in rapidi i
he returned again. a , thick set
‘Oh,”’ he. cried, “‘you are a Togue, and with Sharp teeth: ; i
take the Opportunity of my being in so §teat scaleso hard as ¢
a hurry... ]’] give you what you want, but bullet, and which, when dry,’answers the pur~
mind, I mever shal] Pass this road again, and Poses of a flint in strik; g fire from steel its
shall undoubtedly publish your conduct in the weight is from fift
Arkansas Ne€wspapers,”’ * it us ; it is, in fact,
Gibson chuckled with delight; he had the shark of

rivers, but More terrible than the
humbugged a stranger, and did not Care a fig shark.of the i

Sea, and is considered. far more
for all the Newspapers in the world : so he formidable than the alligator himself,”

answered, ‘“Welcome to do what you please ;’’ Itpis,sin fact, a Most. terrible animal. f
and, untying the boat, he soon crossed the have seen it more i i
Stream. Before allowing the Stranger to enter and dragging it do
the ferry, Gibson demanded the money,which arrow.
Was given to him under the shape of five ten- Captain Finn's upon the Red River, I saw
dollar notes, which he secured in his pocket, one of these monsters enter a creek of trans-
and then rowed with allhis might, Parent water, Following him from Curiosity,

arriving on the other side, the Stranger. I soon Perceived that he had not left the
led his horse out of the boat, and while Gib- deep water without an inducement, for just
son was stooping: down to fix the chain, he above me there was an alligator devouring

Save him ajkick on) the temple, which sent. an otter,
him reeling and senseless in his boat; then AS soon.as the alligator perceived his for-
taking back his own money, he sprung upon midable enemy; he thought of nothing but
his saddle, and Passing before the cabin, he scape to the shore ; he dropped his prey and
gently advised Gibson’s wife to ‘‘go and see, began to climb, but he was too slow for the
for her husband had hurt himself a little in gar fish, who, with a single dart, closed upon
rowing,” it with extended jaws, and seized it by the

These extortions are so frequent, and now middle of the body, J] could see plainly

SO well) known, that the poorer classes” of through the transparent water, and yet I did

emigrants never apply for the ferries, but. not perceive that the alligator made the least

attempt the passage just as they can;, and. struggle to escape from the deadly fangs ;
when:we call to mind:that the hundreds: of. there Was) a hissing noise as. that of shells

\ Cases which are known and spoken of must. and bones crushed, and the gar fish left the

but) a fraction of those who. haye disap- creek with his victim. in’ his jaws, so nearly
yeared without leaving behind the smallest: severed. jn two, that the head and the tail
“of their former existence and unhappy were towing on é€ach side of him.
the loss of: human life within the last Besides these, the traveller through rivers
| five years must have been awful, and bayous ‘has to. fear Many other enemies
ides the alligator and the -cawana, | of less note, and but little, if ‘at all, known to
\re in these rivers many other destric- naturalists, Among these is the mud vam-
als of a terrible appearance, such as pine, say-kind: of Spider leech, with sixteen
jack, diamond fish, the saw fish, the - short Paws round a body of the form and size
sh, and, above all, the much-dreaded of the’ common plate ; the centre of the

The first of these is often taken in sum- animal (which jis: black im_any other part of

in the lakes and bayous, which, deprived! the body) has a dark vermilion round spot,

suckers,
ich they
and so rapid is

| pastures, These lakes, however, have always, one inch and a half long, through wh
' a'channel or deeper part, and there the devil extract the blood of animals ;
jack diamond has been caught, weighing four’ the phlebotomy of. ‘this ugly reptile, that
hundred pounds and upwards. though not weighing more than two ounces
The saw fish is peculiar to the Mississippi in its natural state, a few minutes after it is
ind its tributaries, and varies in length from stuck on, it will increase to the size of a
40ur to-eight feet. The horn fish is four feet. beaver hat, and weigh several pounds,
long; with a bony substance on his upper jaw, _ Thus leeched in a large stream, a horse
strong, curved, and one foot long, which he will often faint before he can reach the Oppo-
employs to attack horses, oxen, and even alli- site shore, and he then becomes a prey to the
gators; when pressed by hunger. But the gar gar-fish: if the stream is but. small and the
fish is the most terrible among the American. animal is not exhausted, he will Tun madly to
ichthyology, and a Louisiana. writer describes. the shore and roll to get rid of his terrible -
it in the following manner :— blood-sucker, ‘which, however, will adhere to
“Of. the gar fish there are numerous him, till one or the other of them dies from
varieties. The alligator gar is sometimes ten exhaustion, or from Tepletion. In crossing160 . TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES OF MONSIEUR VIOLET.

the Eastern Texas bayous, I used always to
descend from my horse to look if the leeches
had stuck ; the belly and the breast are the
parts generally attacked, and so tenacious are
these mud vampires, that the only means of
removing thei is to pass the blade of a knife
under them and cut them off.

But let us leave these disgusting animals,
and return to the upland woods and prairies,
where nature seems ever smiling, and where
the flowers, the birds, and harmless quadru-
peds present to the eyea lively and diversified
spectacle, One of the prettiest coups-d'e2l
in the world is to witness: the gambols and
amusements of a herd of horses, or a flock of
antelopes.. No kitten is more playful than
these beautiful animals, when grazing undis-
turbed in the prairies ; and yet those who,
like the Indian, have time and opportunity to
investigate, will discover vices in gregarious
animals, hitherto attributed solely to man.

It would appear that, even among ani-
mals, where there is a society, there is a
tyrant and paria. On board yessels, in a
school, or anywhere, if man is confined in
space, there will always be someone lording
over the others, either by his mere brutal
strength or by his character ; and, as a conse-
quence, there is also another, who is spurned,
kicked, and beaten by his companions, a poor
outcast, whom everybody delights in insult-
ing and trampling upon; it is the same
among gregarious brutes. Take a flock of
buffaloes or horses, or of antelopes: the first
glance is always sufficient to detect the two
contrasts. Two of the animals will stand
apart from the herd, one proudly looking
about, the other timid and cast down; and
every minute some will leave their grazing, go
and show submission, and give a caress to the
one, and a kick or a bite to the other.

Such scenes I have often observed, and I
have also witnessed the consequence, which
is, that the outcast eventually commits suicide,
another crime supposed to be practised only
by reasoning creatures like ourselves, I have
seen horses, when tired of their paria life,
walk round and round large trees, as if to
ascertain the degree of hardness required ;
they have then measured their distance, and
darting with furious speed against it, frac-
tured their skull, and thus got rid of life and
oppression. ,

I remember a particular instance; it was
at the settlement. I was yet a boy, and
during the hotter hours of the day, I used to
take my books and go with one of the mis-
sionaries to study near a torrent, under the
cool shade of a magnolia.

All the trees around us were filled with
numerous republics of squirrels, scampering
and jumping from branch to branch, and,
forgetful of every thing else, we would some-

THE END.

times watch their sport for hours together.
Among them we had remarked one, who kept
solitary between the stems of an absynth
shrub, not ten yards from our usual station.
There he would lie motionless for hours
basking in the sun, till some other squirrels

' would perceive him. Then they would jump

upon him, biting and scratching till they were
tired, and the poor animal would offer no re-
sistance, and ‘only give way to his grief by
plaintive cries.

At this sight, the good padre did not lose
the opportunity to inculcate a lesson,. and after
he had finished speaking, he would strike his
hands together to terrify the assailants.

‘““Yes,”’ observed I, using his own words,
‘Tt is nature.”

‘‘Alas! no,” he would reply; ‘‘’tis. too
horrible to be nature; it is only one of the

numerous evils gerierated from society."” The
padre was a great philosopher, and he was
right.

‘‘One day, while we were watching this
paria of a squirrel, we detected a young one
slowly creeping through the adjoining shrubs ;
he had in his mouth a ripe fruit, a parcimon,
if I remember right. At every moment he
would stop and look as if he were watched,
just as if he feared detection. At last he ar-
rived near the paria, and deposited before him
his offering to misery and old age.

We watched this spectacle with feelings
which I could not describe ; there was such a
show of meek gratitude in the one and happi-
ness in the other, just as if he enjoyed his
good action. They were, however, perceived
by the other squirrels, who sprang by dozens ./
upon them ; the young one with two bounds/Y
escaped, the other submitted to his fate,~ ~
rose, all the squirrels vanished except“mmned
victim ; but that time, contrary to his h,
he left the shrub and slowly advanced das ‘he
bank of a river, and ascended a tre# as
minute afterwards we observed him~ Yet, he
very extremity of a branch projecting \
rapid waters, and we heard his ph ™manjl
shriek. It was his farewell to life and mif© Pass
he leaped into the middle of the curredred
which in a moment carried him to the shallow
water a little below.

In spite of his old age, the padre waded
into the stream and rescued the suicide. I
took it home with me, fed it well, and in a
short time its hairhad grown again thick and
glossy. Although left quite free, the poe
animal never attempted to escape to the
woods, and he had become so tame, that
every time I mounted my horse, he would
jump upon me and accompany me on my
distant excursions. Eight or ten months
afterwards he was killed by a rattle-snake,

who surprised him sleeping upon my blanket,
during one of our encampments.

     
 

\

\

f
jRattlin, the Reefer

EDITED BY

GEAPTACN MARRY we

AUTHOR OF ‘‘ PETER SIMPLE”

‘All hands reef topsails—away, aloft !’

AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE

NEW YORK; 416, BROOME STREETLONDON :

PRINTED BY WOODFALL AND KINDER,

MILFORD LANE, STRAND, W.C.

le et

a me me AL st PK ed ASRAT VEEN bite Ree eer

 

 

CHAPTER: [.

iT peep ane without a similitude with a simile—Start
off with four horses—And finally, I make my first
appearance on any stage, under the protection of the
rown.
In the volume I am going to write, it is my
intention to adhere rigidly to the trith—
this wil be doxd fide an autobiography—
and as the public like novelty, an autobio-
graphy without an iota of fiction in the
whole of it, will be the greatest novelty yet
offered to its fastidiousness. As many of
the events which it will be my proyince to
record, are singular and even startling, I
may be permitted to sport a little moral
philosophy, drawn from the kennel in
Lower Thames-street, which may teach my
readers to hesitate ere they condemn as
invention mere matters of absolute, though
uncommon fact.

Let us stand with that old gentleman un-
der the porch of St. Magnus's Church, for
the rain is thrashing the streets till they
actually look white, and the kennel before
us is swelled into a formidable, and hardly
fordable brook. ‘That kennel is the stream
of life—and a dirty and a weary one it is,
if we may judge by the old gentleman's

looks. All is hurried into that common
sewer, the grave! What bubbles float
downit! Everything that is fairly in the

middle of the stream seems to sail with it,
steadily and triumphantly—and many a
filthy fragment enters the sewer with a
pomp and dignity not unlike the funereal
obsequies of agreat lord. But my business
is with that little chip; by some means it
has been thrust out of the principal current,
and, now that it is out, see what pranks it
is playing. How erratic are its motions !—
into what strange holes and corners it is
thrust! The same phenomenon will hap-
pen in life: Once start a being out of the
usual course of existence, and many and
strange will be his adventures ere he once
more be allowed to regain the common
stream, and be permitted to float down, in

silent tranquillity, to the grave common to
all.

About seven o'clock in the evening of thé
2zoth of February, 17—, a postchaise with
four horsés drove with fiery haste up to thé
door of the Crown Inh, at Readitg, The
evening had closed in bitterly. A continu
ous storm of mingled sleet and rain had
driven every being who had a home, to the
shelter it afforded. As the vehicle stopped,
with a most consequential jerk, and the
steps were flung down with that clattet
post-boys will make when they can get fout
horses before their leathern boxes, the soli-
tary inmate seemed to shrink farther into
its dark corner, instead of coming forward
eagerly to exchange the comforts of the
blazing hearth for the damp confinement of
a hired chaise. Thrice had the obsequious
landlord bowed his well-powdered head,
and, at each inclination wiped off, with the
palm of his hand, the rain-drops that had
settled on the central baldness of his occi-
put, ere the traveller seemed to be aware
that such a man existed as the landlord of
the Crown, or that that landiord was stand-
ing at the chaise-door. At length a female,
closely veiled, and buried in shawls like a
sultana, tremblingly took the proffered arm,
and tottered into the hotel. Shortly after,
mine host returned, attended by porter,
waiter, and stable-boy—and giving, by the
lady's orders, a handsome gratuity to each
of the post-boys, asked for the traveller's
luggage. There was none! At this an-
nouncement, the landlord, as he afterwards
expressed himself, was ‘‘ struck all of a
heap,’’ though what he meant by it was
never clearly comprehended, as any alter-
ation in his curiously squat figure must have
been animprovement. While he remained
in perplexity and in the rain, the latter of
which might easily have been avoided, an-
other message arrived from the lady, order-
ing fresh horses to be procured, and those,
with the chaise, to be kept in readiness to
start ata moment's warning. More mysterythe

desc
had
part
thes
rem
und

and
whe
the
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spe:
in t

ant
the
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like
inv
ani

ma
tyr
sck
spe

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kic
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inj
an
bu
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<o
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al
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and more perplexity! In fact, if these
combined causes had been allowed to re-
main much longer in operation, the worthy
landlord, instead of carrying on his business
profitably, would have been carried off
peremptorily, by a catarrh, his wife's nurs-
ing, and a doctor; but, fortunately, it
struck one of the post-boys that rain was
not necessary tc a conversation, and sleet
but a bad solvent of a mystery; so the
posse adjourned into the tap, in order that
the subject might be discussed more at the
ease of the gentlemen who fancied them-
selves concerned in it. ;

“‘ And you have not seen her face?”’ said
mine host of the Crown.

‘“Shouldn’t know her from Adam’s
grandmother,” said the post-boy who had
ridden the wheel-horses. ‘‘ Howsomedever
I yeerd her sob and moan like a wheel as
vants grease.’

““You may say that,” said the other post-
boy, a little shrivelled old man, a good deal
past sixty; ‘‘we lads see strange soights.
I couldn't a-bear to see her siffer in that ere
manner—I did feel for her almost as much
as if she’d been an oss.”

The landlord gave the two charioteers
force de complimens for the tenderness of
their feelings, the intensity of which he
fully comprehended, as he changed for each
his guinea, the bounty of the lady. When

_he found them in proper cue, that is to say,

in the middle of their second glass of
brandy-and-water, he proceeded in his
cross-examination, and he learned from
them, that they had been engaged to wait
at a certain spot, on an extensive heath
some twelve miles distant; that they had
hardly waited there an hour when a private
carriage, containing the lady in question
and a gentleman, arrived; that the lady,
closely veiled, had been transferred from
the one conveyance to the other, and that
the post-boys had been ordered to drive with
the utmost speed to the destination where
they now found themselves.

This account seemed to satisfy the
scruples of the landlord, which of course
were by no means pecuniary, but merely
moral, when in bounced the fiery-visaged
landlady. He was forced to stand the
small shot of his wife. Poor man! he had
only powder to reply to it, and that, just
now, was wofully damp.

“You lazy, loitering, do-little, much-
hindering, prateapace sot! here's the lady
taken alarmingly ill. The physician has
been sent for, and his carriage will be at the
door before you blow that ill-looking nose
of yours, that my blessed ten command-
ments are itching to score down—you pal-
try —-ah!”’

    
 

4 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

With a very little voice, and a very great
submission, mine host squeaked out, ‘‘ Have
you seen the lady’s face |”

‘Face! is it face you want? and ladies’
faces too—hav'n't I got face enough for you
—you apology, you!”

What the good woman said was indubi-
tably true. She had face enough for any
two moderately-visaged wives, and enough
over and above to have supplied any one
who might have lost a portion of theirs.
However, I will be more polite than the
landlady, and acquaint the reader, that no
one yet of the establishment had seen the
lady's face, nor was it intended that any
one should.

As this squabble was growing into a
quarrel, the physician arrived; he had not
been long alone with the unknown, before
he sent for a surgeon, and the surgeon for
a nurse. There was so much bustle, alarm,
and secrecy, abovestairs, that the landlord
began to consider which of the two under-
takers, his friends, he should favour with
the anticipated job, and rubbed his hands
as he dwelt on the idea of the coroner's in-
quest, and the attendant dinner. The land-
lady was nearly raving mad at being ex-
cluded from what she supposed was the
bed of death. Hot flannels and warm
water were now eagerly called for—and
these demands were looked upon as a sure
sign that dissolution approached.

‘Thestairs approaching the lady's chamber
were lined with master, mistress, man-ser-
vant, and maid-servants, all eagerly listening
to the awful bustle within. Atlength there
is a dead silence of some minutes. The
listeners shuddered.

“Tt is all over with her!’’ ejaculates one
tender-hearted manceuvrer of the warming-
pan, with her apron in the corner of her
eye; ‘‘ Poor lady! it is all over with her !”

It was exactly two in the morning of the
21st that a shrill cry was heard. Shortly
after the door was flung open by the nurse,
and_a new edition of an embryo reefer
appeared in her arms, and very manfully
did the play of his lungs make every one
present aware that somebody had made his
appearance. ‘The supposed bed of death
turned out to be a bed of life, and another
being was born to wail, to sin, and to die,
as myriads have wailed, and sinned, and
died before him.

GHAPTAR Ti

I am decidedly an incumbrance—Begin life with half-a-
dozen: fruitless journeys—Find a home and a foster-

father—And talk learnedly of triangles and arch- |

bishops.

WHAT is to be done with the child? It is
a fearful question, and has been often asked

ia a a iRAT TEIN:

under every degree of suffering, Of all
possible articles, a child is the most dif-
ficult to dispose of ; a wife may be dispensed
with without much heart-breaking—even a
friend and rubbish may be shot out of the
way, and the bosom remain tranquil; but
a helpless, new-born infant !—O there is a
pleading eloquence in its feeble wail that
goes to the heart and ear of the stranger
and must act like living fire in the bowels
of the mother.

. The whole household were immediately
sent in quest of a wet-nurse. At length
one was found in the very pretty wife of a
reprobate sawyer of the name of Brandon.
He had seen many vicissitudes of life—had
been a soldier, a gentleman's servant, had
been to sea, and was a shrewd, vicious, and
hard man, with a most unquenchable pas-
sion for strong beer, anda steady addiction
to skittles. His wife was a little gentle
being, of an extremely compact and pre-
possessing figure; her face was ruddy with
health, and, as I said before, extremely
pretty; for, had it not been for an air of
what I fear I must call vulgarity, for want
of a more gentle term, she would have me-
rited the term of beautiful. Brandon was
a top-sawyer, but, as three out of the six
working days of the week he was to be
found with a pot of porter by his side, pipe
in mouth, and the skittle-ball in his hand,
itis not surprising that there was much
misery in his home, which he often height-
ened by his brutality. Yet was he a very
pleasant fellow when he had money to
spend, and actually a witty as well as a
jovial dog when spending it. His wife had
not long given birth to a fine girl, and the
mother's bosom bled over the destitution
with which her husband's recklessness had
now made her so long familiar.

All this time your humble servant was
squalling, and none were found who, under
all the strange circumstances, would take
upon them the charge of an infant, about to
be immediately forsaken by its mother. At

 

length, one of the maid-servants at the inne

remembered to have heard Mrs. Brandon
say, that rather than live on among all her
squalidness and penury, she would en-
deavour to suckle another child besides her
own; and, as she was then in redundant
health, and had two fine breasts of milk, —
for a fine breast of milk would not then
have served my turn, or rather, Mary and
I must have taken it by turns,—she was
accordingly sent for. Yet, when she under-
stood that I was to be placed that moment
under her care, that no references could be
given, and no address left in the case of
accident, all her wishes to better herself and
babe were not sufficiently strong to make

 

  

THE REEFER. e

her run the risk. A guinea-and-a-half a-
week was offered, and the first quarter
tendered in advance, but in vain; at length,
an additional ten-pound note gave her
sufficient courage, and flannel being in re-
quest, I was thus launched to struggle with
the world. The frantic kiss of the distracted
mother was impressed on my moaning lips,
the agonized blessing was called down upon
me from the God that she then thought
not of interceding with for herself, and the
solemn objurgation given to my foster-
mother to have a religious and motherly
care of me, by the love she bore her own
child; and then, lest the distress of this
scene should become fatal to her who bore
me, I and my nurse were hurried away be-
fore the day of my birth had fully dawned.

This day happened to be one in which
the top-sawyer had been graciously pleased
to toss his arms up and down over the pit—
not of destruction but of preservation. He
had started early, and, whilst he was
setting the teeth on edge of all within
hearing, by setting an edge to his saw,
some very Officious friend ran to him to tell
him, that his wife was increasing his family,
without even his permission having been
asked. Instead, therefore, of making a
dust in his own pit, he flung down his file,
took up his lanthorn, and hurried along to
kick up a dust at home. ‘The brute! may
he have to sharpen saws with bad files for
half an eternity! He swore— how awfully
the fellow swore !— that I should be turned
from his inhospitable {roof immediately—
and my gentle nurse, adding her tears to
my squalls, through that dismal sleety
morning, which was then breaking mistily
upon so much wretchedness, was compelled
to carry me back to my mother.

The most impassioned entreaties, and an
additional five pounds, at length prevailed
on Mrs. Brandon to nestle me again in her
bosom, and try to excite the sympathy of
her husband. She returned to him, but
the fellow had now taken to himself two
counsellors, a drunken mate who served
under him in the pit, and his own avarice.
I am stating mere facts: I may not be
believed—I cannot help it—but three times
was I carried backwards and forwards,
every transit producing to the sawyer five
extra pounds, when, at length, my little
head found a resting-place. All these
events I have had over and over again
from my nurse, and they are most faithfully
recorded.

Before noon on that memorable morning
the chaise-and-four were again at the door,
and the veiled and shawl-enveloped lady
was lifted in, and the vehicle dashed rapidly
through the streets of Reading, ina north-the
des
hac
pal
the
ren
un

an

m
al

fc

 

   

6 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

erly direction. I pretend not to relate facts
of which I have never had an assured
knowledge; I cannot state to where that
chaise and its desolate occupant proceeded,
nor can I give a moying description of
feelings that I did. not witness. When I
afterwards knew that that lady was my
mother, I never dared question her upon
these points, but, from the strength, the
intensity of every good and affectionate
feeling that marked her character, I can
only conceive, that if that journey was
made in the stupor of weakness and ex-
haustion, or even in the wanderings of
delirium, it must have been, to her, a dis-
pensation of infinite mercy.

She deserted her new-born infant—she
flung forth her child from the warmth of
her own bosom to the cold, hireling kind-
ness of the stranger. I think I hear some
puritanical, world-observing, starched piece
of female rigidity exclaim, ‘‘And therein
s\¢ did a great wickedness.’ ‘The fact I
admit, but the wickedness I deny utterly.

That there were misery and much suffer-
ing inflicted, I do not deny; but of all
guilt, even of all blame, I eagerly acquit
one, whose principles of action were as
pure, and the whole tenor of whose life
was as upright, as even Virtue herself could
have dictated. Let the guilt and the misery
attendant upon this desertion of myself be
attached to the real sinners !

I have before said that Brandon was a
top sawyer. We must now call him Mr,
Brandon—he has purchased a pair of top
boots, a swell 7of coat, and though now
frequently ¢op heavy, thinks himself alto-
gether a /opping gentleman. He is now
to bé seen more frequently in the skittle-
ground, grasping a half-gallon, instead of
a quart of beer. He decides authoritatively
upon foul and fair play, and his voice is
potential on almost all matters in debate at
the Two Jolly Sawyers, near Lambeth-
walk, just at the top of Cut-throat-lane.

All this is now altered. We look in vain
for the Two Jolly Sawyers. We may ask,
where are they? and not Echo, but the
Archbishop of Canterbury, must answer
where—for he has most sacerdotally put
down all the jollity there, by pulling down
the house, and has built up a large wharf,
where once stood a very pretty tree-be-
sprinkled walk, leading to the said Jolly
Sawyers, Cut-throat-lane is no more; yet,
though it bore a villainous name, it was
very pretty to walk through; and its many
turnstiles were as so many godsends to the
little boys, as they enjoyed on them, gratis,
some blithe rides, that they would have had
to pay for at any fair im the kingdom. We
can very well understand why the turnstiles

 

were so offensive to the dignitary; in fact,
all this building, and leasing of houses, and
improvement of property, and destroying of
poor people's pleasant walks, is nothing
more than an improved reading of the
words, ‘‘denefit of clergy.”

 

CHAPTER III

My. foster-father forsakes the right line of conduct
chalked out for him—I grow ill—Find pot-luck and
baptism—Go to Bath, and take my first lessons in the
arts of persuasion. ;

WHEN I was placed with the Brandons,
it was stipulated that they should remove
immediately from Reading; and, whilst I
was in their family, they should return there
no more. For this purpose the necessary
expenses were forwarded to them by an un-
known hand. ‘To Lambeth they therefore
remoyed, because it abounded in saw-pits ;
but this advantage was more than destroyed
by its abundance of skittle-grounds. Mr.
Joseph Brandon had satisfied his conscience
by coming into the neighbourhood of the
said saw-pits: it showed a direction towards
the paths of industry; but whilst he had,
through his wife, for nursing me, £81 18s.
per annum, he always-preferred knocking
down, or seeing knocked down, the nine
pins, to the being placed upon a narrow
plank, toeing a chalked line. ‘This was not
a line of conduct that he actually chalked
out for himself; only it so happened, that,
when he was settled at Lambeth, on the
third day he went out to look after work,
and going down Stangate-street, he turned
up Cut-throat-lane, and, after passing all
the turnstiles, he arrived at the Two Jolly
Sawyers, himself making a third. In his
search for employment, he found it impos-
sible, for thé space of a whole month, to
get any farther.

But he was not long permitted to be the
ascendant spirit among the top and bottom
men. Whether it be that Mrs. Brandon
overrated her powers of affording sus-
tenance, or that I had suffered through the
inclemency of the weather in my three
journeys on my natal day, or whether that
I was naturally delicate, or perhaps all
these causes contributing to it, I fell into a
very sickly state, and, before a third month
had elapsed, I was forced to another migra-
tion.

‘Though no one appeared, both myself and
Mrs. Brandon were continually watched,
and a very superior sort of surgeon in the
neighbourhood of Lambeth, from the
second day of my arrival there, found some
pretence or another to get introduced to
my nurse, and took a violent liking to the

eeRALLEIN,

little puny, wailing piece of mortality, my-
self. I was about this time so exceedingly
small, that though at the risk of being

puerile, I cannot help recording, that
Joseph Brandon immersed me, all ex-
cepting my head, in a quart pot. No one

but a Joe Brandon, or a top sawyer, could
have had so filthy an idea. I have never
been told whether the pot contained any
drainings, but I must attribute to this ill-
advised act, a most plebeian fondness that
I have for strong beer, and which seems to
be, even in these days of French manners
and French wines, unconquerable.

My health now became so precarious,
that a letter arrived, signed simply, E. R.,
ordering that I should be immediately
baptized, and five pounds were enclosed
for the expenses. ‘The letter stated that
two decent persons should be found by
Mrs. Brandon to be my sponsors, and that
a female would appear on such a day, at
such an hour, at Lambeth Church, to act
as my godmother. ‘That I was to be chris-
tened Ralph Rattlin, and, if I survived, I
was to pass for their own child till further
orders, and Ralph Raitlin Brandon were
to be my usual appellations. Two decent
persons being required, Joe Brandon, not
having done any work for a couple of
months, thought, by virtue of idleness, he
might surely call himself one, to Say no-
thing of his top-boots. The other god-
father was a decayed fishmonger, of the
name of Ford) a pensioner in the Fish-
mongers’ Company, in whose almhouses
at Newington, he afterwards died. A sad
reprobate was old Ford—he was wicked
from nature, drunken from habit, and full
of repentance from methodism. Thus his
time was very equally divided between sin,
drink, and contrition. His sleep was all
sin, for he would keep the house awake
all night blaspheming, in his unhealthy
slumbers. As I was taken to church ina
hackney-coach, my very honoured god-
father, Ford, remarked, that ‘‘it would be
a very pleasant thing to get me into hell
before him, as he was sure that I was born

to sin, a child of wrath, and an inheritor of

the kingdom of the devil.” This bitter
remark roused the passions even of my
gentle nurse, and she actually scored down
both sides of his face with her nails, in
such a manner as to leave deep scars in his
ugliness, that nine years after he carried to
his grave. All this happened in the coach
on our way to church.
prepared himself for
his sponsorial duties, by getting he
drunk upon his favourite beverage, gin,

and it was now necessary to make him
wholly intoxicated to induce him to go

PELE

Ford had already
the performance ol
half

REEFER. Ti
through the ceremony. As yet, my nurse
had never properly seen my mother's face;
at the interview, on my birth, the agitation
of both parties, and the darkened room,
though there was no attempt at conceal-
ment, prevented Mrs. Brandon from
noticing her sufficiently to know her again;
when, therefore, as our party alighted at
the gate of the churchyard, and a lady
deeply veiled, got out of a carriage at
some distance, Mrs. Brandon knew not if

she had ever seen her before.

I have been very unfortunate in religious
ceremonies. Old Ford was a horrid spec-
tacle, hisface streaming with blood, violently
drunk, and led by Brandon, who certainly
was, on that occasion, both decent in ap-
pearance and behaviour. ‘The strange lady
hurried up to the font before us. When
the clergyman saw the state in which Ford
was, he refused to proceed in the ceremony.
The sexton then answered for him, whilst
the drunkard was led out of the church.
‘The office went on, and the lady seemed
studiously to avoid looking upon her in-
tended godson; I was christened simply,
Ralph Rattlin. -The lady wrote her name
in the book the last, and it was instantly
removed by the clerk. She thrust a guinea
into his hand, and then, for the first time,
bent her veiled face over me. 1 must have
been a miserable looking object, for no
sooner had she seen me, than she gave a
bitter shriek, and laying hold of the wood-
work of the pews, she slowly assisted her-
self out of the church. Two or three
persons who happened to be present, as
well as Mr. and Mrs. Brandon. stepped
forward to support her, but the clergyman,
who seemed to have had a previous con:
versation with her, signed them to desist.
It was altogether a most melancholy affair.
Old Ford, when we left the church, was
helped into the coach again, and Joe
Brandon, being either justly irritated at his
conduct, or angry that he conld not see my
unknown godmother's face, when we were
all fairly on our way home, gave the old
cot such a tremendous beating, that Mrs.
Brandon nearly went into fits with alarm,
and Ford himself was confined to his bed
for 2 weck after. When I reflect upon the
manner in which I was christened, though
I cannot exactly call it a ‘‘maimed pangoreal
have a great mind to have it done over
again, only [am deterred by the expense.

All now was. bustle. in removing from
Felix-street, Lambeth, to Bath, where it was
ordered that I should be dipped every
morning in some spring, that, at that time
had much celebrity. Old Ford was_left
behind. At Bath I remained three years,
Joe Brandon doing no work, and per-eee

  
  
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
   
   
    
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
    
    
  
   
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   

8 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

suading himself now, that he actually was bury. I havea laudable pride in showing
a gentleman. In my third year, my foster- that I had a respectable—J beg pardon, the
sister, little robust, ruddy Mary, died, and - word is Inapplicable—I mean a grand neigh-
the weekly, stunted, and drooping sapling bour. ‘I am not the rose,” said the
lived on. This death endeared me more flower in the Persian poem, ‘‘but I have
and more to my nurse, and Joe himself lived near the rose.” I did not bloom in
was, by self-interest, taught an affection the archbishop's garden, but I flourished
for me. He knew that if I went to the under the wall, though on the outside.
grave, he must go to work ; and he now The wall is now down, and rows of houses
used himself to perform the office of dry- up in its place.

nurse tome, taking me to the spring, and In our location in Paradise Row, the
allowing no one to dip me but himself. house being larger than we required for
When I grew older, he had many stories, our accommodation, we again received old
to tell me about my pantings, and my Ford, the only paradise, I am rather afraid,
implorings, and my offers of unnumbered _ that will ever own him as aninmate. An
kisses, and of all my playthings, if he would awful man was old Ford, my godfather.
not put me in that cold water—only this His mingled prayers and blasphemies,
one, one morning. And about a certain hymns and _ horrid songs, defiance and re-
Dr. Buck, who had taken a wonderful morse, groans and laughter, made every
liking to me, after the manner of the Lam- one hate and avoid him. Hell-fire, as he
beth surgeon, and had prescribed for me, continually asserted, was ever roaring before
and sent me physic, and port wine, all out his eyes; and, as there is a text in the New
of pure philanthropy; and how much I ‘Testament that says, there is no salvation
hated this same Dr, Buck, and his horrible for him who curses the Holy Ghost, he
““give him t’other dip, Brandon.” But all would, in the frenzy of his despair, swear
these are as things that had long aied at that mysterious portion of the Trinity by

from my own recollection. the hour, and then employ the next in beat-
ing his breast in the agony of repentance.

phase Many may think all this sheer madness ;

but he was not more mad than most of the

CHAPTER IV. hot-headed methodists, whose preachers, at

that time, held uncontrolled sway over the
My aprexinity fogs clergy impels me to preach a great mass of people that toiled in the
fumble hor the low ave nedwsary the debased’= humbler walks of life. ‘Two nights in the
Consequently this chapter need not be read. week we used to have prayer-meetings at
: an our house; and, though I could not have
WHAT with dipping, port wine, bark, and been five years old at the time, vividly do
Dr. Buck, at the age of four years my I remember that our front room used, on
limbs began to expand properly, and my those occasions, to be filed to overflow,
countenance to assume the hue of health. with kneeling fanatics, old Ford in the
I have recorded the death of my foster- centre of the room, and a couple of lank-
sister Mary; but, about this time, the top- haired hypocrites, one on each side of the
Sawyer, wishing to perpetuate the dynasty reprobate, praying till the perspiration
of the Brandons, began to enact pater streamed down their foreheads, to pray the
Jemtlias in a most reckless manner. He devil out of him. The ohs! and the groan-
was wrong; but this must be said in exten- ings of the audience were terrible; and the
uation of his impiously acting upon the whole scene, thought very edifying to the
divine command, ‘‘to increase and mul- elect, was disgraceful to any sect who lived
tiply,”” that at the time, Mr. Malthus had within the pale of civilisation.
not corrected the mistake of the Omniscient, I must now draw upon my own memory.
nor had Miss Harriet Martineau begun her I must describe my Own sensations. If I
pilgrimage after the ‘ preventive check.” reckon by the toil and turmoil of the mind,
There was no longer any pretence for my I am already an old man. I have lived for
remaining at Bath, or for my worthy foster- ages. I am far, very far, on my voyage.
father abstaining from work; so we again Let me cast my eyes back on the vast sea
removed, with a small family, in our search that I have traversed ; there is a mist settled
after saw-pits and happiness, to one of the over it, almost as impenetrable as that which
best houses in Felix-street, somewhere near glooms before me. Let me pause. Me-
Lambeth Marsh. ‘This place, after the ex- thinks that I see it gradually break, and
perience of some time, proving not to be partial sunbeams struggle through it. Now
sufficiently blissful, we removed to Paradise the distant waves rise, and wanton, and
Row; some-furlongs nearer to the Father play, pure and lucid. ’Tis the day-spring
in God, his Grace the Archbishop of Canter- of innocency, How near to the sanctifiedRATTLIN,

heavens do those remote waves appear !
They meet, and are as one with the far
horizon. ‘Those sparkling waves were the
hours of my childhood—the blissful feelings
of my infancy. As the sea of life rolls on,
the waves swell and are turbid; and, as I
recede from the horizon of my early recol-
lections, so heaven recedes from me. The
thunder-cloud is high above my head, the
treacherous waters roar beneath me, before
me is the darkness and the night of an un-
known futurity. Where can I now turn my
eyes for solace, but over the vast space that
I have passed? Whilst my bark glides
heedlessly forward, I will not anticipate
dangers that I cannot see, or tremble at
rocks that are benevolently hidden from my
view. It is sufficient for me to know that I
must be wrecked at last; that my mortal
frame must be like a shattered bark upon
the beach ere the purer elements that it con-
tains can be wafted through the immensity
of immortality. I will commune with my
boyish days—I will live in the past only.
Memory shall perform the Medean process,
shall renovate me to youth. I will again
return to marbles and an untroubled breast
—to hoop and high spirits—at least, in
imagination.

I shall henceforward trust to my own re-
collections. Should this part of my story
seem more like a chronicle of sensations
than a series of events, the reader must bear
in mind that these sensations are, in early
youth, real events, the parents of actions,
and the directors of destiny. The circle in
which, in boyhood, one may be compelled
to move, may be esteemed low ; the acci-
dents all round him may be homely, the per-
sons with whom he may be obliged to come
in contact may be mean in apparel, and
sordid in nature ; but his mind, if it remain
to him pure as he received it-from his
Maker, is an unsullied gem of inestimable
price, too seldom found, and too little ap-
preciated when found, among the great, or
the fortuitously rich. Nothing that is ab-
stractedly mental, is low. The mind that
well describes low scenery is not low, nor
is the description itself necessarily so.
Pride, and a contempt for our fellow-crea-
tures, evince a low tone of moral feeling,
and is the innate vulgarity of the soul; it
is this which but too often makes those who
rustle in silks and roll in carriages, lower
than the lowest.

I have said this much, because the
early, very early part of my life was passed
among what are reproachfully termed ‘‘ low
people.” If I describe them faithfully, they
must still appear low to those who arrogate
to themselves the epithet. of ‘‘high.’’ For
myself, I hold that there is nothing low

   

THE REEFER,

  

9

under the sun, except meanness. Where
there is utility there ought to be honour.
The utility of the humble artisan has never
been denied, though too often despised, and
too rarely honoured; but I have found
among the ‘‘vulgar’’ a horror of meanness,
a self-devotion, an unshrinking patience un-
der privation, and the moral courage, that
constitute the hero of high life. I can also
tell the admirers of the great, that the evil
passions of the vulgar are as gigantic, their
wickedness upon as grand ascale, and theit
notions of vice as refined, and as extensive,
as those of any fashionable 7oé that is
courted among the first circles, or even as
those of the crowned despot. Then, as to
the strength of vulgar intellect._True, that
intellect is rarely cultivated by the learn-
ing which consists of words. The view it
takes of science is but a partial glance—
that intellect is contracted, but it is strong.
It is a dwarf, with the muscle and sinews
of a giant; and its grasp, whenever it can
lay hold of anything within its circum-
scribed reach, is tremendous. ‘The general
who has conquered armies and subjugated
countries—the minister who has ruined
them, and the jurist who has justified both,
never at the crisis of their labours have
displayed a tithe of the ingenuity and the
resources of the mind that many an artisan
is forced to exert to provide daily bread for
himself and family ; or many a shopkeeper
to keep his connection together, and him-
self out of the workhouse. Why should
the exertions of intellect be termed low, in
the case of the mechanic, and vast, pro-
found, and glorious, in that of the minister?
It is the same precious gift of a beneficent
power to all his creatures. As well may
the sun be voted as excessively vulgar, be-
cause it, like intellect, assists all equally to
perform their functions. I repeat, that
nothing that has mind is, of necessity, low;
and nothing is vulgar but meanness.

—

CHAPTER Y.

I receive my first lessons in pusuacitys And imbibe the
evil spirit—Learn to read by intuition, and to fight by
practice—Go to school toa soldier—Am a good boy
and get whipped.

AT six years of age my health had become

firmly established, but this establishment

caused dismay in that of Joe Brandon.

As I was no longer the sickly infant

that called for incessant attention and

the most careful nurture, it was intimated
to my foster-parents, that a considerable
reduction would be made in the quarterly
allowance paid on my account. ‘The in-
dignation of Brandon was excessive. Heis
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TO RALTLIN “THE REBEL:

looked upon himseit as one grievously
wronged. No sinecurist, with his pension
recently reduced, could have been more
vehement on the subject of the sanctity of
vested rights. But his ire was not to be
vented in idle declamation only. He was
not a man to rest content with mere words:
he declaimed for a full hour upon his wife's
folly in procuring him the means of well-
fed idleness so long, threatenend to take
the brat— meaning no less personage than
myself—to the workhouse: and then he
wound up affairs, in doors, by beating his
wife, and himself, out of doors, by getting
royally drunk.

This was the first scene that madea deep
impression upon me. Young as I was, I
comprehended that I was the cause of the
ill-treatment of my nurse, whom I fondly
loved. I interfered—I placed my little body
between her and her brutal oppressor. I
scratched, I kicked,. I screamed—I grew
mad with passion. At that hour, the spirit
of evil and of hate blew the dark coal in
my heart into a flame; and the demon of
violent anger has ever since found it too
easy to erect there his altar, of which the
fire, though, at the time, all consuming, is
never durable. From that moment I com-
menced my intellectual existence. Ilooked
on the sobbing mother, and knew what it
was to love, and my love found its expres-
sion in an agony of tears. I looked on the
tyrant, I felt what it was to hate, and en-
deavoured fo relieve the burning desire to
punish with frantic actions and wild out-
cries. Old Ford, who had been present and
enjoyed the fracas, immediately took me
into his especial favour; he declared that I
was after his own heart, for I had the devil
in me—said that I had the right spirit to
bring me to the gallows, and he hoped, old
as he was, to live -to see it: he then en-
treated of the Lord that my precious soul
might: be saved as a burning brand ont of
the fire—took me by the hand and led me
to the next gin-shop—made me taste the
nauseating poison—told me I was a little
man, and it was glorious to fight—doubled
up for me my puny fists, and asserted that
cowards only, suffered a blow without re-
turning it. A lesson like this never can be
forgotten. I ground my teeth whilst I was
receiving it—I clenched my hands, and
looked wildly round for something to de-
stroy. I was in training to become a little
tiger. From what I then experienced, I
can easily conceive the feelings that actuate,
and can half forgive the crowned monsters
who have revelled in blood, and relished the
inflicting of torture; as pandering to their
worst passions in infancy resolves them into
a terrible instrument of cruelty, the control

 

of which rests not with themseives. But
this lesson in tiger ferocity had its emollient,
though not its antidote, in the tenderness
of the love which I bore my nurse, when,
on my return, I flung myself into her arms.
Iver since that day I have been subject to
terrific fits of passion; but very happily for
me, they have long ceased to be but of very
rare occurrence.

The next morning, Master Joseph came
home ill, and if not humbled, at least almost
helpless.. He had now three children of his
own, and the necessity of eschewing skittles,
and presiding over the sawpit, became
urgent. With all his vices and his rough-
ness, he was surprisingly fond of me. He,

too, applauded my spirit in attacking him- :

self. He now rejoiced to take me to the
sawpit, to allow me to play about the timber-
yards, and share with him his a/ fresco
midday meal and pot of porter. I always
passed for his eldest son, my name being
told to the neighbours as Ralph Rattlin
Brandon. I knew no otherwise, and my
foster-parents kept the secret. religiously.
At seven I began to fight with dirty little
urchins in the street, who felt much scan-
dalized at the goodness of my clothes. It
is hard work fighting up-hill at seven years
of age. Old Ford would wipe the blood
from my nose, and clap the vinegar and
brown paper on my bruises with words of
sweet encouragement ; though he always
ended by predicting that his hopeful god-
son would be hung, and that he should live
toseeit. I have certainly not been drowned
yet, though I have had my escapes, and
Old Ford has been dead these thirty years.
As one part of the prophecy will certainly
never be fulfilled, I have some faint hopes
of avoiding the exaltation hinted at in the
other.

About this time, I began to notice that a
lady, at long intervals, came to see me.
She seemed exceedingly happy in my ca-
resses, though she showed no weakness.
She passed. for my godmother, and so she
certainly was. She was minute in her ex-
amination in ascertaining that I was per-
fectly clean; and always brought me a
number of delicacies; which were invariably
devoured immediately after her departure,
by me and those little cormorants my loving
foster-brothers and sister. Moreover, my
nurse always received a present, which she
very carefully and dutifully concealed from
her liege lord of the pits. However, I
cannot call to my mind more than four of
these ‘‘ angelic visits” altogether. ‘‘ An-
gelic visits,” indeed, they might be termed,
if the transcendent beauty of the visitor be
regarded. ‘At that time, her form and her
countenance furnished me with the idea I

 

 

  

 

 

:
4
4
3
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i i Ahad of the blessed inhabitants of heaven
before man was. created, and I have never
been able, to replace it since by anything
more -beautiful. The reader shall. soon
know how, at that very early age, 1 became
so well acquainted with angelic lore.

When eight years old I was sent to school.
I could read before I went there. How I
picked up this knowledge I never could
discover: both my _ foster-parents. were
grossly illiterate. Perhaps old Ford taught
me—but this is one of the mysteries I could
never solve ; and it is strange that I should
have so totally forgotten all about an affair
so important, as not to remember a single
lesson, and yet to hold so clear a recollec-
tion of many minor events. But so it is.
To school I went : ay master was a cada-
verous, wooden-legged man, a disbanded
soldier, and a disciplinarian, as well as an
a-b-c-darian.

I well remember old Isaacs, and his tall,
handsome, crane-necked daughter, The
hussy was as straight as an arrow, yet, for
the sake of coquetry, or singularity, she
would sit in the Methodist chapel, with her
dimpled chin resting upon an iron hoop,
and her finely formed shoulders braced
back with straps so tightly, as to thrust out
in aremarkable manner her swan-like chest,
and her almost too exuberant bust. This
instrument for the distorted, with its bright
crimson Jeather, thus pressed into the ser-
vice of the beautiful, had a most singular
and exciting effect upon the beholder. I
have often thought of, this girl in my
maturer years, and confess that no dress
that I ever beheld gave a more piquant
interest to the. wearer, than those straps
and irons. ‘The jade never wore them at
home ; perhaps fhe fancy was her father’s,
he being an old soldier, and his motto
‘« Byes: right! dress |” Whosever fancy
it was, his daughter rejoiced inh aves
right! dress!” is. as good a motto for the
ladies as for the army—and well do they
act up to it.

The most important facts that my mind
has preserved concerning this scholastic
establishment are—that one evening, fora
task, I learned perfectly by heart the two
first chapters of the Gospel according to
St. John ; that there was an unbaked
gooseberry pie put prominently, on the
shelf in the school-room, a fortnight before
the vacation at Midsummer, to be partaken
of on the happy day of breaking-up, each
boy paying fourpence for his share of the
mighty feast. ‘Ihere were between forty
and fifty of us. I had almost forgotten to
mention, that I was to be duly punished
whenever I deserved it, but the master
was, on no account, to hurt me, or make

RAETIERN, 10E REEPER;

  
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
    
  
  
    
     

ts

me cry. I deserved  tegularly three or
four times a-day, and was as regularly
horsed once. Oh! those floggings, how
deceptive they were and how much I re-
gretted them when I came to understand
the thing fundamentally. Old Isaacs could
not have performed the operation more
delicately, if he were only brushing a fly
off the down of a lady's cheek. Ae never
made me cry.

CHAPTER VI.

This chapter showeth, in a methodical manner, how to
find a Faith and lose a Religion; also, to procurea
Call for persons of all manner of callings.

I HAD, as I have related, been encouraged
in fits of passion, and had been taught to
be pttgracious; my mind was now to be
opened to loftier speculations; and religious
dread; with all the phantoms of super-
stition in its train, came like a band of
bravoes, and first chaining down my soul
in the awe of stupefaction, ultimately
loosened its bonds, and sent it to wander
in all its childish wildness in the direful
realms of horrible dreams, and of waking
visions hardly less so. I was fashioning
for a poet.

My nurse was always a little devotional.
She went to the nearest chapel or church,
and, satisfied that she heard the word of
God; without troubling herself with the
niceties of any peculiar dogma, which she
could not have understood if she had, and
finding herself on the threshold of Divine
grace, she knelt down in all humility,
prayed, and was comforted. Old Ford was
a furious Methodist: he owned that he
never could reform; and, as he daily
drained the cup of sin to the very dregs,
he tried, as an antidote, long prayer and
superabounding faith. The unction with
which he struck his breast, and exclaimed,
‘Miserable sinner that I am!’” could only
be exceeded by the veracity of the assertion.
Mrs. Brandon only joined in the prayer-
meetings that he held at our house, when
Ford himself was perfectly sober — thus
she did not often attend—Brandon never.
Whilst he wore the top-boots, he was an
optimist, and perfectly epicurean in his
philosophy—I use the term in the modern
sense. When he had eighty pounds odd
a-year, with no family of his own, no man
was more jovial or happier. He had the
most perfect reliance on Providence. He
boasted, that he belonged to the Established
Church, because it was so respectable—and
he loved the organ. However, he never
went in the forenoon, because he was neverif
Fi

Pee

eT

  

z2

shaved in time; in the afternoon he never
went, because he could not dispense with
his nap after dinner; and, in the evening,
none but the serving classes were to be seen
there. He ridiculed the humble piety of
his wife, and the fanatical fervour of his
lodger. He was a high churchman, and
satisfied. But when he was obliged, with
an increasing family and a decreased in-
come, to work from morning till night, he
grew morose and very unsettled in his
faith.

The French revolution was then at its
wildest excess: equality was universally
advocated in religious, as well as political
establishments. The excitement of the
times reached even to the sawpit. Brandon
got tipsy one Saturday night with a parcel
of demagogues, and when he awoke early
next Sunday morning—it was a beautiful
summer day—he made the sudden dis-
covery that he had still his faith to seek for.
Then began his dominical pilgrimages:
with his son Ralph in his hand, he roved
from one congregation to another over the
vast metropolis, and through its extensive
environs: I do not think that we left a
single place dedicated to devotion unvisited.
I well remember that he was much struck
with the Roman Catholic worship. We
repeated our visits three or four times to
the Catholie chapel, a deference we paid to
no other, The result of this may be easily
imagined: when an excited mind searches
for food, it will be satisfied with the veriest
trash, provided only that it intoxicates,
We at length stumbled upon a small set of
mad Methodists, more dismal and more
excluding than even Ford's sect; the con-
gregation were all of the very lowest class,
with about twelve or thirteen exceptions,
and those were decidedly mad. The pastor
was an arch rogue, that fattened upon the
delusion of his communicants. They held
the doctrine of visible election, which
election was made by having a call—that
is, a direct visitation of the Holy Ghost,
which was testified by falling down in a fit
—the testification being the more authentic,
if it happened in full congregation. The
elected could never again fall: the sins that
were afterwards committed in their persons
were not theirs—it was the evil spirit
within them, that they could cast out when
they would, and be equally as pure as
before. All the rest of the world, who
had not had their call, were in a state of
reprobation, and on the high-road to dam-
nation.

All this, of course, I did not understand
till long afterwards, but I too unhappily
understood, or at least fancied I did, the
dreadful images of eternal torments, and

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

the certainty that they would soon be mine.
First of all, either from inattention, or from
want of comprehension, these denunciations
made but a faint impression upon me. But
the frightful description took, gradually, a
more visible and sterner shape, till they
produced effects that proved all but fatal.
The doctrines of these Caterians just
suited the intellect and the strong passions
of Brandon. The sect was called Caterians,
after the Rev. Mr. Cate, their minister,
My foster-father went home, after the
second Sunday, and put his house in order.
As far as regarded the household, the
regulations would have pleased Sir Andrew
Agnew: the hot joint was dismissed—the

country walk discontinued—at meeting

four times a-day. Even Ford did not like
it. Brandon was labouring hard for his
call: he strove vehemently for the privilege
of sinning with impunity. He was told by
Mr. Cate that he was in a desperate way.
Brandon did all he could, but the call would
not come for the calling. Mrs. Brandon
got it very soon, though she strenuously
denied the honour. My good nurse was
in the familyway, and Mr. Cate had
frightened her into fits, with a vivid de-
lineation of the agonies of a new-born
infant, under the torture of eternal fire,
because it had died unelected. However,
Brandon began a little to weary of waiting
and long prayer, and perhaps of the now
too frequent visits of Mr. Cate. He com-
menced to have his fits of alternate in-
temperate recklessness, and religious de-
spondency. One Sunday morning, well
do I recollect it, he called me up early,
before seven; and I supposed, as usual,
that we were going to early meeting: we
walked towards the large room that was
used as achapel. We had nearly reached
it, when the half-open door of an adjacent
ale-house let out its vile compound of dis-
gusting odours upon the balmy Sabbath air.
My conductor hesitated— he moved towards
the meeting-house, but his head was turned
the other way—he stopped.

“Ralph,” said he, ‘did you not see Mr.
Ford go into the public-house ?””

“No, father,” said I; ‘don't think he’s
up.

‘‘At all bounds, we had better go and
see; for I must not allow him to shame a
decent house by tippling, on a Sunday
morning, in a dram-shop.”’

We entered. He found there some of
his mates, Pint after pint of purl was
called for; at length a gallon of strong ale
was placed upon the table, a quart of gin
was dashed into it, and the whole warmed
witha red-hot poker. I was now instructed
to lie. I promised to tell mother that weRATTLIN,

had gone into a strange chapel; but I
made my conditions, that mother should
not be any more beaten. It was almost
church-time when the landlord put us all
out by the back way. The drunken fel-
lows sneaked home-—whilst Brandon, taking
me by the hand, made violent, and nearly
successful, efforts to appear sober.

After a hasty breakfast we went to meet-
ing. My foster-father looked excessively
wild. Mr. ’Cate was raving in the midst
of an extempore prayer when a heavy fall
was heard in the chapel. The minister
descended from his desk, and came and
prayed over the prostrate victim of intoxi-
cation, and, perhaps, of epilepsy, and he
pronounced that brother Brandon had got
his cail, and was now indisputably one of
the elect. He did not revive so soon as
was expected—his groans were looked upon
as indications of the workings of the Spirit ;
and when, at length, he was so far recovered
as to be led home by two of the congre-
gation, the conversion of the sawyer was
dwelt upon by the preacher, from a text
preached upon the chapter that relates to
the conversion of Saul, and the cases were
cited as parallel. Let the opponents of the
Established Church rail at it as they will,
scenes of such wickedness and impiety
could never have happened within its time-
honoured walls.

When we returned to dinner, we found
that Brandon had so far recovered as to
become very hungry, very proud, and very
pharisaically pious. Mr. Cate dined with
us. He was full of holy congratulations
on the miraculous event. The sawyer
received all this with a humble self-con-
sequence, as the infallible dicta of truth,
and, apparently, with the utter oblivion of
any such things existing as purl and red-
hot pokers. Was he a deep hypocrite, or
only a self-deceiver? Who can know the
heart of man? However, ‘‘this call’ had
the effect of making the ‘‘called one” a
finished sinner, and of filling up the measure
of wretchedness to his wife.

 

CHAPTER VIE.

Itoo have my call—to Death’s door--A great rise in
life—Brandon allows neither slugs nor sluggards in his
’ sawpit—is ruined, and beats the Reverend Mr. Cate.

ALL this was preparatory to an event, to
me of the utmost importance, which is,
perhaps, at this very moment, influencing
imperceptibly my mind, and directing my
character. Brandon’s call, in our humble
circle, made a great deal of noise. He had
taken care that I should know what drunk-
enness meant. I thought he ought to have

 

LHE REEFER.

 
 
   
  
  
   
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
 
   
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 

13
been drunk on the afternoon of his election,
yet he so well disguised his intoxication that
he appeared not to be so._I listened atten-
tively to the sermon of the preacher that
followed. I no longer doubted. I could
not believe that a grave man in a pulpit
could speak anything but truth, when he
spoke so loudly, and spoke for two hours.
My mind was a chaos of confusion: I be-
gan to be very miserable. The next, or
one or two Sundays after, produced the
crisis. My dress. was always much superior
to what could have been expected in the
son of a mere operative. I was, at that
time, a fair and mild-featured child, and
altogether remarkable among the set who
frequented the meeting-house. Mr. Cate
had been very powerful indeed in his de-
scription of the infernal regions—of the
abiding agonies—the level lake that burneth
—the tossing of the waves that glow; and,
when he had thrown two or three old
women into hysterics, and two or three
young ones into fainting fits, amidst the
torrent of his oratory, and the groaning,
and the ‘‘ Lord have mercy upon me's,”
of his audience, he made a sudden pause.
There was a dead silence for a half a
minute, then suddenly lifting his voice, he
pointed to me, and exclaimed, ‘‘ Behold
that beautiful child—observe the pure blood
mantling in his delicate countenance—but
what is he after all but a mouthful for the
devil? All those torments, all those tor-
tures, that I have told you of, will be his;
there, look at him, he will burn and writhe
in pain, and consume for ever, and ever,
and ever, and never be destroyed, unless
the original sin be washed out from him by
the ‘call,’ unless he be made, hereafter,
one of the ‘elect.’ ”’

At this direct address to myself I neither
fainted, shuddered, nor cried—I felt, at the
time, a little stupefied : and it was some
hours after (the hideous man’s words all
the time ringing in my ears) before I fully
comprehended my hopeless state of per-
dition. I looked at the fire as I sat by it,
and trembled. I went to bed, but not to
sleep. - No child ever haunted by a ghost-
story was more terrified than myself, as I
lay panting on my tear-steeped pillow. At
length, imagination began its dreadful
charms—the room enlarged itself in its
gloom to vast space—I began to hear cries
from under my bed. Some dark bodies
first of all flitted across the gloaming. My
bed began to rock. I tried to singa hymn.
I thought that the words came out of my
mouth in flames of bright fire. I then
called to mind the offerings from the altars
of Cain and Abel. I watched to see if my
hymns turned into fire, and ascended up to14 RATELIN, THE REETEK.

heaven. I felt a cold horror when I dis-
covered them scattered from my mouth
exactly in the same manner that I had seen
the flames in the engraving in our large
Bible on the altar of Cain. Then there
came a huge block of wood, and stationed
itself in the air above me, about six inches
from my eyes. I remember no more—I
was in a raging fever.

T was ill for some weeks, and a helpless
invalid for many more. When again I
enjoyed perception of the things around
me, I found myself in a new house in Red
Cross-street, near St. Luke’s. My foster-
parents had opened a shop—it had the
appearance of a most respectable fruiterer’s.
Mr. Brandon had become a small timber-
merchant, had sawpits in the premises be-
hind the house, and men of his own actually
Sawing in them. But the most surprising
change of al] was, that the reverend Mr.
Cate was domesticated with us. Brandon,
as a master, worked harder than ever he
did as a man. My nurse became anxious
and careworn, and never seemed happy—
for my part, I was so debilitated, that I
then took but little notice of anything.
However, the beautiful lady never called.
I used to spend my time thinking upon
amgels and cherubs, and in learning hymns
by heart. I suppose that’ I, ‘like my foster-
father, had had my call, but I am sure that
after it Iwas as much weaker in mind as
I was in body. When I became strong
enough to be again able to run about, I
was once more sent to a day-school, and
all that I remember about the matter was,
that every day about eleven o'clock Iwas
told to run home and get a wigful of
potatoes from Brandon’s, the venerable
pedagogue coolly taking off his wig, and
exchanging it for a red night-cap, until my
return with the provender.

Things now wore a dismal aspect at
home. At length, one day, the broker
sent his men into the shop, who threw all
the greengrocery about like ‘peelings of
onions. They carted away Mr: Brandon's
deals, and planks, and timber, and, not
content with all this, they also took away
the best of the household furniture. My
nurse called Mr. Cate a devil in’a white
sheet—her husband acted as he always
would do when he was offended and found
himself strong enough ; he gave the reverend
gentleman, most irreverently, a tremendous
beating. The sheep sadly gored the shep-
herd. Afterwards, when he had nearly
killed his pastor, he seceded from his flock,
and gave him, under his own hand, asolemn
abjuration of the Caterian tenets. How
Brandon came to launch out into this
expensive and ill-advised undertaking of

greengroceries and sawpits—how he after-
wards became involved, and how much the
preacher had been guilty in deceiving him,
I never clearly understood. However, my
nurse never, for a long time after, spoke of
the reverend gentleman without applying
the corner of her apron to her eyes, or her
husband without a hearty malediction. We
removed to our old neighbourhood, but,
instead of taking a respectable house, we
were forced to burrow in mean lodgings.

CHAPTER VII.

Another migration—From the ruralities of Cut-throat-
lane to the Groves of Academus—I am forced into
good clothes and the paths of Learning in spite of my
teeth, though Iuse them spitefully,

MISFORTUN<S never come single. I don't
know why they should. They are but scare-
crow, lean-visaged, miserable associates, and
so they arrive in a body to keep each other
in countenance. I had been but a few
weeks in our present miserable abode, and
had fully recovered my health, though I
think that I was a little crazed with the
prints, and the subjects of them, over
which I daily pored in the large Bible,
when the greatest misfortune of all came
upon the poor Brandons—and that was,
to add to their other losses, the loss of my
invaluable self.

The misery was unexpected—it was
sudden—it was overwhelming. Brandon
was toeing a chalked line on a heavy log
of mahogany, unconscious of the mischief
that was working at home. He afterwards
told me, and I believe him, that he would
have opposed the proceeding by force, if
force had been requisite. A plain, private,
or hired carriage, drove up to the door,
and, after ascertaining that the Brandons
lived at the house, a business-like looking,
elderly gentleman stepped out, paid every
demand immediately, and ordered my best
clothes on. When I was thus equipped,
my nurse was told that she was perfectly
welcome to the remainder of my effects,
and that I must get into the carriage.

The good woman was thunderstruck.
There was a scene. She raved, and [|
cried, and the-four little Brandons, at least
three of them, joined in the chorus of
lamentation, because the naughty man‘was
going to take brother Ralph away. I had
been too well taught by old Ford, not to
visit my indignation upon the shins and
hands of the carrier away of captives, in
well-applied kicks, and almost rabid bites.
There was a great disturbance. The neigh-
bours thought it very odd that the mother
should allow her eldest son ta be carriedRADE LY,

off by force, by a stranger, before her eyes,
in the middle of the day; but then it was
suggested, that ‘‘nothing could be well
termed odd that concerned little Ralph
Brandon, for hadn't he been bit last year
by a mad dog, and, when so-and-so had
all died raving, he had never nothing at
all happen to him.” When the stranger
heard ‘this story of the mad dog (which,
by the bye, was fact), and I have the scars
to this day), he shook me off, pale with
consternation, and was, no doubt, extremely
happy to find that my little teeth had not
penetrated the skin. I believe that he
heartily repented him of his office. At
length he lost all patience. ‘‘ Woman,” said
he, ‘‘send these people cut of the room.”
When they had departed, marvelling, he
resumed : ‘‘I cannot lose my time in alter-
cation, I am commissioned to tell you, that
if you keep the boy in one sense, you'll
have to keep him in all. You may be sure
that I would not trouble myself about such
a little ill-bred wretch for a moment, if I
did not act with authority, and by orders.
Give up the child directly (I was now sob-
bing in her arms), take your last look at
him, for you will never see him again.
Come, hand the young gentleman into the
carriage.’

“‘T won't go,” I screamed out.

‘‘We shall soon see that, Master Ratt-
lin,” said he, dragging me along, resisting.
I bawled out; ‘‘My name's not Master
Rattlin—you're a liar—and when father
comes from the pit he'll wop you.”

This threat seemed to have an effect the
very reverse of what I had intended. Per-
haps he thought that he had already enough
to contend with, without the addition of the
brawny arm of the sawyer. I was forcibly
lifted up, placed in the coach, and, as it
drove rapidly away, I heard, amidst the
rattling of the wheels, the cries of her
whom I loved as a mother, exclaiming,
“My Ralph —my dear Ralph.”

Behold me then, ‘‘ hot with the fray, and
weeping from the fight,” confined in a
locomotive prison with my sullen captor.
IT blubbered in one corner of the coach,
and he surveyed me with stern indifference
from another. I had now fairly commenced
my journey through life, but this beginning
was anything but auspicious. At length,
the carriage’ stopped at a place I have since
ascettained to be near Hatton-garden, on
Holborn-hill. We alighted, and walked
into a house, between two motionless pages,
excessively well dressed. At first, they
startled me, but I soon discovered they were
immense waxen dolls. It was a ready-
made clothes warehouse into which we had
entered. We went up-stairs, and I was

 

  
     
 
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
    

THE REEFER, 5

I5

soon equipped with three excellent suits.
My grief had now settled down into a sul-
len resentment, agreeably relieved, at due
intervals, by breath-catching sobs. The
violence of the storm had passed, but its
gloom still remained. Seeing the little
gladness that the possession of clothes, the
finest I had yet had, communicated to me,
my director could not avoid giving himself
the pleasurable relief of saying, ‘‘Sulky
little brute!” ~A trunk being sent for, and
my wardrobe placed in it, we then drove to
three or four other shops, not forgetting a
hatter’s, and in a very short space of time,
I had avery tolerable fit out. During all
this time, not a word did my silent com-
panion address to me.

At length, the coach no longer rattled
over the stones. It now proceeded on more
smoothly, and here and there the cheerful
green foliage relieved the long lines of
houses. After about a half-hour’s ride, we
stopped at a large and very old-fashioned
house, built in strict conformity with the
Elizabethan style of architecture, over the
portals of which, upon a deep blue board,
in very, very bright gold letters, flashed
forth that word so awful to little boys, so
big with associations of long tasks and
wide-spreading birch, the Greek-derived
polysyllable, ACADEMY! Ignorant as I
was, I understood it all in a moment. I
was struck cold as the dew-damp grave-
stone. lI almost grew sick with terror. I
was kidnapped, entrapped, betrayed. Ihad
before hated school, my horror now was
intense of “Academy.” I looked piteously
into the face of my persecutor, but I found
there no sympathy. ‘‘I want to go home,”
I roared out, and then burst into a fresh
torrent of tears.

Home! what solace is there in its very
sound! Oh, how that blessed asylum for
the wounded spirit encloses within its sacred
circle all that is comforting, and sweet; and
holy! ‘Tis there that the soul coils itself
up and nestles like the dove’ ingits own
downiness, conscious that everything around
breathes of peace, security, and’ love.
Home! henceforward, I was to have none,
until, through many, many years of foil
and misery, I should create one for myself.
Henceforth, the word must bring to me
only the bitterness of regrét—henceforth I
was to associate with Hundreds who had
that temple in which to consecrate’ their
household affections— but was,’ myself,
doomed to be unowned, unloved, and
homeless.

‘‘T want to go home,” I blubbered forth
with the pertinacity of anguish, as I was
constrained into the parlour of the truculent
rod-bearing, ferula-wielding Mr. Rogt, INaN hap ARR TESS Tai

 

 

   

    

16 WLALLLIN, CHE REPE he

must have been a strange figure. I was
taken from my nurse's in a hurry, and,
though my clothes were quite new, my face
entitled me to rank among the much vitu-
perated unwashed. When a little boy has
very dirty hands, with which he rubs his
dirty, tearful face, it must be confessed that
grief does not, in his person, appear under
a very lovely form. ‘The first impression
that I made on him who was to hold
almost everything that could constitute my
happiness in his power, was the very re-
verse of favourable. My continued itera-
tion of ‘‘I want to go home,” was anything
but pleasing to the pedagogue. The sen-
tence itself is not music to a man keeping
a boarding-school. With the intuitive per-
ception of childhood, through my tears,
my heart acknowledged an enemy. What
my conductor said to him, did not tend to
soften his feelings towards me. I did not
understand the details of his communica-
tien, but I knew that I was as a captive,
bound hand and foot, and delivered over to
a foreign bondage. The interview between
the contracting parties was short, and
when over, my conductor departed without
deigning to bestow the smallest notice upon
the mostimportant personage of this history.
I was then rather twitched by the hand,
than led, by Mr. Root, into the middle of
his capacious school-room, and in the midst
of more than two hundred and fifty boys :
my name was merely mentioned to one of
the junior ushers, and the master left me.
Well might I then apply that blundering,
E-xaminer-be-praised line of Keats's to my-
self, for like Ruth,

*' I stood all tears among the alien corn.”

A few boys came and stared at me, but
I attracted the kindness of none. There
can be no doubt but that I was somewhat
vulgar in my manners, and my carriage was
certainly quite unlike that of my com-
panions, Some of them even jeered me,
but I regarded them not. A real grief is
armour-proof against ridicule. In a short
ume, it being six o'clock, the supper was
served out, consisting of a round of bread,
all the moisture of which had been allowed
to evaporate, and an oblong, diaphanous,
yellow substance, one inch and a half by
three, that I afterwards learned might be
known among the initiated as single
Gloucester. There was also a pewter mug
for each, three-parts filled with small beer.
It certainly gave me, it was so small, a very
desponding idea of the extent to which
littleness might be carried; and it would
have been too vapid for the toleration of
any palate, had it not been sosour. As I
Sate regardless before this repast, in ab-

  

stracted grief, I underwent the first of the
thousand practical jokes that were here-
after to familiarise me with manual jocu-
larity. My right-hand neighbour, jerking
me by the elbow, exclaimed, ‘‘ Hollo, you
sir, there’s Jenkins, on the other side of
you, cribbing your bread.’ I turned to-
wards the supposed culprit, and discovered
that my informant had fibbed, but the in-
formed against told me to look round and
see where my cheese was. I did; it was
between the mandibles of my kind neigh-
bour on my right, and when I turned again
to the left for an explanation, the rogue
there had stripped my round of bread of
all the crust. I cared not then for this
double robbery, but having put the liquid
before me, incautiously to my lips, sorrow-
ful as I was, I cared for that. Joe Brandon
never served me so. I drank that evening
as little as I ate.

 

CHAPTER. Tx.

I prove to be, not one in a thousand, but onein a quarter
of that number, to whom no quarter was shown—In
spite of my entreaties I am evil entreated, and am not
only placed on the lowest form, but made excessively
uncomfortable on my seat of honour,

TMIEROES, statesmen, philosophers, must
bend to circumstances, and so must little
boys at boarding-school. I went to bed with
the rest, and, like the rest, had my bed-
fellow. Miserable and weary was that night
to my infant heart. When I found I could
do so unobserved, I buried my face in the
pillow, and wept with a perfect passion of
wretchedness.

I had a hard, a cruel life at that school.
When I lived with my nurse, the boys in
the street used to beat me because I was
too much of the gentleman, and now the
young gentlemen thrashed me for not
coming up to their standard of gentility.
I saw a tyrant in every urchin that was
stronger than myself, and a derider in him
that was weaker. The next morning after
my arrival, a fellow a little bigger than
myself, came up, and standing before me,
gave me very deliberately as hard a slap
in the face as his strength would permit.
Half crying with the pain, and yet not
wishing to be thought quarrelsome, I
asked, with good-natured humility, whether
that was done in jest or in earnest. The
little insolent replied, in his school-boy wit,
‘“betwixt and between.’ I couldn't stand
that; my passion and my fist rose together,
and hitting my oppressor midway between
the eyes, ‘‘ There's my betwixt and be-
tween,” said I. His nose began to bleed,
and when I went down into the school-room, the ‘‘ new boy” had his hands well
warmed with the ruler for fighting.

Alas! the first year of my academic life
was one of unqualified wretchedness. For
the two or three initiatory rnonths, uncouth
in speech, and vulgar in mien, with no
gilded toy, rich plum-cake, or mint-new
shilling to conciliate, I was despised and
ridiculed; and when it was ascertained by
my own confession, that I was the son of
a day-labourer, I was shunned by the aris-
tocratic progeny of butchers, linen-drapers,
and hatters. It took, at least, a half-dozen
floggings to cure me of the belief that
Joseph Brandon and his wife were my
parents, It was the shortest road to con-
viction, and Mr. Root prided himself upon
short cuts in imparting knowledge. I
assure my readers they were severe one,

Mr. Root, the pedagogue of this im-
mense school, which was situated in the
vicinity of Islington, was a very stout and
very handsome man, of about thirty. He
had formerly been a subordinate where he
now commanded, and his good looks had
gained him the hand of the widow of his
predecessor. He was very florid, with a
cold dark eye; but his face was the most
physical that I ever beheld. From the
white, low forehead, to the well-formed
chin, there was nothing on which the gazer
could rest that spoke of intellectuality.
There was ‘‘speculation in his eye,” but
it was the calculation of farthings. There
was a pure ruddiness in his cheek, but it
was the glow of matter, not that of mind.
His mouth was well formed, yet pursed up
with an expression of mingled vanity and
severity. He was very robust, and his
arm exceedingly powerful. With all these
personal advantages, he had a shrill, girlish
voice, that made him, in the execution of
his cruelties, actually hideous. I believe,
and I make the assertion in all honesty,
that he received a sensual enjoyment by
the act of inflicting punishment. He at-
tended to no department of the school
but the flagellative. He walked in about
twelve o'clock, had all on the list placed on
a form, his man-servant was called in, the
lads horsed, and he, in general, found
ample amusement till one. He used to

make it his boast that he never allowed
any of his ushers to punish. The hypo-
crite! the epicure! he reserved all that
luxury for himself. Add to this that he
was very ignorant out of the Tutor’s As-
sistant, and that he wrote a most abomin-
ably good hand (that usual sign of a poor
and trifle-occupied mind), and now you
have a very fair picture of Mr. Root. I
have said that he was a most cruel tyrant :
yet Nero himself ought not to be blackened ;

RATILIN, THE REEFER,

7

and I must say this for my master’s hu-
manity, that I had been at school two days
before I was flogged; and then it was for
the enormity of not knowing my own name.
‘‘Rattlin,” said the pedagogue. No reply.
‘‘Master Rattlin,” in a shriller tone.
Answer there was none. ‘ Master Ralph
Rattlin,”’ Many started, but ‘“ Ralph
Brandon"’ thought it concerned not him.
But it did indeed. I believe that I had
been told my new name, but I had for-
gotten itin my grief, and now in grief and
in pain I was again taught it. When, for
the first time, in reality, I tasted that acid
and bitter fruit of the tree of knowledge,
old Isaac's (my soldier schoolmaster) mock
brushings were remembered with heartfelt
regret.

At that time the road to learning was
strewed neither with flowers nor palm-
leaves, but with the instigating birch. The
schoolmaster had not yet gone abroad, but
he flogged most diligently at home, and,
verily, I partook amply of that diligence.
I was flogged full, and I was flogged
fasting; when I deserved" it, and when I
did not; I was flogged for speaking too
loudly, and for not Speaking loud enough,
and for holding my tongue. Moreover,
one morning I rode the horse without the
saddle, because my face was dirty, and the
next, because I pestered the maid-servant
to wash it clean. I was flogged because
my shoes were dirty, and again because I
attempted to wipe them clean with my
pocket-handkerchief. I was flogged for
Playing, and for staying in the school-room
and not going out to play. The bigger
boys used to beat me, and I was then
flogged for fighting. It is hard to say for
what I was not flogged. Things, the most
contradictory, all tended to one end, and
that was my own. At length, he flogged
me into serious ill-health, and then he
staid his hand, and I found relief on a bed
of sickness. Even now I look back to those
days of persecution with horror. Those
were the times of large schools, rods
Steeped in brine, (actual fact,) intestine
insurrections, the bumping of obnoxious
ushers, and the ‘‘ barring out” of tyran-
nical masters. A school of this description
was a complete place of torment for the
orphan, the unfriended, and the deserted.
Lads then staid at school till they were
eighteen and even twenty, and fagging
flourished in all its atrocious oppression.ee

CHAPTER, x,

I grow egotistical, and being pleased with myself, give
good advice—A visit ; and a strange jumble of tirades,
tears, tutors, tenderness, and a tea-kettle.

LET me now describe the child of nine
years and a half old, that was forced to
undergo this terrible ordeal. We will
suppose that, by the aid of the dancing-
master and the drill-sergeant, I have been
cured of my vulgar gait, and that my
cockney accent has disappeared. Children
of the age above mentioned soon assimilate
their tone and conversation with those
around them. I was tall for my years,
with a very light and active frame, and a
countenance, the complexion of which was
of the most unstained fairness. My hair
light, glossy, and naturally, but not uni-
versally, curling. To make it appear in
ringlets all over my head, would have been
the effect of art; yet, without art it was
wavy, and at the temples, forehead, and
the back of the head, always in full circlets.
My face presented a perfect oval, and my
features were classically regular. I had a
good natural colour, the intensity of which
ebbed and flowed with every passing emo-
tion. I was one of those dangerous sub-
jects whom anger always makes pale. My
eyes were decidedly blue, everything else
that may be said to the contrary notwith-
standing. The whole expression of my
countenance was very feminine, but not
soft. It was always the seat of some
sentiment or passion, and in its womanly
refinement gave to me an appearance of
constitutional delicacy and effeminacy, that
I certainly did not possess. I was decidedly
a very beautiful child, and a child that
seemed formed to kindle and return a
mother’s love, yet the maternal caress
never blessed me; but I was abandoned
to the tender mercies of a number of he-
beings, by many of whom my vivacity was
checked, my spirit humbled, and my flesh
cruelly lacerated.

I dwell thus particularly on my school-
boy life, in order, in the first place to pre-
pare the reader for the singular events that
follow ; and in the second (and which forms
by far the most important consideration, as
I trust I am believed, and if zruth deserves
credence, believed I am), to caution parents
from trusting to the specious representations
of any schoolmaster, to induce them to
examine carefully and patiently into every
detail of the establishment, or they may
become a party to a series of cruelties,
that may break the spirit, and, perhaps,
shorten the life of their children. Unfor-
tunately, the most promising minds are

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

those that soonest yield to the effect of
harsh discipline. The phlegmatic, the
dull, and the commonplace Vegetate easily
through this state of probation. The
blight that will destroy the rose, passes
ever harmlessly over the tough and earth-
embracing weed.

I staid at Mr. Root's scheol for very
nearly three years, and I shall divide that
memorable period into three distinct epochs
—the desponding, the devotional, and the
mendacious. After I had been flogged
into uncertain health, I was confined, for
at least six weeks, to my room, and, when
I was convalescent, it was hinted by the
surgeon in not unintelligible terms, to Mr.
Root, that if I did not. experience the
gentlest treatment, I might lose my life;
which would have been very immaterial to
Mr. Root, had it not been a mathematical
certainty that he would lose a good scholar
at the same time. By the bye, the mean-
ing that a schoolmaster attaches to the
words ‘‘good scholar,” is one for whom
he is paid well. Thus I was emphatically
a good scholar; no doubt his very best.
I was taught everything—at least his bill
said so. He provided everything for me,
and I staid with him during the holidays.
He, therefore, ceased to confer upon me
his cruel attentions; and abandoned me
to a neglect hardly less cruel. The boys
were strictly enjoined to leave me alone,
and they obeyed. I found a solitude in
the midst of society.

A loneliness came over my young spirit.
I was aweary, and I drooped like the tired
bird, that alights on the ship, ‘‘far, far at
sea.’ As that poor bird folds its wings,
and sinks into peaceful oblivion, I could
have folded my arms and haye laid down
to die with pleasure. My heart exhausted
itself with an intense longing for a com-
panion to love. It wasted away all its
substance: in flinging out fibres to cateh
hold of that with which it might beat in
unison. As turn the tendrils of the vine
hither and thither to clasp something to
adorn, and to repay support by beauty, so
I wore out my young energies in a fruitless
search for sympathy. I had nothing to
love me, though I would have loved many
if I had dared. There were many sweet
faces among my school-fellows, to which I
turned with a longing look, and a tearful
eye. How menial I have been to procure
a notice, a glance of kindness! I had
nothing to give wherewith to bribe affection
but services and labour, and those were
either refused, or perhaps accepted with
scorn. I was the only pariah among twa
hundred and fifty. There was a mystery

and an obloquy attached to me, and the:

 

  
   
  
    
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
  

Se art BL aa a Ni akmaster had, by his interdiction, completely
put me without the pale of society. I now
said my lessons to the ushers with indif-
ference—if I acquitted myself ill, I was un-
punished—if well, unnoticed. My spirits
began to give way fast, and I was begin-
ning to feel the pernicious patronage of the
servants. They would‘call me off the play-
ground, on which I moped, send me on
some message, or employ me in some light
service. All this was winked at by the
master, and as for the mistress, she never
let me know that it occurred to her that
I was in existence. It was evident that
Mr. Root had no objection to all this, for,
in consideration of the money paid to him
for my education, he was graciously pleased
to permit me to fill the office of his kitchen-
boy. But, before I became utterly degraded
into the menial of the menials, a fortunate
occurrence happened that put an end to
my culinary servitude. To the utter sur-
prise of Mr. and Mrs. Root, who expected
nothing of the kind, a lady came to see
me. What passed between the parties,
before I was ushered into the parlour
appropriated to visitors, I know not; it
was some time before I was brought in,
as preparatory ablutions were made, and
my clothes changed. When I entered, I
found that it was ‘‘the lady.” I remember
that she was very Superbly dressed, and-I
thought too, the most beautiful apparition
that I had ever beheld. The scene that
took place was a little singular, and I shall
relate it at full.

As I have rigidly adhered to truth, I have
been compelled to state what I have to say
in a form almost entirely narrative ; and have
not imitated those great historians, who
put long speeches into the mouths of their
kings and generals, very much suited to the
occasions undoubtedly, and deficient only
in one point—that is, accuracy. I have
told only of facts and impressions, and not
given. speeches that it would have been
impossible for me to have remembered.
Yet, in this interview there was something
so striking to my young imagination, that
my memory preserved many sentences, and
ali the substance of what-took place. ‘There
was wine and cake upon the table, and the
lady looked a little flustered. Mr. Root
was trying with a forty Chesterfieldean
power to look amiable. Mrs. Root was
very fidgety. As I appeared at the door
timorously, the lady said to me, without
rising, but extending her delicate white
hand, ‘‘Come here to me, Ralph; do you
not know ine?”’

I could get no farther than the middle
of the room, where I stood still, and burst
out into a passion of tears. Those sweet

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
     

19.

tones of tenderness, the first I had heard
for nine months, thrilled like fire through
my whole frame. It wasa feeling so intense,
that, had it not been agony, it would have
been bliss.

‘‘Good God !”’ said she, deeply agitated ;
‘«my poor boy, why do you cry?”

‘* Because—because you are so kind,’
said I, rushing forward to her extended
arms; and, falling on my knees at her
feet, I buried my face in her lap, and felt
all happiness amidst my sobbings. She
bent over me, and her tears trickled upon
my neck. This did net last long. She
placed me upon my feet, and drawing me
to her side, kissed my cheeks, and my
eyes, and my forehead. - Her countenance
soon became serene; and, turning to my
master, she said quietly, ‘‘ This, sir, is very
singular.”

‘Ves, ma'am, Master Rattlin zs very
singular. - All clever boys are. He knows
already his five declensions, and the four
conjugations, active and passive. Come,
Master Rattlin, decline for the lady the
adjective felix—come, begin, nominative
hig et hace ev hoe telix.s

‘‘T don’t know anything about it,” said
I doggedly.

“T told you he was a séngular child,”
resumed the pedagogue, with a most awk-
ward attempt at a smile.

‘©The singularity to which I allude,’
said the lady, ‘‘is his finding kindness so
singular:

“Kind! bless you, my dear madam,”
said they both together; ‘‘vou can't con-
ceive how much we love the little dear.”

‘‘Tt was but yesterday,” said Mrs. Root,
‘that I was telling the lady of Mr. Alder-
man Jenkins—we have the five Jenkinses,
ma’am—that Master Rattlin was the sweet-
est, genteelest, and beautifullest boy in the
whole school.”

‘‘It was but yesterday,” said Mr. Root,
‘that. I was saying to Doctor Duncan (our
respected rector, madam), that Master Rat-
tlin had evinced such an uncommon talent,
that we might, by-and-by, expect the greatest
things from him, Not yet ten months with
me, madam. Already in Pheedrus—the rule
of three—and his French master gives the
best account of him. He certainly has not
begun to speak it yet, though he has made
a vast progress in the French language.
But it is Monsieur le Gross system to
make his pupils thoroughly master of the
language, before they attempt to converse
in it. And his dancing, my dear madam
—O, it would do your heart good to see
him dance. Such grace, such elasticity,
and such happiness in his manner !”

A pause—and then they exclaimed te-

C220 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

gether with a long-drawn sentimental sigh,
‘* And we both love him so.”

“‘T am glad to hear so good an account
of him,” said the lady. ‘I hope, Ralph,
that you love Mr. and Mrs. Root, for they
seem very kind to you.”

‘‘No I don't.”

Mr. and Mrs. Root lifted their hands
imploringly to heaven.

‘“Not love me!” they both exclaimed
together, with a tone of heartfelt surprise
and wounded sensibility, that would have
gone far to have made the fortune of a
sentimental actor.

‘“Come here, sir, directly,” said Mr.
Root. ‘‘Look me full in the face, sir.
You are a singular boy, yet I déd think
you loved me. - Don't be frightened, Ralph,
I would not give you gaz on any account;
and you know I never did. Now tell me,
my dear boy,” gradually softening from the
terrible to the tender, ‘‘ tell me, my dear
boy, why you fancy you do not love me.
You see, madam, that I encourage sincerity
—and like, at all times, the truth to be
spoken out. Why don't you love me,
Ralph, dear?’’ pinching my ear with a
spiteful violence, that was meant for gra-
cious playfulness in the eyes of the lady,
and an intelligible hint for myself. I was
silent.

‘‘Come, Ralph, speak your mind freely.
No one will do you any harm for it, I am
sure. Why don't you love Mr. Root?”
said the lady.

I was ashamed to speak of my floggings,
and I looked upon his late abandonment and
negligence as kindness. I knew not what
to say, yet I knew I Lated him most cor-
dially. I stammered, and at last I brought
out this unfortunate sentence, ‘‘ Because he
has got such an ugly, nasty voice.”

Mr. and Mrs. Root burst out into a long
and, for the time, apparently uncontroll-
able laughter. When it had somewhat
subsided, the schoolmaster exclaimed,
‘‘There, madam, didn't I tell you he was
a singular lad? Come here, you little wag,
I must give you a kiss for your drollery,”
And the monster hauled me to him, and
when his face was close to mine, I saw a
wolfish glare in his eyes, that made me fear
that he was going to bite my nose off. The
lady did notat all participate in the joviality ;
and, as it is difficult to keep up mirth
entirely upon one’s own resources, we were
beginning to be a gloomy party. What

had. unconsciously said regarding my
master's voice, was wormwood to him. He
had long been the butt of all his acquaint-
ance respecting it, and what followed was
the making that unbearable which was

‘before too bitter. Many questions were

put by the visitor, and the answers ap-
peared to grow more and more unsatis-
factory as they were elicited. The lady
was beginning to look unhappy, when a
sudden brightness came over her lovely
countenance, and, with the most polished
and kindly tone, she asked to see Mr.
Root’s own children. Mr. Root looked
silly, and Mrs. Root distressed. The vapid
and worn-out joke that their family was so
large, that it boasted of the number of two
hundred and fifty fell spiritless to the
ground; and disappointment, and even
a slight shade of despondence, came over
the lady’s features.

‘‘Where were you, Ralph, when I came ?”
said she; ‘‘I waited for you long.”

‘‘T was being washed, and putting on
my second best.”

‘“‘But why washed at this time of day—
and why put on your second best ?”’

‘Because I had dirtied my hands, and
my other clothes, carrying up the tea-
kettle to Mr. Matthews’s rocm.”

Mr. and Mrs. Root again held up their
hands in astonishment.

‘‘And who is Mr. Matthews?’’ con-
tinued the lady.

‘‘Second Latin master, and ill a-bed in
the garret.”’

‘“‘I'rom whence did you take the tea-
kettle ?”’

‘‘From the kitchen?”

‘‘And who gave it you?”’

‘Molly, one of the maids.”

At this disclosure Mr. Root fell into the
greatest of all possible rages, and, as-we
like a figure of speech called a climax, we
must say that Mrs. Root fell into a much
greater. They would turn the hussey out
of the house that instant; they would do
that, they would do this, and they would
do the other. At length, the lady, with
one severity, requested them to do nothing
at all.

‘There has been,” said she, ‘some
mistake here. There is nothing very
wrong, or disgraceful in Ralph attending
to the wants of his sick master, though he
does lie in the garret. I would rather sce
in his disposition a sympathy for suffering
encouraged. God knows, there is in this
world too much of the latter, and too little
of the former. Yet I certainly think there
could have been a less degrading method
pointed out to him of showing attention.
But we will let this pass, as I know it will
never happen again. You see, Mr. and
Mrs. Root, that this poor child is rather
delicate in appearance; he is much grown
certainly ; much more than I expected, or
wished—but he seems both shy and de-
jected. I was in hopes that you had been

 

 

a i Nl a a a hd

wi a aeyourselves blessed with a family. A mother
can trust to a mother. Though you are
not parents, you have known a parent's
love. I have no doubt that you are fond
of children,—{ ‘‘ Very,” both in a breath :|—
from the profession you have chosen. I
am the godmother of this boy. Alas! I
am afraid no nearer relation will ever ap-
pear to claim him. He has no mother,
Mrs. Root, without you will be to him as
‘one; and I conjure you, sir, to let the
fatherless find in the preceptor, a father.
Let him only meet for a year or two with
kindness, and I will cheerfully trust to
Providence for the rest. ‘Though I detest
the quackery of getting up a scene, I wish
to be as impressive as I can, as I am sorry
to say, more than a year will unavoidably
pass, before I can see this poor youth
again. Let me, at. that time, I conjure
you, see him in health and cheerfulness.
Will you permit me now to Say farewell?
as I wish to say a few words of adieu, to
my godson, and should I cry over him for
his mother's sake, you know that a lady
does not like to be seen with red eyes.”
The delicacy of this sickly attempt at
pleasantry was quite lost upon the scho-
lastic pair, They understood her literally;
and Mrs. Root began, ‘‘My eye-water
———.’ However, leave was taken, and
I was left with the lady. She took me on
her lap, and a hearty hug we had together.
She then rang for Molly. She spoke to
the girl kindly, asked no questions of her
that might lead her to betray her employers,
but giving her: half-a-guinea, not to lose
sight of me in the multitude, and, to prove
her gratitude, never to suffer me again to
enter the kitchen, she promised to double
the gratuity when she again saw me, if she
attended to her request. The girl, evidently
affected as much by her manner as her
gift, curtsied and withdrew. While she
remained at the school she complied with
my godmother’s request most punctually.

 

GHAPTER: XI:

Containeth a lecture on love from a personification of
loveliness — And showeth that superstition has its
sweets as well as its horrors—And also how to avoid
the infection of the evil eye.

WHEN we were alone, she examined me
carefully to ascertain if I were perfectly
clean. It would have, perhaps, been for
me a happy circumstance, if Mr. Root had
flogged me this day, or even a fortnight
previously. The marks that he left were
not very ephemeral. I don’t know whether
a flogging a month old would not equally
well have served my purpose. He certainly

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

2t

wrote a strong bold hand, in red ink, not
easily obliterated. However, as he had not
noticed me since my illness, I had no marks
to show.

When she had re-adjusted my dress, she
hugged me to her side, and we looked for
a long while, in each other's eyes in silence.

‘‘Ralph,” said she, at length, forgetting
that the fault was mutual, ‘‘do you know
that it is very rude to look so hard into
people's faces; why do you do it, my
boy ?”’ i
‘“Because you are so very, very, very
pretty, and your voice is so soft; and be-
cause I do love you so.”

‘““But you must not love me too much,
my sweet child: because I can't be with
you to return your love.”

of dear, I'm so sorry; because—be-
cause—if you don’t love me, nobody will.
Master don't love me, nor the ushers—nor
the boys; and they keep calling me the ——”’

‘‘ Hush, Ralph ! hush, my poor boy,” said
she, colouring to her very forehead. ‘‘ Never
tell me what they call you. Little boys
who call names are wicked boys, and very
false boys too. Hear me, Ralph! You
are nearly ten years old. You must be a
man, and not love any one too much—not
even me—for it makes people very unhappy
to love too much. Do you understand me,
Ralph? You must be kind to all, and all
will be kind to you: but it is best not to
love anything violently—excepting, Ralph,
Him who will love you when all hate you—
who will care for you, when all desert you
—your God!”

‘“‘T don’t know too much about that,”
was my answer. ‘‘Mr. Root tells us once
every week to trust in God, and that God
will protect the innocent, and all that: and
then he flogs me for nothing at all, though
I trust all I can; and I'm sure that I’m
innocent.”

My good godmother was a little shocked
at this, and endeavoured to convince me
that such expressions were impious, by
assuring me that everything was suffered
for the best ; and that, if Mr. Root flogged
me unjustly and wickedly, I should be re-
warded, and my master punished for it
hereafter; which assurance did not much
mend my moral feelings, as I silently re-
solved to put myself in the way of a few
extra unjust chastisements, in order that
my master might receive the full benefit of
them in a future state.

Moral duties should be inculcated in the
earliest youth; but the mysteries of religion
should be left to a riper age. After many
endearments, and much good advice, that
I thought most beautiful, from the tender-
ness of tone in which it was given. I reez Y
“4 é
‘ al Aa ek

 

22 RATTELIN, LHE REEFER,

quested the lady, with all my powers of
entreaty, and amidst a shower of kisses, to
take me home to my mother.

‘“‘Alas! my dear boy,’ was the reply,
‘Mrs. Brandon is not your mother.”’

““ Well, I couldn't believe that before :—
never mind—I love her just as well. But
who is my mother? If you were not so
pretty and so fine, I would ask you to be
my mother; all the other boys have got
a mother, and a father too.”

‘The lady caught me to her bosom, and
kissing me amidst her tears said, ‘‘ Ralph,
I will be your mother, though you must
only look upon me as your godmamma.”’

‘‘Oh, I'm so glad of that! and what
shall I call you?”’

‘“Mamma, my dear child.”

‘Well, mamma, won't you take me
home? I don't mean now, but at the
holidays, when all the others go to their
mammas? Ill be so good. Wont you,
mamma?”

‘‘Come here, Ralph. I was wrong.
You must not call me mamma, I can’t bear
it. I was never a mother to you, my poor
boy. I cannot have you home. By-and-
by, perhaps. Do not think about me too
much, and do not think that you are not
loved. Oh! you are loved, very much in-
deed; but now you must make your school-
fellows love you. I have told Mr. Root to
allow you sixpence a week, and there are
eight shillings for you, and,a box of play-
things, in the hall, and a large cake in the
box; lend the playthings, and share the
cake. Now, my dear boy, I must leave
you. Donot think that I am your mother,
but your very good friend. Now, may
God bless you, and watch overyou. Keep
up your spirits, and remember that you
are cared for, and loved—O, how fondly
loved !"

With a fervent blessing, and an equally
fervent embrace, she parted from me; and
when I looked round and found that she
had gone from the room, I actually ex-
perienced the sensation as if the light of
the sun had been suddenly withdrawn, and
that I walked forth in twilight.

When I went up melancholy to my bed,
and crept sorrowfully under the clothes, I
felt a protection round me in that haunted
chamber, in the very fact of having again
seen her. This house, that had been now
converted into a large school, had formerly
been one of the suburban palaces of Queen

‘Blizabeth; it was very spacious and ram-

bling ; some of the rooms had been modern-
ized, and some remained as they had been
for centuries! The room in which I slept
was one of the smallest, and contained only

two beds, one of which was occupied by

the housekeeper, a very respectable old
lady, and the other by myself. Sometimes
I had a bedfellow, and sometimes not.
This room had probably been a vestibule,
or the ante-chamber to some larger apart-
ment, and it now formed an abutment to
the edifice, all on one side of it being
ancient, and the other modern. It was
lighted by one narrow, high, gothic win-
dow, the panes of which were very small,
lozenged, and many of them still stained.
The roof was groined and concave, and
still gay with tarnished gold. “The mould-
ings and traceries sprang up from the four
corners, and all terminated in the centre,
in which grinned a Medusa’s head, with
her circling snakes, in high preservation,
and of great and ghastly beauty. ‘There
were other grotesque visages, sprinkled
here and there, over that elaboraté roof;
but look at that Medusa from what point
you might, the painted wooden eyes were
cast with a stolid sternness upon you.
When I had a bedfellow, it was always
some castaway like myself—some poor
wretch who could not go home and com-
plain that he was put to sleep in ‘‘the
haunted chamber.” ‘The boys told strange
tales of that room, and they all believed
that the floor was stained with blood. I
often examined it, both by day and by
candlelight; it was very old, and of oak,
dark, and much discoloured. But even my
excited fancy could discover nothing like
blood-spots upon it. After all, when I was
alone in that bedchamber, for the house-
keeper seldom entered before midnight,
and the flickering and feeble oil lamp, that
always burned upon her table, threw its
uncertain rays upwards, and made the cen-
tral face quiver as it were into life, I would
shrink, horror-stricken, under the clothes,
and silently pray for the morning. It was
certainly a fearful room for a visionary
child like myself, with whom the existence
of ghosts made an article of faith, and who
had been once before frightened, even unto
the death, by supernatural terrors.

But of all this I never complained. I
have not merit enough to boast that Iam
proud, for pride has always something
ennobling about it; but I was vain, and
vanity enabled me to put on the appearance
of courage. When questioned by the few
schoolfellows who would speak to me, I
acknowledged no ghosts, and would own
to no fear. All this, in the sequel, was
remembered to my honour. Besides, I had
found a singular antidote against the look
of the evil eye in the ceiling. What Iam
going to relate may be startling, and for a
child ten years old, appear incredible; but
it is the bare, unembellished truth, ~~This was my antidote alluded to. In
the church where we went, there was a
strongly painted altar-piece. The Virgin
Mother bent, with ineffable sweetness, over
the sleeping Jesus. The pew in which I
sat was distant enough to give the full
force of illusion to the power of the artist,
and the glory round the Madonna much
assisted my imagination. I certainly at-
tended to that face, and to that beneficent
attitude, more than to the service. When
the terrors of my desolate situation used
to begin to creep over me in my lonely bed,
I could, without much effort of imagina-
tion, bring that sweet motherly face before
me, and view it visibly in the gloom of the
room, and thus defy the dread glance of
the visage above me. I used to whisper to
myself these words—‘‘ Lady with the glory,
come and sit by me.” And I could then
close my eyes, and fancy, nay, almost feel
assured of her presence, and sleep in peace.

But, in the night that I had seen my
godmother, when I crept under my clothes
disconsolately, I no longer whispered for
the lady with the glory ; it was for my sweet
mamma. And she, too, came and blessed
my gentle slumbers. Surely that beautiful
creature must have been my mother, for long
did she come and play the seraph’s part
over her child, and watched by his pillow,
till he sank in the repose of innocence.

Lately, at the age of forty, I visited that
church. I looked earnestly at the altar-
piece. I was astonished, hurt, disgusted.
It was a coarse daub. The freshness of
the painting had been long changed by the
dark tarnish of years, and the blighting
of adamp atmosphere. There were some
remains of beauty in the expression, and
elegance in the attitude; but, as a piece of
art, it was but a second-rate performance.
Age dispels many illusions, and suffers for
it. Truly youth and enthusiasm are the
best painters.

 

CHAPTER XII,

Ralph lectureth on divinity and little boys’ nether
garments—Despondeth exceedingly—And being the
weakest goeth to the wall, and there findeth consola-
tion—An old friend with an old face, and excellent
provent.

Tue next morning I arose the possessor of
eight shillings, a box of playthings, a plum-
cake, and a heavy heart. It is most true,
that which Wordsworth hath said or sung,
the ‘‘ Boy's the father of the man,’ When
I mingled with my schoolmates, and the
unexpected possession of my various wealth
had transpired, I found many of them very
kind.and fatherly indeed, for they borrowed

ACR TIEN, = Lei Pee.

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
    

23

my money, ate my cake, broke my play-
things, and my heart they left just in the
same state as it was before.

But I will no longer dwell upon the por-
traiture of that saddest of all created things,
the despised of many. I was taught the
hard lesson of looking upon cruelty as my
daily bread, tears as my daily drink, and
scorn as my natural portion. Had not my
heart hardened, it must have broken. But,
before I leave what I call the desponding
epoch of my schoolboy days, I must not
omit to mention a species of impious bar-
barity, that had well nigh alienated my
heart for ever from religion, and which
made me, for the time, detest the very
name of church. Christianity is most
eminently a religion of kindness; and
through the paths of holy love only, should
the young heart be conducted to the throne
of grace, for we have it from the highest
authority, that the worship of little children
is an acceptable offering, and may well
mingle with the sweetest symphonies that
ascend from the lips of seraphs to the foot-
stool of the Everlasting. Our God is not
a God of terrors, and when he is So repre-
sented, or is made so by any flint-hearted
pedagogue to the infant pupil, that man
has to answer for the almost unpardonable
sin of perilling a soul. Let parents and
guardians look to it. Let them mark well
the unwilling files that are paraded by
boarding-school keepers into the adjacent
church or chapel, bringing a mercenary
puff up to the very horns of the altar, and
let them then inquire how many are flogged,
or beaten, or otherwise evil-entreated, be-
cause they have flagged in an attention
impossible in the days of childhood, and
have not remembered a text, perhaps indis-
tinctly or inaudibly given :—let those parents
and guardians, I say, inquire, and if but one
poor youth has so suffered, let them be fully
assured, that that master, whatever may be
his diligence, whatever may be his attain-
ments, however high his worldly character
may stand, is not fit to be the modeller of
the youthful mind, and only wants the
opportunity to betray that bigotry which
would gladly burn his dissenting neighbour
at the stake, or lash a faith with exquisite
tortures, into the children of those whom,
in his saintly pride, he may call heretical.

At church we occupied, at least, one-
third of the whole of one side of the gallery.
Two hundred and fifty boys and young
men, with their attending masters and
ushers, could not but fill a large space,
and, of course, would form no unimportant
feature in the audience. Mr. Root, and
the little boys, were always placed in the
lower and front seats, There we sat, poordear little puppets, with our eyes strained
on the prayer-books, always in the wrong
place, during the offertory, and, after the
sermon had begun, repeating the text over
and over again, whilst the preaching con-
tinued, lest we should forget it ; whilst all
this time the bigger boys in the rear were
studying novels, or playing at odd-and-

even for nuts, marbles, or halfpence. I
well know that the mathematical master
used, invariably, to solve his hard problems
on fly-leaves in his prayer-book during the
service, for I have repeatedly seen there his
laborious calculations in minutely small
figures ; and he never opened his prayer-
book but at church—as perhaps he thought,
with the old woman of Smollett, that it
Was a species of impiety to study such
works anywhere else. Whilst all this was
going on in the back rows, Mr. Root, in
the full-blown glory of his Sunday para-
phernalia, and well powdered, attended
exclusively to the holiness and devout com-
portment of his little chapter of innocents.
Tablet in hand, every wandering look was
noted down; and alas! the consequences
to me were dreadfully painful.

The absolution absolved me not. The
‘“Te Deum laudamus” was to me more a
source of tears than of praise,—and the
‘“‘O be joyful in the Lord” has often made
me intensely sorrowful in the school-room.
In all honesty, I don't think that, for a
whole half-year, I once escaped my Sunday
flogging. It came as regularly as the baked
rice-puddings. I began to look upon the
thing as a matter of course; and, if any
person should doubt the credibility of this,
or any other account of these my school-
boy days, happily there are several now
living who can vouch for its veracity, and
if Iam dared to the proof by any one by
whose conviction I should feel honoured,
that proof will I most certainly give.

I have stated all this, from what I believe
to be a true reverence for worship, to make
the offices of religion a balm and a bless-
ing, to prove that there is a cherishing
warmth in the glory of light that surrounds
the throne of Exhaustless Benevolence, and
that the Deity cannot be worthily called
upon by young hearts stricken by degrading
fears, and fainting under a Moloch-inspired
dread. Notwithstanding my eccentric life,
I have ever been the ardent, the unpre-
tending, though the unworthy adorer of
the Great Being, whose highest attribute
is the ‘‘Good.”’ I have had reason to be
so.

The man who has acknowledged his
Creator amidst his most stupendous works,
who has recognized his voice in the ocean
storm, who has cgnfessed his providence

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

   

amidst the slaughter of battle, and witnessed
the awful universality of that adoration that
is wafted to Him from ali nations, under
all forms, from the simple smiting of the
breast of the penitent solitary one, to the
sublime pealings of the choral hymn, buoyed
upon the resounding notes of the thunder-
tongued organin the high and dim cathedral,
—the man, who has witnessed and acutely
felt all this, and has no feelings of piety, or
deference to religion, must be endued with
a heart hardened beyond the flintiness, as
the Scriptures beautifully express it, ‘of
the nether millstone.”’

But my /orte is not the serious. Iam
intent, and quiet, and thoughtful, only
under the influence of great enjoyment.
When I have most cause to deem myself
blessed, or to call myself triumphant, it is
then that I am stricken with a feeling of
undesert, that I am grave with humility, or
sad with the thought of human instability.
But, on the eve of battle, on the yard-arm
in the tempest, or amidst the dying in the
pest-house, say, O ye companions of my
youth, whose jest was the most constant,
whose laugh the loudest? Yet the one
feeling was not real despondence, nor the
other real courage. In the first place, it is
no more than the soul looking beyond this
world for the real: in the second, she is
trifling in this world with the ideal. How-
ever, as in these pages I intend to attempt
to be tolerably gay, it may be fairly pre-
sumed that I am very considerably unhappy,
and dull, perhaps, as the perusal of these
memoirs may make my readers.

As such great pains were safen, at least
by me, in my religious education, it is not
to be wondered at that I should not feel at
all sedentary on the Sunday afternoons after
church-time. In fact, I affected any posi-
tion rather than the sitting one. But all
the Sundays were not joyless to me. One,
in particular, though the former part of it
had been passed in sickening fear, and the
middle in torturing pain, its termination
was marked with a heartfelt joyousness,
the cause of which I must record as a
tribute of gratitude due to one of the
“not unwashed,” but the muddy-minded
multitude.

I was stealing along mournfully under
the play-ground wall, with no hasty or
striding step, not particularly wishing any
rough or close contact of certain parts of
my dress with my person, my passing
schoolmates looking upon me in the
manner that Shakspeare so beautifully
describes the untouched deer regard the
stricken hart. My soul was very heavy,
and full of dark wonder. The sun was
setting, and, to all living, it is either a timeof solemn peace, or of instinctive melan-
choly when looked upon by the solitary
one. Of a sudden I was roused from my
gloom by the well-known, yet long-missed
shout of ‘‘ Ralph! Ralph!” and, looking
up, I discovered the hard-featured, grin-
ning physiognomy of Joe Brandon, actually
beaming with pleasure, on the top of the
wall. How glad he was! How glad I
was! He had found me! Instead of seek-
ing the Lord in his various conventicles on
the Sunday, he had employed that day,
invariably, after I had been taken from his
house, in reconnoitering the different board-
ing-schools in the vicinity, and at some
distance from the metropolis. To this, no
doubt, he was greatly instigated by the
affection of my nurse, but I give his own
heart the credit of its being a labour of
love. The wall being too high to permit
us to shake hands, at my earnest entreaty,
he went round to the front; but, after
having made known his desire,—literally,
“‘a pampered menial drove him from the
door.” Well, the wall, if not open to him,
was still before and above him, and he
again mounted it. Our words were few,
as the boys began to cluster around me.
He let drop to me fourpence halfpenny,
folded in a piece of brown paper, and dis-
appeared. Oh, how I prize that pilgrim
visit! Forget it, I never can! That meet-
ing was to me a one bright light on my
dark and dreary path. It enabled me to
go forward; there was not much gloom
between me and happier days—perhaps
the light of joy that that occurrence shed,
enabled me to pass over the trial. It might
have been, that, at that period, I could
have borne no more, and should have sunk
under my accumulated persecutions. I
will not say that so it was, for there is
an elasticity in early youth that recovers
itself against much—yet I was at that time
heavy indeed with exceeding hopelessness.
All I can say to the sneerer is, I wish, that
at the next conclave of personages who
may be assembled to discuss the destinies
of nations, there may be as much of the
milk of human kindness and right feelings
among them, as there was between me and
the labouring sawyer, Joe Brandon, the
one being at the top, and the other at the
bottom of the wall.

‘The next Sunday, Brandon was again on
the wall with a prodigious plum-cake. A
regular cut-and-come-again affair ; it fell to
the ground with a heaviness of sound that
beat the falling of Corporal Trim’s hat all
to ribbons. ‘To be sure, the Corporal’s fell
as if there had been a quantity of ‘‘ clay
kneaded in the crown of it,’’ whilst mine
was_kneaded with excellent dough. ‘The

 

KRATIEIN, THE REEFER, -

 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
   
 
   
   
  
   
  
   
 
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 

; 25

Sunday after there was the same appearance
varied with gingerbread, and then—for years
I neither saw nor heard of him. Poor Joseph
was threatened with the constable, and was
put to no more expense for cakes for his
foster-son.

 

CHAPTER XITt.

Pray remember the fifth of November — Rumours of
wars—Preceded by scholastic elocution, and _suc-
ceeded bya cold dinner, darkness, and determina-
tion.

I SHALL now draw the dolorous recital of
what I have termed my epoch of despon-
dency to a close. The fifth of November
was approaching; I had been at school
nearly two years, and had learned little but
the hard lesson ‘‘to bear,” and that I had
well studied. I had, as yet, made no
friends. Boys are very tyrannical and very
generous by fits. They will bully and op-
press the outcast of a school, because it is
the fashion to bully and oppress him—but
they will equally magnify their hero, and
are sensitively alive to admiration of feats
of daring and wild exploit. With them
bravery is the first virtue, generosity the
second. They crouch under the strong
for protection, and they court the lavish
from self-interest. In all this they differ
from men in nothing but that they act
more undisguisedly. Well, the fifth of
November was fast approaching, on which
I was to commence the enthusiastic epoch
of my schoolboy existence. I was now
twelve years of age. Almost insensible to
bodily pain by frequent magisterial and
social thrashings, tall, strong of my age,
reckless, and fearless. The scene of my
first exploit was to be amidst the excite-
ment of a ‘‘barring out,’”’ but of such a
‘‘barring out’’ that the memory of it
remains in the vicinity in which it took
place to this day.

I have before said that the school con-
tained never less than two hundred and
fifty pupils—sometimes it amounted to
nearly three hundred. At the time of
which I am about to speak it was very full,
containing, among others, many young
men. The times are no more when per-
sons of nineteen and twenty suffered them-
selves to be horsed, and took their one and
two dozen with edification and humility.
At this age we now cultivate moustaches,
talk of our Joe Mantons, send a-friend to
demand an explanation, and all that sort
of thing. Oh! times are much improved !
However, at that period, the birch was no
visionary terror. Infliction or expulsion
were the alternatives! and as the form ofh

government was a despotism—like all des-
potisms—it was subject, at intervals, to
great convulsions. I am going to de-
scribe the greatest under the reign of
Root the First.

Mr, Root was capricious. Sometimes
he wore his own handsome head well
powdered; at others, curled without pow-
der; at others, straight, without powder or
curls. He was churchwarden; and then,
when his head was full of his office, it was
also full of flour, and full of ideas of his
own consequence and infallibility. Ona
concert night, and in the ball-room, it was
curled, and then it was full of amatory
conquests; and, as he was captain in the
— cavalry volunteers, on field days his
hair was straight and lank—martial ardour
gave him no time to attend to the fripperies
of the coxcomb. ' ‘These are but small par-
ticulars, but such are very important in the
character of a great man. With his hair
curled, he was jocular, even playful ; with
it lank, he was a great disciplinarian—had
military subordination strong in respect-—
and the birch gyrated freely ; but when he
was full blown in powder, he was unbear-
able,—there was then combined all the
severity of the soldier and the dogmatism
of the pedagogue, with the self-sufficiency
and domineering nature of the coxcomb
and churchwarden.
~ On the memorable fifth of November
Mr. Root appeared in the school-room
with his hair elaborately powdered.

The little boys trembled. Lads by
fifteens and twenties wanted to go out
under various pretences. The big boys
looked very serious and very resolved. It
was twelve o'clock, and some thirty or
forty—myself always included—were duly
flogged, it being ‘‘his custom at the hour
of noon.”” When the periodical operation
was over, at which there was much sparge-
fication of powder from his whitened head,
he commanded silence. Eyen the flagel-
lated boys contrived to hush up their sobs,
the shuffling of feet ceased, those who had
colds refrained from blowing their noses;
and, after one boy was flogged for cough-
ing, he thus delivered himself :—

“Young gentlemen, it has been custom-
ary—customary it has been, I say—for you
to have permission to make a bonfire in the
lower field, and display your fireworks, on
this anniversary of the fifth of November.
Little boys, take your dictionaries, and
look out for the word ‘ anniversary.’ "’

A bustle for the books, while Mr. Root
plumes himself, and struts up and down.
‘Two boys fight for the same dictionary ;
one of them gets a plunge on the nose,
which makes him cry out—he is imme-

GigalLN, (fi hk Ee he

diately horsed, and flogged for speaking;
and, rod in hand, Mr. Root continues,-—
“Young gentlemen, you know my me-
thod—my method is well known to you, I
say—to join amusement with instruction.
Now, young gentlemen, the great confla-
gration—tenth, ninth, and eighth forms,
look out the word ‘conflagration’—the
great conflagration, I say, made by this
pyrotechnic display—seventh, sixth, and
fifth forms, turn up the word ‘pyrotechnic.’
Mr. Reynolds (the head classical master),
you will particularly oblige me by not
taking snuff in that violent way whilst I
am speaking, the sniffling is abominable.”
‘Turn up the word ‘sniffling,’”’ cries a
voice from the lower end of the school. A
great confusion—the culprit remains un-
discovered, and some forty, at two sus-
pected desks, are fined three-halfpence
a-piece. Mr. Root continues, with a good
deal of indignation, —‘‘I sha'n’t allow the
bonfire no more—no, not at all; nor the
fireworks neither—no, nothing of no kind
of the sort.” All this in his natural voice :
then, swelling in dignity and in diction,
‘“but, for the accumulated pile of com-
bustibles, I say—for the combustible pile
that you have accumulated, that you may
not be deprived of the merit of doing a
good action, the materials of which it is
composed, that is to say, the logs of wood,
and the bavins of furze, with the pole and
tar-barrel, shall be sold, and the money
put in the poor-box next Sunday, which I,
as one of the churchwardens, shall hold at
the church-porch; for a charity sermon
will, on that day, be preached by the
Reverend Father in God, the Lord Bishop
of Bristol. It is our duty, as Christians,
to give eleemosynary aid to the poor :—let
all classes but the first and second look out
the word ‘eleemosynary.’ I say, to the
poor eleemosynary aid should be given.
You will also give up all the fireworks that

you may have in your play-boxes, for the

same laudable purpose. The servant will
go round and collect them after dinner. [
say, by the servant after dinner they shall
be collected. Moreover, young gentlemen,
I have to tell you that the churchwatdens,
and the authorities in the town, are deter-
mined to put down Guy Faux, and he shall
be put down accordingly. So now, young
gentlemen, you'd better take your amuse-
ments before dinner, for you will have no
holiday in the afternoon, and I shall not
suffer any one to go out after tea, for fear
of mischief.” Having thus spoken, he
dismissed the school, and strode forth
majestically.

Oh, reader! can you conceive the dis-

-may, the indignation, and the tage thatRATTLIN, THE REEPER.

the Court of Aldermen would display, if, peculiar musical note, hurried out in con-
when sitting down hungrily to a civic fusion and fear; and there was a rush
feast, they were informed that all the eat- towards the door by the scholars, and
ables and potatories were carried off by some few got down-stairs. However, the
a party headed by Mr. Scales? Can you masters soon closed the door, and those
conceive the fury that would burn in the who had escaped.were brought back. The
countenances of a whole family of lordly shutters of the windows that looked out
sinecurists at being informed, upon official upon the fire were closed; and thus, in
authority, that henceforth their salaries the middle of the day, we were reduced to
would be equal to their services ? No, all astate almost of twilight.
this you cannot conceive; nor turtle-desir- Every moment expecting actual collision
ing aldermen, nor cate-fed sinecurists could, with their pupils, the masters and ushers,
under these their supposed tribulations, have about sixteen in number, congregated at
approached, in fury and hate, the meekest- the lower end of the room, near the door,
spirited boys of Mr. Root's school, when for the double purpose of supporting each
they became fully aware of the extent of other, and of making a timely escape. The
the tyrannous robbery about to be per- half-suppressed hubbub among three hun-
petrated. Had they not been led on by dred boys, confined in partial darkness,
hope? Had they not trustingly eschewed grew stronger each moment; it was like
banbury-cakes—sidled by longingly the the rumbling beneath the earth that pre-
pastrycook’s—and piously withstood the cedes the earthquake. No one spoke as
temptation of hard-bake, in order that yet louder than the other—the master-
they might save up their pocket-money voice had not yet risen. ‘That dulled noise
for this one grand occasion? and eyen after seemed like a far off humming, and, had it
this, their hopes and their exertions to end not been so intense, and so very human, it
in smoke? Would that it were even that; might have been compared to the wrath of
but it was decided that there should be a myriad of bees confined in the darkness
neither fire nor smoke. Infatuated peda- of their hives, with their queen lying dead
gogue! Unhappy decision ! amongst them.
The boys did not make use of the per-
mission to go out to play. They gathered
together unanimously, in earnest knots—
rebellion stalked on tip-toe from party to CHAPTER XIV.
party: the little boys looked big, and the
big boys looked bigger, and the young Hard words the precursors of hard blows—A turn-up so
tren looked magnificent. ‘The half-board: | ‘be apprehended, ‘but not merely of polysylabies
f OG ; : Ralph commences raving—Root resisting—The latter
ers whispered their fears to the ushers, the — gets the whip-hand of us.
ushers spoke under their breaths to the : : : :
under-masters, the under-masters had WHILST this commotion was going on 1D
cautious conversation with the head the school-room, Mr. Root was active In
Latin, French, and mathematical tutors, the field, endeavouring, with the aid of the
and these poured their misgivings into the men-servants, to pluck as much fuel from
ears of the awful Dominus himself; but he the burning pile as possible. The attempt
only shook his powdered head in derision was nearly vain. He singed his clothes,
and disdain. and burnt his hands, lost his hat in the
On that cold, foggy fifth of November, excitement and turmoil, and sadly discom-
we all sat down to a dinner as cold as the posed his powdered ringlets. Advices were
day, and with looks as dark as the atmos- brought to him, (we must now use the
phere. Amidst the clatter of knives and phrase military), of the demonstration made
forks the rumour already ran from table to by the young gentlemen in the school-room.
table that a horse and cart was just going He hurried with the pitchfork in his hand,
to remove the enormous pile of combustibles which he had been using, and appeared at
collected for the bonfire. We had good the entrance of his pandemonium, almost,
spirits amongst us. There was an air of considering his demoniac look, in cha-
calm defiance on a great many. ‘The racter. | He made a speech, enforced by
reason was soon explained, for, before we thumping the handle of the fork cece
rose from our repast, huge volumes of red the floor, which speech, though but little
flame rose from the field,—the pile had attended to, was marked by one singularitye
been fired in twenty places at once, and, He did not tell the lads to turn up ah of
at this sight, a simultaneous and irrepres- his hard words. However, he hoped that
sible shout shook the walls of the school- the young gentlemen had yet sense of pro-
room, The maid - servants who were priety enough left, to permit the servants
attending the table, shrieking, each in her to clear the tables of the plates, knives,ee oe

 

forks, and other dinner appurtenances.
This was acceded to by shouts of ‘ Let
them in—let them in.” The girls and the
two school men-servants came in, one of
the latter being the obnoxious hoister, and
they were permitted to perform their office
in a dead silence. It speaks well for our
sense of honour, and respect for the im-
plied conditions of the treaty, when it is
remembered that this abhorred Tom, the
living instrument of our tortures, and on
whose back we had most of us so often
writhed, was permitted to go into the
darkest corners of the room unmolested,
and even uninsulted. When the tables
were cleared, then rung out exultingly the
shout of ‘‘ Bar him out—bar him out

“I never yet,” roared out Mr. Root,
‘‘was barred out of my own premises,
and I never will be!”” He was determined
to resist manfully, and, if he fell, to fall
like Ceesar, in the capitol, decarously : so,
as togeze are not worn in our unclassical
days, he retired to prepare himself for the
contention, by getting his head newly
powdered, telling his assistants to keep
the position that they still held, at all
hazards, near the door.

Before I narrate the ensuing strugele—a
struggle that will be ever remembered in
the town in which it took place, and which
will serve any one that was engaged in it,
as long as he lives, to talk of with honest
enthusiasm, even if he has been happy
enough to have been engaged in real war-
fare ; it is necessary to describe exactly
the battle-field. The school wasa paral-
lelogram, bowed at one end, and about
the dimensions of a moderately-sized chapel.
It was very lofty, and, at the bowed end,
which looked into the fields, there were
three large windows built very high, and
arched after the ecclesiastical fashion.
One of the sides had windows similar to
those at the end. The school-room was
entered from the house by a lobby, up into
which lobby, terminated a wide Staircase,
from the play-ground. The school-room
was therefore entered from the lobby by
only one large folding door. But over this
end there was a capacious orchestra, sup-
ported by six columns, which orchestra con-
tained a very superb organ. The orchestra
might also be entered from the house, but
from a floor and a lobby above that which
opened into the school-room. Conse-
quently, at the door-end of the school-
room, there was a space formed of about
twelve or fourteen feet, with a ceiling much
lower than the rest of the building, and
which space was bounded by the six pillars
that supported the gallery above. This
low space was occupied ‘by the masters

 

28 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

and assistants—certainly a strong position,
as it commanded the only outlet. The
whole edifice was built upon rows of stone
columns, that permitted the boys a shel-
tered play-ground beneath the school-
room in inclement or rainy weather. The
windows being high from the floor
within doors, and very high indeed from
the ground without, they were but sorry
and dangerous means of communication,
through which, either to make an escape,
or bring in succours or munitions, should
the siege be turned to a blockade. It was,
altogether, a vast, and, when properly
fitted up, a superb apartment, and was
used for the. monthly concerts and the
occasional balls.

Time elapsed. It seemed that we were
the party barred in, instead of the master
being the party barred out. The mass of
rebellion was as considerable as any radical
could have wished; and, as yet, as dis-
organized as any Tory commander-in-chief
of the forces could have desired. How-
ever, Mr. Root did not appear; and it
having become completely dark, the boys
themselves lighted the various lamps.
About six or seven o'clock there was a stir
among the learned guard at the door, when
at length, Mr. Reynolds, the head classical
master, having rapped the silver top of his
great horn snuff-box, in a speech, mingled,
very appropriately, with Latin and Greek
quotations, wished to know what it was
precisely that the young gentlemen desired,
and he was answered by fifty voices at
once, ‘‘ Leave to go into the fields, and let
off the fireworks.”

After a pause, a message was brought
that this could not be granted; but, upon
the rest of the school going quietly to bed,
permission would be given to all the young
gentlemen above fifteen years of age, to go
down to the town untileleven o'clock. The
proposal was refused with outcries of in-
dignation. We now had many leaders,
and the shouts of ‘‘ Force the door!”’ be-
came really dreadful. Gradually the lesser
boys gave back, and the young men formed
a dense front line, facing the sixteen masters,
whose position was fortified by the pillars
supporting the orchestra, and whose rear
was strengthened by the servants of the
household. As yet, the scholars stood
with nothing offensive in their hands, and
with their arms folded, in desperate quiet-
ude. At last, there was a voice a good
way in the veav, which accounts for the
bravery of the owner, that shouted, ‘' Why
don’t you rally, and force the door?”
Here Monsieur Moineau, a French emigré,
and our Gallic tutor, cried out lustily, “‘ You
shall force that door, never—jamaés, jamats

 

  
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
    
  
  
 
  
  
    
  
  
     
  
   
  
   
   
  
    
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
  
 
    
   
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
    
 
 
  
  
   
  
  

wit it la a ki--iny pretty garcons, mes chers pupils, be
Bood, be quiet—go you couch yourself—
les feux @artifice! bah! they worth nod-
ing at all—you go to bed. Ah, ah, demain
all have covgé—one, two, half-holiday—
but you force this door—gar ma fot, é—
Jamais—you go out, one, two, three, sout—
0 over dis corps, of Antoine Auguste Moi-
neau.

We gave the brave fellow a hearty cheer
for his loyalty; and, I have no doubt, had he
been allowed to remain, he would have been
trampled to death on his post. He had lost
his rank, his fortune, everything but his
self-respect, in the quarrel of his king, who
had just fallen on the scaffold: he had a
great respect for constituted authority, and
was Sadly grieved at being obliged to honour
heroism in spite of himself, when arrayed
against it.

Let us pause over these proceedings, and
return to myself. As the rebellion increased,
I seemed to be receiving the elements of a
new life. My limbs trembled, but it was
with a fierce joy. I ran hither and thither
exultingly—I pushed aside boys three or
four years older than myself-—I gnashed
my teeth, I stamped, I clenched my hands—
I wished to harangue, but I could not find
utterance, for the very excess of thoughts.
At that moment I would not be put down ;
I grinned defiance in the face of my late
scorners; I was drunk with the exciting
draught of contention. The timid gave
me their fireworks, the brave applauded
my resolution, and, as I went from one
party to another, exhorting more by gesture
than by speech, I was at length rewarded
by hearing the approving shout of ‘‘ Go it,
Ralph Rattlin !”

Iam not fearful of dwelling too much
upon the affair. It must be interesting to
those amiabilities called the ‘‘ rising genera-
tion,’ the more especially as a ‘‘barring
out’ is now become matter of history.
Alas! we shall never go back to the good
old times in that respect, notwithstanding
we are again snugly grumbling under a
Whig government. Let us place at least
one ‘‘barring out’’ upon record, in order
to let the radicals see, and seeing hope,
when they find how nearly extremes meet,
what a slight step there is from absolute
despotism to absolute disorganization.

Things were in this state, the boys
encouraging each other, when, to our
astonishment, Mr. Root, newly-powdered,
and attended by two friends, his neighbours,
made his appearance in the orchestra, and
incontinently began a speech. I was then

too excited to attend to it; indeed it was
scarcely heard for revilings and shoutings.
However, I could contain myself no longer,

 

 

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

hd

9
and I, even I, though far from being in
the first rank, shouted forth, ‘“Let us out,
or we will set fire to the school-room, and,
if we are burnt, you'll be hung for murder.”
Yes, I said those words—I, who actually
now start at my own shadow—I, who when
I see a stalwart, whiskered and moustached
fellow coming forward to meet me, modestly
pop over on the other side—I, who was in
a fit of the trembles the whole year of the
comet !

‘God bless me,” said Mr. Root, ‘‘it is
that vagabond Rattlin! I flogged the little
incorrigible but eight hours ago, and now
he talks about burning my house down.
There's gratitude for you! But I'll put a
Stop to this at once—young gentleman, I'll
put a stop to this at once! I'm coming
down among you to seize the ringleaders,
and that good-for-nothing Rattlin. Ah!
the monitors, and the heads of all the
Classes, shall be flogged; the rest shall be
forgiven, if they will go quietly to bed, and
give up all their fireworks.’ Having so said,
he descended from above with his friends,
and, in about a quarter of hour afterwards,
armed with a tremendous whip, he appeared
among his satellites below.

 

CHAP PER® XeV.

Much excellent, and consequently useless, diplomacy
displayed—A truce, and many heads broken—The
battle rages ; and, at length, the pueriles achieve the
victory.

THE reader must not suppose that, while

masters and scholars were ranged against

each other as antagonists, they were quiet
as statues. ‘There was much said on both
sides, reasonings, entreaties, expostulations,
and even jocularity passed between the ad-
verse, but yet quiescent ranks. In this
wordy warfare the boys had the best of it,
and I’m sure the ushers had no stomach
for the fray—if they fought, they must
fight, in some measure, with their hands
tied; for their own judgment told them
that they could not be justified in inflicting
upon their opponents any desperate wounds.

In fact, considering all the circumstances,

though they asseverated that the boys were

terribly in the wrong, they could not say
that Mr. Root was conspicuously in the
right.

When Mr. Root got among his myrmi-
dons, he resolutely cried, ‘‘ Gentlemen
assistants, advance, and seize Master At-
kinson, Master Brewster, Master Davenant,
and especially Master Rattlin;” the said
Master Rattlin having very officiously wrig-
gled himself into the first rank. Such is30 Ped PEIN PTs REE WEL

the sanctity of established authority, that
we actually gave back, with serried files
however, as our opponents advanced. All
had now been lost, even our honour, had
it not been for the gallant conduct of young
Henry St. Albans, a natural son of the Duke
of Y , Who was destined for the army,
and, at that time, studying fortification,
and to some purpose—for, immediately
behind our front ranks, and while Mr.
Root was haranguing and advancing, St.
Albans had arranged the desks quite across
the room, in two tiers, one above the other;
the upper tier with their legs in the air, no
bad substitute for chevaux-de-frise. In fact,
this manoeuvre was an anticipation of the
barricades of Paris. When the boys came
to the obstacle, they made no difficulty of
creeping under or jumping over it: but for
the magisterial Mr. Root, fully powdered ;
or the classical master, full of Greék; or
the mathematical master, conscious of much
algebra, to creep under these desks, would
have been 7z7fra dig., and for them to
have leapt over, was impossible. The
younger assistants might certainly have
performed the feat, but they would have
been but scurvily treated for their trouble,
on the wrong side of the barricade.

When two antagonist bodies cannot fight,
it is no bad pastime to parley. St. Albans
was simultaneously and unanimously voted
leader, though we had many older than he,
for he was but eighteen. A glorious youth
was that St. Albans! Accomplished, gener-
ous, brave, handsome, as are all his race,
and of the most bland and sunny manners
thatever won woman's love, orsoftened man’s
asperity. He died young—where? Where
should he have died, since this world was
deemed by Providence not deserving of
him, but amidst the enemies of his country,
her banners waving victoriously above,
and her enemies flying before, his bleed-
ing body.

Henry now stood forward as our leader
and spokesman ; eloquently did he descant
upon all our grievances, not forgetting
mouldy bread, caggy mutton, and_heb-
domadal meat pies. He represented to
Mr. Root the little honour that he would
gain in the contest, and the certain loss—
the damage to his property, and to his
reputation—the loss of scholars, and of
profit ; and he begged him to remember,
that every play-box in the school-room was
filled with fireworks, and that they were all
determined—and sorry he was in this case
to be obliged to uphold such a determi-
nation—they were one and all resolved, if
permission were not given to let off the fire-
works out of doors, they would in—the
consequences be on Mr. Root's head. His

 

 

speech was concluded amidst continued
““bravos!” and shouts of ‘‘ Now, now!”

Old Reynolds, our classic, quietly stood
by, and taking snuff by handfuls, requested,
nay, entreated Mr. Root to pass it all off
as a joke, and let the boys, with due restric-
tions, have their will. Mr. Root, with a
queer attempt at looking pleasant, then said,
‘‘He began to enter into the spirit of the
thing—it was well got up—there could be
nothing really disrespectful meant, since Mr.
Henry St. Albans was a party to it (be it
known that Henry was an especial favourite),
and that he was inclined to humour them,
and look upon the school in the light of a
fortress about “to capitulate. He therefore
would receive a flag of truce, and listen to
proposals.

The boys began to be delighted. The
following conditions were drawn up; and
a lad, with a white handkerchief tied to a
sky-rocket stick, was hoisted overthe benches
into the besieging quarters. ‘The paper,
after reciting (as is usual with all rebels in
arms against their lawful sovereign) their
unshaken loyalty, firm obedience, and un-
qualified devotion, went on thus—but we
shall, to save time, put to each proposition
the answer returned :—

1. The young gentlemen shall be per-
mitted, as in times past, to discharge their
fireworks round what remains of the bon-
fire, between the hours of nine and eleven
o'clock,

Ans. Granted, with this limitation, that
all young gentlemen under the age of nine,
shall surrender their fireworks to the elder
boys, and stand to see the display without
the fence.

2. That any damage or injury caused by
said display to Mr. Root's premises, fences,
&c., shall be made good by a subscription
of the school.

Ans, Granted.

3. It being now nearly eight o'clock, the
young gentlemen shall have their usual
suppers. :

Ans, Granted.

4. That a general amnesty shall be pro-
claimed, and that no person or persons
shall suffer in any manner whatever, for the
part that he or they may have taken in this
thoughtless resistance.

Ans, Granted, with the exception of
Masters Atkinson, Brewster, Davenant,
and Rattlin.

Upon the last article issue was joined,
the flag of truce still flying during the
debate. The very pith of the thing was
the act of amnesty and oblivion, Yet so
eager were now the majority of the boys
for their amusement, that had it not been
for the noble firmness of St. Albans, theleaders, with poor Pilgarlick, would have
been certainly sacrificed to their lust of plea-
sure. But the affair was soon brought to a
crisis. All this acting the military pleased
me most mightily, and, the better to enjoy
it, I crouched under one of the desks that
formed the barricade, and, with my head
and shoulders thrust into the enemy's
quarters, sat grinning forth my satisfaction.

The last clause was still canvassing, when,
unheard of treachery ! Mr. Root, seeing his
victim so near, seized me by the ears, and
attempted to lug me away captive. My
schoolfellows attempted to draw me back.
St. Albans protested—even some of the
masters said ‘‘shame!” when Mr. Root,
finding he could not succeed, gave me a
most swinging slap of the face, as a part-
ing benediction, and relinquished his grasp.
No sooner did I fairly find myself on the
right side of the barricade, than, ail my
terrors overcome by pain, I seized an ink-
stand and discharged it point-blank at the
fleecy curls of the ferulafer with an unlucky
fatality of aim! Mr. Root's armorial bear-
ings were now, at least, on his crest, blanche
chequered 7027.

‘“On, my lads, on!” exclaimed the gal-
lant St. Albans; the barricades were scaled
in an instant, and we were at fisticuffs with
our foes. Rulers flew obliquely, perpen-
dicularly, and horizontally—inkstands made
ink-spouts in the air, with their dark gyra-
tions —books, that the authors had done
their best to fasten on their shelves peace-
fully for ever, for once became lively, and
made an impression. I must do Mr. Root
the justice to say, that he bore him gallantly
in the mélée. His white and black head
popped hither and thither, and the smack
of his whip resounded horribly among the
shins of his foes.

Old Reynolds not, even in battle, being
able to resist the inveteracy of habit, had
the contents of his large snuff-mull forced
into his eyes, ere twenty strokes were struck.
He ran roaring and prophesying, like blind
Tiresias, among both parties, and, as a pro-
phet, we respected him. The French master
being very obese, was soon borne down, and
there he lay sprawling and calling upon
glory and Ja belle France, whilst both sides
passéd over him by turns, giving him only
an occasional kick when they found him in
their way. Itis said of Mr. Simp—n, the
mathematical master—but I will not vouch
for the truth of the account, for it seems
too Homeric—that being hard pressed, he
seized and lifted up the celestial globe,
wherewith to beat down his opponents;
but being a very absent man, and the ruling
passion being always dreadfully strong upon
him, he began, instead of striking down

 

RATELIN, THE REELER:,

 

  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
    

gi
his adversaries, to solve a problem upon
it, but, before he had found the value of a
single tangent, the orb was beaten to pieces
about his skull, and he then saw more stars,
in his eyes than ever twinkled in the Milky
Way. In less than two minutes, Mr. Root
to his crest added gw/es—his nose speuted
blood, his eyes were blackened, and those
beautiful teeth, of which he was so proud,
were alarmingly loosened.

For myself, [ did not do much—I could
not—I could not for veryrapture. I danced
and shouted in all the madness of exhilara-
tion, I tasted then, for the first time, the fierce
and delirious poison of contention. Had
the battle-cry been ‘‘A Rattlin!” instead
of ‘‘A St. Albans !’’ I could not have been
more elated. The joy of battle to the young
heart is like water to the sands of the desert
—which cannot be satiated.

In much less than three minutes the
position under the gallery was carried
Root and the masters made good theit
retreat through the doof, and barricadoed
it strongly on the outside—so that if we could
boast of having barred him out, he could
boast equally of having barred us in. We
made three prisoners, Mr. Reynolds, Mr.
Moineau, and a lanky, sneaking, turnip-
complexioned, under-usher, who used to
write execrable verses to the sickly house-
maid, and borrow half-erowns of the simple
wench, wherewith to buy pomatum to plaster
his thin lank hair. Hewasaknown sneak,
and a suspected tell-tale. The booby fell-
a-crying in a dark corner, and we took him
with his handkerchief to his eyes. Out of
the respect that we bore our French and

Latin masters, we gave them their liberty,
the door being set ajar for that purpose ;
but we reserved the usher, that, like the
American Indians, we might make sport
with him,

CHAPTER XViy

An affecting appeal that effects nothing—The Rebels
commence their rejoicings — They are suddenly
damped—The firemen defeat the fire-boys by means
of water—The victors are vanquished, who shortly
find themselves covered with disgrace and the bed-
clothes,

WHEN we informed the captive usher that
he was destined for the high honour of
being our Guy Faux, and that he should
be the centre of our fireworks, promising
him to burn him as little as we could help,
and as could reasonably be expected, his
terror was extreme, and he begged, like
one in the agonies of death, that we would
rather bump him. We'granted his request,32 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

for we determined to be magnanimous, and

he really bore it like a stoic.

Scarcely had we finished with the usher,
than Mrs. Root, ‘‘like Niobe, all in tears,”
appeared, with out-stretched arms, in the
gallery. Herout-stretchedarms, her pathetic
appeals, her sugared promises, had no avail :
the simple lady wanted us to go to bed, and
Mr, Root, to use her own expression, should
let us all off to-morrow. We were deter-
mined to stay up, and let all our fireworks
off to-night. But we granted to her inter-
cession, that all the little boys should be
given up to her.

It now became a very difficult thing to
ascertain who was a little boy. Many a
diminutive urchin of eight; with a stout
soul, declared that he was a big fellow, and
several lanky lads, with sops of bread for
hearts, called themselves little boys. There
was, as I said before, no communication
from the school-room with the orchestra;
we were, therefore, obliged to pile the
desks as a platform, and hand up the
chicken-hearted to take protection under
the wing of the old hen.

Our captive usher respectfully begged to
observe that though he could not say that
he was exactly a little boy, yet if it pleased
us, he would much rather go to bed, as he
had lately taken physic. The plea was
granted, but not the platform. That was
withdrawn, and he was forced to climb up
one of the pillars ; and, as we were charit-
ably inclined, we lent him all the impetus
we could by sundry appliances of switches
and rulers, in order to excite a rapid circu-
lation in those parts that would most ex-
pedite his upward propulsion, upon the
same principles that cause us to fire one
extremity of a gun, in order to propel the
ball from the other. He having been
gathered with the rest round Mrs. Root,
she actually made us a curtsey in the midst
of her tears, and smiled as she curtseyed,
bidding us all a good night, to be good
boys, to do no mischief, and, above all,
to take care of the fire. Then, having
obtained from us a promise that we would
neither injure the organ, nor attempt to
get into the orchestra, she again curtseyed,
and left us masters of the field.

Now the debate was frequent and full.
We had rebelled, and won the field of
rebellion in order to be enabled to dis-
charge our fireworks. The thought of
descending by means of the windows, was
soon abandoned. We should have been
taken in the detail, even if we escaped
breaking our bones. We were compelled
to use the school-room for the sparkling
display, and, all under the directions of St.
Albans, we began to prepare accordingly,

 

Would that I had been the hero of that
night! Though I did not perform the
deeds, I felt all the glow of one; and, un-
expected honour! I was actually addressed
by Henry St. Albans himself, as ‘honest
Ralph Rattlin, the brave boy who slept in
the haunted room.” There was a distinc-
tion for you! Of course, I cannot tell how
an old gentleman, rising sixty-five, feels
when his sovereign places the blue riband
over his stooping shoulders, but if he enjoys
half the rapture I then did, he must be a
very, very happy old man.

Reevenons ad 20s moutons—which phrase

T use on account of its Originality, and its
applicability to fireworks, Nails were driven
into the walls, and Catherine wheels fixed
on them; Roman candles placed upon the
tables instead of mutton dips, and the
upper parts of the school windows let down
for the free egress of our flights of sky-
rockets. The first volley of the last-men-
tioned beautiful firework went through the
windows, amidst our huzzas, at an angle
of about sixty-five degrees, and did their
duty nobly; when—when—of course, the
reader will think that the room was on fire.
Alas! it was quite the reverse. A noble
Catherine wheel had just begun to fizz, in
all the glories of its many-coloured fires,
when, horror, dismay, confusion! half a
dozen firemen, with their hateful badges
upon their arms, made their appearance
in the orchestra, and the long leathern
tube being soon adjusted, the brazen spout
began playing upon us and the Catherine
wheel, amidst the laughter of the men,
in which even we participated, whilst
we heard the clank, clank, clank, of
the infernal machine working in the play-
ground. Mr. Root was not simple enough
to permit his house to be burned down with
impunity; and, since he found he could do
no better, he resolved to throw cold water
upon our proceedings.

The school-room door was now thrown
Open, to permit us to go out if we pleased,
but we chose to remain where we were, for
the simple reason, that we did not know
whom we might meet on the stairs. We
had agreed, under the directions of Si:
Albans, to let off our fireworks with some
order ; but now, instead: of play-things for
amusement, they were turned into engines
of offence. Showers of squibs, crackers,
and every species of combustible were
hurled at our opponents above us. It was
the struggle of fire with water; but that
cold and powerful stream played continu-
ously; wherever it met us it took away our
breath, and forced us to the ground, yet we
bore up gallantly, and the rockets that we
directed into the orchestra very often droveour enemies back, and would have severely
injured the organ, had they not covered it
with blankets.

We advanced our desks near the gallery,
to use them as scaling-ladders to storm;
but it would not do, they were not suffi-
ciently high, and the stream dashed the
strongest of us back. However, we plied
our fiery missiles so long as they lasted; but
the water never failed—its antagonist ele
ment did too soon. Whilst it lasted, con
sidering there was no slaughter, it was a
very glorious onslaught.

In one short half-hour we were reduced.
Drowned, burnt, blackened—looking very
foolish, and fearing very considerably, we
now approached the door: it was still open
—no attempt to capture any one—no op-
position was offered to us; but the worst of
it was, we were obliged to sneak through
files of deriding neighbours and servants,
and we each crept to bed, like a dog that
had stolen a pudding, anything but satisfied
with our exploits, or the termination of
them.

St. Albans would not forgive himself. He
heaped immeasurable shame upon his own
head, because he had not secured the orches-
tra. Hedeclared he had no military genius.
He would bind himself an apprentice to a
country carpenter, and make pigstyes—he
would turn usher, and the boys should
bump him for an ass—he would run away.
He did the latter.

Leaving the firemen to see all safe, Mr.
Root to deplore his defaced school-room
and his destroyed property, Mrs. Root to
prepare for an immensity of cases of cold,
and burnt faces and hands,—I shall here
conclude the history of the famous barring
out of the fifth of November, of the year
of grace, 13—. If it had not all the plea-
sures of a real siege and battle, except-
ing actual slaughter, I don't know what
pleasure is ; and the reader by-and-by will
find out that I had afterwards opportunities
enough of judging upon this sort of kingly
pastime, in which the cutting of throats
was not omitted.

 

CHAPTER XVII.

Js full of moral and religious disquisitions, therefore it
behoveth the general reader to look at and pass it by
with that inattention that readers generally have for
morality and religion.

WHEN the boys came down-stairs, there
was as comfortless a scene displayed before
them as the most retributive justice could
have wished to visit on the rebellious. ‘Ihe
morning raw and cold, the floor saturated

RATILIIN, FHE REEFER.

mS

with water, and covered with cases of
exploded fireworks ; the school-room in
horrible confusion, scarcely a pane of
glass unshattered—the walls blackened,
the books torn—and then the masters and
ushers stole in, looking both suspicious and
discomfited. Well, we went to prayers,
and very lugubriously did we sing the
hymn,

‘** Awake, my soul, and with the sun,
Thy daily course of duty run.”

Now, that morning, no one could tell
whether the sun had waked or not, at
least he kept his bed-curtains of fog closely
drawn; and, about twenty-five of the
scholars gave a new reading to ‘‘ thy daily
course of duty run,’’ as, immediately after
they paid their doleful orisons, they took
the course of running their duty by running
away. There were no classes that day.
Mr. Root did not make his appearance—
and we had a constrained holiday.

On the 7th, to use a nautical expression,
we had repaired damages, and we began
to fall into the usual routine of scholastic
business : but it was full a week before our
master made his appearance in the school-
room, and he did so then with a green
shade over his eyes, to conceal the green
shades under them. He came in at the
usual hour of noon—the black list was
handed up to him—and I expected, in the
usual order of things, an assiduous flogging.
But in this world we are the martyrs of dis-
appointment. The awful man folded up
the paper very melancholily, and thrust it
into his waistcoat pocket, and thus saved
me the expense of some very excellent
magnanimity, which I had determined to
display, had he proceeded to flagellation.
It was my intention very intrepidly to have
told him, that if he punished me I also
would run away. On the veracity of a
schoolboy, I was disappointed at not re-
ceiving my three or four dozen.

I had now fairly commenced my enthusi-
astic epoch. I was somebody. I still slept
in the haunted room. I had struck the first
blow in the barring out—St. Albans had
openly commended me for my bravery—I
could no longer despise myself, and the
natural consequence was that others dared
not. J formed friendships, evanescent cer-
tainly, but very sweet and very sincere.
Several of the young gentlemen promised
to prevail upon their parents to invite me
to their homes during the approaching holi-
days; but either their memories were weak,
or their fathers obdurate.

Well, the winter holidays came at last,
and I was left sole inhabitant of that vast
and lonely school-room, with one fire for

D34 RLATTLIN, THE REEFER.

my solace, and one tenpenny dip for my
enlightenment. How awful and _ super-
natural seemed every passing sound that
beat upon my anxious ears! Everything
round me seemed magnified—the massive
shadows were as the wombs teeming with
unearthly phantoms—the whistle of the
wintry blasts against the windows, voiced
the half unseen beings that my fears ac-
knowledged in the deep darknesses of the
vast chamber. And then that lonely or-
chestra,—often did I think that I heard
low music from the organ, as if touched by
ghostly fingers—how gladly I would have
sunk down from my solitude to the vul-
garity of the servants’ hall—but that was
now carefully interdicted. The conse-
quences of all this seclusion to a highly
imaginative and totally unregulated mind,
must have been much worse than putting
me to sleep in the haunted room, for in that
I had my counter-spell—and long use had
almost endeared mé to it and its grotesque
carvings—but this dismally large school-
room, generally so instinct with life, so
superabounding in animation, was painfully
fearful, even from the contrast. Twenty
times in the evening, when the cold blast
came creeping along the floor and wound
round my ankles, did I imagine it was the
chill hand of some corpse, thrust up from
beneath, that was seizing me in order to
drag me downwards—and a hundred times,
as the long flame from the candle flared up
tremulously, and shook the deep shadows
that encompassed me around, did I fancy
that there were very hideous faces indeed
mouthing at me amidst the gloom—and
my own gigantic shadow—it was a vast
horror of itself personified! It was a cruel
thing, even in Mr. Root, to leave me alone
so many hours in that stupendous gloom ;
but his wife—fie upon her !

Considering how my imagination had
been before worked upon, even from my
earliest childhood, and the great nervous
excitability of my temperament, it is a
wonder that my mind did not reel, if not
succumb—but I now began to combat the
approaches of one sort of insanity with the
actual presence of another—/ wyote verses.
That was ‘‘ tempering the wind to the shorn
lamb,” as Sterne would have expressed it,
after the prettiest fashion imaginable.

Had I not the reader so completely at my
mercy—did I not think him or her not only
the gentlest but also the most deserving of
all the progeny of Japhet—did I not' think
that it would be the very acmé of ingrati-
tude to impose upon him or her, I would
certainly transcribe a centaine, or So, of
these juvenile poems. It is true, they are
very bad—but then that is a proof that they

are undeniably genuine. I really have, in
some things, a greatness of soul. I will
refrain—but in order that these effusions
may not be lost to the world, I offer them
to the annuals for 1839; not so much for
the sake of pecuniary compensation, but in
order to improve the reading of some of
that very unreadable class of books.

Well, during these distal holidays, I
wrote verses, and began to take, or to make,
my madness methodical. The boys came
back, and having left me a very Bobadil,
they found me a juvenile Bavius.

I now began to approach my thirteenth
year, and, what with my rhyming and my
fistical prowess,—my character for bravery,
and the peculiarity of my situation, as it
regarded its mystery—I became that ab-
surd thing that the French call ‘‘ une féte
montée."’ Root had ceased to flog me. I
could discover that he even began to fear
me—and just in proportion as he seemed to
avoid all occasion to punish me, I became
towards him mild, observant, and respect-
fil: aehe consequence was, that, as I was
no longer frightened out of my wits at
church, from very weariness, and for the
sake of variety, I began to attend to the
sermons. What a lesson ought not this to
be to instructors! One Sunday I returned
from church in a state of almost spiritual
intoxication. The rector was a pale atten-
uated man, with a hollow, yet flashing eye
——a man who seemed to have done with
everything in this world, excepting to urge
on his brethren to that better One, to which
himself was fast hastening; and, on this
memorable day, that I fancied myself a
convert, he had been descanting on the
life of the young Samuel. Of course he,
very appropriately, often turned to the
juvenile part of his congregation; and as
I was seated in the front row, I felt as if I
were alone in the church—as if every word
were individually addressed to myself; his
imploring yet impassioned glances seemed
to irradiate my breast with a sweet glory.
I felt at once, that since the goodness of
the Creator was inexhaustible, the fault
must rest with man if there were no more
Samuels, so I determined to be one—to
devote myself entirely to divine abstrac-
tion, to heavenly glory, and to incessant
worship—and, stupendous as the assertion
may seem, for six weeks I did so. This
resolution became a passion—a madness.
I was as one walking in a sweet trance—I
revelled in secret bliss, as if I had founda
glorious and inexhaustible treasure. I spoke
to none of my new state of mind—absorbed
as I was, I yet dreaded ridicule—but I wrote ~
hymns, I composed sermons. If I found
my attention moving from heavenly mat-ters, I grew angry with myself, and I re-
novated my flagging attention with inward
ejaculation. I had all the madness of the
anchorite upon me in the midst of youthful
society, yet without his asceticism, and
certainly without his vanity.

My studies, of course, were nearly totally
neglected, under this complete alienation of
spirit, and Mr. Root, lenient as he had
lately become towards me, began to flog
again; and--shall I be believed when |
Say it >—I have been examining my memory
most severely, and Iam sure it has delivered
up its record faithfully ; but yet I hardly
dare give it to the world—but, despite of
ridicule, I find myself compelled to say,
that these floggings I scarcely felt. I looked
upon them as something received for the
sake of an inscrutable and unfathomable
love, and I courted them—they were plea-
surable. I now can well understand the
enthusiasm and the raptures of that ridi-
culous class of exploded visionaries, called
flagellants. I certainly was in a state of
complete oblivion to everything but a
dreamy fanaticism, and yet that term is too
harsh, and it would be impiety to call it
holiness, seeing that it was in a state of
inutility, —and yet, many well-meaning
persons will think, no doubt, that my infant
and almost sinless hand, had hold of a
blessed link of that chain of ineffable love,
which terminates in the breast of that awful
Being, whositsat the right hand of the throne
of the Eternal. I give, myself, no opinion. I
only state facts. But I cannot help hazard-
ing a conjecture of what I might have been,
had I then possessed a friend in any one of
my instructors, who could have pointed out
to me what were the precincts of true piety,
what those of incipient insanity. At that
time I had the courage to achieve anything.
Let the cold-hearted and the old say what
they will, youth is the time for moral
bravery. The withered and the aged mis-
take their failing forces for calmness and
resignation, and an apathy, the drear an-
ticipator of death, for presence of mind.

However, this state of exalted feeling
had a very ludicrous termination. I ceased
fighting, I was humble, seeking whom I
might serve, reproving no one, but striving
hard to love all, giving, assisting, and
actually panting for an opportunity of
receiving a slap on one side of the face,
that I might offer the other for the same
infliction. The reader may be sure that I
had the Bible almost constantly before me,
when not employed in what I conceived
some more active office of what I thought
sanctification. But though the spirit may
be strong, at times, the body will be weak.
I believe I dozed fora few minutes over the

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

 
 
 
 
   
  
 
   
   
  
    
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 

: 38
sacred book, when a wag stole it away,
and substituted for it the ‘renowned and
veracious History of the Seven Champions
of Christendom.” There was the frontis-
piece, the gallant St. George, in gold and
green armour, thrusting his spear into the
throat of the dragon, in green and gold
scales. What a temptation ! I ogled the
book coyly at first. I asked for my Bible.
‘‘Read that, Ralph,” said the purloiner ;
and oh! recreant that I was, I read it.

I was cured in three hours of being a
saint, of despising flogging, and of aping
Samuel,

GHAPTER XVIII.

Ralph receives an infusion of patriotism —Is himself
drilled and drills a touchhole—He turns out a mon-
strous big liar—Somebody comes to see him whom
nobody can see, and the mystery ends in another
migration,

IT is the nature of men and boys to run
into extremes. I have carried the reader
with me through my desponding and en-
thusiastic epochs. I now come tothe most
miserable of all, my mendacious one. An
avowed poet is entitled, de jure, to a good
latitude of fiction; but I abused this privi-
lege most wofully. I became a confirmed
and intrepid liar—and this, too, was the
natural course of my education, or the want
of it. I began to read all manner of ro-
mances. ‘There was a military and chival-
rous spirit strong in the school—the mania
for volunteering was general, and our
numerous school were almost all trained to
arms. The government itself supplied us
with a half-dozen drill serjeants to complete
us in our manual and platoon exercise. We
had a very pretty uniform, and our equip-
ments..as infantry were complete in all
things; save and excepting that all the
muskets of the junior boys had no touch-
holes. Mine was delivered to me in this
innocent state. Oh! that was a great
mortification on field days, when we were
allowed to incorporate with the and
volunteers, whilst all the big lads
actually fired off real powder, in line with
real men, to be obliged to snap a wooden
flint agaimst a sparkless hammer. <A mor-
tification I could not, I would not endure.
There was a regular contention between
Mr. Root, my musket, and myself; and at
last, by giving my serjeant a shilling, I
conquered. Every day that our muskets
were examined on parade, mine would be
found with a touch-hole drilled in it; as
certainlyxas it was found, so certainly was I
hoisted. In that fever of patriotism, I, of
D2LEE
i

te

ey

    
 

56 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

4

all the school, though denied powder and
shot, was the only one that bled for my
country. However, I at length had the
supreme felicity of blowing powder in the
face of vacancy, in high defiance of Buona-
parte and his assembled legions on the
coast of Boulogne. Thus I had military
ardour added to my other ardencies. More-
over, I had learned to swim in the New
River, and, altogether, began to fancy
myself a hero.

I began now to appreciate and to avail
myself of the mystery of my birth. I did
not read romances and novels for nothing.
So J began my mendacious career. Oh!
the improbable and impossible lies that I
told, and that were retold, and all believed.
I was a prince incognito; my father had
coined money—and I gave my deluded
listeners glimpses at pocket-pieces as proof ;
if I was doubted I fought. ‘The elder boys
shook their heads, and could make nothing
of it. The ushers made what inquiries they
dared, and found nothing which they could
contradict positively, but much upon which
to found conjecture.

Still, notwithstanding my success, my
life began to grow burthensome. ‘The lies
became too manifold, too palpable, and,
to me, too onerous. They had been ex-
tremely inconsistent —ridicule began to
raise her hissing head. Shame became my
constant companion—yet I lied on. IJ think
I may safely say, that I would, at the time
that I was giving myself out as a future
king, have scorned the least violation of the
truth, to have saved myself from the most
bitter punishment, or to injure, in the least,
my worst enemy; my lies were only those
of a most inordinate vanity, begun in order
to make a grand impression of myself, and

ersevered in through obstinacy and pride.

ut I was crushed beneath the stupendous
magnificence of my own creations. I had
been so circumstantial—described palaces,
reviews, battles, my own charges, and now
oh! how sick all these fabrications made
me! It was time I left the school, or that
life left me, for it had become intolerable.
And yet this state of misery, the misery of
the convicted, yet obstinately persevering
liar, lasted nearly a year. Let me hurry
over it ; but, at the same time, let me hold
it up as a picture to youth, upon the same
principle as the Spartans showed drunker
slaves to their children. Could the young
but conceive a tithe of the misery I en.
dured, they would never after swerve from
ruth.

I have not time to expatiate on several
droll mishaps that occurred to Mr. Root;

 

how he was once bumped in all the glowing

panoply of equine war; how, when one

 
 

night, with his head well-powdered, he ~
crept upon all-fours, as was his wont, into —
one of the boys’ bedrooms, to listen to their ©
nightly conversations; and how such visit
being expected, as his head lay on the side |
of the bedstead, it was there immovably
fixed, by the application of a half-pound of 7
warm cobbler’s wax, and release could only
be given by the Jason-like operation of
shearing the fleecy locks. We must rapidly |
pass on. I was eager to get away from this ~
school, and my desire was accomplished in
the following very singular manner :—

One fine sunshiny Sunday morning, as ©
we were all arranged in goodly fashion, two
by two, round the play-ground, preparatory
to issuing through the house to go to |
church, the unusual cry was heard, of
‘‘ Master Rattlin wanted,’’ which was
always understood to be the joyful signal
that some parent or friend had arrived as
a visitor. I was immediately hurried into
the house, a whispering took place between
Mr. and Mrs. Root, and the consequence ©
was that I was bustled up into the bed- |
room, and my second-best clothes, which I
then had on, were changed for the best,
and, with a supererogatory dab with a wet —
towel over my face, I was brought down,
and, my little heart playing like a pair of
castanets against my ribs, I was delivered ~
into the tender keeping of the pedagogue.

Having taken me by the hand, whilst he
was practising all the amenities with his |
countenance, he opened the parlour-door,
where the supposititious visitor was expected
to be found, and, lo! the room was empty.
Mrs. Root and the servants were sum-
moned, and they all positively declared,
and were willing to swear to the fact, that ~
a gentleman had gone into the room, who
had never goneout. It wasa front parlour,
on the ground floor, and from the window ~
he could not have emerged, as the area
intervened between that and the foot pave- ~
ment; and to see a gentleman scrambling
through by that orifice into the principal —
street of ——-, and from one of the principal =
houses of the town, whilst all the people 7
were going to church, was a little too pre- 7
posterous even for Mr. Root’s matter-of- 7
fact imagination. However, they peeped
up the chimney one after the other, as if 7
an elderly, military-looking gentleman, en- ~
cumbered with a surtout, for thus he was ©
@escribed, would have been so generous ~
#s to save my schoolmaster a shilling, by ©
bustling up his chimney, and bringing ~
down the soot. The person was not to be
found; Root began to grow alarmed—a ~
sonstable was sent for, and the house was
searched from the attics to the cellar, The
dwelling was not, however, robbed, norany of its inmates murdered, notwithstand-
ing the absconder could not be found.

Now, Mr. Root was a man wise in his own
generation, yet was he, notwithstanding, a
great fool. He was one of that class who
can sometimes overreach a neighbour, yet,
in doing so, inevitably loseshis own balance,
and tumbles into the mire. A sagacious
ninny, who had an ‘‘/ fold you so,” for
every possible event after it had happened.

Instead of taking the common-sense view
of the affair of the missed gentleman, and
supposing that the footman had been bribed
to let him quietly out at the street-door,
who, perhaps, had found his feelings too
little under his control to go through the
interview with me that he sought, Root set
about making a miracle of the matter. It
was astounding—nay, superhuman! dt
boded some misfortune to him; and so it
really did, by the mannerin which he treated
it. Iverily believe, that had the servants
or Mrs. Root, who had seen the gentleman,
averred to a cloven foot as peeping out
from his military surtout, he would have
given the assertion not only unlimited
credence, but unlimited circulation also.
However, as it was, he made himself most
egregiously busy; there was his brother
churchwardens and the curates summoned
to assist him in acourt of inquiry; evidence
was taken in form, and a sort of procés
verbad drawn out and duly attested. Mr.
Root was a miracle-monger, and gloried in
being able to make himself the hero of his
own miracles.

Well, after he had solaced himself by
going about to all his neighbours with this
surprising paper in hand, for about the
space of a fortnight, he thought to put the
climax to his policy and his vain-glory, by
taking it and himself up to the banker's in
town where he always got the full amount
of his bills for my board and education paid
without either examination or hesitation.
The worthy money-changer looked grimly
polite at the long and wonderful account of
the schoolmaster, received a copy of the
account of the mysterious visitor with most
emphatic silence, and then bowed the com-
municant out of his private room with all
imaginable etiquette.

Mr. Root came home on excellent terms
with himself; he imposed silence upon his
good lady, his attentive masters and ushers,
and then wiping the perspiration from his
brow, proceeded to tell his admiring audi-
ence of his great, his very great exertions,
and how manfully through the whole awful
business he had done his duty. Alas! he
soon found to his cost that he had done
something more. In cockney language,
he had done himself out of a good pupil.

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

 
 
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
   
 
 
   
 
  
   
   
  
  
    
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

37

A fortnight after I was again ‘‘ wanted.”
There was a glass coach at the door. A
very reserved sort of gentleman alighted,
paid all demands up to the end of the
ensuing half-year, answered no questions,
but merely producing a document, handed
me and all my worldly wealth into his
vehicle, and off we drove.

‘To the best of my recollection, all the
conversation that I heard from this taciturn
person, was that sentence, so much the
more remarkable for verity than originality,
‘“Ask no questions, and I shall tell you
no stories." Having nothing else to do
in this my enforced ¢éze-d-zéte, 1 began to
conjecture what next was to become of me.
At first, I built no castles in the air; I had
got quite sick of doing that aloud with my
late school-fellows, and passing them all
off as facts. Still it must be confessed,
that my feelings were altogether pleasur-
able. It was a soul-cheering relief to have
escaped from out of that vast labyrinth of
lies that I had planted around me, and no
longer to dread the rod-bearing Root:
even novelty, under whatever form it may
present itself, is always grateful to the
young.

In the midst of these agitations I again
found myself in town; and I began to
hope that Ishould once more see my foster-
parents. I began to rally. up my ‘‘little
Latin and less Greek,” in order to surprise
the worthy sawyer and his wife; and I had
fully determined to work out for him what
the amount of his daily wages came to ina
week, firstly by simple arithmetic, secondly
by fractions, thirdly by decimals, and
fourthly by duodecimals; and then to
prove the whole correct by an algebraical
equation. But all those triumphs of learn-
ing were not destined forme. I found, at
length, that the glass coach drove up the
inn-yard of some large coachmaster; but
few words were said, and I was consigned
to the coachman of one of the country
stages, with as little remorse and as little
ceremony as if I had been an ugly blear-
eyed pug, forwarded in a basket, labelled,
‘‘this side uppermost,’ to an old maiden
aunt, or a superannuated grandmother.

This was certainly unhandsome treatment
to one who had been lately seriously telling
his companions that he was a disguised
prince of the blood, forced, for state rea-
sons, to keep a strict incognito. It is true,
that I travelled with four horses, and was
attended by a guard; nay, that a flourish
of music preceded my arrival at various
points of my journey; but all these little
less than royal honours I shared with a
plebeian butcher, a wheezing and attenuated
plumber and glazier, and other of his lieges,38

all very useful, but hardly deemed orna-
mental members of the body politic.

 

CHARGER XI.

A chapter of disappointments, which Ralph hopes the
reader will not share—Some comparisons which he
hopes will not be found odious, and some reflections
which he thinks cannot be resented.

My friends will perceive, that at the time
of which I am speaking, the stage-coach
contained, if not actually a bad character,
a person on the very verge of being one—
that I was that graceless, yet tolerated
being, a scamp, was very certain—yet my
gentle demeanour, my smooth, bright coun-
tenance, and never-ceasing placid smile,
would have given a very different impres-
sion of my qualities. I have been thus
liberal in my confessions, in order that
parents may see that their duties do not
terminate where those of the schoolmaster
begin; that the schoolmaster himself must
be taken to task, and the watcher watched.
I had been placed in one of the first board-
ing schools near town; a most liberal sti-
pend had been paid with me; I had every
description of master; yet, after all this
outlay of money, which is not dross—and
waste of time, which is beyond price pre-
cious, what was I at leaving this academy ?
Let the good folks withinside of the Sticken-
ham stage testify ; by one trick or another
I had contrived to make them all tolerably
uncomfortable before the journey was half
over.

But where.am I going? Ceesar and his
fortunes are embarked in a stage coach.
An hour and a half had elapsed when I
perceived that the horses were dragging
the vehicle slowly up a steep hill. The full-
leaved trees are arching for us; over head,
a verdant canopy; the air becomes more
bracing and elastic; and even I feel its
invigorating influence, and cease to drop
slily the gravelly dirt I had collected from
my shoes, down the neck and back of a
very pretty girl, who sat blushing furiously
on my left. Now the summit is gained, and,
in another moment, the coach thunders down
the other side of the hill. But what a beau-
tiful view is spread before my fascinated
eyes! and then rose up in my young heart
the long-sleeping emotions of love, and
kindred affection. Into whose arms was
I to be received? whose were to be the
beautiful lips that were now longing to
kiss me with parental, perhaps fraternal
rapture? Had Ia sister? Could I doubt
it at that ecstatic moment? How I would
love her! The fatted calf was not only

RATFLLIN, THE REEPER.

 

 

killed, but cooked, to welcome the long
lost. Nor Latin, nor French, nor Greek,
nor Mathematics, should embitter the pass-
ing moments. ‘This young summer, that
breathed such aromatic joy around me,
had put on its best smile to welcome me
to my paternal abode. ‘‘ No doubt,” said
I to myself—‘‘no doubt, but that some
one of the strange stories that I told of
myself at Root’s, is going to be realized.”

In the midst of these rapturous antici-
pations, each later one becoming more
wild and more glorious than the previous
one that begot it, it wanting still an hour
of sundown, all at once the coach stopped
before a house, upon a gentle elevation—
stopped with a jerk, too, as if it were going
to usher in some glorious event. I looked
out, and behold! in hated gold letters,
upon the hated blue board, the bitterly
hated word ‘‘ Academy” met my agonised
sight.

I burst into tears. I needed no voice to
tell me that I was the person to alight.
I knew my doom. Farewell to all my
glorious visions! I could have hurled back
into the face of the laughing sun, my hate,
and called him deceiver and traitor; for
had he not, with other causes, conspired
to smile me, five minutes ago, into a fool's
paradise ? :

‘“Master Rattlin, won't you please to
alight?’ said one of those under-toned,
gerund-singing voices, that my instinct
told me to be an usher’s.

‘‘No thank’ee, sir,’ said I, amidst my
sobbings, ‘‘I want to go home.”

‘““But you are to get down here, how-
ever,’ said my evil-omened inviter. ‘‘ Your
boxes are all off the coach, and the coach-
man wants to go forward.”

''Sodo 12"

*‘Tt's excessively droll this—hi, hi, hi!
as sure as my names Saltseller, it is ex-
cessively droll. So you want to get for-
ward, Master Rattlin? why come to school
then, that’s the way—droll, isn't it? Why,
you've been riding backwards all the way,
too—time to change—droll that—hi, hi!”

‘‘Tt's no change,” said J, getting out
sulkily, ‘‘from one school to another—
and do you call this a school?” I con-
tinued, looking round contemptuously, for
I found about twenty little boys playing
upon a green knoll before the house, and
over which we were compelled to walk to
reach it, as the road did not come near the
habitation. ‘'Do you call this a school?
Well, if you catch me being flogged here,
I'm a sop, that’s all—a school! And I
suppose you're the usher—I don’t think
those little boys bumped you last half
year.‘(J don't think they did,” said Mr. Salt-
seller, which was actually the wretch's
name, and with whom I fell desperately
in hate at first sight. ‘‘Bump me!” he
exclaimed soliloquising—and with that air
of astonishment, as if he had heard the
most monstrous impossibility spoken of
imaginable. ‘‘Bump me? droll, isn't it
—excessively? Where have you been
brought up, Master Rattlin?”’

‘“Where they bar out tyrannical mas-
ters, and bump sneaking ushers,” said I.
‘‘That’s where I was brought up.”

_ ‘* Then that's what I call very bad bring-
ing up.”

“‘Not so bad as being brought down
here, anyhow.”

His next ‘‘ excessively droll, isn’t it?”
brought us to the door of the academy ;
but, in passing over the play-ground, I
could see, at once, that I was with quite
another class of beings, than those who
composed my late school-fellows. They
were evidently more delicately nurtured;
they had not the air of schoolboy daring,
to which I had been so much accustomed,
and they called each other ‘‘ Master.”
Everything, too, seemed to be upon a
miniature scale. The house was much
smaller, yet there was an air of comfort
and of health around, that at first I did
not appreciate, though I could not help
remarking it.

No sooner was I conducted into the
passage, than I heard a voice which I
thought I remembered, exclaim, ‘‘ Show
Master Rattlin in here, and shut the
door.”

I entered; and the next moment I was
in the arms of the mysterious and very
beautiful lady that had called to see me
the few times that I have recorded ; and
who, I conceived, was intimately connected
with my existence. I think that I have
before said, that she never avowed herself,
either to my nurse or to myself, as more
than my godmother. She evinced a brief,
but violent emotion; and then controlled
her features to a very staid and matronly
expression. Jor myself, I wept most bit-
terly, from many mingled emotions; but,
to the shame of human nature, and of my
own, wounded pride was the most intoler-
able pang that I felt. In all my day-
dreams I had made this lady the presiding
genius. I gave her, in my inmost heart,
all the reverence and the filial affection of
a son; but it was the implied understand-
ing between my love and my vanity, that
in joining herself to me as a mother, she
was to bestow upon me a duchess at least ;
though I should not have thought myself
over-well use

 

d had it been a princess. And

  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
   
 
  
      

RATTLIN, THE REEFER. 39

here were all these glorious anticipations
merged, sunk, destroyed, in the person of
a boarding-school mistress of about twenty
boys, myself the biggest. It was no use
that I said to myself, over and over again,
she is not less lovely—her voice less musical,
her manner less endearing, or her apparel
less rich. The startling truth was ever in
my ear—she ‘‘keeps a school,” and con-
sequently she cannot be my mother.

She could not know what was passing
in my mind; but it was evident that my
grief was of that intensity that nearly ap-
proached to misery. She took me by the
hand, showed me my nice little bed, the
large garden, the river that ran at the
bottom of it, and placed before me fruit
and cakes ; I would not be consoled; what
business had she to be a schoolmistress ?
I had a thousand times rather have had
Mrs. Brandon for a mother again—she had
never deceived me. But I was soon aware
that this lady, whom I now, for the first
time, heard named, as Mrs. Cherfeuil, was
as little disposed to grant me the honour of
calling her mother, as I was to bestow it.
I was introduced to her husband as the
son of a female friend of hers of early life;
that she had stood godmother to me, that
my parentage was respectable ; and, as she
had before had sufficient references to
satisfy him from the agent, who had called
a week before my arrival, the good man
thought that there was nothing singular
in the affair.

But let us describe this good man, my
new pedagogue. In all things he was the
antithesis of Mr. Root. The latter was
large, florid, and decidedly handsome—
Mr. Cherfeuil was little, sallow, and more
than decidedly ugly. Mr. Root was worldly
wise, and very ignorant; Mr. Cherfeuil, a
fool in the world, and very learned. ‘The
mind of Mr. Root was so empty, that he
found no trouble in arranging his one idea
and a half; Mr. Cherfeuil’s was so full,
that there was no room for any arrange-
ment at all. Mr. Root would have thought
himself a fool if he condescended to write
poetry; but he supposed he could, for he
never tried. Mr. Cherfeuil would have
thought any man a fool that did not per-
ceive at once that he, Cherfeuil, was born
a great poet. Shall 1 carry, after the
manner of Plutarch, the comparison any
farther? No; let us bring it to an abrupt
conclusion, by saying, in a few words, that
Mr. Root was English, Mr. Cherfeuil
French ; that the one had a large school,
and the other a little one; and that both
were immeasurably great men in their own
estimation—though not universally so in
that of others. =40 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

Mr. Cherfeuil was ambitious to be thought
five feet high ; his attitude, therefore, was
always erect; and, to give himself an air
of consequence, he bridled and strutted
like a full-breasted pigeon, with his head
thrown back, and was continually in the
act of wriggling his long chin into his
ample neckerchief. He could not ask you
how you do, or say in answer to that ques-
tion, ‘‘I thank you, sare, very well,” with-
out stamping prettily with his foot, as if
cracking a snail, and tossing his chin into
the air as if he were going to balance a
ladder upon it. Then, though his features
were compressed into a small monkeyfied
compass, they were themselves, indivi-
dually, upon a magnificent scale. It was
as if there had been crowded half a dozen
gigantic specimens of human ugliness into
my lady’s china closet, all of which were
ae each other for room. The eyes
would have been called large, had it not
been for the vast proportions of the nose,
and the nose would have been thought
preposterous, had it not been for the
horrible dimensions of the mouth. Yet
the expression of all these anomalies,
though very grotesque, was not unpleasing.
You smiled with satisfaction when you saw
how great the improvement was that ba-
boonery had made toward manhood. You
might call him, in a word, a queer, little,
ugly-looking box of yellow mortality, that
contained some amiable qualities, and a
great many valuable attainments. Of good
sense, or of common sense, he was never
known to show, during the whole period
of his life, but one instance; and that was
a most important one—a complete defer-
ence, in all things, to his stately and beau-
tiful wife. Her dominion was undivided,
complete, and unremitting. How shecame
to marry him was one of humanriddles that
will never be satisfactorily resolved. He
had been a French émigré, had had a most
Superior education,} played on several in-
struments without taste, understood every-
thing connected with the classics but their
beauty, and was deeply versed in mathema-
tics, without comprehending their utility.

At this school my progress was rapid.
All the care and attention that the most
maternal of hearts could bestow upon me
were mine; yet there was no approach to
anything like familiarity on the part of
Mrs. Cherfeuil. There lay a large wild
common before the house, and there was a
noble collection of deep water in the vi-
cinity, in which I perfected my natatory
studies (affected phraseology is the fashion)

9

and my body strengthened, my mind im-
proved, and I began to taste of real happi-
ness.

 

It would be an amusing work to write a
biography of some of the most remarkable
ushers. ‘They seem to be the bats of the
social scheme. Gentlemen will not own
them, and the classes beneath reject them,
They are generally self-sufficient ; thedepen-
dency of their situation makes them mean,
and the exercise of delegated power tyran-
nical. If they have either spirit or talent,
they lift themselves above their situation ;
but when they cannot do this, they are, in
my estimation, the most abject of all classes
—gipsies and beggars not excepted. Mr.
Cherfeuil was, in himself, a mine of learn-
ing ; but he delivered it out from the dark
cavities of his mind, encumbered with so
much ore, and in such misshaped masses,
that it required another person to arrange for
use what he was so lavish in producing. A
good usher or assistant was therefore neces-
sary; but I do not recollect more than
one, out of the thirty or forty that came
and went during the three years I was at
the school.

This class of people are, alas! fatally
susceptible of the tender impulses. They
always find the rosy cheeks of the house-
maid or the emdonpoint of the cook irre-
sistible. And they have themselves such
delicate soft hands, so white, and so ashy.
On Sundays, too, their linen is generally
clean! so, altogether the maid-sérvants
find them killing.

Mr. Saltseller, who found everything
droll, and who used to paint his cheeks,
lost his situation just at the precise moment
that the housemaid lost -her character.
The two losses together were not of very
great moment ; then we had another, and
another, and another; and more characters
were lost—till at last there did come a man’

‘take him for all in all,
T ne'er shall look upon his like again.”

He was very tall, stout, of a pompous
cartiage, u2 homme magenifique. He wore
a green coat, false hair, a black patch
over his left eye, and was fifty, or rather
fifty-five. His face was large, round, and
the least in the world bloated. This
Adonis of matured ushers, after school-
hours, would hang a guitar from his broad
neck, by means of a pale pink riband, and
walk up and down on the green before
the house, thrum, thrum, thrumming,—the
admiration of all the little boys, and the
coveted of all the old tabbies in the village.
Oh, he was the deax tdéal of a vieux garcon.
We recommend all school-assistants to learn
the guitar, and grow fat—if they can; and
then, perhaps, they may prosper, like Mr.
Sigismund Pontifex. He contrived to
elope with a maiden lady, of good pro-RATTLIN, THE REEFER. 4I

perty, just ten years older than himself: quite unavailing, unless, like the under-
the sweet, innocent, indiscreet ones, went taker’s, they are paid for, I shall exclaim,
off by stealth one morning before daylight, with the French soldier, who found his
in a chaise and four, and returned a week long military queue in the hands of a pur-

after, Mr. and Mrs. Pontifex. suing English sailor, ‘‘ Chivalry of the
The gentleman hung up his guitar, and world, toujours en avant /”
for ever; and every fine day he was found, I now began to commit the sin of much

pipe in mouth and tankard in hand, pre- verse, and consequently acquired in the
siding at the bowling-green of the Black neighbouring village much notice. No
Lion, the acknowledged and revered um- chastizing blow, or even word of reproof
pire—cherished by mine host, and referred fell upon me. My mind was fed upon
to by the players. I write this life for praise, and my heart nourished with ca-
instruction. Gentlemen ushers, look to it resses. In the school I had no equal, and
—be ambitious—learn the guitar, and make my vanity whispered that such was the case
your mouths water with ideas of prospective without. However, this vanity I did not

tankards of ale, and odoriferous pipes. show, for I was humble from excessive
pride.

There are two animals that are almost

aceet Be certain to be spoiled—a very handsome

”

young man, and the ‘‘ cock of the school.
CHAPTER Xx. Being certainly in the latter predicament, I
was only saved from becoming an_ utter
Ralph groweth egregiously modest, and boasteth im- and egregious ass by the advent of one,
moderately, until he is beaten by one with one foot in the cleverest, most impudent rascally,
the grave; with something touching the feats of the , :
man without feet. agreeable scoundrel, that ever swindled
man or deceived woman, in the shape of
I FIND myself in a dilemma. My modesty a wooden-legged usher. He succeeded my
(?) is at variance with my love of verity. worthy friend of the guitar, Mr. Sigismund
Oh, the inconvenience of that little pro- Pontifex. His name was Riprapton, and
noun, I! Would that I had in the first he only wanted the slight requisite of
instance imitated the wily conduct of the common honesty to have made_ himself
pbald-pated invader of Britain. How com~ the first man of any society in which fate
placently might I not then have vaunted might happen to cast him—and fate had
in the beginning, have caracoled through been pleased to cast him into a great many.
the middle, and glorified myself at the con- He was a short, compactly made, sym-
clusion of this my autobiography! What metrically-formed man, with a countenance
a monstrous piece of braggadocio would deeply indented with the small-pox, and in
not Czesar’s Commentaries have been, had every hole there was visibly ensconced a
he used the first instead of the third person little imp of audaciousness. His eyes were
singular! How intolerable would have such intrepid and quenchless lights of im-
been the presumption of his Thrasonical, pudence, that they could look even Irish
“‘] thrashed the Helvetians—I subjugated sang Sroid out of countenance. And then
the Germans—I utterly routed the Gauls that inimitable wooden leg! It was a per-
_I defeated the painted Britons 1" And, fect grace. As he managed it, it was irre-
on the contrary—for I like to place heroes sistible. He did not progress with a
side by side— how decorously and inge- miserable, vulgar, dot-and-go-one kind of
niously might I not have written, ‘‘Ralph gait; he neither hopped, nor halted, nor
Rattlin blackened Master Simpkin’s lefteye limped ; and though he was wood from the
—Ralph Rattlin led on the attack upon middle of his right thigh downwards, his
Farmer Russel’s orchard, and Ralph Ratt- walk might almost have been called the
lin fought three rounds, with no considerable poetry of motion. He never stumped, but
disadvantage, with the long-legged pie- he stole along with a glissade that was the
man.” Alas! I cannot even shelter myself envy and admiration not exactly of sur-
under the mistiness of the peremptory we. rounding nations—but of the dancing-
I have made a great mistake. But Ihave master. It was a beautiful study to see
this consolation, in common with other him walk, and I made myself master oft:
great men, that, for our mistake, the public The left leg was inimitably formed ; the
will assuredly suffer more than ourselves. calf was perhaps a little too round and
Many a choice adventure, of which I was Hibernian—a fault gracious in the eyes of
the hero, must be suppressed. 7 should the fair sex; his ankle and foot were ex-
blush myself black in the face to say what quisitely small and delicately turned; of
he would relate with a very quiet smile of course. he always wore shorts, with im-
self-satisfaction. However, as regrets are maculate white cotton or silk stockings.[neta AiR rR oC

 

RPTL ne 8 ae

fF

  

42

 

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

I shall not distinguish the two legs knowledgeincommon. It was quite enough
by the terms, the living and the dead one— if one of the two knew anything of the
it would be as great an injustice to the matter; besides, he thought that it im-
carved as to the calfed one,— for the former proved me so much to look over the pro-
had a graceful life, saz Senervs, of its own. blems and algebraical calculations of my
I shall call them the pulsating and the schoolfellows.
gyrating leg, and now proceed to describe With this man I was continually measur-
how they bare along, in a- manner so ing my strength; and as I conceived that
fascinating, the living tabernacle of Mr. I found myself woefully wanting, he proved
Riprapton. The pulsator, with pointed an excellent moral sedative to my else too
toe and gently turned calf, would make 4 Tampant vanity. Few, indeed, were the
progress in a direct line, but as the sole persons who could feel themselves at ease
touched the ground, the heel would slightly under the withering sarcasms of his in-
rise and then fall, and whilst you were tolerable insolence. Much more to their
admiring the undulating grace of the astonishment than to their instruction, he
pulsator, unobserved and silently you would very coolly, and the more especially
would find the gyrator had stolen a march when ladies were present, correct the divin-
upon you, and actually taken the gas of its ity of the parson, the pharmacy of the
five-toed brother. One leg marched and doctor, and the law of the attorney; and
the other swam, in the prettiest semicircle with that placid air of infallibility that
imaginable. When he stopped, the flourish carried conviction to all but his opponents.
of the gyrator was ineffable. The drum- Once, at a very large evening party, I

stick in the hand of the big black drummer heard him arguing strenuously, and very
of the first regiment of foot-guards was triumphantly, against a veteran captain of
nothing toit. Whenever Riprapton bowed, a merchant-ship, who had circumnavigated
and he was always bowing,—this flourish the world with Cook, that the degrees of
preluded and concluded the salutary bend. longitude were equal in length all over the
It was making a leg indeed. world, be they more or less—for he never

Many a time, both by ladies and gentle- descended to details—and that the farther
men he has been offered a cork leg- but south you sailed, the hotter it grew, though
he knew better; had he accepted the the worthy old seaman pointed to what
treacherous gift he would have appeared remained of his nose, the end of which
but as a lame man with two legs, now he had been nipped off by cold, and con-
was a perfect Adonis with one. I do be- sequent mortification, in the antarctic re-
lieve, in my conscience, that Cupid often gions. As Riprapton flourished his wooden
made use of this wooden appendage when index, in the midst of his brilliant perora-
he wished to befrjend him, instead of one tion, he told the honest seaman that he had
of his own arrows, for he was really a nota Jeg to stand upon; and all the ladies,
marvellous favourite with the ladies. and some of the gentlemen, too, cried out

Well, no sooner had my friend with the with one accord, ‘‘O fie, Captain Head-
peg made himself a fixture in the school, man, now don’t be so obstinate—-surely
than he took me down, not one peg or two, you are quite mistaken.’’ And the arch-
but a good half-dozen. He ridiculed my master of impudence looked round with
poetry—he undervalued my drawing—he modest suavity, and, in an audible whisper,
hit me through my most approved guards assured the gentleman that sat next to him,
at my fencing—he beat me hollow at hop- that Captain Headman's argument of the
ping, though it must be confessed that I demolished proboscis went for nothing, for
had the advantage with two legs; but he that there were other causes equally effica-
was again my master at ‘‘all-fours.’’ He cious as cold and frost, for destroying
out-talkedmeimmeasurably, he out-bragged gentlemen's noses.
me most heroically, and out-lied me most In the sequel, this very learned tutor had
inconceivably. Knowing nothing either to instruct me in navigation. Nothing was
of Latin or Greek, they were beneath a too high or too low for him. Had any
gentleman's notice, fit only for parsons and persons wished to have taken lessons in
pedants ; and he was too patriotic to cast judicial astrology, Mr. Riprapton would
a thought away upon French. Ashe was not have refused the pupil. Plausible
engaged for the arithmetical and mathe- ignorance will always beat awkward know-
matical departments, it would have been ledge, when the ignorant, which is generally

perhaps as well if he had known a little of the case, make up the mass of the au-
algebra and Euclid; but,as from the firstday dience,

he honoured me with a strict though patroni-

zing friendship he made me soon understand —=

that we were to share this department ofRATTLIN, THE REEFER. 43

part of him that was built of wood, through
the floor !

   
 

CHAPTER XXI.

of versifying into actual execution, for which he may
be thought worthy of being executed.

verse, which was handed about the village

doubted, or rather denied my rhyming
prowess, at length I was determined to try
it upon himself, and he shortly gave me an
excellent opportunity for so doing. Writers
who pride themselves on going deeply into
the mysteries of causes and effects will tell
you that, in cold weather people are apt to
congregate about the fire. Our usher, and
a circle of admiring pupils, were one day
establishing the truth of this profound
theory. The timbered man was standing
in the apex of the semicircle, his back to
the fireplace, and his coat tails tucked up
under his arms. He was enjoying himself,
and we were enjoying him. He was the
hero of the tale he was telling us—indeed,
he never had any other hero than himself
and this tale was wonderful. In the
energy of delivery, now the leg of wood
would start up with an egotistical flourish,
and describe with the leg of flesh, a right-
angled triangle, and then down would go
the peg, and up the leg, with the toe well
pointed, whilst he greeted the buckle on
his foot with an admiring glance.

Whilst this was proceeding in the school-
room, in the back kitchen, or rather break-
fast-parlour, immediately below, in a very
brown study, there sate a very fair lady,
pondering deeply over the virtues of brim-
stone and treacle, and the most efficacious
antidote to chilblains. She was the second
in command over the domestic economy of
the school. Unmarried of course. And
ever and anon, as she plied the industrious
needle over the heel of the too fragmental
stocking, the low melody would burst un-
consciously forth of, ‘ Is there nobody
coming to malry me? Nobody coming to
woo-00-00?” ‘Lady, not in vain was the
burden of that votive song. There was
somebody coming.

Let us walk up-stairs—Mr. Rip is in the
midst of his narrative speaking thus :—
“And, young gentlemen, as I hate pre-
sumption, and can never tolerate a coxcomb,
perceiving that his lordship was going to be
insolent, up went thus my foot to chastise

him, and down, ‘A crash! a cry of

alarm, and then one of derision. and behold
the chastiser ef insolence, or at least, that

M. Cherfeuil opening the door at this
era - é: moment, and perceiving a great noise, and
the folly Le Ne eee rey ga de me attr him who ought to have
repressed it, for the boys standing round
what remained of him with us, it was con-
7 cealed from the worthy pedagogue, who
NOTWITHSTANDING the superciliousness exclaimed, ‘Vat a noise be Reta Wore
of my friendly assistant, I still wrote is Mr. Reepraaptong?”
‘Just stepped down below, to Miss Bro-
as something wonderful. As Riprapton cade, in the breakfast parlour,” I replied.

‘““Ah, bah! cest un veritable chevalier
aux dames,” said M. Cherfeuil, and slam-
ming to the door, he hurried down-stairs
to reclaim his too gallant representative.
We allowed Mr. Riprapton to inhabit for
some time two floors at once, for he was,
in his position, perfectly helpless; that
admired living leg of his, stretched out
at its length upon the floor. We soon,
however, recovered him; but so much I
cannot say of his composure; for he never
I do not believe that he was ever
discountenanced in his life.

‘“Nobody coming to WOO-00-00,” sang
Miss Brocade, below—down into her lap
come mortar, rubbish, and clouds of dust !
And, when the mist clears away, there
pointed down from above an inexplicable
Her senses were bewildered ; and
being quite at a loss to comprehend the
miracle, she had nothing else to do but
faint away. When M. Cherfeuil entered,
the simple and good-natured Gaul found
his beloved manageress apparently lifeless
at his feet, covered with the débris of his
ceiling, and the wooden leg of his usher
slightly tremulous above him. The fright,
of course, was succeeded by a laugh, and
the fracture by repairs ; and the whole by
the following school-boy attempt of a copy
of verses, upon the never-to-be-forgottem
occasion :—

  
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
    
  
  
    
 
 
   
   
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
      

Ambitious usher! there are few
Beyond you that can go,

In double character, to woo
The lovely nymph below.

At once both god and man you ape
To expedite your flame ;

And yet you find in either shape,
The failure just the same.

Jove fell in fair Danaé’s lap
In showers of glittering gold;
By Jove! his Joveship was no sap;
How could you be so bold,
To hope to haye a like success,
Most sapient ciphering master,
And think a lady’s lap to bless
With show’rs of ath and plaster $

That you should fail, when you essay’d
To act the god of thunder,
In striving to enchant the maid,
Was really no great wonder ;
But when as 77a you wooing go,
Pray let me ask you whether
You had no better leg to show
Than one of wood and leather ?ne eae eS

 

GRAPE BEINN pecs

f b

  

44 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.
These verses are exactly as I wrote them, magnificent Lear, Master Betty was at the

and I trust the reader will not think that height of his reputation ; and the dignified
T could now be guilty of such aline, as ‘‘To and classical Kemble had, for a time, to
expedite your flame,”’ or of the pedantic veil his majestic countenance from the
Schoolboyism of calling a house-keeper a play-going eye, Deeply infatuated, in-
nymph. In fact, it is by the merest acci- deed, were the Mollycoddles with their
dent, that I am now enabled to give them Betty.
in their genuine shape. An old school-
fellow, whom I have not seen since the a
days of syntax, and whose name I had
aie forgotten, enclosed them to me very CHAPTER XXII.

However, such as they are, they WeTe Ralph describeth a rare character, a noble and a good
thought in a secluded village as something mangle zoeth f8 fish with at a ied: and suffereth
extraordinary. The usher himself affected forthe HonSuior sate Gein ERE SSE
to enjoy them extremely. They added
greatly to my reputation, and what was of IT is now my duty, as well as my greatest
more consequence to me, my invitations to pleasure, to put on record the true kindness,
dinner and totea. ‘Truly, my half-holidays the considerate generosity, and the well-
were no longer my own. I had become an directed munificence of a family, a parallel
object of curiosity, and I hope and believe, to which can only be found in our own soil
in many instances of affection. I was quite —a superior nowhere. By the heads of
cured of my mendacious propensities, by this family I was honoured with particular
the pain, the horror, and the disgust that notice. Perhaps they never gave a thought
they had _ inflicted upon me at my last about my poetical talent, or the wonderful
school. I invented no more mysteries and progress that my master said that I had
improbabilities for myself, but my good- made in myclassics, and my wooden-legged
natured friends did it amply for me. tutor in my mathematics. Their kind

Mrs. Cherfeuil asserted she knew Scarcely patronage Sprang from higher motives, —
anything about me—indeed, before I came from benevolence ; they had heard that I
to her school, she had hardly seen me four had been forsaken—their own hearts told
times during the whole space of myexistence. them that the sunshine of kindness must
She only knew that I was the child of a lady be doubly grateful to the neglected, and,
that accident had thrown in her way,alady indeed, to me they were very kind.
whom she knew but shortly, but for whom Perhaps it may be thought, that I had a
she acquired a friendship as strong as it quick eye to the failings and the ridiculous
proved short; that, from mere sympathy points of those with whom chance threw
she had been induced to stand godmother me incontact. Iam sure that I was equally
to me; that she had never felt authorized, Susceptible to the elevation of character
nor did she inquire into the particulars of that was offered to me in the person of
my birth. Of course, there was a mystery Mr.——,, the respected father of the family

attached to it, but to which she had no of which I have just made mention. As
clue ; however, she knew that at least on the noble class to which he belonged, and
one side, I came of good, nay, very dis- of which he was the first ornament, are fast
tinguished parentage. But this, her de- degenerating, I will endeavour to make a
parted friend assured her, and that most feeble portrait of a man, that, at present,
solemnly, that whoever should stigmatize finds but too few imitators, and that could
me as illegitimate, would do mea grievous never have found a superior. He was one
wrong. of those few merchant princes, who are

Here was a subject to be canvassed in a really, in all things, princely. Whilst his
gossiping village! Conjecture was at its comprehensive mind directed the commerce
busy work. I was quite satisfied with the of half a navy, and sustained in competence
place that the imaginations of my hospitable and happiness hundreds at home, and
patrons had given me in the social scale. thousands abroad, the circle immediately
Nor in the country only did I experience around him felt all the fostering influence
this friendly feeling; most of my vacations of his well-directed liberality, as if all the
were spent in town, at the houses of the energies of his powerful genius had been
parents of some of my schoolfellows. I concentrated in the object of making those,
was now made acquainted with the scenic only about him, prosperous. He was born
glories of the stage. I fought my way for the good of the many, as much as for
through crowds of fools, to see a child the elevation of the individual. Society

 

perform the heroic Coriolanus, the philo- had need: of him, and it confessed it.
Sophical Hamle?/, and the venerable and When its interests were invaded by a short-RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

sighted policy, it called upon his name to. ‘This gentleman's two elder sons, at the
advocate its violated rights, and splendidly time to which I allude, had already made
did he obey the call. He understood their first step in the world. James was
England's power and greatness, forhe had making a tour of the West Indies, the
assisted in increasing it; he knew in what Continent being closed against him; and
consisted her strength, and in that strength Frank had already begun his harvest of
he was strong, and in his own. laurels in the navy under a distinguished
As a senator, he was heard in the assem- officer. The younger sons, my juniors,
bled councils of his nation, and those who were my school-fellows. Master Frank
presided over her mighty resources and was two or three years my senior, and
influenced her destinies, that involved those before-he went to sea, not going to the
of the world, listened to his warning counsel, same school as myself, we got together
were convinced that his words were the only during the vacations; when, notwith-
dictates of wisdom, and obeyed. This is standing my prowess, he would fag me
neither fiction nor fulsome panegyric. The desperately at cricket, outswim me on the
facts that I narrate have become part of our lake, and out-cap me at making Latin
history; and | would narrate them more VE€ISE€s. However, I consoled myself by
eXplicitly, did I not fear to wound the sus- saying, ‘‘AsI grow older all this superiority
ceptibilities of his still existing and dis- will cease.” But when he returned, after
tinguished family. How well he knew his first cruise, glittering in his graceful
his own Station, and preserved, with the uniform, my hopes and my ambition sank
blandest manners, the true dignity of it! below zero. He was already a man, and
Though renowned in parliament for his an officer—I a school-boy, and nothing
eloquence, at the palace for his patriotic else.
loyalty, and in the city for his immense Of course, he had me home to spend the
wealth, in the blessed circle, that he truly day with him—and a day we had of it. t
made social, there was a pleasing simplicity was in the middle of summer, and grapes
and joyousness of manner, that told at once were ripe only in such well-regulated hot-
the fascinated guest, that though he might houses as were Mr. ’s, We did not
earn honours and distinctions abroad, it enact the well-known fable as it is written
was at home that he looked for happiness —the grapes were not feo sour—nor did we
and, uncommon as such things are in repeat the fox’s ill-natured and sarcastic
this repining world—there, I verily believe, observation, " That they were only fit for
he found it. His was a happy lot: he blackguards.’’ We found them very good
possessed a lady in his wife, who at once for gentlemen—though, I fear, Mr. ——’s
shared his virtues and adorned them. The dessert some time after owed more to
glory he won was reflected sweetly upon’ Pomona than to Bacchus for its embellish-
her, and she wore with dignity, and en- ments. And the fine mulberry-tree on the
hanced those honours, that his probity, his lawn—we were told that it must be shaken,
talents, and his eloquence had acquired. and we shook it: if it still exist, Ill
At the time of which I am speaking, he answer for it, it has never been so shaken
was blessed with daughters, that even in since.
their childhood had made themselves con- The next day we went fishing. Though
spicuous by their accomplishments, amia- our bodies were not yet fully grown, we
bility of disposition, and gracefulness of were persons of enlarged ideas; and to
manners, and plagued with sons who were suppose that we, two mercurial spirits,
full of wildness, waggishness, and worth. could sit like a couple of noodles, each
It is too seldom the case that the person with a long stick in our hands, waiting for
accords with the high qualification of the the fish to pay us a visit, was the height of
mind. Mr.-—— was a singular and felici- absurdity. No, we were rather too polite
tous exception to this mortifying rule. His for that; and as it was we, and not the
deportment was truly dignified, his frame gentlemen of the finny tribe that sought
well-knit and robust, and his features were acquaintance, We felt it our duty as gentle-
almost classically regular. His complexion men to visit them. We carried our polite-
was florid, and the expression of his coun- ness still farther, and showed our good
tenance serene, yet highly intelligent. No breeding in endeavouring to accommodate
doubt but that his features were capable of ourselves to the tastes and habits of those
a vast range of expression; but, as I never we were about to visit. ‘‘Do at Rome as
saw them otherwise than beaming with be- the Romans do,” is the essence of all
nevolence, or sparkling with wit, I must politeness. As our friends were accus-
refer to Master James, or Master Frank, tomed to be 27 naturalibus—-vulgice, stark
for the description of the austerity of his naked, we adopted their Adamite fashion,
frown, or the awfulness of his rebuke. and, undressing, In we plunged. Our46 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

SUCCEsS Was greater with the finny than

‘‘Indeed it was not,” said she, cofti-

was that of any exquisite with the fair passionately,

tribe. We captivated and captured _pail-
fuls. We drove our entertainers into the

‘‘ Very well,” said Mr. , very quietly,
‘‘T'll tell you this, Master Rattlin, sports-

 

Narrow creeks in shoals, and then with a men as you think yourselves, you and

net extended between us; we had. the
happiness of introducing them into the
upper air. The sport was so good that
we were induced to continue it for some
hours ; but whilst we were preparing for a
multitudinous fry the sun was actually all
the while enjoying a most extensive broil.
Our backs, and mine especially, became
One continuous blister. Whilst in the
Water, and in the pursuit, I did not regard
it—indeed, we were able to carry home
the trophies of our success—and then—I
hastened to bed. My back was fairly
peeled and repeeled. I performed in-
voluntarily Mr. St. John’s curative process
to a miracle. No wonder that I’ve been
€ver since free from all, even the slightest
symptoms of pulmonary indisposition,
However, my excruciating torments gained
Ime two things—experience, and a. new

skin.

When I had fresh skinned myself, and it
took me more than a week to do it, I found
that my fellow-labourer had flown. I heard
that he had suffered almost as severely as
myself, but, as he looked upon himself as
no vulgar hero, he was too manly to com-
plain, and next Sunday he actually went to
church, whilst I lay in bed smarting with
pain—yet I Strongly suspect that a new
sword, that he had that day to hang by
his side, made him regardless to the

misery of his back,

That Sunday fortnight I dined with Mr,
——, and of course he did me the honour
to converse upon our fishing exploit, and

its painful consequences,

‘So, Master Rattlin,”’ said the worthy
gentleman, ‘‘you think that you and
Frank proved yourselves excellent sports-

men?”

Pes, Poly. Said les, 1 avill answer for
the sport, if you will only be pleased to

answer for the men.”’

“Well said, my little man!” said Mrs.
to me, smiling kin ly

 

“You see, sir, with all submission, I've
gained the verdict of the lady ; and that's a

great deal.”

‘But I think you lost your hide. Was
your back very sore?” said my host,
encouragingly,

““O dear-—very sore indeed, sir! Mrs.
Cherfeuil said that it looked quite like a
new cut steak,”

“QO it did, did it? but Frank’s was not
much better,” said the senator, turning to
his lady,

Frank, after all, whatever you both were
when you went into the lake, you turned
out two Fohnny Raws,”

‘‘ Why, Master Rattlin,” said the lady,
‘Mr, —— uses you worse than the sun—
that did but scorch—but he roasts you.”

‘No wonder, madam, as he considers
me raw,’’ replied I,

CHAPTER XXIII.

Reminiscences—A friend found and a line lost—Ralph
makes a new acquaintance and a hearty supper, both
of which do him much good,

OPENLY admired abroad, and secretly
cherished: by a love, the more intense
because concealed, at home, the course
of my days was as happy as the improve-
ment in the various branches of my
education was rapid. Nor was I wholly
unnoticed by men who have since stood
forward, honoured characters, in the van
of those who have so nobly upheld the
fame of England. The bard who began
his career in the brightest fields of Hope,
and whose after-fame has so well re-
sponded to his auspicious commencement,
read many portions of my boyish attempts,
and pronounced them full of promise, and
the author possessed of ous. It was the
term he himself used, and that is the only
reason why I have recorded it, Indeed,
this deservedly great man was, in some
Sense, my school-fellow, for he came in the
evening to learn French of M. Cherfeuil.
He was then engaged to translate an epic,
written by one of the Buonapartes, into
English verse. I believe that engagement
never was carried into effect, notwithstand-
ing the erudite pains Mr. —— took to
qualify himself to perform it successfully.
No man could have laboured more to
make himself master of the niceties of the
Gallic idiom, and the right use of its very
doubtful subjunctive.

At the time to which I allude, the in-
spired author wore a wig—not that. his
then age required one. Perhaps the fervid
state of his brain, like a hidden volcano,
burnt up the herbage above—perhaps his
hair was falling off from the friction of his
laurels—perhaps growing prematurely grey
from the workings of his spirit; but without
venturing upon any more conjectures, wetay safely come to the conclusion, that the
hair that God gave him did not please him
so well as that which he bought of the
perruquiers. Since we cannot be satisfied
with the causes, we must be satisfied with
the fact—he wore a wig; and, in the dis-
traction of mental perplexity, when M.
Cherfeuil was essaying to get the poet out
of the absent into the conditional mood,
the man of verse, staring abstractedly upon
the man of tense, would thrust his hand,
under his peruke, and rub, rub, rub his
polished scalp, which all the while effused
a divine ichor—(poets never perspire) —
and, when he was gently reminded that
his wig was a little awry towards the left
side, he would pluck it, resentfully, equally
as much awry on the right; and then, to
punish the offending and displacing hand,
he would commence gnawing off the nails
of his fingers, rich with the moisture from
above. We have recorded this little per-
sonal trait, because it may be valuable to
the gentleman's future biographers ; and
also because it is a convincing proof to the
illiterate and the leveller, that head-work is
not such easy, sofa-enjoyed labour, as is
commonly supposed; and finally, that the
great writer's habit, vzvos ungues rodere,
proves him to be, tooth and nail, homo ad
unguem factus.

I feel, also, that there are many other
persons to whom I ought to pay a passing
tribute of gratitude for much kindness
shown to me; but as my first duty is to
my readers, I must not run the risk of
wearying them even by the performance
of a virtue. But there was one, to omit
the mention of whom would be, on my
part, the height of ingratitude, and, as
concerns the public, something very like
approaching to a fraud ; for by the implied
contract between it and me, I am, in this
my autobiography, bound to supply them
with the very best materials, served up to
them in my very best manner. The gentle-
man whom I am going to introduce to the
notice of my readers, was the purest per-
sonation of benevolence that perhaps ever
existed. His countenance was a glowing
index of peace with himself, goodwill to
man, and confidence in the love of God.
There was within him that divine sympathy
for all around him, that brings man, in
what man can alone emulate the angels,
so near to his Creator. But with all this
goodness of soul there was nothing ap-
proaching to weakness, or even misjudging
softness; he had seen, had known, and
had struggled with the world. He left the
sordid strife triumphantly, and bore away
with him, if not a large fortune, a com-
petence ; and what also was of infinitely

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

 

47

more value, that ‘‘peace of mind which
passeth all understanding.”

Mr. R—— was, in his person, stout, tall,
florid in his countenance, and, for a man
past fifty, the handsomest that I have ever
beheld. I do not mean to say that his
features possessed a classical regularity,
but that soul of benevolence transpired
through, and was bound up with them,
that had a marble bust fitly representing
them been handed down to posterity from
some master-hand of antiquity, we should
have reverenced it with awe as something
beyond human nature, and gazed on it at
the same time with love, as being so dearly
and sweetly human. ‘These are not the
words of enthusiasm, but a mere narrative
of fact. He wore his own white and thin
hair, that was indeed so thin, that the top
of his head was quite bald. <A snuff
coloured coat, cut in the olden fashion,
knee-breeches, white lamb’s-wool stock-
ings, and shoes of rather high quarters,
gave a little of the primitive to his highly
respectable appearance.

I first saw him as he was pretending to
angle in the river that runs through the
village. Immediately I had gazed upon
his benignant countenance, I went and
sat down by him. I could not help it.
At once I understood the urbanity and
the gentlemanliness that must have existed
in the patriarchal times. There was no
need of forms between us. He made room
for me as a son, and I looked up to him
as to a father. He smiled upon me so
encouragingly, and so confidently, that I
found myself resting my arm upon his
knee, with all the loving familiarity of
long-tried affection. From that first mo-
ment of meeting until his heart lay cold
in the grave—and cold the grave alone
could make it—a singular, unswerving,
and, on my part, an absorbing love was
between us. We remained for a space in
this caressing position, in silence; my eyes
now drinking in the rich hues of the
evening, now the mental expression of the
‘‘sood old man.” ‘‘O! it is very beau-
tiful,” said I, thinking as much of his
mild face as of the gorgeousness of the
sky above me.

‘And do you feel it?" said he. ‘‘ Yes,
I see you do; by your glistening eyes and
heightened colour.”

“T feel very happy,’’I replied; ‘‘and have
just now two very, very strange wishes,
and I don’t know which I wish for most.”

‘““What are they, my little friend?”

“Oh! you will laugh at me so if I tell
you.”

‘No, I will not indeed.
at anybody.”

I never laugh‘Ah, I was almost sure of that. Well,
I was wishing when I looked up into the
sky, that I could fly through and through
those golden: clouds like an eagle; and
when I looked at you, I wished that I
were just such a good-natured old gentle-
man.’

‘“Come, come, there is more flattery
than good sense in your wishes. Your
first is unreasonable, and your second will
come upon you but too soon.”

“I did not mean to flatter you,” I re-
plied, looking proudly; ‘‘for, I would
neither be an eagle nor an old man, longer
than those beautiful clouds last, and the
warm sunset makes your face look so—
sO

_ “Never mind—you shall save your fine
speeches for the young ladies.”

“But I’ve got some for the gentlemen,
too: and there's one running in my head
just now.”

‘“T should like to hear it.”

“Should you? Well, this fine evening

put me in mind of it; it is Mrs. Barbauld’s
Ode.’ And then putting myself into due
attitude, I mouthed it through, much to
my own and still more to Mr. R.’s satis-
facitioa. That was a curious, a simple,
and yet a cheering scene. My listener was
swaying to and fro, with the cadences of
the poetry ; I with passionate fervour rant-
ing before him; and in the mean time, his
rod and line, unnoticed by either, were
navigating peacefully, yet rapidly, down
the river. When I had concluded, his
tackle was just turning an eddy far down
below us, and the next moment was out of
sight. :
“Without troubling ourselves much about
the loss, shortly after we were seen hand
in hand, walking down the village in earnest
conversation. I went home with him—I
shared with him and his amiable daughters
a light and early supper of fruit and pastry;
and such was the simultaneous affection
that sprang up between us—so confiding
was it in its nature, and so little worldly,
that I had gained the threshold, and was
about taking my leave, ere it occurred to
him to ask, or myself to say, who I was,
and where I resided.

From that evening, excepting when
employed in my studies, we were almost
inseparable. I told him my strange story ;
and he seemed to love me for it a hundred-
fold more. He laid all the nobility, and even
the princes of the blood, under contribu-
tion, to procure mea father. He came to
the conclusion firmly, and at once, that
Mrs. Cherfeuil was my mother. Oh! this
mystery made him superlatively happy.
And when he came to the knowledge of

 

 

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
    
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
    
     
   
  
    
  
  
 
 
  
   
      
   
  
   
 
   
  
  
 
   
  

Age RATTIIN, THE BEELER.

my poetical talents, he was really in an
ecstasy of delight. He rhymed himself.
He gave me subjects--he gave me advice
—he gave me emendations and interpola-
tions. He re-youthed himself. In many
a sequestered nook in the beautiful vicinity
of the village, we have sat, each with his
pencil and paper in his hand—now ranting,
now conyersing—and in his converse the
instruction I received was invaluable. He
has confirmed me in the doctrine of the
innate goodness of human nature. Since
the period to which I am alluding, I have
seen much of villany. I have been the
victim, as well as the witness of treachery.
I have been oftentimes forced to associate
with vice in every shape; and yet when
in misery, when oppressed, when writhing
under tyranny, I have been sometimes
tempted to curse my race, the thought of
the kind, the good old man, has come over
me like a visitation from heaven, and my
malediction has been changed into a prayer,
if not into a blessing.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A disaster by water is the first cause of all Ralph’s
future disasters upon it—He gets with his tutor out of
his depth, in latitude and longitude ; and finds himself
rivalled by the man with the peg.

OF course Mr. R. sought and soon gained
the friendship of Mrs. Cherfeuil—and then
he commenced operations systematically.
Now he would endeavour to take her by
surprise—now to overcome by entreaty—
and then to entrap by the most complex
cross questions. He would be, by turns,
tender, gallant, pathetic, insinuating; but
all was of no avail—her secret, whatever
it was, was firmly secured in her own
bosom. With well-acted simplicity she
gave my worthy friend the same barren
account about me that was at the service
of all interrogators.

What poems did not Mr. R—d—n and
myself write together--how he prophesied
my future greatness, and how fervently he
set about to convince any one of his mis-
take, who could not see in me the future
glory of the age! The good man! His
amiable self-deception was to him the
source of the purest happiness; and never
was happiness more deserved. Even at
that ‘early age, I often could not help
smiling at his simplicity, that all the while
he was doing his best to make me one of
the vainest and most egregious coxcombs,
by his unfeigned wonder at some puny
effort of my puny muse, and by his inju-
dicious praises; he would lecture me; RATIELN, THE KEEPER,

parentally, by the hour, upon the excel-
lence of humility, and the absolute neces-
sity of modesty, as a principal ingredient
to make a great character.

However, I had my correction at home,
in my wooden-legged preceptor; if [ re-
turned from R—d—n’s, in my own imagina-
tion, like poor Gil Blas, the eighth wonder
of the world, he would soon, in his own
refined phraseology, convince me that I
was ‘‘no great shakes.’ Being now nearly
sixteen, I began to make conjectures upon
my future destiny; and a sorrowful acci-
dent at once determined in what line I
should make my ineffectual attempts upon
fame.

I have mentioned a noble piece of water
that lay adjacent to the school. It was
during the holidays, when the rest of the
young gentlemen were at their respective
homes, that I, accompanied by some young
acquaintances who resided in the village,
repaired to the water to swim. It was a
fine summers afternoon, and both Mr.
and Mrs. Cherfeuil were in town. There
was a little boy named Fountain, also
staying with me at school during the vaca-
tion, and he too stole after us unperceived,
and when I and my companions had swam
to the middle of the lake, the imprudent
little fellow also stripped and went into the
water. There were some idle stragglers
looking on, and when I was far, very far
from the spot, the fearful shout came along
the level surface, of ‘‘ Help, help, he is
drowning!” and with dreadful distinct-
ness, as if the voice had been shrieked into
my very ears, I heard the poor lad’s bub-
bling and smothered cry of ‘‘ Ralph Ratt-
lin!” Poor fellow, he thought there was
safety wherever I was, for I had often borne
him over the lake out of his depth, as I
taught him to swim, at which art he was
still too imperfect. J immediately turned
to the place, and strove, and buffeted, and
panted; but the distance was great, and,
though a rapid and most expert swimmer,
when I arrived at the spot that the lookers-
on indicated, not a circle, not a ruffle ap-
peared, to show where a human soul was
struggling beneath, to free itself from its
mortal clay. Four or five times I dived,
and stayed below the water with desperate
perttinacity, and ploughed up the muddy
bottom, but they had pointed out to me
the wrong spot.

Finding my efforts useless, naked as I
was, with the fleetness of a greyhound, I
started into the village and gave the alarm,
and immediately that I saw the people run-
ning to the lake, I was there before them,
and again diving. Mrs. , the lady of
the M.P. whom I have before mentioned,

 

49

who was always the foremost in every work
of humanity, was soon on the banks, accom-
panied by many of the most respectable
inhabitants in the vicinity. Mrs. , who
never lost her presence of mind, immediately
suggested that a boat that. lay on the neigh-
bouring river, and which belonged to the land.
lord of the principal inn, should be conveyed,
on men’s shoulders, across the space of
land that divided one water from the other.
‘The landlord refused—yes, actually refused ;
but Mrs. , who, from her station, and
her many virtues, possessed a merited and
commanding influence in the place, ordered
the boat to be taken by force, and she was
promptly and cheerfully obeyed. Whilst
this was going forward, I was astonishing
everybody by the length of time I stayed
underneath the water; and a iast effort
almost proved fatal to me, for, when I
arose, the blood gushed from my mouth
and nose, and, when I got on shore, I felt
so weak, that I was obliged to be assisted
in dressing myself. The boat now began
to sweep the bottom with ropes, but this
proved as ineffectual to recover the body as
were my own exertions.

It was the next day before it was found,
and then it was brought up by a Newfound-
land dog, very far from the spot in which
we had searched for it. Had the frightened
spectators, who stood on the shore, shown
me correctly where thelad had disappeared,
I have no doubt but that I should have
brought the body up in time for resuscitation.
To persons who have not seen what can be
done by those who make water, in a man-
ner, their own element, my boyish exertions
seemed almost miraculous. My good old
friend was present, betraying a curious
mixture of fear and admiration ; big as I
then was, he almost carried me in his arms
home, that is, to the school-house, and
there we found all in confusion: Mrs.
Cherfeuil had just arrived, and hearing that
one of the boys was drowned, had given
one painful shriek and fainted. When we
came into the room she was still in a state
of insensibility, and, as we stood around,
she slowly opened her eyes ; but the mo-
ment that they became conscious of my
presence, she leaped up with frantic joy,
and strained me in her arms, and then,
laying her head upon my shoulder, burst
into a passion of tears. Mr. R. cast upon
me a most triumphant smile: and, as he
led ine away from the agitated lady, she
took a silent farewell of me, with a look
of intense fondness, and a depth of ineffable
felicity, which I hope will be present to me
in my dying hour, for assuredly it will make
light the parting pang.

This affair changed the whole current of

E50 RATTLIN, THE KEEFER.

Mr, R—d—n's ideas, and altered his plans
for me. I was no longer to be the future
poet laureate; I was no more enticed to
Sing great deeds, but to do them. ‘The
sword was to displace the pen, the hero the
poet. Verse was too effeminate, and rhyme
Was severely interdicted, and to be forgiven
Otily wher it was produced by accident.

He was some time before he brought
Mrs. Cherfeuil over to _his opinions, It was
in vain that she protested the direction of
my fate was in other hands, he wotild not
listen to it for a moment ; he was obstinate,
Sid I suppose, by what occurred, he wasin
the tight. He declared that the navy was
the only profession that deserved my spirit
and my abilities. This declaration, perhaps,
was not unacceptable at head-quatters,
wherever they might have been. For my-
Self, was nothing loath, and the gallant bear-
ifig and the graceful uniform of my gallant
young friend, Frank ——, who had already
seen some hard fighting, added fresh stimu-
lants to my desires. My friend Riprapton
had now the enviable task to impart to me
the science of navigation; and, with his
peculiar notions of longitude and latitude,
there can be no question as to the merits of
the tuition that I received from that very
erudite person.

Shortly after I had commenced navi-
gation under his auspices—or, more pro-
perly speaking, that he was forced to attend
to it a little under mine—the harmony of
our friendship was broken by a quarrel,
yes, a heart-embroiling quarrel — and,
strange to Say, about a lady. I concede to
this paragon of ushers that he was a general
favourite with the sex. I was never envious
of him. All the world knows that I ever
did sufficient honour to his attractions,—I
acknowledged always the graces that apper-
tained to his wooden progression-—but still,
he was not omnipotent. Wilkes, that epi-
tome of all manner of ugliness, often
boasted that he was only an hour behind
the handsomest man that ever existed, so
far as regarded his position with the fair.
Rip was but twenty-five minutes and a
fraction. In ten minutes he would talk the
generality of women into a good opinion of
themselves—an easy matter, some may
think, for the ladies have one ready made;
but it is a different thing from having it and
daring to ownit. Inten minutes he would
make his listener, by some act or word,
avow her opinion of her own excellence;
in ten more he would bring her to the same
opinion as regarded himself; and the re-
maining five he used to oecupy with his
declaration of love, for he was very rapid
in his execution,—and_ the thing was done,
for if he had not made a conquest he

 

chronicled one—and that was the same
thing. He looked more for the glory than
the fruition of his passions. In one respect,
he followed Chesterfield’s advice with won-
derful accuracy ; he hazarded a declaration
of love to every woman between sixteen and
sixty, a little under and overalso; for, with
his lordship, he came to the very pertinent
conclusion, that, if the act were not taken
as a sincerity, it would be as a compliment.
This ready-made adorer for every new-
comer, was as jealous as he was universal
in his attachments.

Let the imaginative think, and, running
over with their mind's eye all the beautiful
sculptures of antiquity, endeavour to picture
to themselves a personation of that com-
manding goddess that the ancients vener-
ated under the title of Juno. The figure
must be tall, in proportion faultless, in
majesty unrivalled, in grace enchanting;
all the outlines of the form must be. full,
yet not swelling, and as far removed from
the modern notions of embompoint as pos-
sible ; let us add to these the bust of Venus
ere she weaned her first-born, the winged
boy-god ; and then we may have an ade-
quate idea of the figure of Mrs. Causand.
Her face was of that style of beauty that
those women who think themselves delicate
are pleased to slander under the name of
bold,—a style of beauty, however, that all
men admire, and most men like. Thirty-
five years had only written in astronger hand
those attractions which must have under-
gone every phase of loveliness, and which
now, without appearing matronly, seemed
stamped with the signs of a long-enduring
maturity. The admiration she excited was
general ; as she passed, men paused to look
upon her, and women whispered to each
other behind her back. Never, till this para-
gon had made her appearance, had I heard
of ladies wearing supposititious portions of
the human frame—now I found that enyy,
or the figure-maker, had improved almost
every member of Mrs. Causand’s body. It
was voted by all the female scandal of the
village, that such perfection could not be
natural; but, sinceif all were true that was
said upon the subject, the object of their
criticism must have been as artificial as
Mr. Riprapton’s left leg, and she must have
been nothing more than an animated lay
figure, I began to disbelieve these assertions,
the more especially as the lady herself was
as easy under them as she was in every
gesture and motion. Whenever she made
her appearance, so did my old friend Mr.
R—d—n; he entertajned a platonic attach-
ment for her, and that the more strongly, as
each visit enabled him to entertain every one
who would listen to him, with a long storyabout the king of Prussia. And every lady
expects attention and politeness as a matter
of course, equally as a matter of course did
she expect the assiduities and some mani-
festation, even stronger than gallantry, and
treated it merely as a matter of course.
Really, without an hyperbole, she was a
woman to whom an appearance of devotion
might be excusable, and looked upon more
as a tribute to the abstract spirit of beauty
and its divine Creator, than as a sensual
testimony to-the individual.

Her first appearance even silenced the
hitherto dauntless loquacity of Rip—for
half a minute. But he made fearful amends
for this involuntary display of modesty
afterwards. Secundum artem, he opened
all the batteries of his fascination upon her.
He rolled his eyes at her with a violence
approaching to agony; he bowed; he dis-
played in every possible and captivating
attitude his one living leg—but his surpass-
ing strength was in the adulation of his
serpent tongue—and she bore it all so
stoically; she would smile upon him when
he made a good hit, as upon an actor on
the boards—she would, at times, even con-
descend toimprove some of his compliments
upon herself; and when her easy manners
had perchance overset him at the very dédué
of one of his finest speeches, she would
begin it again for him; taking up the
dropped sentence, and then settle herself
into a complacent attitude for listening.

CHARTER XOxXV.

Evidences of good taste in favour of Master Ralph—
Jealousy ushers in revenge, revenge retaliation, which
he is compelled to. chronicle on the usher’s face, and
what punishment thereupon ensued.

WHEN Mrs. Causand came to Stickenham,
she made universal jubilee. The orderly
routine of scholastic life had no longer place.
She almost ruined Riprapton in clean linen,
perfumes, and Windsor soap. Cards and
music enlivened every evening; and the
games she played were those of the fashion
of the day, and she always played high,
and always won. Her ascendancy over
Mrs. Cherfeuil was complete. The latter
was treated. with much. apparent affection,
but still with the airs of a patroness. I do
not know that the handsome schoolmistress
lent her money, for I do not think that she
stood in need of it; but I feel assured that
her whole property was at her disposal.
She stood in awe of her. She knew her
S€Cret.

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
 
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
   
 
 

51

friend discovered this immediately ; and he
began to woo her also, more for her secret
than for her heart. But she wasa perfect
mystery—I never knew till her death who
she was. Her residence was at no time
mentioned, and I believe that no one knew
it but the lady of the house and myself, :
when Mrs, Causand herself gave it me at
the eve of my departing for my ship, She
came without notice, stayed as long as she
chose, and departed with an equal disregard
to ceremony.

She loved me-to a folly. She would hold
me at her knees by the hour, and scan
every feature of my countenance, as Ophelia
said of Hamlet, ‘‘as she would draw it.”
And then she smiled and looked grave, and
sighed and laughed; and I, like a little fool,
set all these symptoms of perturbation down
to my own unfledged attractions, whilst
during their perusal she would often ex-
claim, ‘‘So like him !—so like him!” Ido
not know whether I ought to mention it,.
for it is a censorious world; but, as I can-
not enter into, or be supposed to understand, '
the feelings of a fine woman of thirty-five
caressing a lad of fifteen, I have a right to
suppose all such demonstrations of fond-'
ness highly virtuous and purely maternal 5
though, perhaps, to the fair bestower a
little pleasant. I found them exquisitely
so. I bore all her little blandishments with
a modest pleasure; for, observing the high
respect in which she was generally held, I
looked upon these testimonials of affection
as a great honour, sought them with eager-
ness, and remembered them with gratitude.

Manner is perhaps more seducing than
mere beauty ; but where they are allied, the
captivation is irresistible. That subduing
alliance was to be found, in perfection, in
the person of Mrs. Causand. As she
always dressed up to the very climax of
the fashion, possessed a great variety of
rich bijouterie, and never came down to us
in the stage but always posted it, I con-
cluded that she was in very easy circum-
stances.

I cannot speak as to the extent of her
mental powers, as her surface was so
polished and dazzling, that the eye neither
could nor wished to look more deeply into
her. I believe that she had no other ac-
complishment but that gorgeous cloak for
all deficiency—an inimitable manner. -Her
remarks were always shrewd, and replete
with good sense ; her language was choice ;
her style of conversation varying, some-
times of that joyous nature that has all the
effect, without the pedantry of wit, upon
the hearer, and, at times, she could be really
quite energetic. ‘This is, after all, but an
imperfect description of one who took upon
B2252 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

herself the task of forming my address,
revising my gait after the dancing-master,
and making me to look the gentleman.

This person quite destroyed Riprapton’s
equanimity. During her three or four first
visits he was all hope and animation. She
permitted him, as she did everybody else,
as far as words were concerned, to make
love as fast as he pleased. But beyond
this, even his intrepid assurance could not
carry him. So his hope and animation
gradually gave place to incertitude and
chagrin; and then, by a very natural
transition, he fell into envy and jealousy.
Though but fifteen, I was certainly taller
than the man who thought he honoured
me by considering me as his rival. Though
affairs remained in this unsatisfactory state
so far as he was concerned, for certain very
valid reasons he had not yet chosen to vent
upon me any access of his spleen. But
this procrastination of actual hostilities was
terminated in the following manner :—

Mrs. Causand and I were standing, one
fine evening, lovingly, side-by-side, in the
summer-house that overhung the river at
the bottom of the garden. Mr. Riprapton,
washed, brushed, and perfumed—for the
scholastic duties of the day were over—
was standing directly in front of us, enact-
ing most laboriously the agreeable, smiling
with a sardonic grin, and looking actually
yellow with spite, in the midst of his com-
plimentary grimaces. As Mrs. Causand
and I stood contemplating the tranquil
and beautiful scene, trying to see as little
of the person before us as possible, one of
her beautiful arms hung negligently over
my shoulder, and now she would draw me
with a fond pressure to her side, and now
her exquisite hand would dally with the
ringlets on my forehead, and then its vel-
vety softness would crumple up and indent
my blushing cheek, that burned certainly
more with pleasure than with bashfulness.
I cannot say that the usher bore all this
very stoically, but he betrayed his annoy-
ance by his countenance only. His speech
was as bland as ever. His trials were not
yet over: at some very silly remark of
mine the joyous widow pressed some half-
dozen rapid kisses on the cheek that was
glowing so near her own. Either this act
emboldened Riprapton, or he egregiously
mistook her character, and. judged that a
mere voluptuary stood before him, for
he immediately went on the vacant side
and endeavoured to possess himself of her
hand.

Face, neck, and arms flushed up in one
indignant crimson, of the most unsophis-
ticated danger I ever beheld. She threw
herself back with a perceptible shudder, as

if she had come unexpectedly in contact
with something cold, or dead, or unnatural,

‘‘Mr. Riprapton,’’ she exclaimed, after
a space of real emotion, ‘‘ I.never yet boxed
the ears of a gentleman; but had you been
one, I should most assuredly have so far
forgotten my feminine dignity, as to have
expressed my deep resentment by a blow.
I cannot touch anything so mean. While
you confined your persecution to words, I
bore with it. Sir, I only speak from my
own sensations; but judging by these, any
female who could abide your touch without
repugnance, must have long lost all womanly
feelings ; and now that we are upon this
subject, let me give you a little friendly
advice. When you are permitted to sit at
the same table with ladies, and wish by the
means of your feet to establish a secret
intercourse with any one, take care, in
future, that you do not use the wooden leg.
Females may be more tender in the toes
than in their hearts. You may go, Sir;
and remember, if you wish to preserve
your station in this house—know it. When
you behave as a gentleman, that title may
be conceded to you; but the moment your
conduct is inconsistent with that character,
those around you will not forget that you
are no more than a hired servant, and but
one degree above a menial. Here, Ralph,”
she continued, giving me the violated hand,
‘‘cleanse it from that fellow’s profanation.”
I brought it to my mouth very gallantly,
and covered it with kisses.

For the first time, I saw my usher-friend
not only confounded, but dumb with con-
sternation, and his whitened face became
purple even into the depths of his deep
pock-marks, with an emotion that no
courtesy could characterize as amiable.
He moved off with none of his usual
grace; but retired like a very common-
place wooden-legged man, ina truly miser-
able dot-and-go-one style. What Mrs,
Causand and I said to each other on the
subject, when she went and seated herself
in the summer-house to recover from her
excitement, would, I am sure, have formed
the groundwork and arguments of twelve
good moral essays; but, unfortunately, I
have forgotten everything about it, except
that we stayed there till not only the dews
had fallen upon the flowers, but the shades
of evening upon the dews.

As my stay at school was to be so short,
I was treated more as a familiar friend by
all, than asa pupil. I stayed up with the
family, and took tea and supper with them.
Rip made no appearance the evening after
his lecture, but retired to his chamber much
indisposed. While Mrs. Causand was on
her visits, I always breakfasted with herRATTLIN,

téte-a-déte in the little parlour, whose French
windows opened upon the garden; and it
was on those occasions that I found her
most amusing. She knew every one and
everything connected with fashionable life.
Private and piquant, and I am sure au-
thentic, anecdotes of every noble family,
she possessed in an exhaustless profusion.
Nor was this knowledge confined to the
nobility : she knew more of the sayings
and doings of some of the princes of the
blood than any other person living, out of
their domestic circle, and she knew many
things with which that circle was never
acquainted. I am sure she could have
made splendid fortunes for twelve fashion-
able novel-writers.

I had breakfasted with Mrs. Causand
the morning after Rip’s discomfiture, and
then went to prosecute my studies in the
school-room. ‘This was the first time that
my tutor and I had met since his rebuff.
M. Cherfeuil had not yet taken his place at
his desk. As I passed the assistant who
assisted me so little, 1 gave him my usual
smile of greeting; but his countenance,
instead of the good-humoured return, was
black as evil passions could make it. How-
ever, I paid but little attention to this
unfriendly demonstration, and, taking my
seat, began, as I was long privileged to do,
to converse with my neighbour.

“«Silence!”’ vociferated the man in au-

thoy: ~l-conversed on? 1““silence!: J
say.”
Not supposing that I was included in
this authoritative demand, or not caring if
I were, I felt no inclination to suspend the
exercise of my conversational powers. After
the third order for silence, this sudden dis-
ciple of Harpocrates left his seat, cane in
hand, and coming behind me, I dreaming
of no such temerity on his part, he applied
across my shoulders one of the most hearty
cox amore swingers that ever left a wale
behind it, exclaiming at the same time,
‘« Silence, Master Rattlin.”

Here was a stinging degradation to me,
almost an officer on the quarter-deck of
one of his Majesty's frigates! However,
without taking time to weigh exactly my
own dignity, I seized a large slate, and,
turning sharply round, sent it hissing into
his very teeth. I wish I had knocked one
or two of them out. I wished it then
fervently, and of that wish, wicked though
it be, I have never repented. He was for
some time occupied with holding his hand
to his mouth, and in a rapid and agonizing
examination of the extent of the damage.
When he could spare an instant for me, he
was as little satisfied with the expression of
my features as with the alteration in his;

THE REEFER.

 

      
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 

2
o

so he hopped down to M. Cherfeuil, while
the blood was streaming between his fingers,
to lay his complaint in form against me. I
had two sure advocates below, so he took
nothing by his motion, but a lotion to wash
his mouth with; and, after staying below
for a couple of hours, he came up with a
swelled face, but his teeth all perfect.

That morning M. Cherfeuil, in very ex-
cellent bad English, made a most impressive
speech; the pith of it was, that, had I not
taken the law into my own hands, he would:
most certainly have discharged Mr. Rip-
rapton, for having exceeded his authority
in striking me! but as my conduct had
been very unjustifiable, I was sentenced to
transcribe the whole of the first book of
the fneid. Before dinner my school-
fellows had begged off one-half of the task
—Mrs. Cherfeuil, at dinner, begged off
one-half of that halfi: when things had gone
thus far, Mrs. Causand interfered, and
argued for a commutation of punishment ;
the more especially, as she thought an
example ought to be made for so heinous
an offence. As she spake with a very
serious air, the good-natured Frenchman
acquiesced in her wishes, and pledged
himself to allow her to inflict the penalty,
which she promulgated to the following
effect : ‘‘That I should be forced to swallow
an extra bumper of port for not having
knocked out, at least, one of the wretch’s
teeth ;” and she then related enough of
his conduct to bring M. Cherfeuil into her
way of thinking upon the subject.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A reconciliation—A walk planned, and a man planted—
The latter found to grow impatient—Ralph at length
rigged out as a Reefer.

For two days Mr. Rip and myself were
not upon speaking terms. On the third
day a Master Barnard brings me up a slate
full of plusses, minusses, x, y, 2's, and other
letters of the alphabet, in a most amiable
algebraical confusion.

‘“Take it to Mr. Riprapton,” said I.
The lad took it, and the mathematical
master looked over it with a perplexed
gravity, truly edifying. ‘‘ Take it to Master
Rattlin—I have no time,” was the result of
his cogitations. :

It was brought to me again. ‘‘ Take it
to the usher,” said I.

‘It is of no use; he don’t know any-
thing about it.”

Hobaee it then to M. Cherfeuil, and tell
him so.”aaa EEC ETETD

This advice was overheard by the party
most concerned, and he called the boy to
him, who shortly returned to me with a
note, full of friendship, apology, and
sorrow; ending with an earnest request
that I would again put him right with Mrs.
Causand, as well as the sum on the slate.
I replied, for I was still a little angry, that
he was very ungrateful, but that, as we
were so soon to part, perhaps for ever, I
accepted the reconciliation. ‘So far was
well. I told Mrs. Causand what had
passed, and then interceded with her for
her forgiveness; for her anger debarred
him from many comforts, as it obliged
him to take his solitary tea and supper
in the school-room. She consented, as she
did to almost everything that I requested
of her; and that afternoon I brought up
to her the penitent hand-presser. Her
natural good temper, and blandness of
manner, soon put him again at his ease,
and his love-speeches flowed as fluently as
ever.

We proposed a walk; and, accompanied
by some half-dozen of the elder boys, we
began to stroll upon the common. By
some saucherze the conversation took a
disagreeable turn on our late misunder-
standing, and I could not help repeating
what I had said in my note, that Mr. Rip
had proved himself ungrateful, considering
the many difficulties from which I had
extricated him. At this last’ assertion
before the lady, he took fire, and flatly
denied it. Iwas too proud to enumerate
the many instances of scholastic assistance
that he had received at my hands, so I
became sullen and silent, my opponent in
an equal degree brisk and loquacious.
My fair companion rather enjoyed the
encounter, and began to rally me.

= Come, come, saidd, “iil lay him a
crown that he will beg me to extricate
him from some difficulty before the week's
over.

The wager was accepted with alacrity,
and Mrs. Causand begged to lay an equal
stake against me, which I took. [ then
purposely turned the conversation; and
after some time, when we were fairly in
the hollow made by the surrounding hills,
I exclaimed, ‘‘ Rip, if you'll give me
five-and-twenty yards, I'll run you three
hops and a step, a hundred yards, for an
other crown.”

“Done, done!" exclaimed the usher,

joyously, chuckling with the idea of ex-

hibiting so triumphantly his prowess before
the blooming widow. ‘The ground was
duly stepped, and the goal fixed, whilst
my antagonist, all animation and spirits,
was pouring his liquid nonsense into the

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

 

lady's ear. I took care that, in about the
middle of the distance, our race-ground
should pass over where some rushes were
growing. Now Riprapton had a most
uncommon speed in this manner of pro-
gressing. He would, with his leg of flesh,
take three tremendous hops, and then step
down with his leg of wood one, and then
three live hops again, and one dead step,
the step being a kind of respite from the
fatigue of the hops. “

All the preliminaries being arranged, off
we started, I taking, of course, my twenty-
five yards in advance. ‘The exhibition and
the gait were so singular, that Mrs. Causand
could scarcely stand for laughter, whilst the
boys shouted, ‘‘Go it, Ralph!” —‘‘ Well
done, peg!’ —‘‘ Dot-and-go-one will beat
him.”

In the midst of these exhilarating cries,
what I had calculated upon happened.
Rip, before we had gone half the distance,
was close behind me; but lo! after three
of his gigantic hops, that seemed to be
performed with at least one seven-leagued
boot turned into a slipper, he came down
heavily upon his step with his wood among
the rushes. ‘The stiff clay there being full
of moisture and unsound, he plunged up
to his hip nearly, in the adhesive soil, and
there he remained, as much a fixture, and
equally astonished, as Lot’s wife. First of
all, taking care to go the distance, and thus
win the wager, we, all frantic with laughter,
gathered round the man thus firmly attached
to his mother earth. Whilst the tears ran
down Mrs, Causand’s cheeks, and proved
that her radiant colour was quite natural,
she endeavoured to assume an air of the
deepest commiseration, which was inter-
rupted, every moment, by involuntary bursts
of laughter.’ For himself, no wretch in the
pillory ever wore a more lugubrious aspect,
and his sallow visage turned first to one, and
then to another, with a look so ridiculously
imploring that it was irresistible.

‘“‘T am sorry, very sorry,” said the lady,
‘‘to see you look so pale—I may say, so
livid—but, poor man, it is but natural, see-
ing already that you have one foot in the
grave.”

The mender of pens groaned in the
spirit.

‘‘T say,” said the school-boy wag of the
party, applying an old Joe Miller to the
occasion, ‘‘why is Mr. Riprapton like pens,
ink, and papér?”

“Because he is stationary,” vociferated
five eager voices, ‘at Once, ‘in reply.

The caster-up of sums cast a look at the
delinquent, the tottle of the whole of which
was, ‘‘ you sha'n't be long on the debit side
of our account.”“But what is to be done?” was now the
question.

“Team! afraid, said TI, ‘“we must dig
him up like a dead tree, or an old post.”

“Tt is, I believe, the only way,” said
the tutor, despondingly; ‘‘I was relieved
once that way before in the bog of Bally-
nawashy.”

“‘O, then you are from Ireland after all,”
said the lady.

‘Only on a visit, madam!’ said the
baited fixture, with much asperity.

‘‘But really,” said she, ‘‘if I may judge
from the present occasion, you must have
made a long stay.”’

““T hope he won't take cold in his feet,”’
said a very silly, blubber-lipped boy.

His instructor looked hot with passion.

““But really, now I think of it,’’ chimed
in the now enraptured widow, ‘‘a very
serious alarm has seized me. Suppose
that the piece of wood, so nicely planted
in this damp clay, were to take root and
throw out fibres. Gracious me! only sup-
pose that you should begin to vegetate. I
do declare that you look quite svcex about
the eyes already!”

‘‘Mercy me!’’ whispered the wag, ‘‘if
he should grow up, he'll certainiy turn toa
Plane tree; for really, he is a very plain
man.”

The wielder of the ruler gave a tremen-
dous wriggle with the whole body, which
proved as ineffectual as it was violent.

‘*But don’t you think, Ralph,” said his
tormentor, ‘‘as the evening is drawing in,
that something should be done for the poor
gentleman ; he will most certainly take cold
if he remain here all night; couldn't you
and your school-fellows contrive to build a
sort of hut over him? Iam sure I should
be very happy to help to carry the boughs
—if the man won't go to tne house, the
house must go to the man.”

‘“ What a fine cock-shy he would make!”
said Master Blubberlips.

‘*©, I should so like to see it,’”’ said the
lady. ‘‘It will be the first time he has been
made sy in his life.”

He was certainly like an Indian bound
to the stake, and made to suffer mental
torture—but he did not bear it with an
Indian’s equanimity. As a few stragglers
had been drawn to the funny scene, and
more might be expected, I, and I only, of
all the spectators, began to feel some pity
for him; the more especially, as I heard
a stout, grinning chaw-bacon say to the
baker's boy of the village, who asked him
what was the matter, ‘‘ Whoy, Jim, it ben’t
nothink less than Frenchman's usherman
ha’ drawn all Stickenham common on his’n
left leg for a stocking loike.”’

   

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55

“Come,” thought I, ‘its quite time,
after that, for the honour of the academy,
to beat a retreat, or we shall be beaten
hollow by this heavy-shod clodpole. Mr.
Riprapton,’’ said I, ‘‘I don't bear you any.
malice—but I recollect my wager. If T
extricate you out of the difficulty, will you
own that I have won it?’’

‘“‘Gladly,” said he, very sorrowfully.

‘‘Come here, my lads, out knives and
cut away the turf." We soon removed the
earth as far down as to where the hole of
the wooden leg joined totheshank. ‘Now,
my lads,” said I, ‘‘ we must unscrew him.”
Round and round we twirled him, his
outstretched living leg forming as pretty a
fairy-ring on the green sod, with its cCir-
cumgyrations, as can be imagined. At
last, after having had a very tolerable fore-
taste of the pillory, we fairly unscrewed
him, and he was once more disengaged
from his partial burial-place. I certainly
cannot say that he received our congratula-
tions with the grace of a Chesterfield, but
he begged us to continue our exertions to
recover for him his shank, or otherwise he
would have to follow Petruchio’s orders to
the tailor—to ‘‘hop me over every kennel
home.” For the sake of the quotation,
we agreed to assist; and, as many of us
catching hold of it as could find a grip, we
tugged, and tugged, and tugged. Still the
stiff clay did not seem at all inclined to
relinquish the prize it had so fairly won.
At length, by one tremendous and simul-
taneous effort, we plucked it forth; but, in
doing so, those who retained the trophy in
their hands were flung flat on their backs,
whilst the newly-gained leg pointed upwards
to the zenith. Having first wiped a little of
the deep yellow adhesion away from it, we
joined the various parts of the man together ;
and, he taking singular care to avoid those
spots where rushes grew, we all reached our
home, with one exception, in the highest
glee—as to the two wagers, he behaved
like a gentleman, and acknowledged the
debt—which was a great deal more than I
ever expected.

After having worked some fifty problems
out of Hamilton Moore, of blessed memory,
and having drawn an infinity of triangles
with all possible degrees of incidence, with
very neat little ships, now upon the base,
now upon the hypothenuse, and now upon
the perpendicular, my erudite usher pro-
nounced me to be a perfect master of the
noble science of navigation in all its
branches, for the which he glorified him-
self exceedingly. As I had made many
friends, there was no difficulty in procuring
for me a ship, and I was to have joined the
Sappho, a first-class brig of war, as soon as1 aah alana anette

 

 

56 RATTILIN,

she arrived, and she was expected almost
immediately. However, as at that par-
ticular time we were relieving the Danes
from the onerous care of their navy, the
sloop was sent directly she arrived to assist
in the amiable action.

Having many who interested themselves
about me, some apparent and others hidden,
a ship was soon found for me, but by what
chaii of recommendation, I never could
unravel. As far as the ship was concerned,
I certainly had nothing to complain of.
She was a fine frigate, and every way
worthy to career over the ocean, that was,
at that time, almost completely an English
dominion. The usual quantity of hopes
and wishes were expressed, and my final
leave was taken of all my village friends.
Mr. R. enjoining me to correspond with
him on every opportunity, gave me his
blessing, and some urgent advice to eschew
poetry, and prophesied that he should live
to see me posted. ‘There was nothing out-
wardly very remarkable in the manner of
Mrs, Cherfeuil on the eve of my departure.
I went to bed a school-boy and was to rise
next morning an officer--that is to say, I
was to mount my uniform for the first time.
I believe that I was already on the ship's
books; for at the time of which I am
writing, the clerk of the cheque was not
so very frequent in his visits, and so par-
ticular when he visited, as he is at present.
Notwithstanding the important change that
was about to take place in everything con-
nected with myself, I did sleep that night,
though I often awoke, —there was a female
hovering round my bed almost the whole
of the night.

GHAP TER XxXViIL

Ralph commences his public career by accepting an
IO U, he hardly knows why—He finds his future
Captain based on a bottle—He is not taken by the
hand.

So ignorant were those few, on whom de-
yolved my fitting out, of what my station
required, that I had made for me three
suits of uniform, all of which had the lion
upon the buttons instead of the anchor,
and from which the weekly account was
absent. My transmission from school to
town was by the stage; at town I was told
to call on a lawyer in the King’s-bench
Walk, in the Temple, who furnished me
with twenty pounds, and a letter for my
future captain, telling me I might draw
upon him for a yeariy sum, which was
more than double the amount I ought to

THE REEVER.

   

  

have been entrusted with; then coldly
wishing me success, he recommended me
to go down that evening by the mail, and
join my ship immediately, and wished me
a good morning.

I certainly was a little astonished at my
sudden isolation in the midst of a vast
city. I felt that, from that moment, I must
commence man. I knew several persons
in London, parents of my school-fellows,
but I was too proud to parade my pride
before them, for I felt, at the same time,
ashamed of wearing ostentatiously, whilst I
gloried in, my uniform. __

I dined at the inn where I alighted on
coming to town, called for what I wanted
ina humble semi-tone, said ‘‘ If you please,
sir,’ to the waiter; paid my bill without
giving him a gratuity, for fear of giving
him offence, took my place in the mail, and
got down without accident to Chatham, and
slept at the house where the coach stopped.
On account of my hybrid uniform and my
asserting myself of the navy, the people ot
the establishment knew not what to make
of me. I wished to deliver my credentials
immediately ; but my considerate landlord
advised me to take time to think about it—
and dinner. I followed his advice.

It is uncertain how long I should have
remained in this uncertainty, had not a
brother midshipman, in the coffee-room,
accosted me, and kindly helped me out
With my pint of port, which I thought I
showed my manliness in calling for. He
did not roast me very unmercifully, but -
what he spared in gibes he made up in
drinking. I abstained with a great deal of
firmness from following his example; he
warmly praised my abstinence, I suppose
with much sincerity, as it certainly appeared
to be a virtue which he was incapable of
practising. About seven o'clock my ready-
made friend began to be more minute in
his inquiries. I showed him my introduc-
tory Jetter, and he told me directly at what
hotel the captain was established, and en-
forced upon me the necessity of immedi-
ately waiting upon him; telling me I might
think myself extremely lucky in having had
to entertain only one officer, when so many
thirsty and penniless ones were cruising
about to sponge upon the Johnny Raws.
For himself, he said he was a man of
honour, quite a gentleman, and insisted
upon paying his share of the two bottles
of port consumed, of which I certainly had
not drunk more than four glasses. Secretly
praising my man of honour for his disin-
terestedness, for I had asked him to take
a.glass of wine, which he had read as a
couple of bottles, I ordered my bill, among
the items of which stood conspicuouslyforth, ‘‘Two bottles of old crusted port,
fourteen shillings.”’

‘‘D—d imposition!” said my hitherto
anonymous friend. ‘‘ Of all vices, I abo-
minate imposition the most. I shall pay
for all this wine myself. Here, wai-ferre,
pen and ink. Banking hours are over
now; I have nothing but a fifty-pound
bill about me. However, you shall have
my I. O. U. You see that I have made it
out for one pound—you ll just hand me the
difference, six shillings. Your name, I think
you sa®l, was Rattlin—Ralph Rattlin. A
good name, a very good purser’s naine, in-
deed. There, Mr. Rattlin, you have only
to present that piece of paper when you
get on board to the head swabwasher,
and he'll give you either cash for it, or
slops.”’

I gave the gentleman who so much
abhorred imposition six shillings in return
for his paper, which contained these words :
‘‘1, O. U. twenty shillings. Josiah Cheeks,
Major-general of the Horse-marines, of his
Majesty's Ship, the AZerry Dun, of Dover.
—To Mr. Ralph Rattlin.”

I carefully placed this precious document
in my pocket-book, among my one-pound
notes, at that time the principal currency
of the country; yet could not help thinking
that my friend cast an awfully hungry eye
at the pieces of paper. He had already
commenced a very elaborate speech pre-
fatory to the request of a loan, when I cut
him short, by telling him that I had pro-
mised my godmamma not to lend any one
a single penny until I had been on board
my ship six months, which was really the
case. He commended my sense of duty;
and said it was of no manner of conse-
quence, as next morning he should be in
possession of more than he should have
occasion for, and then a five or a ten-
pound note would be at my service.
After vainly endeavouring to seduce me
to the theatre, he made a virtue of my
obstinacy, and taking me by the arm,
showed me to the door of the hotel,
where Captain Reud of H.M.S. os was
located.

I was announced, and immediately
ushered into a room, where I saw a
sallow-visaged, compact, well-made little
man, apparently not older than two or
three-and-twenty, sitting in the middle of
the room, upon a black quart bottle, the
neck of which was on the floor, and the
bottom forming the uneasy and unstable
seat. Without paying much attention to
me, every now and then he would give
himself an impetus, and flinging out his
arms, spin round like a turnstile. It cer-
tainly was very amusing, and, no doubt,

RALPEIN, THE REEBFER.

 

7

so thought his companion, a fine, manly,
handsome-looking fellow, of thirty-five or
thirty-eight, by his long-continued and
vociferous applause. The little spinner
was habited in a plain but handsome
uniform, with one gold epaulet on his
right shoulder, whilst the delighted ap-
prover had a coat splendid with broad
white kerseymere facings.

I could observe that both parties were
deeply immersed in the many-coloured
delirium of much drink. I looked first at
one, then at the other, undecided as to
which of the two was my captain. How-
ever, 1 could not augur ill of one who
laughed so heartily, nor of the other, who
seemed so happy in making himself a
teetotum. ‘Taking advantage of a pause
in this singular exhibition, I delivered my
credentials to the former and more im-
posing-looking of the two, who imme-
diately handed them over to Captain
Reud. I was graciously received, a few
questions of courtesy asked, and a glass
of wine poured out for me.

My presence was soon totally disregarded,
and my captain and his first-lieutenant be-
gan conversing on all manner of subjects,
in a jargon to me entirely incomprehensible.
The decanter flew across and across the
table with wonderful rapidity, and the flow
of assertion increased with the captain, and
that of assentation with his lieutenant.
At length, the little man with the epaulet
commenced a very prurient tale. Mr.
Farmer cast a look full of meaning upon
myself, when Captain Reud addressed me
thus, in a sharp, shrill tone, that I thought
impossible to a person who told such plea-
sant stories, and who could spin so prettily
upon a quart bottle. ‘‘Do you _ hear,
younker, you'll ship your traps in a
wherry the first thing to-morrow morning,
and get on board early enough to be
victualled that day. Tell the commana-
ing officer to order the ship’s tailor to clap
the curse of God upon you—(I started with
horror at the impiety)—to unship those
poodles from your jacket, and rig you out
with the foul anchor.”’

‘GVes, Sit, Ssald-.ts «| but, L,hope:the
tailor won't be so wicked, because I am
sure I wish the gentleman no harm.”

‘‘Piously brought up,” said the captain.

‘‘We'll teach him to look aloft, any
how,” said the lieutenant, striving to be
original,

‘CA well-built young dog,” said the
former, looking at me approvingly.

‘‘Who is he, may I ask?”’ said the latter,
in a most sonorous aside.

‘‘Mum,” said Captain Reud, putting his
finger to his nose, and endeavouring to

On58 RLATTLIN, THE REEMER.

look very mysterious, and full of im- ‘Turned out,’’ I muttered, as I left the
portant meaning; ‘‘but when I get him room. From this brief incident, young as
in blue water—if he were the King’s son I was, I augured badly of Captain Reud.
—heh! Farmer?” I at once felt that I had broken some rule
“To be sure. Then he is the son of of etiquette, but I knew that he had sinned
somebody, sir ?”’ against the dictates of mere humanity.
‘‘More likely the son of nobody—ac- There was a littleness in his conduct, and
cording to the law of the Jand,—whoeyer an indecision in his manner, quite at
launched him: but I'll never breathe a variance with my untutoured notions of
word, or give so much as a hint that he is_ the gallant bearing of a British sailor.'
illegitimate. I scorn, like a British sailor, As I lay in bed at my inn, my mind re-
to do that by a sidewind, Farmer, that I enacted all the scenes of the previous day.
ought not to do openly; but there are two I was certainly dissatisfied with every oc-
sides to a blanket. A popish priest must currence. I was dissatisfied with the
not marry in England. Norman Will was security of my friend Josiah Cheeks, the
not a whit the worse because his mother major-general of the horse-marines, of his
never stood outside the canonical rail. Majesty's ship the Merry Dun, of Dover.
Pass your wine, Farmer; I despise a man, I was dissatisfied with my reception by
a scoundrel, who deals in inuendoes ;—O, Captain Reud, of his Majesty's ship Zos,
it’s despicable, d—d despicable. I don’t notwithstanding his skill at spinning upon
like, however, to be trusted by halves—- a bottle+ nor was I altogether satisfied with
shall keep a sharp look out on the joker the blustering, half-protecting, half-over-
—with me, a secret is always perfectly bearing conduct towards me, of his first-
Sate.s; lieutenant, Mr, Farmer. ‘But all these
‘‘O, then, there is a secret, I see,’’ said dissatisfactions united were as nothing to

Mr. Farmer. ‘‘ You had better go now, the disgust I felt at the broad inuendoes
Mr. Rattlin, and attend to the captain’s so liberally flung out, concerning the
orders to-morrow.”” ‘The word mister mystery of my birth.

sounded sharply, yet not unpleasingly, to

my €ar: it was the first time I had been

so designated or so dignified. Here was —-

another evidence that T had, or ought to,

cast from me the slough of boyhood, and

enact, boldly, the man. TI therefore sum- CHAPTER XXVIII.

moned up courage to say that I did not

perfectly understand the purport of the pape are se at Ose coffee: room friend all
ene order, and solicited an explana- exalted to SPAS eee ae Feo ane
ion,

“Yes,” said he; ‘the service has come BEFORE I plunge into all the strange
to a pretty pass, when the youngest officer adventures, and unlooked-for vicissitudes,
of my ship asks me to explain my orders, of my naval life, I must be indulged with
instead of obeying them.” a few prefatory remarks. Thé royal navy,

‘I had better ‘give him a note to the asa service, is not vilified, nor the gallant
commanding officer, for I may not happen members who compose it insulted, by
to be on board when he arrives.” pointing out the idiosyncrasies, the ab-

A note was written, and given me. Surdities, and even the vices and crimes

“‘Good night, Mr. Rattlin,” said the of some of its members. Human nature
captain. is human nature still, whether it fawn in

“Good night, sir,” said I, advancing the court or philander in the grove. The
very amiably to shake hands with my little man carries with him on the seas the same
commander. My action took him more predilections, the same passions, and the
aback than a heavy squall would have same dispositions, both for good and for
done the beautiful frigate he commanded. evil, as he possessed on shore. The ocean
The prestige of rank, and the pride of breeze does not convert the coward into
discipline struggled with his sense of the the hero, the passionate man into the
common courtesies of life. He half held philosopher, or the mean one into a
out his hand ; he withdrew it—it was again pattern of liberality. It is true that a
proffered and again withdrawn! He really coward in the service seldom dares show
looked confused. At length, as if he had his cowardice ; that in the inferior grades
rallied up all his energies to act coura- passion is controlled by discipline, and in
geously, he thrust them resolutely into his all, meanness is shamed by intimate, and
pockets ; and then said, “There, younker, social communion, into the semblance of
that will do, Go and turn in,” - much better feelings. Still, with all this,the blue coat, like charity, covereth a
multitude of sins, and the blue water is,
as yet, inefficacious to wash them all out.
We have said here briefly what the ser-
vice will not do. It will not change the
nature of man, but it will modify it into
much that is exalted, that is noble, and
that is good. It almost universally raises

individual character; but it can never
debase it. The world are too apt to
generalise—and this generalisation has

done much disservice to the British nayy.
It forms a notion, creates a beau ideal—a
very absurd one truly—and then tries every
character by it. Even the officers of this
beautiful service have tacitly given in to
the delusion; and, by attempting to frown
down all exfosés of the errors of individuals,
vainly endeavour to exalt that which requires
no such factitious exaltation.

If I am compelled to say this captain
was a fool and a tyrant, fools indeed must
those officers be who draw the inference
that I mean the impression to be general,
that all captains are either fools or tyrants,
Let the cavillers understand, that the
tyranny and the folly are innate in the
man, but that the service abhors and
represses the one, and despises and often
reforms the other. The service never
made a good man bad, or a bad man
worse: on the contrary, it has always
improved the one, and reformed the
other: = It. is, however, no, libel) to; say,
that more than a quarter of a century ago
(of course, now, it is all perfection) it con-
tained some bad men among its multitude
of good. Such as it then was I will faith-
fully record.

Oh ! I left myself in bed. . My reflections
affording me so little consolation, when
they were located in the vicinity of Chat-
ham, I ordered my obedient mind to travel
back to Stickenham, whilst I felt more
than half-inclined to make my body take
the same course the next morning. Not
that my courage had failed me; but I
actually felt a disgust at all that I had
heard and seen. How different are the
sharp, abrading corners that meet us at
every turn in our passage through real
life to the sunny dreams of our imagina-
tion! Already my dirk had ceased to give
me satisfaction in looking upon it, and my
uniform, that two days before I thought
so bewitching, I had, a few hours since,
been informed was to be soiled by a foul
anchor. How gladly that night my mind
revelled among the woods and fields and
waters of the romantic village that I had
just left! Then its friendly inhabitants
came thronging upon the beautiful scene ;
and pre-eminent among them stood my

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

  
   
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
    
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 

39

good schoolmistress, and my loving god-
mother. Of all the imaginary group, she
alone did not smile. It was then, and not
till then, that I felt the bitterness of the
word, ‘‘farewell.”. My conscience smote
me that I had behaved unkindly towards
her. I now remembered a thousand little
contrivances, all of which, in my exalted
spirits, I had pertinaciously eluded, that
she had put in practice in order to be for a
few minutes alone with me. TI now bitterly
reproached myself for my perversity. What
secrets might I not have heard! And then
my heart told me in a voice I could not
doubt, that it was she who had hovered
round my bed the whole night previous to
my departure. My schoolfellows had all
slept soundly, yet I, though wakeful, had
the folly to appear to sleep also. Whilst I
was considering how people could be so
unkind, sleep came kindly to me, and I
awoke next morning in good spirits, and
laughed at my dejection of the preceding
evening.

At breakfast in the coffee-room, I was a
little surprised and a good deal flattered by
the appearance of Lieutenant Farmer. He
accosted me kindly, told me not again to
attempt to offer first to shake hands with
my captain, for it was against the rules of
the service; and then he sat down beside
me, and commenced very patiently @ me
texer. les vers du mez..-He was a fine,
gallant fellow, passionately desirous of
promotion, which was not surprising, for
he had served long, and with considerable
distinction, and was still a lieutenant, whilst
he was more than fourteen years above his
captain, both in length of service and in age.
Was I related to my lord A——? Did I
know anything of Mr. Rose? Had I any
connections that knew Mr. Perceval, &c.?
I frankly told him that I knew no one of
any note, and that it had been directly
enjoined upon me, by the one or two friends
that I possessed, never to converse about
my private affairs with any one.

Mr. Farmer felt himself rebuked, but
not offended; he was a generous, noble
fellow, though a little passionate, and too
taut a disciplinarian. He told me that he
had no doubt we should be good friends,
that I had better go to the dock-yard, and
inquire for the landing-place, and for the
Fos cutter, which was waiting there for
stores. That I was to make myself known
to the officer of the boat, who would give
me two or three hands to convey my lug-
gage down to it, and that I had better ship
myself as soon as I could. He told me,
also, that he would probably be on board
before me, but, at all events, if he were not,
that I was to give to the commandingRATTLIN,

officer the letter, with which he had fur-
nished me on the night before.

He left me with a more favourable im-
pression on my mind than I had before
entertained. I paid my bill, and found
my way to Chatham dock-yard.

I had just gained the landing-place, to
which I had been directed by a gentleman,
who wore some order of merit upon his
ankles, and who kindly offered me a box
of dominoes for sale, when I saw a twelve-
oared barge pull in among the other boats
that were waiting there. The stern sheets
were full of officers, distinguishable among
whom was one with a red round face, sharp
twinkling eyes, and an honest corpulency
of body truly comfortable. He wore his
laced cocked hat, with the rosetted corners,
resting each on one of the heavily epau-
letted shoulders. His face looked so fierce
and rubescent under his vast hat, that he
put me in mind of a large coal, the lower
half of which was in a state of combustion.
He landed with the other officers, and I
then perceived that he was gouty and lame,
and walked with a stick, that had affixed
to it a transverse ivory head, something like
a diminutive ram’s horn. Amid this group
of officers I observed my coffee-room friend,
the major-general of the horse-marines,
who seemed excessively shy, and at that
moment absorbed in geological studies, for
he could not take his eyes from off the
earth. However, pushing hastily by the
port-admiral, for such was the- ancient
podagre, ‘‘Ah! major-general,’”’ said I to
the abashed master’s mate, ‘‘I am very
glad to meet with you. Have you been
to the bank this morning to cash your
fifty-pound bill ?”

‘Don't know ye,” said my friend, giving
me more than the cut direct, for, if he could
have used his eyes as asword, I should have
had the cut decisive.

‘‘ Not know me! well—but you are only
joking, General Cheeks!”

The surrounding officers began to be
very much amused, and the port-admiral
became extremely eager in his attention.

‘“Tell ye, don’t know ye, younker,” said
my gentleman, folding his arms, and at-
tempting to look magnificent and strange.

“Well, this is cool. So, sir, you mean
to deny that you drank two bottles of my
port wine yesterday evening, and that you
did not give me your I. O. U. for the
twenty shillings you borrowed of me? I'll
trouble you, if you please, for the money,”
for I was getting angry; ‘‘as I am quite
a stranger to the head swabwasher, and
should not like to trouble the gentleman
either for cash or slops, without a formal
introduction.”

THE REEFER.

   
  
  
    
   
 
   
   
   
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  

At this juncture, the fiery face of the
port-admiral became more fiery, his fierce
small eye more flashing, and his  ivory-
handled stick was lifted up tremblingly,

not with fear, but-rage. ‘‘ Pray sir,’ said
he to me, ‘‘who is he?” pointing to my
friend; ‘‘and who are you?”’

“This gentleman, sir, I take to be, either
a swindler or Josiah Cheeks, Major-General
of the Horse Marines, of his Majesty's
ship, the Merry Dun of Dover,” handing
to the admiral the acknowledgment ; ‘‘and
I am, sir, Ralph Rattlin, just come down
to join his Majesty's ship, the Zas.”

‘‘T’ll answer for the truth of the latter
part of this young gentleman's assertion,”
said Captain Reud, now coming forward
with Lieutenant Farmer.

‘“‘Is this your writing, sir?’ said the
admiral to the discomfited master’s mate,
in a voice worse than thunder; for it was
almost as loud, and infinitely more dis-
agreeable. ‘‘I see by your d——d skulk-
ing look, that you have been making a
scoundrel of yourself, and a fool of this
poor innocent boy.”

‘‘T hope, sir, you not think me a fool
for believing an English officer incapable
of a lie?=

‘“Well said, boy, well said—I see—
this scamp has turned out to be both the
scoundrel and the fool.”

‘‘T only meant it for a joke, sir,” said
the soz-disant Mr. Cheeks, taking off his
hat, and holding it humbly in his hand.

‘Take up your note directly, or I shall
expel you the service for forgery.”’

The delinquent fumbled for some time
in his pocket, and at length could produce
only three-pence farthing, a tobacco-stopper,
and an unpaid tavern-bill. He was forced
to confess he had not the money about
him.

‘‘Your fifty-pound bill,” said I. ‘‘The
bank must be open.”

‘The major-general looked at me.

It was a good thing for the giver of the
I. O. U., that the mirth the whole trans-
action created did not permit the old
admiral to be so severe with his ‘‘ whys,”
as he would have been. He, however,
told the culprit’s captain, whom he had
just brought on shore in the barge, to give
me the twenty shillings, and to charge it
against him, and then to give him an airing
at the mast-head till sunset; telling him,
at the same time, he might feel himself
very happy at not being disrated and
turned before the mast.

I was departing, very well satisfied with
this summary method of administering
justice, when I found that I was not
altogether to escape, for the old gentle-man commenced opening a_ broadside
upon me, for not wearing the Admiralty
uniform. Lieutenant Farmer, however,
came very kindly to my rescue, and offered
the admiral a sufficient explanation.

I was then directed to the Zos’ boat, the
coxswain and a couple of men went with
me for my luggage, and in less than half
an hour I was being rowed down the
Medway towards the ship. As we passed
by what I looked upon as an immense and
terrifically lofty seventy-four, I looked up,
and descried Major-General Cheeks slowly
climbing up the newly-tarred main top-
mast rigging, ‘‘like a snail unwillingly,”
to the topmast cross-trees. It was a bitterly
cold day, at the end of November, and
there is no doubt but that his reflections
were as bitter as the weather. Practical
jokes have sometimes very bad practical
consequences,

CHAPTER: XXTX.

Ralph is shipped, hulked and overcome—A dark hall
and an ebony servitor—A tailor’s politeness, and a
master’s mate, who sighs to be mated, yet does not
see that he is outmatched.

I FOUND the os all rigged and strong in
the breeze, with the not very agreeable
aroma of dock-yard paint. The ship's
company was not, however, on board of
her. They were hulked on board of the
Pegasus. A very brief introduction to the
officers of the watch, and I was shown
down with my sea-chest, my shore-going
trunk, and quadrant, cocked hat, etc., to
the midshipmen’s berth in the hulk. One
of the after-guard performed for me the
office of gentleman-usher. It was a
gloomy, foggy, chilly day, and the damp
of the atmosphere was mingled with the
reeking, dank, animal effluvia that came
up, thick and almost tangible, from the
filthy receptacle of crowded hundreds.
As I descended into darkness, and nearly
felt overpowered by the compound of vil-
lanous smells, I was something more than
sick at heart. My. pioneer at length lifted
up the corner of a piece of dirty canvas,
that screened off a space of about six feet
square from the rest of the ship’s company.
This I was given to understand was the
young gentlemen's quarters, their dining-
room and their drawing-room combined.
Even I, who had not yet attained my full
srowth, could not stand erect in this saloon
of elegance. I am stating nothing but
literal facts. On an oaken table, still more

RATEEIN, THE REEFER,

 

   
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   

61

greasy than the greasy decks over which I
had slipped in my passage to this den,
stood a flickering, spluttering, intensely
yellow candle of very slender dimensions,
inserted in a black quart bottle. Beside
it was placed a battered bread-basket, con-
taining some broken biscuit ; and a piece

-of villanously-scented cheese, distinguished

by the name of purser’s, lay near it, in
company with an old, blood-stained, worn- -
out tooth-brush, and a shallow pewter
wash-hand basin, filled with horridly dirty
water. For seats round this table there
were no other substitutes than various
chests of various dimensions.

Of such sordid penury as I then wit-
nessed I had read, but never supposed
I should be compelled to witness, much
less to share. Notwithstanding the close-
ness of this hole, it was excessively cold.
There was not a soul there to welcome me,
the petty officers being all away on dock-
yard duty. It might have been ten o'clock
when I was first ushered into this region of
darkness, of chill and evil odours. I re-
mained with my surtout coat on, sitting
on my chest with my hands clasped before
me, stiff with cold, and melancholy almost
to tears. How much then I panted for the
breeze that blew over the heathy common
where I had lately wantoned, leaped, and
laughed ! :

As I there sat, I fell into a deep and
dream-like reverie. I could not after a
pause convince myself that all Isaw around
me was real. The light that the single un-
snuffed candle gave, became more dim and
smoky. I began to think that my spirit had
most surely stepped into the vestibule of the
abode of shadows; and I wished to convince
myself that my body was far, far away,
sleeping in a pure atmosphere, and under a
friendly roof. Minute after minute dropped
its weight heavily, like so many pellets of
lead, upon my disordered brain. I became
confused—perhaps I was nearly upon the
point of syncope from the sudden change
to bad air. I felt that all I saw about me,
if not real, would prove that I was mad;
and I feared that I should become so if the
scene turned out to be no illusion. At last
I jumped up, as I felt my stupor and my
sickness increasing, exclaiming—‘‘ This is
hell—and there's the devil!” as I observed
a hideous shining black face peering at me
over the top of the screen, grinning in such
a manner, with a row of white teeth, that
reminded me of so many miniature tomb-
stones stretching right across a dark church-
yard.

‘‘No debbel, sar—my name, sar, Lilly-
dew—vat you please vant, sar ?—steward to
young gentlemen, sar. Will young massa62 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

have a lily-white bit soft tommy, sar,—broil ferred my request to live on shore till the
him a sodger, sar—bumboat alongside, get ship sailed. He smiled at the enormity of

a fresh herring for relish, sar.”

‘“Get me a little fresh air—take me up-

Stairs.”’

“O Gemminnie.! hi! hi! hi !— young
gentleman, Massa Johnny Newcome. This

way, Sar.”

Conducted by this angel of darkness, I
regained the deck and daylight, and the
nausea soon left my chest and the pain my
head. I then made this reflection, that
whatever glory a naval officer may attain, if
he went through the ordeal I was about
essaying, he richly deserved it. The captain
and some of the other officers now came on
board. I was introduced to most of them,
and the skipper made himself very merry
with an account of my recent adventure
with the master’s mate, who was still at the
mast-head, as a convincing proof of the
accuracy of the story, and was plainly dis-
tinguishable some half mile higher up the

Medway.

I soon entered into conversation with one
of the young gentlemen who was destined
to be, for so long, my. messmate. I told
him that the air below would kill me. He
acknowledged that it was bad enough
to killa dog, but that a reefer could stand
it. He also advised me not to have my
uniforms altered by the Ship's tailors, as
it would be done in a bungling manner:
but to get leave to go on shore, and that he
would introduce me to a very honest trades-
I expressed
my hopes to him, in a dry manner, that he
did not belong to the regiment of horse
He understood me, and said,
upon his honour, no: that it was all fair and
above board; and as a recommendation,
which he thought would be irresistible, he
added that this tailor had a very pretty
daughter, with the very pretty name of

man, who would do me justice.

marines.

Jemima,

As the latter information was very satis-
factory evidence as to the skill and honesty
of the tradesman, I could not be guilty of
such a zoxz seguilur as not to promise to
employ him. I then told him to make
haste and come on shore with me. I now
was made painfully sensible that, before I
could enjoy my wishes, a little ceremony
was needful; in fact, that my powers of
locomotion. were no longer under my own
control, excepting for about one hundred

and twenty feet in one direction, and about

thirty-five in another. As I was passing

over the starboard side of the quarter-deck,
to ask leave to go on shore, the captain
accosted me, and did me the honour to re-
quest my company to dinner at his table.
Finding him in so bland a humour, I pre-

my demand, and asked what induced it, I
frankly told him the filth and bad smell of
my accommodations; and also my wish
not to be seen on board until my uniforms
were complete.

‘He's an original,” said the captain to
the first-lieutenant, ‘‘but there is some sense
in his request. I suppose you have no ob-
jection, Mr, Farmer? Young gentleman,”
he continued, turning to me, ““you must
always ask the first-lieutenant, in future,
for leave. Mind, don’t be later than four
o'clock.”

My messmate, with all manner of hu-
mility, now made his request, which being
granted, we went down together to my chest,
and making a bundle of all the clothes that
required alteration, we placed that and our-
selves in a shore-boat, and made our way
to the tailor’s. I was there introduced to
the lovely Jemima. She looked like a very
pretty doll, modelled with crumbs of white
bread ; she was so soft, so fair, and so un-
meaning. After the order was given, my
maker of the outward man hazarded a few
inquiries, in a manner so kind and so
obliging, that quite made me lose sight of
their impertinence. When he found that I
had leave to remain on shore, and that my
pocket-book was far from being ill-furnished,
he expatiated very feelingly upon the ex-
actions of living at inns, offered me a bed
for nothing, provided only that I would pay
for my breakfast, and appoint him my tailor
in ordinary ; and declared that he would
leave no point unturned, to make me com-
fortable and happy. As this conversation
took place in the parlour at the back of the

shop, Jemima—Miss Jemima—was present,
and, as I seemed to hesitate, the innocent~
looking dear slily came up beside me, and,
taking my hand, pressed it amorously, steal-
ing at me a look with eyes Swimming with
a Strange expression. This by-play decided
the business. The agreement was made,
the terms being left entirely to Mr. Tapes.
Covering my inappropriate dress with my
blue surtout, I was about leaving with my
messmate, when the young lady said to
her father, ‘““Perhaps Mr, Rattlin would
like to see his room before he goes out?”

““ Not particularly.”

“Oh, but you must. You may come in,
and I and the servant may be out. This way
—you must not come up, Mr, Pridhomme,

your boots are so abominably dirty. There,

isn't it a nice room?—you pretty, pretty
boy,’’ said she, jumping up, and giving me
a long kiss, that almost took my breath
away. ‘‘ Don’t tell old leather-chops, will
you, and I sheZZ love you so.” :‘*Who is old leather - chops — your
fathenee

‘‘Dear me, no; never mind him. I
mean your messmate, Mr. Pridhomme.”’

‘‘ I’m stepping into life,”’ thought I, as I
went down stairs, ‘‘and with no measured
strides either.”’

‘‘ What do you think of Jemima?” said
Mr. Pridhomme, as we walked arm-in-arm
towards the ramparts.

pe lenetly.

‘‘ Pretty!—-why, she's an angel! If
there was ever an angel on earth, it is
Jemima Tapes. But what is mere beauty ?
Nothing compared to sincerity and inno-
cence—she is all innocence and sincerity.”

‘‘T am glad that you believe so.”

‘“‘ Believe so—why, look at her! She is
all innocence. She won't let her father
kiss her.”’

“ Whye”’

«« She says it is so indelicate.”’

‘« How does she know what is, or what
is not, indelicate ?”’

‘‘TD)—n it, younker, you'd provoke a saint.
She assures me, when she is forced to
shake hands with a grown-up man, that it
actually gives her a cold shudder all over.
I don't think that she ever kissed anybody
but her mother, and that was years ago.”

‘‘ Perhaps she does not know how.”

“‘T'm sure she don’t. If I had a fortune,
I'd marry her to-morrow, only I’m afraid
she’s too modest.”

‘‘Your fear is very commendable, Are
the ladies at Chatham so remarkable for
modesty ?”

‘‘No; and that’s what makes Jemima so
singular.”

I like to make people happy, if they are
not so; and if they are, even though that
happiness may be the creation of a delu-
sion, I like to leave them so. I, therefore,
encouraged Mr. Pridhomme to pour all his
raptures into, what he thought, an ap-
proving ear, and Jemima was the theme,
until he left me at the door of the hotel at
which I was to dine with Captain Reud.
Whatever the reader may think of Jemima,
I was, at this period, perfectly innocent
myself, though not wholly ignorant. I
should have deemed Miss Jemima’s oscula-
tory art as the mere effect of high spirits
and hoyden playfulness, had it not been for
the hypocrisy that she was displaying to-
wards my messmate. I had translated Gil
Blas at school, and I therefore set her down
for an intrepid coquette, if not une franche
aventuriere. Wowever, though I pitied
my messmate, that was no reason why I
should not enjoy my dinner.

That day I liked my little saffron-coloured
captain much better. He played the host

RAEETEIN, THE KEEPER.

 

  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
   
   
    
   
 
 
  
  
 

es
very agreeably. He made as many inquiries
as he dared, without too much displaying
his own ignorance, as to the extent of my
acquirements; and, when he found them
so far beyond his expectations, he seemed
to be struck with a sudden respect for me.
The tone of his conversation was more
decorous than that’ of the preceding even-
ing; he gave me a great deal of nautical
advice, recommended me to the protection
particularly of the first and second lieu-
tenants, who were also his guests, approved
of my plan of sleeping at the tailor's, and
dismissed me very early, no doubt with a
feeling of pleasure at having removed a
restraint; for, as 1 left the room, I just
caught the words—‘‘ Make a d—d sea
lawyer by-and-by.”’

CHAPTER XXX.

Jealousy cooled by a watering—Ralph exhorteth, and
right wisely—The boatswain sees many things in a
new light — And, though he causeth crabs to be
caught, he bringeth them to a wrong market.

PRIDHOMME had been lying in wait for me,
and picked me up as I left the hotel. We
went to the theatre, a wretched affair cer-
tainly, the absurdities of which I should
have much enjoyed, had I not been bored
to death by the eternal Jemima. ‘That lady
was like Jemima, and that was not. Was
the person in the blue, silk dress as tail as
Jemima; or the other in the white muslin
quite as stout? Jemima was all he could
talk about, till at length, I was so horribly
Jemimaed that I almost audibly wished
Jemima jammed down his throat; but, as
everything must have an end, even when
a midshipman talks about Jemima, we, at
length, got to the tailor’s door, which was
opened by the lovely Jemima in propria,
persona. Not a step beyond the step of
the door was the lover admitted, whilst the
poor wretch was fain to feast on the ecstasies
of remembering that he was permitted to
grasp the tip of her forefinger whilst he
sighed forth his fond good night.

In a few days, the Zos, being perfectly
equipped, dropped down to Sheerness, and
I, for the first time, slept under the root
provided for me by his Britannic Majesty.
‘That is to say, | was coffined and shrouded
in a longitudinal canvas bag, hung up to
the orlop deck by two cleets, one at each
end, in a very graceful curve, very useful in
forming that elegant bend in the back so
much coveted by the exhibitors in Regent-
street.64 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

I had taken a rather sentimental leave “You young villain !”
of Jemima, who had somehow or another ‘Take that!” roared my opponent: and
persuaded me to exchange love tokens with the bread-basket, with its fragmental cargo
her. ‘That which I gave herwas a tolerably of biscuits, came full in my face, very con-
handsome writing-desk, which I could not siderately putting bread into my mouth for
help buying for her, as she had taken a_ his supposed injury.
great fancy to it; indeed, she told me it “Wake that!” said I, seizing the rum-
had annoyed her for some months, because bottle.
it stood so provokingly tempting in the ‘No, he sha’n't,” said Pigtop, the
shop-window just over the way; and be- master’s mate, laying hold of the much-
sides, ‘‘She should be so—so happy to prized treasure; “let him take anything
write me such pretty letters from it.” The but that.”
last argument was convincing, and the So] flung the water-jug at his head.
desk was bought; in return for which she We were just proceeding to handicuffs,
presented me with a very old silver pencil- when the master-at-arms, hearing the riot,
case—its age, indeed, she gave me to under- opened the door. We then cooled upon
Stand, ought to be its greatest value in my it, and a truce ensued. Explanations fol-
eyes—she had had it so long: it was given lowed the truce, and an apology, on his
to her by her defunct mother. So J Ppro- part, the explanation; for which apology
mised to keep it as long as I lived. Really I very gladly gave him the pencil-case, that
there was no chance of my ever wearing it I had promised to keep as long as I lived,
out by use, for it was certainly quite use- and a heartache at the same time.
less ; but loves dignifies things so much ! The poor fellow had given the faithful
After having split it up by shoving a piece ome this mutable love-gift three days
of black-lead pencil into it, I put,it into my before it came into my possession; on which
waistcoat-pocket, saying to the heiress of occasion they had broken a crooked six-
the Chatham tailor— pence together. I moralized upon this,
apnea id E me “nave and came to the conclusion, that, what-
ich gifts prove poor when givers prove unkind. ever Gaiee might be 2a ailorasins Aen
‘‘Ah, Ralph!” said the giver of rich for a tailor's daughter, born and bred up
gifts, ‘‘7 shall never prove unkind.” So at Chatham.
we parted; and as I walked down the Now, I have nothing wherewith to
street, she waved her hand, which would amuse the reader about the mischievous
have been really white, had she not scored tricks that were played upon me in my
her forefinger in a most villanous manner entrance into naval lif . The clues'of my
by her awkward method of using herneedle, hammock were not reefed. I was not
when her father was short of hands. lowered down by the head into a bucket
When I afterwards heard of Chatham of cold water, nor sent anywhere with a
as being the universal dépét of ‘ladies foolish message by a greater fool than
who love wisely and not too well,” rogues, myself. ‘The exemptions from these usual
and Jews, I could not help thinking of my persecutions I attribute to my robust and
writing-desk, and adding to the list, Jewesses_ well-grown frame; my disposition so easily
also. : evinced to do battle on the first occasion
About a week after, as we were still lying that offered itself; and, lastly, my well-
at Sheerness, and I had totally forgotten the stocked purse, and the evident considera-
innocent-looking Jemima, Mr. Pridhomme tion shown to me by the captain and the
was smoking in a lover-like and melancholy first lieutenant.
fashion, against orders, a short pipe in the As I write as much for the instruction of
midshipmen’s berth. As the ashes accu- my readers as for their amusement, I wish
mulated, he became at a loss for a tobacco- to impress upon them, if they are them-
stopper, and I very good-naturedly handed Selves, or if they know any that are, going
him over the broken, broad-topped, vulgar- to enter into the navy, the necessity, in the
looking pencil-case, the gift of the adorable _ first instance, of showing or recommend-
Jemima. His apathy, at the sight of this ing a proper spirit. Never let the debutant
relic of love, dispersed like the smoke of regard how young or how feeble he may be
us pipe. —he must make head against the first in-
‘Where did you get this, younker?” he sult—he must avenge the first hoax. No
cried, swelling with passion in the true doubt he will be worsted, and get a good

turkey-cock style. beating ; but that one will save him from
“It was given to me as a keepsake by many hundreds hereafter, and, perhaps,
Miss Jemima,”’ said I, very quietly. the necessity of fighting a mortal duel,
“It's a lie—you stole it.” Your certain defeat will be forgotten in the

“‘You old scoundrel !”’ admiration of the spirit that provoked thecontest. And remember, that the person
who hoaxes you is always in the wrong,
and it depends only upon yourself to heap
that ridicule upon him, that was intended
for your own head; to say nothing of the
odium that must attach to him for the
cruelty, the cowardice, and the meanness,
of fighting with a lad weaker than himself.
This I will enforce by a plain fact that
happened to myself. A tall, consequential,
thirty-years-old master's mate, threatened
to beat me, after the manner that oldsters
are accustomed to beat youngsters. I told
him that, if he struck me, I would strike
again as long as I had strength to stand, or
power to lift my hand. He laughed, and
struck me. I retaliated; it is true that I
got a sound thrashing; but it was my first
and last, and my tyrant got both his eyes
well blackened, his cheek swollen—and
was altogether so much defaced, that he
was forced to hide himself in the sick-
list for a fortnight. The story could not
be told well for him, but it told for me
gloriously ; indeed he felt so much annoyed
by the whole affair, that he went and asked
leave to go and mess with the gunner, fairly
stating to the captain that he could not run
the risk of keeping order—for he was our
caterer—if he had to fight a battle every
time he had to enforce it.

But I cannot too much caution young-
sters against having recourse, in their self-
defence, to deadly weapons. I am sorry
to say, it was too common when I was in
the navy. It is un-English and assassin-
like. It rarely keeps off the tyrant; the
knife, the dirk, or whatever else be the
instrument, is almost invariably forced from
the young bravo’s hand, and the thrashing
that he afterwards gets is pitiless, and the
would-be stabber finds no voice lifted in his
favour. He also gains the stigma of cow-
ardice, and the bad reputation of being
malignant and revengeful. Indeed, so utterly
futile is the drawing of murderous instru-
ments in little affrays of this sort, that
though I have known them displayed hun-
dreds of times, yet I never knew a single
wound to have been inflicted—though many
a heavy beating has followed the atrocious
display. By all means let my young friends
avoid it.

On the day before we sailed from Sheer-
ness, the captain had an order conveyed to
the first-lieutenant to send me away on
duty immediately, for two or three hours.
I was bundled into the pinnace with old
canvas, old ropes, and old blocks, con-
demned stores to the dock-yard, and, as I
approached the landing-place appropriated
for the use of admirals zz posse, 1 saw
embark from the stairs, exclusively set

RAPRTLIN, FALE REERER.

  
   
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  

65

apart for admirals and post-captains zz esse,
my captain and the port-admiral in the
admiral’s barge, and, seated between these
two awful personages, there sat a civilian,
smiling in all the rotundity and fat of a
very pleasant countenance, and very plain
clothes, and forming a striking contrast to
the grim complacency, and the iron-bound
civility, of the two men in uniform.

The boat's crew were so much struck
with this apparent anomaly—for, to them, '
anything in the civilian’s garb to come near
an officer, and that officer a naval one, was
hardly less than portentous, and argued the
said civilian to be something belonging to
the genus homo extraordinary—and the fat
specimen in the boat with the port-admiral,
they thought, was one of the Lords of the
Admiralty, or even Mr. Croker himself— the
notion of whose dimly-understood attributes
was, With them, of a truly magnificent
nature. Whoever this person was, he was
carefully assisted up the side of our ship,
and remained on board for about an hour,
whilst we were burning with curiosity and
eagerness to be on board to satisfy it, and
forced to do our’best to allay this tantalising
passion, by hauling along tallied bights of
rope, and rousing old hawsers out, and
new hawsers into the boat—a more pleasant
employment may be easily imagined for a
raw, cold, misty day in winter.

I regarded all these operations very
sapiently, knowing as yet nothing of the
uses, Or even of the names, of the different
stores that I was delivering and receiving.
The boatswain was with me of course: but
notwithstanding that I had positive orders
not to let the men stray away from the duty
they were performing—as this official told
me, after we had done almost everything
that we had come on shore to perform, that
he must borrow two of the men to go up
with him to the storekeeper's private house,
to look out for some strong fine white line
with which to bouse up the best bower
anchor to the spanker-boom-end, when the
ship should happen to be too much down
by the stern, I could’not refuse to disobey
my orders upon a contingency so urgent.
And there he left me, for about two hours,
shivering in the boat; and, at length, he
and the men came down, with very little
white line in exchange for his not very
white tie; and truly, they had been bous-
ing-up something; for Mr. Lushby, the
respectable boatswain, told me, with very
great condescension, that he was a real
officer, whilst I was nothing but a living
walking-stick, for the captain to swear at
when he was in a bad humour; and that
he had no doubt but that I should get
mast-headed when I got on board, for

F66

 

allowing those two men, who were catch-
ing crabs, to get so drunk.

Similar tricks to this, every young gentle-
man entering the servicé must expéct—
tricks that partake as much of the nature
of malice as of fun. Now, in the few days
that I had been in the service, I very well
-understood that the care of the mén, as
respected their behaviour and _ sobriety,
devolved on me, the delivering of old, and
the drawing of new stores, on the boat-
swain; yet, for the conduct ef those men
that he took from under my eye, I felt that,
in justice, he was answerable. I therefore
made no reply to the vauntings and railings
of Mr. Lushby, but had determined how to
act. The boat came alongside. There was
nobody on board but the officer of the
watch, and Mr. Lushby tumbled up the
side and down the waist in double-quick
time, sending the chief boatswain’s mate
and the yeoman of the stores to act as his
deputy. He certainly did his duty in that
respect, as two sober deputies aré worth
more than is a drunken principal.

However, I walked into the gun-room to
report myself and boat to the first-lieu-
tenant. The officers were at their wine,
I was flattered and surprised at the frank
politeness of my reception, and the wel-
come looks that I received from all. I was
invited to sit, and a glass placed for me.
When I found myself tolerably comfortable,
and had answered some questions put to
me by Mr. Farmer, our first-lieutenant, the
drift of which I did not then comprehend,
and putting a little wilful simplicity in my
manner, I asked, with a great deal of
apparent innocence, if all the sailors caught
crabs when they were drunk.

‘““Catch crabs, Mr. Rattlin!” said Mr.
Farmer, smiling. ‘‘ Not always; but they
are sure to catch something worse—the
cat.”

“With white line—how strange!” said
I, purposely misunderstanding the gallant
officer. ‘*Now I know why Mr. Lushby
took up the two men, and why all three
came down in a state to catch crabs, I
thought that white liné had something to
do with it.”

““Yes, Mr. Rattlin, white line has.” Mr.
Farmer then motioned me to stay where I
was, took up his hat, and went on deck.
I need not tell my naval readers that the
boatswain was sent for, and the two men
placed aft. It was certainly a very cruel
proceeding towards the purveyor of white
line, who had just turned his cabin into a
snuggery, and had taken another round
turn, with a belay over all, in the shape of
two more glasses of half-and-half. When
he found himself on the quarter - deck,

RATTLIN, THE RERFER,

  

though the shades of evening were stealing
over the waters—(I like a poetical phrase
now and then),—he saw more than in broad
daylight : that is to say, he saw many first-
lieutenants, who seemed, with many wrath-
ful counténances, with many loud words,
to order many men to see him down many
ladders; safely to his cabin.

The next morning this ‘real officer’
found himself in a very uncomfortable
plight; for, with an aching head, he was
but too happy to escape with a most sting-
ing reprimand: and he had thé consolation
then to learn, that, had he not endeavoured
to play upon the simplicity of Mr. Rattlin,
he would= most surely have escaped thé
fright and the exposuré.

The simplicity |

CHAPTER XXXEI.

Another mystery— All overjoyed because the Eos is
under weigh; she works well—Through the water—
Her officers through their wine—Ralphrefraineth, and
self-glorifieth—A long-shore inan makes a short stay
on board—Because he won't go on the wrong tack.

BuT I must now explain why I had become
so suddénly a favourité in the ward-room.
The very stout géntleman, who came off
with the admiral and captain, undertook
the aquatic excursion on my account. He
madé every inquiry as to my eqiipment,
my messmates, and my Cchancé of comfort.
Yet I, thé person most concerned, was sent
out of the way, lest by accident I should
meet with him. I never knew who he was,
nor do [ think the captain did. My ship-
mates had their conjectures, and I had mine.
They took him to be what is usually called,
not a person, but a personage. I believe
that he was nothing more than a personage’s
fat steward, or some other menial obesity ;
for it was very plain that jhe was ashamed
to look me in the face ! and I understand he
gave himself many second-hand airs.

And now we are off in earnest. The
Nore-light is passed; the pilot is on the
hammock nettings. The breeze takes the
sails; the noble frigate bends to it, as a
gallant cavalier gently stoops to receivé the
kiss of beauty: the blocks rattle as the
ropes fly through them ; the sails court the
wind to their embracé, now on one side,
now on the other. Istand on the quarter-
deck, in silent admiration at the astonishing
effects of this wonderful seeming confusion,
I am pushed here, and ordered there: J]
now jump to avoid the eddy of the uncuri-
ing ropes as they fly upwards, but myRATTLIN,

activity is vain,—a brace now drags across
my shins, and now the bight of a lee-
spanker-brail salutes me, not lovingly, across
the face. The captain and officers are
viewing the gallant vessel with intense
anxiety, and scrutinising every evolution
that she is making. How does she answer
her helm? Beautifully. What lee-way does
she make? Scarce perceptible. The log
is hove repeatedly, — seven, seven-and-a-
half, close hauled. Stand by, the captain
is going to work her himself. She advances
head to the wind bravely, like a British
soldier to the breach—she is about! she
has stayed within her own length—she has
not lost her way! ‘‘ Noble!: excellent!”
is the scarcely suppressed cry; and then
arose in the minds of that gallant band of
officers, visions of an enemy worthy to cope
with ; of the successful manceuvre, the re-
peated broadsides, the struggle, and the
victory; their lives, their honour, and the
fame of their country, they now willingly
repose upon her; she is at once their home,
their field of battle, and their arena of
glory. See how well she behaves against
that head sea! ‘There is not a man in that
noble fabrie who has not adopted her, who
has not a love for her; they refer all their
feelings to her, they rest all their hopes
upon her. ‘The Venetian Doge may wed
the sea in his gilded gondola, ermined
nobles may stand near, and jewelled beauty
around him—religion, too, may lend her
overpowering soJemnities; but all this dis-
play could never equal the enthusiasm of
that morning, when above three hundred
true hearts wedded themselves to that
beauty of the sea, the os, as she worked
round the North Foreland into the Downs.

The frigate behaved so admirably in all
her evolutions, that we dropped anchor in
the roadstead; the captain, to certify his
admiration and pleasure, invited all the
ward-room officers to dine with him, as
well as three or four midshipmen, myself
among the rest.

It was an animated scene, that dinner-
party. The war was then raging. Several
Trench frigates, of our own size and class,
and many much larger, were wandering on
the seas. The republican spirit was blazing
forth in their crews, and ardently we longed
to get among them. As yet, no one knew
our destination. We had every stimulant
to honourable excitement, and mystery
threw over the whole that absorbing charm,
that impels us to love and to woo the un-
known.

But this meeting, at first so rational, and
then so convivial, at length permitted its
conviviality to destroy its rationality. Men
who spoke and thought like heroes one

THE REEFER.

67

hour, the next spoke what they did not
think, and made me think what I did not
speak. No one got drunk except the
purser, who is always a privileged person;
yet they were not the same men as when
they began their carouse, nor I the same boy
when they had finished it. On that evening
I made a resolution never to touch ardent
spirits, and, whilst I was in the navy, that
resolution | adhered to. Itisa fact; Iam
known to too many, to make, on this sub-
ject, a solemn assertion falsely. I did not
lay the same restriction on wine; yet, even
that I always avoided, when I could do so
without the appearance of affectation. My
reason, such as it was, never in the slightest
degree tottered on her throne, either with
a weakness or a strength not her own.
‘The wine-cup never gladdened or sorrowed
me. Even when the tepid, fetid, and ani-
malised water was served out to us in
quantities so minute, that our throats could
count it by drops, I never sought to qualify
its nauseous taste, or increase its quantity,
by the addition of spirits, when spirits were
more plentiful than the much-courted water.
This trait proves, if it proves nothing else,
that I had a good deal of that inflexibility
of character, which we call in others ob-
stinacy, when we don’t lke it, firmness,
when we do—in ourselves, always, decision.

I give the incident that I am about to
relate, to show in what way, five-and-twenty
years ago, a man-of-war was made the
alternative of a jail; and to prove, generally
speaking, of what little use this kind of
recruiting was to the service; and, as it
made a great impression on me at the time,
though a little episodical, I shall not hesi-
tate to place it before my readers.

After remaining at anchor in the Downs
during the night, we sailed next morning
down the channel without stopping at Spit-
head, our ultimate destination being still a
profound secret. As we proceeded, when
we were off a part of the coast, the name
of which I do not remember, about noon-
day it fell calm, and the tide being against
us, we neared the shore a little, and came
to an anchor. We had not remained long
in our berth before we descried a shore-
boat pulling off to us, which shortly came
alongside, with a very singular cargo of
animal's, belonging to the genus ozo. In
the stern-sheets sat a magistrate's clerk,
swelling with importance. On the after
thwart, and facing the Jack in office, were
placed two constables, built upon the
regular Devonshire, chaw-bacon model,
holding upright between. their legs each
an immense staff, headed by. the gilded
initials of our sovereign lord the king.

Seated between these imposing pillars

FE 2in the extreme, and the keeper of the king's

    

68 RATTLIN, THE REEBFER:

of the state, sat, in tribulation dire, a tall,
awkward young man, in an elaborately-
worked white smockfrock, stained with
blood in front and upon the shoulders.
He was the personification of rural distress.
He blubbered 4 glezne voix, and lifted up
and lowered his hand-cuffed wrists with
a see-saw motion really quite pathetical.
Though the wind had fallen, yet the tide
was running strongly, and there was a good
deal of sea,—quite enough to make the
motion in the boat very unpleasant. As
they held on alongside by the rope, the
parties in the stern-sheets began bobbing
at each other, the staves lost and resumed,
and then lost again, their perpendicular—
so much indeed, as to threaten the head
of the clerk, whose countenance ‘‘ began
to pale its. effectual fire. ° The captain
and many of the officers looking over the
gangway, the following dialogue ensued,
commenced by the officer of the watch.

‘«Shore-boat, ho-hoy !”’

‘‘In the name of the King,’’ replied the
clerk, between many minacious hiccoughs,
and producing a piece of paper, ‘‘I have
brought you a volunteer, to serve in his
Majesty's fleet ;’’ pointing to the blubberer
in the smockfrock.

“* Well,” said the captain, ‘: knock off his
‘irons, and hand him up.”

‘* Dare not, sir—as much as my life is
worth. The most ferocious poacher in the
country. Has nearly beaten in the skull of
the squire’s head gamekeeper.”’

‘‘Just the sort of man we want,” said the
captain. ‘‘ But you see he can't get up
the side with his hands fast; and I pre-
sume you cannot be in much danger from
the volunteer, whilst you have two such
staves, held by two such constables.”

“Yes,” said the now seriously affected
clerk ; ‘‘I do not think that I incur much
danger from the malefactor, since I am
nnder the protection of the guns of the
frigate." So, somewhat reassured by this
reflection, the brigand of the preserves was
unmanacled, and the whole party, clerk,
constables, and prisoner, came up the side,
and made their appearance on the break of
the quarter-deck.

But this was not effected without much
difficulty, and some loss,—a loss that one
of the parties must have bewailed to his
dying day, if it did not actually hasten that
awful period. One of the constables, in
ascending the side, let fall his staff, his
much-loved staff, dear to him by many a
fond recollection of riot repressed, and
evil-doer apprehended, and away it went,
floating with the tide, far, far astern. His
unmitigated horror at this event was comic

 

eace could not have evinced moré iiii- ©
Pp

sophisticated sorrow than did the lafe

keeper of his conscience at the loss of »

the Seals, the more especially as the magis-
trate’s clerk refused to permit the boat to
go in pursuit of it, not wishing the only
connecting link between him and the shore
to be so far removed from his control.

CHAPTER SOxNexct,

»

The volunteer and his fate, showing how a great rogue,

notwithstanding that he may appear to be born to be
hung, will sometimes happen to drown.

‘THE group on the quarter-deck was singular
and ludicrous. Reuben Gubbins, for such
was the name of the offender, was the only
son of a small farmer, who, it appeared,
had even gone the length of felony, by
firing upon and wounding the gamekeeper
of the lord of the manor. He was quite
six feet high, very awkwardly built, and
wore under his frock a long-tailed blue
coat, dingy buckskin nether garments,

and top-boots, with the tops tanned brown °

by service. His countenance betrayed a
mixture of simplicity, ignorance, and strong
animal instinct. He was the least suited
being that could be possibly conceived of
whom to make a sailor. His limbs had
been long stiffened by rustic employments,
and he had a dread of the sea, and of a
man-of-war, horrifying to his imagination.
In this dread it was very evident that his
companions largely participated, not ex-
cepting the pragmatical clerk. The con-
stable with the staff, and the constable
without, ranged themselves on either side
of the still sobbing Arcadian. Indeed, the
staffless man seemed to be but little less
overcome than the prisoner. He felt as
if all strength, value, and virtue had gone
out of him ; and ever and anon he glared
upon the baton of his brother officer with
looks felonious and intent on rapine.

‘The business was soon concluded. Reu-
ben, rather than see himself tried for his
life, determined to make trial of the sea,
and thus became, perhaps, the most un-
willing volunteer upon record.

Poor -fellow! his sufferings must have
been great! The wild animal of the forest,
when pining, for the first time, in a cage,
or the weary land-bird, blown off, far away
upon the restless sea, could not have been
more out of their elements than tall and
ungainly Reuben Gubbins on the deck
of his Majesty’s ship Zos. Ido not knowKATPTEIN,

how it was, for l am sure that I ought to
have despised him for his unmanly and
incessant weeping,—I knew that he had
offended the laws of his country, —yet, when
the great lout went forward disconsolately,
and sat himself down, amidst the derision
of the seamen, upon a gun-carriage on the
forecastle, I could not help going and dis-
persing the scoffers, and felt annoyingly
inclined to take his toil-embrowned hand,
sit down beside, and cry with him. How-
eyer, I did not so far commit myself. But
a few hours afterwards I was totally over-
come.

Strict orders were given not to allow Gub-
bins to communicate with any one from the
shore. A little before dusk, there was a
boat ordered by the sentinels to keep off,
that contained, besides the sculler, a respect-
able-looking old man, and a tall, stout, and
rather handsome young woman. Directly
they caught the eye of Reuben, he ex-
claimed, ‘‘ Woundikins! if there bean’t
feyther and our sister Moll.” And running
aft, and putting his hat between his knees,
he thus addressed the officer of the watch,
“Please, Mr. Officer, zur, there's feyther
and our Moll.”

a Welle

‘‘Zur, mayn’t I go and have my cry out
with ’em, for certain I ha’ behaved mortal
bad 2”

‘« Against orders.”

‘‘But, sure-ly, you'll let him come up to
comfort loike his undutiful son.”

‘No, no; impossible.”

‘‘Whoy, lookee there, zur—that's feyther
with the white hair, and that’s sister crying
like mad. Ye can no’ ha ’the hard heart.’’

‘Silence! and go forward.’

I looked over the side, and there I saw
the old man standing up reverently, with his
hat in one hand, and a bag, apparently full
of money, in the other. Undoubtedly, the
simple yeoman had supposed that money
could either corrupt the captain, or buy off
the servitude of his guilty son. It was a
fine old countenance, down the sides of
which that silver hair hung so patriarchally
and gracefully; and there that poor old
man stood, bowing in his wretchedness and
his bereavement, with his money extended,
to every officer that he could catch a glimpse
of, as his hat er head appeared above the
hammock-nettings or the bulwarks. The
grief of his sister was common-place and
violent; but there was a depth and a dignity
in that of the old man that went to my
very heart. I could not help going up to
the lieutenant, and entreating him to grant
the interview.

“Tt won't do, Mr. Rattlin. Don't you
know that the fellow was put on board with

THE REEPER.

 

‘C. P.’ before his name? Lanticipate what
you are going to say; but humanity is:a
more abstract thing than you are aware of,
and orders must be obeyed.”

‘But, zur,’ said Gubbins, who had again
approached, ‘41 can see that feyther has
forgien me, and he’s the mon I ha’ -most
wronged arter all. Besides, sistur wull
break her heart if she doan't say ‘Good
bye, Reuben’—if feyther has made it up,
sure other folk mought be koind. Oh, ay
—but I’ve been a sad fellow!” And then
he began to blubber with fresh violence.

The officer was a little moved-—he went
to the gangway, hailed the boat, and when
she came near enough, he told the old
farmer kindly, that his orders to prevent
personal communication were strict ; that
any parcel or letter should be handed up,
but that he would do well not to let his re-
probate son have any money. During this
short conference, Reuben had placed him-
self within sight of his relatives, and the
sacred words of ‘‘ My father,” ‘‘ My son,”
were, in spite of all orders, exchanged
between them. By this time the tide had
turned, the wind had risen, and precisely
from the right quarter; so the hands were
turned up, ‘‘up anchor.’’ The orders for
the boat to keep off were now reiterated in
a manner more imperative ; but it still hung
about the ship, and after we were making
way, as long as the feeble attempts of the
boatman could keep his little craft near us,
the poor old man and his daughter, with a
constancy of love that deserved a better
object, hung upon our wake, he standing
up with his white hair blown about by the
wind, to catch a last glimpse of a son whom
he was destined to see no more, and who
would without doubt, as the Scripture
beautifully and tenderly expresses it, ‘‘bring
down his grey hairs with sorrow to the
grave.”

Long, long after the stolid and sullen son
had ceased, apparently, to interest himselt
about the two that were struggling after us,
in their really frail boat, I watched from the
taffrail the vain and loving pursuit; in-
deed, until the darkness and the rapidly-
increasing distance shrouded it from my view,
I did not leave my post of observation, and
the last that I could discern of the mourmers,
still showed me the old man standing up, in
the fixed attitude of grief, and the daughter
with her face bent upon her knees. To the
last, the boat's head was still towards the
ship—a touching emblem of unswerving
fatherly love.

I could not awzy with the old man’s look,
it was so wretched, so helnless, yet so fond
—and was typed to my fancy so strongly by
his little boat pursuing, with a hopeless con-

       
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
   

AF ins7O RATTLIN, THE REEFER.
stancy over waves too rough forit, the huge —not even the rope’s-end of the boatswain’s
and disregarding ship; so with my- breast mate. Now this delicacy was quite at
full, even to suffocation with mingled emo- variance with Mr. Farmer's ideas; so, in
tions, I went down to my berth, and laying order to overcome it by the gentlest means
my head upon the table, and covering my in the world, Reuben had the option given
face with my hands, I pretended to sleep. him of being flogged, or of laying out on
The cruel torture of thatshalf-hour! 1 the smoke-sail yard, just to begin with, and
almost thought the poacher, with all his to get into the way of it. It was a laughable
misery, still blessed in having a father'slove thing to see this huge clown hanging with
—'twas then that I felt intensely the agony us boys upon the thin yard, and hugging
of the desertion of my Own parent—thelove it as closely as if he loved it. ‘He had a
that had been denied to me to give tomyown perfect horror of getting to the end of it.
father, I lavished upon the white-headedold At a distance, when our smoke-sail yard
man. In imagination I returned with him was manned, We looked like a parcél of
to his desolate home; I supported his tot- larks spitted, with one great goose in the
tering steps over the threshold, no longer midst of us. “Doey, get beyond me, zur;
musical with an only son. I could fancy doey, Mr. Rattlin,” he would Say.) te Aths!
myself placing him tenderly and with rever- zur, I'd climb with any. bragger in” this
ence in his accustomed chair, and speaking ship for a rook’s rest, where I ha’ got a safe
the words of comfort to him ina low voice, bough to stand upon; but to dance upon
and looking round for his family Bible—and this here see-sawing line, and to call it a
the sister, doubtless she had many sources horse too ben’t christian loike.”
of consolation ; youth was with her—life But his troubles were soon to cease. He
all before her—she had companions, friends, was made a waister, and at furling sails
perhaps a lover; but,—for the pooroldman! stationed on the main-yard. I will antici-
At that moment, I would haye given up all pate a little, that we may have done with
my anticipations of the splendid career him. The winter had set in severely, with
that I fancied I was to run, in order tohave strong gales, with much frost and snow.
gone and have been unto the bereaved sire We were not yet clear of the chops of the
as a son, and to have found in him a father. Channel, and the weather became so bad,

But nobody could make a sailor of that it was found necessary to lie-to under

Reuben Gubbins, and Reuben had no idea try-sails, and close-reefed main top-sail.
of making a sailor of himself. It was in About two bells in the first dog-watch the
vain that the boatswain’s mate docked the first-lieutenant decided upon furling the
long tails of his blue coat (such things were - mail-sail, Up on the main-yard Reuben
done in the navy at that time), razéed his was forced to go; he went to leeward, and
top-boo's into seaman’s shoes, and that he the seamen, full of mischief, kept urging
had his smock-frock reducéd intoaseaman's him farther and farther away from the
shirt. The soil hung upon him, he slouched bunt. 1 was with one of the oldsters in
over the deck, as if he were walking over the maintop; the maintop-sail had just
the furrows of ploughed land, and looked been close reefed. I had a full view of the
up into the tigging as if he saw a cock. lads on the main-yard, and the terror dis-

pheasant at roost upon the rattlins. More- played in Reuben's countenance was at

over, he could talk of nothing else excepting once ludicrous and horrible. It was bitterly

‘‘feyther,” and “our Moll,” and he really cold, the rigging was Stiffened by frost, and

ate his bread (sad¢ntellige biscuit) mois- the cutting north-east wind came down

tened with his tears (if tears can moisten upon the men on the lee-yard-arm out of
such flinty prepatations), for he was always the belly of the topsail with tremendous
whimpering. For the sake of the fit of force, added to which, the ship, notwith-
romance that I had felt for his father, I standing the pressure of the last-mentioned
took some kind notice of this yokel afloat. sail, surged violently, for there was a heavy

I believe, as much as jt Jay in his nature, though a short sea. The farmet's son

he was grateful for it, for to every one else seemed to be gradually petrifying with fear:

on board he was the constant butt. he held on upon a fold of the éail instinc-

Mr. Farmer, our first‘lieutenant, was a tively, without at all assisting to bundle it
smart and somewhat exacting officer. He up. He had rallied all his energies into
used to rig the smoke-sail some twelve feet his cramped and’ clutching fingers. As IT
high across the mizen-mast, and make the looked down upon him, I saw that he was
young gentlemen just caught, and the boys doomed. I would have cried out for assist-
of the ship, lay out upon it, in order that ance, but I knew that my cry would have
they might practise furling after a safe been useless, eVen if I had been able,
method, At first, nothing could persuade through the-roar of the winds and the

Reuben to go a single step up the rigging waters, to have made it heard.RAGIN, FE REBREER. oI
But this trying situation could not last We were all in a fool's paradise. For

long. ‘The part of the sail on which Reuben
had hung, with what might be truly termed
his death-clutch, was wanted to be rolled in
with the furl, and, by the tenacity of his
grasp, he impeded the operation.

‘Rouse up, my lads, bodily, to wind-
ward,’ roared the master’s mate, stationed
at the bunt of the sail.

“Tet go, you lubber,’”’ said the sailor
next to windward of Reuben, on the yard.

Reuben was now so lost, that he did not
reply to the man even by a look. ‘‘ Now,
my lads, now: one, two, three, and a ra
Obedient to the call of the officer, with a
simultaneous jerk at the sail, the holdfast
of the stupefied peasant was plucked from
his cracking fingers; he fell back with a
loud shriek from the yard, struck midway
on the main rigging, and thence bounding
far to leeward in the sea, disappeared, and
for ever, amid the white froth of the curl-
ing wave that lapped him up greedily. He
never rose again. Perhaps, in her leeway,
the frigate drifted over him—and thus the
violated laws of his country were avenged.
I must confess, that I felt a good deal
shocked at the little sensation this (to me)
tragical event occasioned. But we get used
to these things, in this best of all possible
worlds; and if the poacher died unwept,
unprayed, unknelled for, all that can be
gaid of the matter is—that many a better
man has met with a worsé fate,

 

CHAPTER XXXII.

Symptoms of sickness, not of the sea, but of the land
beyond it—Our M.D. wishes to write D-I.@., and pre-
pares accordingly—Ralph is about to reap his first
marine laurels on the rocks of Cove.

I po not get on with this life at all I
have not yet reached the Cove of Cork.
Clap on more sail. It is bitterly cold,
however, and here we are now Safely
moored in one of the petals of the “‘ first
flower of the sea.”

In making this short passage, Captain
Reud was very affable and communicative.
He could talk of nothing but the beautiful
coast of Leghorn; the superb Bay of
Naples; pleasant trips to Rome; visits to
Tripoli ; and other interesting spots on the
African coast; and on the voluptuous city
of Palermo, with its amiable ladies and in-
cessant festivities, he was quite as eloquent
as could reasonably be expected from a
smart post-captain of four-and-twenty,

myself, I’ was enraptured. I was con-
tinually making extracts from Horace,
Virgil, and other school-books, that I still
carried with me, which referred, in the
least, to those places that we were at all
likely to see. But visions of this land of
promise, of this sea flowing with gentle
waves and rich prizes, were soon dis-
persed before a sad reality, that, without
the aid of the biting weather, now made
most of the officers and men look blue, so
soon as our anchors had nipped the ground
of the Green Island. We found ourselves
in the middle of a convoy of more than two
hundred vessels of all descriptions, that the
experienced immediately knew to be West
Indiamen.

The sarcastic glee with which Captain
Reud rubbed his skinny, yellow hands,
when he ordered additional sentries, and
a boat to row guard round the ship from
Sunset to sunrise, weather permitting, to
prevent desertion, gave me a strong im-
pression of the malignity of his disposition.
Certainly, the officers, from the first-lieu-
tenant downwards, looked, when under the
influence of the first surprise, about as sage
aS we may conceive did those seven wise
men of Gotham who put to Sea in a bowl.
Some of them had even exchanged into the
ship, for certain unlawful considerations,
because shé was so fine a frigate, and the
captain possessed so much interest, being
a very near and dear relation of the then
treasurer of the navy. With this interest
they thought, of course, that he would
have the selection of his own station.
And so he had. ‘They either did not
know, or had forgotten, that Captain
Reéeud was a West Indian creole, and that
he had large patrimonial estates in An-
tigua.

‘© Not loud but deep’ were the curses in
the gun-room, but both ‘‘loud and deep”
were those in the midshipmen’s berth, for
the denizens thereof were never proverbial
for the nicéties of their expressions, when
the appalling certainty broke on the com-
minators, of three years’ roasting in the
West Indies, with accompaniments of
misgivings about Yellow Jack, and the
palisades, merely because the captain
wished to go and see why the niggers did
not make quite so much sugar and rum as
they used to do. But, after all, we had a
sage ship's company, Officers included, for
there was scarcely a man in the ship who,
after our destination was ascertained, did
not say, ‘‘ Well, [ thought as much ;”’ and
they derived much consolation from the
consciousness of their foresight.

The knowledge of our station had a mostsibs aces

 

 

  

 

972 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

decided effect upon two of- our officers, the

master and surgeon ; the former of whom,

a weather-beaten, old north countryman,

who had been all his life knocking about

the north sea, and our channels at home,
immediately gave himself up for lost.

He made his will, and took a decidedly
serious turn.

But there was another person who
viewed the West India station not re-
ligiously like our master, or joyously like
our captain, or grumblingly like the
marine officer, or despitefully like all the
lieutenants, or detestedly like my mess-
mates, or indifferently like myself. He
took the matter into consideration dis-
creetly, and so, in order to enjoy a long
life, he incontinently fell sick unto death.
Of course he knew, more than any man
on board, how ill he was, for he was the
doctor himself. He was not merely a
naval surgeon, but a regular M.D., and
with an English diploma. He could
appreciate, as much as any man, the
value of life; and hard indeed did he
struggle to preserve the means of pro-
longing it. He was a short, round, and
very corpulent person, with a monstrously
large and -pleasant-looking face, with a
very high colour—a colour not the flush of
intemperance, but the glow of genuine
health. This vast physiognomy was dug
all over with holes; not merely pock-
marks, but pock-pits. Indeed, his coun-
tenance put you in mind of a vast tract of
graveily soil on a sunny day, dug over with
holes; it was so red, so cavernous, and
withal, so bright. I need not mention
that he was a Jon vivant, a most joyous,
yet a most discreet one. Even on board
of ship he contrived to make his breakfasts
dinners, his dinners feasts, and his suppers,
though light, delicacies. He was no mean
proficient in the culinary art, and as refined
a gourmand as the dear departed Dr. Kit-
chener—a man to whose honour I have a
great mind to devote an episode, and would
do so, were not.my poor shipmate, Dr.
Thompson, just now waiting for me to
relieve him from his illness.

No sooner did our clever medical atten-
dant understand his destination than he
sent away his plate untouched at dinner—
refused his wine-—talked movingly of broken
constitutions, a predisposition to anasarca,
and the deceitful and dangerous appear-
ances of florid health. At supper, he
pronounced: himself a lost man, held out
his brawny fist to whomsoever would
choose to feel his pulse, and sent for the
first assistant-surgeon to make him up a
tremendous quantity of prescriptions, to
be exhibited the ensuing night—to what-

 

ever fish might be so unfortunate as to be

swimming alongside. After this display,

and whilst he was languidly sipping a

tumbler of barley-water, the Hon. Mr. B.,

our junior luff, was loud in his complaints
of being, what he qalled, fairly entrapped;
when Dr. Thompson, in a feeble and
tremulous voice, read him a long lecture
on patriotism, obedience to the dictates of
duty, and self-devotion, finishing thus :-—

‘‘By Heaven, show me the man. that
flinches from his duty, and I'll show you,
whatever may be his outward bearing, a
craven at heart! Iam very ill—I feel that
I am fast sinking into a premature grave—
but what of that? I should be but too
happy if I could make my dying struggles
subservient to my country. My body, Mr.
Farmer—Mr. Wade, this poor temple of
mine contains an_ insidious enemy—a
Strange, a dreadful, and a wasting dis-
ease. It is necessary, for the sake of
medical science, for my country’s good,
for the health of the world at large, that
my death, which will speedily happen,
should take place in England, in order
that after dissolution I may be dissected
by the first operators, viewed by the most
intelligent of the faculty, and thus another
light be placed on the present dark paths
of curative knowledge. My symptoms are
momentarily growing worse. Gentlemen,
messmates, friends, I must leave you for
the night, and too soon, I fear, for ever;
but never shirk your duty. If they be the
last words that I shall utter to you—-humble
though I be—I tnay venture to hold myself
up to you as a pattern of self-devotion.
God bless you all—good night—and never
shirk your duty.”

Of course, the company to whom this
was addressed, were infinitely amused at
this display, and the third-lieutenant ob-
served mournfully, ‘‘ Now there’s no chance
forme. ‘The fat rogue is going to invalid
himself. I suppose that I need not trouble
my liver to be diseased just now, for the
hypocrite won't allow another man in the
ship to be sick but himself.”

The gentlemen guessed rightly. All the
next day Dr. Thompson kept his cot, and
was duly reported to the captain as dan-
gerously ill. Now, our first-lieutenant was
a noble, frank, yet sensible aud shrewd
fellow, and the captain was as mischief-
loving, wicked little devil, as ever grinned
over a spiteful frolic. ‘They held a con-
sultation upon the case, and soon came
to a more decided opinion on it than the
gentlemen of the faculty generally do on
such occasions. Now, whilst the doctor
is plotting to prove himself desperately
and almost hopelessly sick, and the captainand Mr. Farmer to make him suddenly
well, in spite of himself, I shall take the
opportunity of displaying my own heroic
deeds, when placed in the first independent
command ever conferred upon me. Jason,
with his Argonauts, went to bear away the
Golden Fleece; Columbus, and his heroes,
to give a world to the sovereign of Spain;
and I, with two little boys, pushed out of
the Cove perilously to procure some sand,
in the dingy. Nothing elevates a bio-
graphy like appropriate comparisons. But
I doubt whether either Jason or Columbus
felt a more enthusiastic glow pervade their
frames when each saw himself fairly under
sail for unknown seas than I did when I
seized the tiller of the dingy, which was,
by the bye, a stick not at all bigger than
that which I had, not many months before,
used in trundling my hoop.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

A little boat with a deree cargo—Worse than the drift
of a dull argument, Ralph finds drifting across the
Atlantic—He meets with land at length, and a real
Irish welcome—Potatoes and poteen, and much more
fur than furniture,

Bur this little boat, as it so often bore Ceesar
and his fortunes, and our surgeon and his
fat, deserves and shall have a more than
passing notice. It was perhaps one of the
smallest craft that ever braved the seas.
Such a floating miniature you may have
conceived Gulliver to be placed in, when
he was sighed across the tub of water by
his Brobdignag princess. Wofully and
timorously, many’s the time and oft did
the obese doctor eye it from the gang-
way; when asking for a boat, the first-
lieutenant, smiling benignantly, would re-
ply, ‘‘ Doctor, take the dingy.” It was all
that the dingy could do, to take the doctor.
Then the care with which he gently de-
posited himself, precisely in the centre of
the very small stern-sheets, would have
afforded a fine moral lesson to those who
pretend to watch over the safety of states.
As the little craft, laden with this im-
mense pharmacopcoeian depositary, hobbled
over the seas, it seemed almost to progress
upright, and ‘‘ walked the waters. like a
thing of life;”’ for it had a shrewd likeness
to a young monkey learning to go upright,
with its two long. arms steadying its un-
certain gait, the oars making all this re-

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

    
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
    

73

semblance. Indeed, it was so) diminutive,
that it often kept up the two boys that be-
jJonged to it from the fresh as well as the
salt water, they clapping it over their heads,
by way of an umbrella, whenever the clouds
poured down a libation too liberal. To
those curious in philology, I convey the in-
formation, that in the word démgy the g
was pronounced hard. This explanation
is also necessary to do justice to the pigmy
floater, as.it was always painted in the
gayest colours possible. It was quite a pet
of the first-lieutenant’s. Indeed, he loved
it so much, that he took care never to
oppress it with his own weight.

The Cove of Cork is a fine harbour,
entered by the means of a somewhat narrow
strait. I have forgotten the names of all
the headlands and points, and I am so sick
of Irish affairs, that I do not choose to go
into the next room and get the map to
refer to, for on it there is scarcely a spot
that could meet my eye that would not
give rise to disagreeable associations. So
I prefer writing from memory, magic
memory, that gives me now the picture of
five-and-twenty years ago, all green, and
fresh, and beautiful.

On entering the Cove, there were, on
the left hand of the strait, fortifications and
military barracks. Beyond these, to the
seaward, and just on the elbow of the land,
that formed the entrance to the strait, our
first-lieutenant discovered, from the taffrail
of the frigate, a white patch of sand. The
rest of the shore was rocky, iron-bound,
and unapproachable from the sea. Mr.
Farmer took me aft, pointed out to me
the just visible spot, told me to fetch off
as much sand as the dingy could bear, and
return with all expedition. Proud of the
commission, about four pP.M., the tide
running out furiously, I ordered the dxgees
to be piped away, and walking down the
side with due dignity, with a bucket and
a couple of spades, we pushed off, and
soon reached the spot. ‘The boat was
loaded, but in the meantime the tide had
left, and, light and small as she was, three
little boys could not launch her till almost
all the sand had been returned to its native
soil. All this occupied muchtime. It was
nearly dusk when we got her afloat, and
the wind had got up strongly from off the
land. It came on to rain, and we had not
got far from the shore before the tide swept
us clean out into the Atlantic. We were
shortly in a situation sufficiently perilous for
the heroic. ‘There we were, three lads,
whose united years would not have made
up those of a middle-aged man, in a very
little boat, in a very high sea, with a strong
gale that would have been very favourablerhe RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

for us, if we had wished tosteer for New York,
As we could not maké head at all against
the combined strength of an adverse wind,
tide, and sea, we left off pulling, and threw
all the sand out of the boat. We knew
the tide would turn, we hoped that the sea
might go down, and trusted that the wind
would change. Before it was quite dark,
we had lost sight of the land, and I began
to feel a little uncomfortable, as my boat's
crew, from stem to stern (no great distance),
assured me that we should certainly be
swamped. In this miserable position of
our affairs, and when we should have found
ourselves very cold if we had not been
so hungry, and vety hungry if we had not
been so cold, an Hibernian mercantile
vessel passed us, laden with timber and
fruit, viz. potatoes and birch-brooms, and
they very kindly and opportunely threw us
atow-rope. ‘This drogher, that was alarge,
half-decked, cutter-rigged vessel made great
way through thé water, and, as we were
dragged after her, we were nearly drowned
by the sea splashing over us, and, had
it not been for our sand-bucket, it is pro-
bable that we should have filled. In the
State of the sea, to get on board the drogher
from the dingy was an operation too danger-
ous to be attempted.

But, before this assistance came, what
were my feelings? No situation could be
more disconsolate, and, apparently, more
hopeless. Does not the reader suppose
that there was a continual rushing through
my bosom of agoniséd feelings? Can he
not understand that visions of my lately-
forsakén greén play-ground came over the
Dlackand massive waves, and seemed to settle
on them, as in mockery? But were I to
dilate upon these horrors, would he not
weary of them? Had I been the son of
a king, thus situated, or even the acknow-
ledged offspring of a duke, there might
have been sympathy. But the newly-
emancipated schoolboy, drowned with two
lads just drafted from the Marine Society,
in a small boat off the Irish coast, may be
thought a melancholy occurrence, but in-
volving nothing of particular interest, I
see my etror: if I wish to create an effect,
I must first prove that I am the son of a
duke ora king. J have begun at the wrong
énd.

However, let the reader sneer as he will
at my predicament, there was something
sublime in thé scene around me. The
smallness of the craft magnified the great-
ness of the waves. I literally enjoyed the

interesting situation which naval writers,
who are not nautical, of ‘seas running
mountains high,” so rejoice to describe.
One wave on either hand bounded my

 

horizon. They were absolutely mountain
waves to me; and when our little walnut-
shell got on the top of one, it isno gréat
stretch of metaphor to say, that we ap-
peared ascending to the clouds. We
could not look down upon one wave,
until’ we were fairly on the back of
another. Now, in a vessel, of tolerable
size, let the:sea rage at its worst, from the
ship's decks you always look down upon it,
excepting now and then, when somé  short-
lived giant will poke up its overgrown head.
But I must remember that I am in tow of
the potato craft.

‘Though she lay well up for the harbour’s
mouth, she could not fetch it, so she tacked
and tacked again, until nearly ten o'clock,
at which time we, in the dingy, were half
frozen, and almost wholly drowned. ‘The
moon was now up, though partially ob-
scured by flying rack, and, in making a
land board, the honest Pat, in the com-
mand of the sloop, shortened the Low-rope,
and hailed us, telling us when we were well
abreast of a little sandy bight, to cast off,
pullin, and haul up our boat above high-
water mark. We took his advice, and,
without much difficulty, found ourselves,
once more, on terra firma.

I cannot help, in this place, making the
reflection, of the singular events that the
etratic life of a sailor produces. Here
were evidently three lives ‘saved, among
which was that of the future paragon of
reefers, and neither the saved nor the
saviours knew even the names, or saw
distinctly the faces, of each other. How
Many good and brave actions we sailors
do, and the careless world knows nothing
about them. ‘The sailor's life is a series of
common-place heroisms.

Well, here we are, landed on the coast
of Ireland, but in what part we knew not,
and with every prospect of passing the
hight under the grandest, but, -in winter,
the most uncomfortable roof in the world.
The two lads begged for leave to go up.
and look for a house; but, as I had made
up my mind. that, if a loss took place, we
Should be all lost together, I would not
Tun the risk of /os772 my boat's crew, and

jinding myself—alone. 1 refused my con-
sent, telling them that it was my duty to
stay by my boat, and theirs to Stay by me.
Now this was tolerably firm, considering
the ducking that I had enjoyed, and the
hunger, cold, and weariness that I was
then enjoying —enjoying ? yes, enjoying.
Surely I have as much right to enjoy
them, if I like, as the ladies and gentle-
men of this metropolis have to enjoy bad
health.

But this epicene state of enjoyment wasRia BEELTN,

nottlong toslast, A fresh-coloured native,
with a prodigious breadth of face, only to
be surpassed by his prodigious breadth of
shoulders, approached, and addressed us
in a brogue so strong, that it would, like
the boatswain’s grog, have floated 4 marlin-
spike, and in a stuttering so thick, that a
horn spoon would have stood upright in it.
The consequence was, that though fellow-
subjects, we could not understand each
other. So he went and brought down
with him a brawny brother, who spoke
‘Inglis illigantly anyhow.” Well, the
proverbial hospitality of the Irish suffered
no injury in the persons of my Irish friends.
A pressing invitation to their dwelling and
to their hospitality was urged upon us in
ternis, and with looks, that I felt were the
genuine offspring of kindness and gene-
rosity of soul. But 1 still demurred to
leave my boat. When’ they understood
the full force of my objection, my frieze-
coated friend, who spoke the ‘‘illigant
Inglis,’ explained.

‘©, by fasus, and ain’t she welcome
intirely? Come along, ye little undersized
spalpeen, with your officer, won't you?”

And, before I could well understand
what they were about, the two “jontle-
men” had taken up his Majesty's vessel
under my command, had turned it bottom
up with several shakes, to clear it of the
water and sand, and with as little difficulty
as a farmer's boy would have turned upside
down a thrush’s cage, in order to cleanse
it. After this operation had been per-
formed, they righted it, and one laying
hold of the bow, and the other the stern,
they swung it between them, as two washer-
women might a basket of dirty clothes. I
must confess that I was a great deal
mortified at seeing my command treated
thus slightingly, which mortification was
not a little increased by an overture that
they kindly made to me, saying, that if I
were at all tired, they would, with all the
pleasure in the world, carry me in’ its. ft
preferred walking.

Officer, YOat's crew, - guides, boat and
oars, proceeded in this manner for more
than half a mile into the country. At
length, by the moonlight, I discovered a
row of earthy mounds, that I positively, at
first, thought was a parcel of heaps, such
as I had seen in England, under which
potatoes are buried for the winter.

I was undeceived, by being welcomed to
the town of some place, dreadful in ‘‘as,_
and ‘‘ghas,” and with a name so difficult
to utter, that I could not pronounce it when
I attempted, and which, if I had ever been
so fortunate to retain, I should for my own
comfort, have made haste to ferget,

THE

REEFER. 75

I hope that the ‘‘finest pisintry in the
world” are better located now than they
were a quarter of a century ago, for they
are, or were, a fine peasantry, as far as
physical organization can make them, and
deserve at least to be housed like human
beings; but what I saw, when on that night
I entered the mud edifice of my conductors,
made me start with astonishment. In the
first place, the walls were mud all through,
and as rough on the inside as the out. There
was actually no furniture in it of any de-
scription ; and the only implement I saw
was a large globular iron pot, that stood
upon spikes, like a carpenter's pitch-kettle,
which pot, at the moment of my entrance,
was fnll of hot, recently boiled, unskinned,
fine mealy praties, Round this there might
have been sitting some twelve or fourteen
persons of both sexes, and various ages,
none above: five-and-twenty. But it must
be remembered, that the pot was upon the
earth, and the earth was the floor, and the
circle was squatted round it. At the fire-
place each on a three-legged stool, sat an
elderly man and woman. ‘These stools the
fastidious may call furniture if they please ;
but were any of my readers placed upon
one of them, so rough and dirty were they,
that he or she must have been very naughty,
did not the stool of repentance prove a more
pleasant resting-place.

Among the squatted circle there were a
bandy-legged drummer, and a_blotched-
faced fifer, from the adjacent barracks, both
in their regimentals. They rose, and capped
to my uniform. We were welcomed with
shouts of congratulations. My boat was
brought in, and placed, bottom-up, along
one side of the hovel, and immediately the
keel was occupied by a legion of poultry,
and half a score. of pigs, little and big,
were, at the same time, to be seen dubbing
their snouts under the gunnel, on voyages
of alimentary discovery. I was imme-
diately pulled down between two really
handsome Jasses in the circle; and, with
something like savage hospitality, had my
cheeks stuffed with the burning potatoes.

Never was there a more hilarious meet-
ing. J and my Tom ‘Thumb of a boat,
and my minikin crew, I could well nnder-
stand, though my hosts spoke in their
mother tongue, were the subjects of their
incessant and uncontrollable bursts of
Jaughter. But, with all this they were by
no means rude, and showed me that sort of
respect that servants do to the petted child
of their master: that is to say, they were
inclined to be very patronising, and very
careful of me, in spite of myself, and to
humour me greatly. My two boys, whom
T have so often dignified with the imposingSidi eno eres “

title of my boat's crew, though treated with
less or no respect at all, were welcomed in
a manner equally kind,

CHAPDER XXXV.

Ralph figureth at a ball, excelleth, and afterwards
sleepeth—He returneth on board, and hath both his
toils and his sand undervalued, and thus discovereth
the gratitude of first-lieutenants.

Not yet having sufficiently Hibernised
my taste to luxuriate on Raleigh’s root,
plain with salt, I begged them to procure
me something more placable to an English
appetite. I gave money to my hosts, and
they procured me eggsandbacon, I might
also have had a fowl, but I did not wish to
devour guests to whom on my boat's kee.
I had given such recent hospitality. They
returned me my full change, and though
there was more than enough of what they
cooked for me to satisfy myself and boys,
they would not partake of the remains until
I assured them that. if they did not, |
would throw them away. At this intima-
tion they disappeared in a twinkling.

Then came the whiskey—the real dew. I
never touched it. I have before stated that
for three years I abstained fromall spirituous
liquors. My lads had made no such reso-
lution. The big iron-pot was now, like an
honest old sailor that had done his duty,
kicked aside in the corner; the drummer
and fifer seating themselves on the keel of
the inverted dingy, and struck up a lilt, and

“ Off they went so gaily 0!”

More lads and lasses came in, and jigs
and reels succeeded each other with such
rapidity, that, notwithstanding the copious
supplies of whiskey, the drummer's arms
failed him, and the fifer had almost blown
himself into an atrophy. Did I dance?
To be sure I did, and right merrily too. I
had such pleasant, fair-haired, rosy, Hebe-
like instructresses, ready to tear each other's
eyes out to get me for a partner.. Then
they talked Irish so musically, and put the
king’s English to death socharmingly ; that,
notwithstanding the heat and smoke of the
cabin was upon them, and the whiskey did
more than heighten the colour on their lips,
they were really enchanting, though stock-
ingless creatures. It has been truly said,
that in the social circle, the extremes, as to
manners, almost meet, These ladies, I

76 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

suppose, had gone so far beyond vulgarity,
that they were now converging to the su-
perior tone and frank décagement of the
upper classes, Positively, it never struck
me that I was in vulgar company. I then,
of course, could have been but an indifferent
judge. But Ihave thought of it often since,
and must say, that, in the degrading sense
of the word, my company of that night was
not vulgar. It was pastoral, and perhaps
barbarous, but everything was natural and
everything free from pretension. I did not
often again, though I have danced° with
Spirits as unwearied, dance with a heart SO
light. During this festive evening I saw
no indications of that pugnacity so in-
separable with Irish hilarity, though there
were assembled a dozen of as pretty ‘‘broths
of boys’’ as ever practised skull salutation
at Donybrook fair.

At length, about one in the morning, the
whiskey had overpowered my boat's crew,
and the whisking myself. They made up
a lair for me with abundant greatcoats in
the corner of the room, and my eyes gra-
dually closed in sleep, catching, till they
were finally sealed up, every now and then,
twinklings of bare legs and well-turned
ankles, mingled with the clatter of heavy
brogues, and the drone of a bagpipe, that
had now superseded the squeak of the fife,
and the rattle of the drum.

I certainly did dream, I suppose about an
hour after I had fallen asleep, of the clat-
tering of sticks, the squalling of women,
and the cursing of men; and I felt an in.
distinct sensation, as if people were prac-
tising leaping over my body, and finally, as
if some soft-rounded figure had caught me
in her arms. I was so terribly oppressed
with fatigue, that I could not awake; and,
as the last part of my dream gave me sosweet
an idea of happiness and security, if I may
use the expression, I shall Say, as every
novelist has a right to do once in his three
volumes—‘‘ J was lapped in Elysium.”’

Everything was oblivion until I was
awakened by one of my lads, at eight in
the morning, and I arose refreshed though
a little stiff The hardened clay, which
composed the floor, was neatly swept up,
the pigs and the poultry were driven out,
and a good fire was blazing under the
chimney. Of all the party of the night be-
fore, there remained only the two fine young
men who brought me and my boat up, the
elderly couple, and two blooming girls, with
the youngest of whom I had danced almost
the whole of the previous evening. I ob-
served on one of the young men a tremen-
dous black eye, that certainly was not there
the day before, and the other had his
temples carefully bandaged, and both myRA SE SIESE iN,

boat-boys complained of being kicked and
trampled on during the night, yet, 1 am not
so ungrateful, upon such slender evidence,
as to assert that the dance had ended in a

scrimmage, or so presumptuous as [to say.

in what manner I thought that I had been
protected during the row, if there had been
one.

My hosts had nothing to offer me for
breakfast but a thin, and by no means
tempting, pot of hot meal and water. I
certainly did taste a little, that I might not
seem to disrespect the pretty Norah who
had prepared it for me, and strove to make
it palatable by a lump of butter, a delicacy
that was offered to no one else. As I was
impatient to be off, I kissed the girls
heartily—yes, heartily; shook hands with
the sons, and prepared for my departure,
after having, with considerable difficulty,
forced a half-guinea upon my hosts. I
begged to know the names of those to whose
hospitality I was so much indebted, and, as
well as memory willserve meat this distance
of time, I think they were specimens of what
excellent O’Tooles potatoes are capable of
producing. We then resumed our proces-
sion down to the beach, I walking first,
bearing the boot-hook pikeways, followed
by the boat itself, borne between the two
athletic O'Tooles, and the procession was
closed by the boat's crew, each with his oar
upon hisshoulder. We were soon launched
and instructed as to the course we were to
take. The wind and sea had gone down,
and the tide was favourable. We had to
pull about five miles to get round the bluff,
when we arrived at the sandy little nook
from which we had made our involuntary
excursion to sea the night before. The
spirit of obedience to orders was strong upon
me, and in spite of the remonstrance of the
boys, I went in, and loaded the dingy nearly
down to the gunnel with the sand, for which
we had been so much perilled. After all
my dangers, I got safely on board before
noon, much to the surprise of all on board,
who had given us up as lost, and there
already had been a coolness between the
captain and the first-lieutenant on my ac-
count. This coolness promised a warm re-
ception for myself, and I got it.

So occupied had Mr. Farmer been all the
day before with taking in Irish beef and
pork, for the West Indian storehouses, and
extra water to supply any of the convoy
that might fall short of that necessary
article, that he had totally forgotten the sand
expedition, and it was eight in the evening,
just at the time that I was, in the words of
the song, ‘‘ Far, far at sea,” that he was re-
minded of it. Mr. Silva, the second-lieu-
tenant, begged, as a favour, that a boat

LE REREPER.

   
   
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
    

77

might be lent him, just to put him along™
side the Roebuck, one of the two eighteen™
gun brigs that was to accompany us as
whippers-in to the convoy. As the captain
was not expected on board till late, Mr.
Farmer had not much hesitation in granting
the request, with his usual ‘‘ Take the
dingy, Mr. Silva.” But just then the
Atlantic had been beforehand with him.
‘The dingy had not returned. She had been
last seen at the sandy nook to which shehad
been sent. ‘The barge and cutter were im-
mediately manned and sent to look for me.
‘They easily got to the place where I was seen
loading, and found the sand disturbed, and
nothing else. ‘They returned with some
difficulty against the head-wind, and, of
course, made a most disheartening report.
When the captain returned he was dread-
fully angry.

Well, as I crept up the side sneakingly,
not very well knowing whether I were to
enact the hero or the culprit, I concocted a
speech that was doomed to share the fate
of ‘‘ the lostinventions.”’ I saw the captain
and Mr. Farmer pacing the deck, but both
decidedly with their duty faceson. ‘Touch-
ing my hat very submissively, I said, sheep-
ishly, ‘‘ I’ve come on board sir, and——’,

‘‘You young blackguard! I've a great
mind——”

‘‘To do what, Mr. Farmer?’ said Cap-
tain Reud, interposing.

Now, I can assure the reader, twenty-
five years ago, when we had nearly cleared
the seas of every enemy, and the British
pennant was really a whip, which had
flogged every opponent of the ocean, the
‘‘young gentlemen” were sometimes flog-
ged too, and more often called young
blackguards, than by any other title of
honour. All this is altered for the better
now. We don't abuse each other, or flog
among ourselves so much—and, the next
war, | make-no doubt, what we have
spared to ourselves we shall bestow upon
our enemies. I mention this, that the
reader may not suppose that I am coarse
in depicting the occasional looseness of the
naval manners of the times.

“To punish him for staying out all night
without leave.”

“That's a great fault, certainly,” said
the captain, slily. ‘‘ Pray, Mr. Rattlin,
what izduced you to commit it?”

“Please, sir, I wasn’t induced at alle ok
was regularly blown out, and now I am as
regularly b—."

““Come, sir, I'll be your friend, and not
permit you to finish your sentence. If it’s
a fair question, Mr. Rattlin, may I presume
to ask where you slept last night?”

‘‘With the two Misses O’Tooles,” saidORTH

   

 

  

\

     

78 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

I; for really the young ‘ladies were upper- scheme of a counter-plot, and they now

most in my thoughts.

“You young reprobate ! What, with
both?” said the captain, grinning,

» Mes, isir,? for denew began to feel
myself safe; ‘‘and Mr. and Mrs. O'Toole,
and Mr. Cornelius O'Toole, who has red
hair, and Mr. Phelim O'Toole, who-has a
black eye—and the poultry, and the pigs,
and the boat's crew,”

‘‘ And where was the boat all this time?”

‘‘ Sleeping with us, too, sir.”

I then shortly detailed what had hap-
pened to me, which amused the captain
much. And .so;’’ he continued, ‘‘after
all, you. have breught off thesand. I really
commend your perseverance,”’

A bucket of sand was handed up, and
Mr. Farmer contemptuously filtered it
through his fingers; then, turning to me
wrathfully, exclaimed, ‘‘ How dare you
bring off for sand such shelly, pebbly,
gritty stuff as this, sir?”

‘If you please, sir, I had no hand in
putting it where I found it, and I only
obeyed orders in bringing it off... For I
really felt it to be very unjust to be blamed
for the act of nature, and especially as
three lives had been endatigered to procure
a few buckets of worthless earth.

The captain thought so too; for he éaid
to Mr. Farmer, very coldly, ‘I think you
should have ascertained the quality of the
sand before you sent for it; and I don't
think that you should have sent for it at all
towards nightfall, and at the beginning of
ebb tide. Youngster, you shall dine with
me to-day, and give mea history of the
O'Tooles,

CHAPPER KXXVL

An inyaliding suit—The cards well played, and by a
trump—The odd trick, however, in much danger—
The Doctor finesses with a good heart, but diamonds
are cutting articles.

Two days had elapsed after my incursions
upon the ‘wild Irishers,” during which
our surgeon had kept himself closely to
his cabin, when he wrote a letter on service
to the captain, requesting a survey upon
his self-libelled totundity of body. ‘The
captain, according to the laws of the service,
“in that case made and provided,” for-
warded the letter to the port-admiral, who
appointed: the following day for the awful
inspection. As I said before, the skipper
and his first-lieutenant had laid down a

began to put it into execution. imme-
diately that Dr. Thompson had received
his answer, he began to dose himself im-
moderately with tartarised antimony, and
other drugs, to give his round and hitherto
ruddy countenance the pallor of disease.
He commenced getting up his invaliding
suit.

It had been a great puzzle to his brother
officers, to understand what two weasan-
faced mechanical-looking men, from the
Shore, had been doing in his cabin the
greater part of the night. They did not
believe, as the doctor intimated, that they
were functionaries of the law, taking in-
Structions for his last will and testament :
though the astute surgeon had sent a note
to Mr. Farmer, the first-lieutenant, with
what he thought infinite cunning; to know,
in case of anything fatal happening imme-
diately to the writer, whether his friend
would prefer to have bequeathed to him
the testator's double-barrelled fowling-piece,
or his superb Manton’s duelling pistols.
Mr. Farmer replied, ‘‘that he would very
willingly take his chance of both.”

At twelve o'clock everything was ready,
The sutvey was to take place in the captain's
cabin. Dr. Thompson sends for his two
assistants, and then, for the first time for
three days, he emerges, leaning heavily
upon both his supporters.

Can this be the jovial and rubicund
doctor? Whose deadly white face is that,
that peets out from under the shadow of an
immense green shade? The lips are livid
—the corners of the mouth drawn down—
and yet there is a triumphant sneer in their
very depression. The officers gather round
him, he lifts up his head slowly, and then
looks round and shakes it despondingly.
His eyes are dreadfully bloodshot. His
messmates, the young ones especially, be-
gin to think that his illness is real. There
is the real sympathy of condolence in the
greetings of all but thé hard-a-weather
master, the witty purser, and the obdurate
first. The invalid was apparelled in an
ancient roast-beef uniform coat, bottle-
green from age; the waistcoat had flaps
indicative of fifty years’ antiquity, and the
breeches were indescribable. “He wore
large blue-worsted Stockings folded up
outside above the knee, but carefully
wrinkled and disordered oyer the calf ot
the leg, in order to conceal ifs healthy
mass of muscle. Big as was the doctor,
his clothes were all, as Shakspeare has it,
a world too big,” though we cannot
finish the quotation, by adding, ‘for his
shrunk shank.” Instead of two lawyers’
clerks, the sly rogue had had two industrious

aRATLTTLIN,

snips closeted with him, for the purpose of
enlarging this particular suit of clothes to
the utmost.

‘In the name of ten thousand decencies,
doctor,’ exclaimed Mr. Farmer, ‘‘who
made you that figure?”

‘‘Disease,”’ was the palsied and sepul-
chral reply.

‘But the clothes—the clothes—these
incomprehensible clothes 2?”

‘‘Are good enough to die in.”

‘«But Ldoubt,” said the purser, ‘‘ whether
either they or their wearer be good enough
to die.”

There was a laugh, but it was not
infectious as respected the occasion of it.
He shook his head mournfully, and said,
“The flippancy of rude health—the incon-
siderate laugh of strong youth !”

With much difficulty he permitted him-
self to be partly carried up the ladder, and
seated in all the dignity of suffering in a
chair in the fore-cabin, the two assistants
standing, one on each side of him in mute
observance.

It is twelve o'clock—half-past twelve—
one—two. Thecaptain is coming on board
—tell the officers—the side is manned—the
boatswain pipes—and the little great man
arrives, and, attended by Mr. Farmer,
enters the cabin. Prepared as he was for
a deception, even he starts back with sur-
prise at the figure before him.

With one hand upon a shoulder of each
of his assistants, the doctor, with an asth-
matical effort, rises.

‘‘Well, doctor, how are you?”

The doctor shook his head.

“ Matters have gone a great length, I see.”

Another shake, eloquent with suffering
and despondency.

‘“T understand from my friend here’
(Mr. Farmer and he were friends sometimes
for half an hour together), ‘‘ that with
Christian providence you have been making
your will. Now, my dear doctor, it is true,
that we have hardly been three months
associated; but that time, short as it is,
has given me the highest opinion of your
convivial qualities, your professional skill,
and the great depth of your understanding.
Deep—very deep! You must not class me
among the mean herd of legacy-hunters ;
but I would willingly have some token by
which to remember so excellent a man, and
an officer so able, and so wnshrinking in
the performance of his dutie: be

‘There is my tobacco-box,’’ said the
doctor with a feeble malice; ‘‘ for though
chewing the weed cannot cure, it can con-
ceal, a bad breath.”

The captain winced.
with a double-edged sword.

,

It was a thrust
He was what

 

HE REAEFER.

  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
    

79

we now call an exquisite, in person, and
one to whom the idea of chewing tobacco
was abhorrent, whilst he was actually and
distressingly troubled. with the infirmity
hinted at. -For a moment, the suavity of
his manner was destroyed, and he forgot
the respect due to the dying.

‘‘D—n the tobacco-box—and d—n that
—never mind—no, no, doctor, you had
better order the box to be buried with yeu;
for nobody cow/d use it after you; but if |
might presume so far—might use the very
great liberty to make a selection, I would
request, entreat, nay, implore you to leave
me the whole sxz¢ of clothes in which you
are now standing ; and if you would be so
considerate, so kind, so generous, by G—d
I'll have them stuffed and preserved as a
curiosity.”

‘Captain Reud, you are too good. Mr.
Staples,’ turning helplessly to his assist-
ant, ‘‘get me immediately an effervescing
draught. Excuse my sitting—I am very
faint—you are so kind—you quite overcome
me.

‘“No, not yet,” said the captain in a dry
tone, but full of meaning. ‘‘I may per-
haps: by-and-by, when you know more of
me: but now—O no! However; [ll do
my best to make you grateful. And Im
sorry to acquaint you, that the admiral has
put off the survey till twelve o'clock to-
morrow, when I trust that you will be as
well prepared as you are now. Don't be
dejected, doctor, you have the consolation
of knowing that, if you die in the mean-
time, all the annoyance of the examination
will be saved you. In the interim, don't
forget the old clothes—the invaliding suit.
My clerk shall step down with you into the
cabin, and tack a memorandum op, by way
of codicil, to your will; don’t omit those
high-quartered, square-toed shoes, with the
brass buckles.”’

‘If you would promise to wear them out
yourself.”

‘‘No, no; but I promise to put them on
when I am going to invalid; or to lend
them to Mr. Farmer, or any other friend,
on a similar occasion.”

‘““T hope,” said Mr. Farmer, cGiapyate il
shall never stand in the doctor's shoes.”

‘“‘T hope you never will-—nor in Captain
Reud’'s either.”

The gallant commander turned from
yellow to black at this inuendo, which was,
for many reasons, particularly disagreeable.

Seeing that he was bagging to leeward,
like a west-country barge laden with a hay-
stack, in this sailing-match of wits, he broke
up the conference by observing, ‘‘ You had
better, doctor, in consideration of your

weakness, tetire to your cabin, I certainly= nae

80 RATTLIN, THE KEEFER.

cannot, seeing my near prospect of your
invaluable legacy, in any honesty wish you
better.”

With all due precautions, hesitations,
and restings, Dr. Thompson reached his
cabin, and I doubt not as he descended,
enervated as he was, but that he placed,
like O'Connell, a vow in heaven, that if
ever Captain Reud fell under his surgical
claws, the active operations of Dr. Sangrado
should be in their celerity even as the pro-
gress of the sloth, compared with the de-
spatch and energy with which he would
proceed on the coveted opportunity.

When he was alone he was overheard to
murmur, ‘‘Stand in my shoes—the igno-
rant puppies! I shall see one of them, if
not both, in their shrouds yet. Stand in
my shoes! it is true, the buckles are but
brass; but they are shoes whose latchets
they are not worthy to unloose.”’

There was then another day for the poor
doctor, of fasting, tartarised antimony, and
irritating eye-salve. And the captain, no
doubt in secret understanding with the
admiral, played off the same trick. The
survey was deferred from day to day, for
six days, and until the very one before the
ship weighed anchor. It must have been
a period of intense vexation and bodily
suffering to the manceuvring doctor.

Each day as he made his appearance at
noon in the captain's cabin, he had to wait
in miserable state his hour and a half, or
two hours, and then to meet the gibing
salutation of the captain, of, ‘‘ Not dead
yet, doctor?” with his jokes upon the in-
validing suit. he misery of the deception,
and the sufferings that he was forced to
self-impose to keep it up, as he afterwards
confessed, had nearly conquered him on
the third day: that he was a man of the
most enduring courage to brave a whole
week of such martyrdom, must be con-
ceded to him. Had the farce continued a
day or two longer, he would have had the
disagreeable option forced upon him, either
of being seriously ill, or of returning 7x-
stanter to excellent health.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Validreasons for invaliding—The patient cured in spite -

of himself—And a lecture on diseases in general, with
a particular case of instruments as expositors.

AT length the important day arrived on
which the survey did assemble. The large
table in the cabin was duly littered over

 

with paper and medical books, and sup-
plied with pens and ink. ‘Three post-
captains, in gallant array, with swords by
their sides, our own captain being one, and
three surgeons, with lancets in their pockets,
congregated with grave politeness, and
taking their chairs according to precedency
of rank, formed the Hygeian court. A
fitting preparation was necessary, so the
captains began to debate upon the various
pretensions of the beautiful Phrynes of
Cork—the three medical men, whether
the plague was contagious or infectious,
or both—or neither. At the precise
moment when Captain Reud was main-
taining the superiority of the attractions
of a blonde Daphne against the assertions
of a champion of a dark Phyllis, and the
eldest surgeon had been, by the heat of
the argument, carried so far as to maintain,
in asserting the non-infectious and non-
contagious nature of the plague, that you
could not give it a man by inoculating him
with its virus, the patient, on whose case
they had met to decide, appeared.

In addition to the green shade, our doctor
had enwrapped his throat with an immense
scarlet comforter; so that the reflection
of the green above, and the contrast with
the colour below, made the pallor of his
face still more lividly pale. He was well
got up. Captain Reud nodded to the
surgeons to go on, and he proceeded with
his own argument.

Thus there were two debates at this time
proceeding with much heat, and with just
so much acrimony as to make them highly
interesting. With the noble posts it was
one to two, that is, our captain, the
Daphneite, had drawn upon him the other
two captains, both of whom were Phyllis-
ites. When a man has to argue against
two, and is not quite certain of being in
the right either, he has nothing for it but
to be very loud. Now men, divine as they
are, have some things in common with the
canine species. Go into a village, and you
will observe that when one cur begins to
yelp, every dog's ear catches the sound,
bristles up, and every throat is opened in
clamorous emulation. Captain Reud talked
fast as well as loud, so he was nearly upon
a par with his opponents, who only talked
loud.

At the other end of the table the odds
were two to one, which is not always the
same as one to two ; that is, the two older
surgeons were opposed to the youngest.
‘These three were just as loud within one
note—the note under being the tribute
they unconsciously paid to naval discipline
--as the three captains. Both parties were
descanting upon plagues,“‘T say, sir,’’ said the little surgeon, who
was the eldest, ‘‘it is of infectious. But
here comes Dr. Thompson.”

Now the erudite doctor, from the first,
had no great chance. Captain Reud had
determined he should not be invalided.
The two other captains cared nothing at
all about the matter, but, of course, would
not be so impolitic as to differ from their
superior officer—an officer, too, of large
interest, and the Amphytrion of the day;
for when they had performed those duties
for which they were so well fitted, their
medical ones, they were to dine on the
scene of their arduous labours. The eldest
surgeon had rather a bias against the doctor,
as he could not legally put M.D. against his
own name. ‘The next in seniority was en-
tirely adverse to the invaliding, as, without
he could invalide too, he would have to go
to the West Indies in the place of our
surgeon. The youngest was indifferent
just then to anything but to confute the
other two, and prove the plague infec-
tious.

‘““But here comes Dr. Thompson—I'll
appeal to him,” said non-infection ; but
the appeal was unfortunate, both for the
appealer and the doctor. ‘The latier was
an infectionist; so there was no longer
any odds, but two against two, and away
they went. Our friend in the wide coat
forgot he was sick, and his adversaries that
they had to verify it; they sought to verify
nothing but their dogmas. ‘They waxed
loud, then cuttingly polite, then slaughter-
ingly sarcastic, and, at last, exceeding
wroth.

“*T tell you, sir, that I have written a
volume on the subject.”

‘« Had you no friend near you,” said Dr.
Thompson, ‘‘at that most unfortunate
timely

‘JT tell you, sir, I will never argue with
any one on the subject, unless he have read
my Latin treatise, ‘De Natura Pestium et
Pestilentiarum.’ ”

‘“Then you'll never argue but with your-
self,’ said the stout young surgeon.

Then arose the young voices of the men
militant over those of the men curative.

‘« The finest eye,’’ vociferated our skipper,
‘‘Captain Templar, that ever beamed from
mortal. Its lovely blue, contrasted with
her white skin, is just like——’’

‘« A washerwoman’s stone-bluebag among
her soapsuds—stony enough.”’

Here the medical voices preponderated,
and expressions such as these became dis-
tinct —‘‘Do you accuse me of ignorance,
sir-r-r?”’

‘‘No, sir-r-r. I merely assert that you
know nothing at all of the matter.”

TEATAEIN,  LHE REE ERR,

81

In the midst of this uproar I was walking
the quarter-deck with the purser.

_ ‘‘ What’a terrible noise they are making
in the cabin,” I observed. ‘‘ What can
they be doing?”

‘‘ Invaliding the surgeon,” said the marine
officer, who had just joined us, looking
wise.

‘‘ Doubted,”” said the purser.

‘“What a dreadful operation it must be !”
said a young Irish young gentleman (all
young gentlemen in the navy are not yowzg),
“but, for the honour of the service, he
might take it anyhow, for the life of him.’’

‘“The very thing he is trying to do,”
was the purser’s reply.

But let us return to the cabin, and collect
what we can here, and record the sentences
as they obtain the mastery, at either end
of the table.

~ Look at her Step, ; Said (2 captam,
speaking of his lady.—‘‘ Tottering, feeble,
zig-zag, Said a surgeon, speaking of one
stricken with the plague.—‘‘ Her fine open,
ivory brow’—‘‘Is marked all over with
disgusting pustules.’’—‘‘ Her breath is—
oh, her delicious breath !’’—‘‘ Noisome,
poisonous, corruption.’’—‘‘In fact, her
whole lovely body is a region of . . "—
‘« Pestilent discolorations, and foul sores.”
—‘‘ And,”’ roared out Captain Templar,
‘if you would but pass a single hour in,
her company . . '—‘‘ You would assuredly
repent of your temerity,’ said the obstinate
contagionist.

This confusion lasted about a quarter
of an hour, a time sufficient, in all con-
science, to invalide a West Indian regiment.

‘“Well, gentlemen,’ said Captain Reud,
rising a little chafed, ‘‘ have you come toa
conclusion upon this very plain case? I
see the doctor looks better already—his face
is no longer pale.”

“T tell you what,”’ said the senior surgeon,
rising abruptly with the others, ‘‘ since you
will neither listen to me, to reason, nor to
my book, though I will not answer for
the sanity of your mind, I will for that of
your body. My duty, sir, my duty, will
not permit me to invalide you.”

‘* Never saw a healthier man in my life,”
said the second surgeon.

““Never mind, doctor,” said the third,
‘‘we have fairly beaten them in the argu-
ment.”

The gallant captains burst out into ob-
streperous laughter, and so the survey was
broken up, and the principal surgeons de-
clared that our poor doctor was in sound
health, because they found him unsound in
his opinions.

The three surgeons took their departure,
the eldest saying with a grim smile to
Gee

   

 

82 TGA T TEL IN;

Thempsor, ‘‘{t may correct Some errors,
and prepare you for next invaliding day.
Shall I send you. my book, ‘De Natura
Pestium et Pestilentiarum ?”

_ The jolly doctor, with a smile equally
grim, thanked him, and formally declined
the gift, assuring him ‘‘that at the pre-
sent time, the ship was well stocked with
emetics.”’

Now, the good doctor, was a wag, and
the captain, for fun, a very monkey. The
aspirant for invaliding sat himself down
again at one end of the table, as the cap-
tains did at the other. Wine, anchovies,
sandwiches, oysters, and other light and
stimulating viands were produced to make
a relishing lunch. . Captain Reud threw a
triumphant and right merry glance across
the table on the silent and discoinfited
doctor. ‘The servant had placed before him
a cover and glasses unbidden.

‘ Bring the doctor's plate,’ said the
captain. The doctor was passive—the plate
was brought, filled with luxuries, and placed
directly under his nose. The temptation
was terrible. He had been fasting and
macerating himself for eight or nine days,
He glared upon it with a gloomy longing.
He then looked up wistfully, and a droll
smile mantled across his vast face, and
eddied in the holes of his deep pock-marks.

‘A glass,oi wine, doctor? The de-
canter was pushed before him, and _ his
glass filled by the servant. ‘The doctor
shook his head and said, ‘‘I dare not, but
will put it to my lips in courtesy.”

He did so, and when the glass reached
the table it was empty. He then began
gradually to unwind his huge woollen
comforter, and when he thought himself
unobserved, he stole the encumbrance into
his ample coat-pocket. Henext proceeded
to toss about, with a careless abstraction,
the large masses of cold fowl and ham in
his plate, and by some unimaginable pro-
cess, without the use of his knife he con-
trived to separate them into edible pieces.
They disappeared rapidly, and the plate
was almost as soon émpty as the wine-glass.
The green shade, by some unaccountable
accident, now fell from his éyes, and,
instead of again fixing it on, it found its
way to the pockét, to keep company with
the comforter. Near him stood a dish of
delicious oysters, the which he silently
coaxed towards his empty plate, and sent
the contents furtively down his much
wronged throat.

The other gentlemen watched these
operations with mute delight ; and, after
a space, Captain Templar challenged him
to.a bumper, which was taken and swal-

lowed without much squeamishness.:: The _

    

TIT? RTE Pee

doctor found that he had‘still a difficult
task to play; he knew that his artifice was
discovered, and that the best way to re-
Jair the error was to boldly throw off the
transparent disguise. ‘The presence of the
two stranger captains was still a restraint
upon him. At length he cast his eyes upon
Captain Reud, and putting into his coun-
tenance the drollest look of deprecation
mingled with fun, said plaintively, ‘ Are
we friends, Captain Reud?”’

‘The best in the world, doctor,’ was
the quick reply, and he rose and extended
his open hand. Doctor Thompson rose
also and advanced to the head of the table,
and they shook hands most heartily. The
two other captains begged to do the same,
and to congratulate him on his rapid con-
valescence.

‘“To prove to you, doctor, the estimation
in which I hold you, you shall dine with
us, and we'll have a night of it,” said the
skipper.

“Oh! Captain Reud, Captain Reud,
consider—really I cannot get well so fast
as that would indicate.”

‘““You must, you must.
man makes better punch.
punch; doctor.”

“Truly, that alters the case. As these
dolts of surgeons could not fully under-
stand the diafnostics of my disease, I
suppose I must do my duty for the Zee?/e
while longer that I have to live. I. zw2dZ
do my duty, and attend you punctually at
five o'clock, in order to see that there be
no deleterious ingredients mingled in the
punch.’’ Saying which he bowed and left
the cabin, without leaning on the shoulder
of either of his assistants.

But he had yet the worst ordeal to under-
go—to brave the attack of his messmates—
and he did it ncbly. They were all assem-
bled in the ward-room ; for those that saw
him descend, if not there before, went im-
mediately and joined him. He waddled to
ihe head of the table, and, when seated,
exclaimed in a stentorian voice, ‘‘ Steward,
a glass of half-and-half. Gentlemen, I
presume you do not understand a medical
case. . Steward, bring my casé of pistols
and the cold meat. I say, you do not
uhderstand a medical case.”

‘But we do yours,” interrupted two or
three voices at once.

“No, you dont; you may understand
that case better,’ shoving his long-barrelled
Manton due on to the middle cf the

Gentlemen, no
Consider the

table.. ‘‘ Now, gentlemen—lI do not mean
to bully—I am only, God help me, a weak
civil arm of the service,’,—and whining a
little, —‘‘ still very far from well. Now Il

state my case to you, for your satisfaction,and to prevent any little mistakes. I was
lately afflicted with a sort of nondescript
atrophy, a stagnation of the fluids, a con-
gestion of the small blood-vessels, and a
Spasmedic contraction of the finitesimal
nerves, that threatened very serious con-
Sequences. At the survey, two of the
surgeons, ignorant quacks that they are,
broached a most ridiculous opinion—a
heterodox doctrine—a damnable heresy,
On hearing it, my indignation was so much
reused, that a reaction took place in my
system, as instantaneous as the effects of a
galvanic battery. My vital energies rallied,
the stagnation of my fluids ceased, the
small blood-vessels that had mutinied re-
turned to their duty; and I am happy to
say, that, though now far from enjoying
good health, [ am rapidly approaching it,
That is my case. Now fer yours. As,
gentlemen, we are to be ceoped up in this
wooden enclosure for months, perhaps
years, it is a duty that we owe to ourselves
to promote the happiness of each other by
good temper, politeness, mutual forbearance,
and kindness. In none of these shall you
find me wanting, and, to prove it, I will
say this much—singular cases will call forth
Singular remarks; you must be awate that
if such be dwelt on foo Jong, they will
become offensive to me, and disturb that
union which I am so anxious to promote.
So let us have done with the subject at
once — make all your remarks now —
joke, quiz, jeer, and flaunt, just for one
half hour,’’—taking out his watch, and
laying it gently on the table,—'‘‘ by that
time I shall have finished my lunch, which,
by the bye, I began in the cabin; theré
will be sufficient time for you to say all
your smart things on the occasion; but if
after that I hear any more on the subject,
by heavens, that man who shall dare to
twit me with it, shall go with me to the
nearest shore if in harbour—or shoot me,
or I him; across the table at sea. Now,
gentlemen, begin if you please.”

““The devil a word will I ever utter on
the matter,’ said Farmer, ‘‘and there's my
hand upon it.”

earls

SENOT ce

And every messmate shook him heartily
by the hand, and by them the subject was
dropped, and for ever. That evening Dr.
Thompson made the captain’s punch,
having carefully locked up in his largest
sea-chest his invaliding suit.

Whatever impression this enecdote may
make on the reader, if it be one injurious
to the doctor, wé beg: to tell him, that
he proved a very blessing to the ship,—the
kind friend, as wellas the skilful and tender

 

   

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
   
   
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
   
  

83

physician, the promoter of every social en-
joyment, the soother of conflicting passions,
the interceder for the offending, and the
peace-maker for all.

 

CHAPTER, SxXCV Err

Paving-stones sometimes prove stumbling-blocks—A
disquisition on the figurative, ends by Ralph figuring
at the mast-head, thus extending his views upon the
subject.

THE next morning, at daylight, we weighed,
and, by the aid of much firing of guns, and
the display of unmeasured bunting, we got
the whole of the convoy out of the cove by
neon, with two men-of-war brigs bringing
up the rear. Shortly after losing sight of
land, bad weather came on, in which poor
Gubbins was drowned, as I have before
narrated,

By the time that we had reachéd Madeira, li
the ship's company had settled into good
order, and formed that concentrated prin-
ciple which enabled them to act as one
man. It was a young and a fine crew,
made up of drafts of twenties and thirties
from different vessels, thanks to the nepo=
tism of the treasurer of the navy, -

We also began to understand each other's

characters, and to study the captain's. Mis-
chief was his besetting sin. Naturally
malignant he was not, but inconsiderate to
a degree that would make you think that
his heart was really bad. One of his
greatest pleasures was that of placing
people in awkward and ludicrous situations,
He very soon discovered the fattest men
among the masters of the merchant vessels;
and, whén we had run far enough to the
southward to make sitting in an open boat
very unpleasant, he would, in light winds,
make a signal for one of his joily friends to
come on board, the more especially if he
happened to be far astern. ‘Then began
Captain Reud’s enjoyment. After two
hours’ hard pulling, the master would be
seen coming up astern, wiping his brows,
and, when within hail, Reud would shout
to him to give away —and, just as he
reached the stern ladder, the main-topsail
of the frigate would be shivered, and the
boat again be left half a mile astern.
Another attempt, and another failure, the
captain meanwhile gloating over the poor
man’s misery with the suppressed chuckle
of delight in which you would fancy a
inonkey to indulge after he had perpetrated
some irreparable mischief.

However, he would generally tease hi
victim no longer than dinner-time. T!
ship. would then be effectively hove-to, tl

«
S
Le
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€84

half-melted skipper would get on board,
and the captain receive him with studied
politeness. Much would I admire the
gravity with which he would deplore the
impossibility of stopping his Majesty's
ship os, by anything short of an anchor
and good holding ground. No, she would
not be hove-to—go-a-head, or go astern
she must—but stand still she could not.
During this harangue, the mystified mariner
would look at his commodore, much won-
dering which of the two was the fool.

‘“‘ But, Mister Stubbs,” the tormentor
would continue, ‘‘it is now nearly six bells
—you have not dined, I presume; how
long have you been making this little
distance, Mister Stubbs?” with a slow
accent on the word Mister. ‘‘Six hours!
—-bless me—I would certainly rope’s-end
those lubbers in your boat. You must be
hungry —so must they, poorfellows! Here,
Mr. Rattlin, call them up, put a boat-keeper
in the boat, and let her drop astern—tell
my steward to give them a good tuck-out
and a glass of grog. Mister Stubbs, you'll
dine with me.” And the affair would end
by the gratified hoaxed one being sent on
board his own vessel about the end of
twilight, seeing more stars in the heavens
than astronomers have yet discovered.

But these skippers were, though very
plump, but very humble game for our
yellow-skinned tormentor. Henearly drove
the third-lieutenant mad, and that by a
series of such delicate persecutions, annoy-
ances so artfully veiled, and administered
in a manner so gentlemanly, that complaint
on the part of the persecuted, instead of
exciting commiseration, covered him with
ridicule. This officer was a Portugese
nobleman, of the name of Silva—the Don
we could never bring our English mouths
to use—who had entered our service at a
very early age, and consequently spoke our
language as naturally as ourselves. He
was surnamed the ‘‘ Paviour,’’ and, when
off duty, generally so addressed. It must
not be supposed that he acquired this
soubriquet on account of the gentlemen in
corduroys laying by their hammers when
he walked the street, bidding God bless
him, for he was a very light and elegant
figure, and singularly handsome. At this
time I was the youngster of his watch, and
a great favourite with him. The misfor-
tune of his life was, that he had written a
book—only one single sin—but it never left
him—it haunted him through half the ships
in the service, and finally drove him out of
it. He had written this book, and caused
it to be printed—and he pudblzshed it also,
for nobody else could. His bookseller had
tried, and failed lamentably. Now, Don

RATILIN; THE REEBHE BR.

Silva was always publishing and never
selling. His cabin was piled up with
several ill-conditioned cases of great weight,
which cases laboured under the abominable
suspicion of containing the unsold copies.

As much as ever I could learn of the
matter, no one ever got farther than the
middle of the second page of this volume,
excepting the printer's devils, the corrector
of the press, and the author. ‘The book
was lent to me, but, great reader as I am,
I broke down in attempting to pass the
impassable passage. ‘The book might have
been a good book, for aught I, or the world,
knew to the contrary: but there was a
fatality attending this particular part, that
was really enough to make one superstitious
—nobody could break the charm, and get
over it. I wish that the thought had
occurred to me at that time, of beginning
it at the end, and reading it backwards ;
surely, in that manner, the book might
have been got threugh. It was of a win-
ning exterior, and a tolerable thickness.
Never did an unsound nut look more
tempting to be cracked, than this volume
to be opened and read. It had for its title
the imposing sentence of, ‘‘A Naval and
Military Zour up and down the Rio de
la Plate, by Don Alphonso Ribidiero da
Sila

I have before stated that my shipmates
were all strangers to each other. We had
hardly got things to rights after leaving
Cork, when Mr. Silva began, ‘‘as was his
custom in the afternoon,” to pudlish his
book. He begged leave to read it to his
messmates after dinner, and leave was
granted. With bland frankness, he insisted
upon the opinions of the company as he
proceeded. He began—but the wily purser
at once started an objection to the first
sentence —yea, even to the title. He begged
to be enlightened as to what sort of ‘our
that was that merely went wf and dowz.
However, the doctor came at this crisis to
the assistance of the Don, and suggested
that the river might have ¢urns init. The
reader sees how critical we are in a man-of-
war.

However, in the middle of the second
page appeared the fatal passage, ‘‘ After
having paved our way up the river.”
Upon which issue was immediately joined,
and hot argument ensued. The objector,
of course, was the purser, and, on this
point, the doctor went over to the enemy.
All the lieutenants followed, the master
stood neuter, and the marine officer fell
asleep—thus poor Silva stood alone in his
glory to fight the unequal battle; and, in
doing so after the manner of authors, lost
his temper.~

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

Five, six, Seven times was the book
begun, but, like the hackney coaches, the
audience could not get off the stones. The
book and the discussion were always closed
together in anger, just as the author was
paving his way. As he adopted the phrase
with a parental fondness, the father was
called the ‘‘ paviour.”

All this duly reached the ears of the cap-
tain. He immediately wrote to Don Silva,
requesting his company to dinner, particu-
larly soliciting him to bring his excellent
work. Of course, the little man took care
to have the doctor and purser. The claret
is on the table, the Amphytrion settles him-
self into a right critical attitude, but witha
most suspicious leer in the corner of his eye.
Our friend begins to read his book exult-
ingly, but, at the memorable passage, as
was previously concerted, the hue and cry
is raised.

During the jangling of argument, Reud
seems undecided, and observes that he can
only judge the matter from well understand-
ing the previous style and the context, and
so, every now and then, requests him, with
a most persuasive politeness, to begin again
from the beginning. Of course, he gets no
farther than the paving. After the baited
author had re-read his page and a-half
about six or seven times, the captain smiles
upon him lovingly, and says, in his most
insinuating tones, ‘‘ Just read it over again
once more, and we shall never trouble you
after —we shall know it by heart.”

As it was well understood that the author
was never to get beyond that passage until
he had acknowledged it absurd and egre-
giously foolish, anybody who knows any-
thing about the gexus irritabtle, will be cer-
tain, that if he lived till ‘‘the crack of
doom,” Don Silva would never have passed
the Rubicon. It was thus that the poor
fellow was tormented: and every time that
he was asked to dine in the cabin, he was
requested to bring his Tour, in order that
the whcle of it might be read.

The best and most imposing manner of
writing is to lay down seme wise dogma,
and afterwards prove it by example. I
shall follow this august method. It is un-
wise for a midshipman to argue with the
lieutenant of the watch, whilst there are
three lofty mastheads unoccupied. Q. E. D.

One morning, after a literary skirmish in
the captain's cabin the overnight, Mr. Silva
smiled me over to him on his side of the
quarter-deck, just as day was breaking.
The weather was beautiful, and we had got
well into the trade winds.

‘‘Mr. Rattlin,” said he, ‘‘ you have not
yet read my book. You are very young,
but you have had a liberal education.

85

I bowed with flattered humility.

**T will lend it you—you shall read it ;
and as a youthful, yet a clever scholar, give
me your opinion of it—be candid. I sup-
pose you have heard the trivial, foolish,
spiteful objection started against a passage
I have employed in the second page,” and _
he takes a copy out of his pocket and be-
gins to read it to me until he comes to
‘‘ After having gaved our way up the river ;"
he then enters into a long justificatory argu-
ment, the gravamen of which was to prove,
that in figurative phrases a great latitude of
expression was not only admissible, but often
elegant.

I begged leave, in assenting to his doc-
trine, to differ from his application of it, as
we ought not to risk, by using a figurative
expression, the exciting of any absurd im-
ages or catachrestical ideas. The author
began to warm, and terminated my gentle
representation by ordering me over to lee-
ward, with this pompous speech, ‘‘I tell
you what, sir, your friends have spent their
money and your tutors their time upon you
to little purpose ; for know sir, that when
progress is to Se made anywhere, in any
shape, or in any manner, a more appro-
priate phrase than paving your way cannot
be used—send the topmen aloft to loose the
top-gallant sails.”’

Checked, though not humbled, I repeat
the necessary orders, and no sooner do I
see the men on the rattlings, than I squeak
out at the top of my voice, ‘‘ Pave your
way up the rigging—pave your way, you
lubbers.’’ The men stop for a moment,
grin at me with astonishment, and then
scamper up like so many party-coloured
devils.

‘‘Mr. Rattlin, pave your way up to the
mast-head, and stay there till I call you
down,” said the angry lieutenant; and thus,
through my love for the figurative, for the
first time I tasted the delights of a maste
heading.

CHAPTER :- XXX,

Ralph regenerateth himself, and becometh good, for
half-an-hour—Singeth one verse of a hymn, escheweth
telling one lie, and getteth his reward in being asked
to breakfast.

WHAT a nice, varied, sentimental, joyous,
lachrymose, objurgatory, laudatory, reflec-
tive volume might be made, entitled, ‘‘ Me-
ditations at the Mast-head !”

When I found myself comfortably estab-
lished in my aéry domicile, I first looked86 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

down upon the vessel below with a feeling
akin to pity, then around me with a positive
feeling of rapture, and at length above me
with a heart-warming glow of adoration.
Perched up at a height so great, the decks
of the frigate looked extremely long and
narrow; and the foreshortened view one has
of those upon it, makes them look but little
bigger or more important than so many
puppets. Beneath me I saw the discon-
tented author of my elevation, and of ‘‘A
‘Tour up and down the Rio de la Plate,”
skipping actively here and there to avoid
the splashing necessary in washing the
decks. I could not help comparing the
annoyance of this involuntary dance with
the afterguard, this crozssez with clattering
buckets, and dos @ dosing with wet swabs,
with my comfortable and commanding re-
cumbency upon the cross-trees. I looked
down upon Lieutenant Silva, and pitied
him. I looked around me, and my heart
was exceeding glad. ‘The upper rim of the
sun was dallying with a crimson cloud,
whilst the greater part of his disc was still
below the well-defined deep blue horizon.
All above him to the zenith was chequered
with small vapours, layer over layer, like
the scales of a breastplate of burnished gold.
The little waves were mantling, dimpling,
and seemed playfully striving to emulate the
intense glories of the heavensabove. ‘They
now flashed into living light, now assumed
the blushing hue of a rosebud, and here and
there wreathed up into a diminutive form,
mocking the smile of youth when she shows
her white teeth between her beauty-breath-
ing lips. As I swung aloft, with a motion
gentle as that of the cradled infant, and
looked out upon the splendours beneath and
around me, my bosom swelled with the
most rapturous emotions. Everywhere, as
far as my eyes could reach, the transparent
and beryl-dyed waters were speckled with
white sails, actually ‘‘ blushing rosy red,”
with the morning beams. Far, far astern,
hull down, were the huge dullsailers, spread-
ing all their studding-sails to the winds, re-
minding me of frightened swans with ex-
panded wings. Conspicuous among these
were the two men-of-war brigs, obliquely
sailing now here and then there, and ever
and anon firing a gun, whose mimic thunder
came with melodious resonance over the
waters, whilst the many-coloured signals
were continually flying and shifting. ‘They
were the hawks among the covey of the
larger. white-plumed birds.

At this moment our gallant frigate, like
a youthful and a regal giant, more majestic
from the lightness of her dress, walked in
conscious superiority in the midst of all.
She had, as I before mentioned, just set

 

her topgallant sails, in order to take her
proud station in the van. We now passed
vessel after vessel, each with a different
quantity of canvas set, according to her
powers of sailing. It was altogether a
glorious sight, and, to my feelings, excelled
in quiet and cheerful sublimity any review,
however splendid might be the troops, or
imposing their numbers. Then the breeze
came so freshly and kissingly on my cheek,
whispering such pleasant things to my
excited fancy, and invigorating so joyously
the fibres of my heart—I looked around
me, and was giad.

When the soul is big with all good and
pure feelings, gratitude will be there; and,
at her smiling invitation, piety will come
cheerfully and clasp her hand. Surely not
that sectarian piety, which metes out wrath
instead of mercy to an erring world; not
that piety, dealing ‘‘ damnation round the
land,” daily making the pale, within which
the only few to be saved are folded, more
and more circumscribed; nor even that
bigotted, sensuous piety, which floats on
the frankincense that eddies round the
marble altar, and which, if-unassisted by
the vista of the dark aisle, the dimly-seen
procession, the choral hymn, the banner,
and the relic, faints, and sees no God ; no,
none of these will be the piety of a heart
exulting in the beneficence of the All-Good;
Then and there, why should I have wished
to have crept and grovelled under piled
and sordid stone? Since first the aspiring
architect spanned the arch at Thebes, which
is wot everlasting, and lifted the column
at Rome, which is zo¢ immortal, was there
ever dome like that which glowed over
my head imagined by the brain of man?
‘‘ Fretted with golden fires,’’ and studded
with’ such glorious clouds, that it were
almost sinful not to believe that each veiled
an angel; the vast concave, based all around
upon the sapphire horizon, sprang upwards,
term]nating above me in that deep, deep,
immeasurable blue, the best. type of
eternity;—-was not this a fitting temple
for worship ? - What frankincense was ever
equal to that which nature then spread over
the wave and through the air? All this I
saw—all this I felt. I looked upwards, and
I was at once enraptured and humbled:
Perhaps then, for the first time since I had:
left my schoolboy's haunts, I bethought
me that there was a God. ‘Too, too often
I had heard his awful presence wantonly
invoked, his sacred name’ taken in vain.
Lately, I had not shuddered at this habitual
profanation. The work of demoralization
hadcommenced. I knew it then, and, with
this knowledge, the first pang of guilty
shame entered my bosom. I stood upRATTLIN,

with reverence upon the cross-trees. I
took off my hat; and though I did not

even whisper the prayers we had used at
school, mentally I went through the whole
of them. When I said to myself, ‘‘I have
done those things that I ought not to have
done, and have left undone those things
that I ozght to have done,” I was startled
at the measure of sin that I had confessed.
I think that I was contrite. I resolved to
amend. I gradually flung off the hardness
that my late life of recklessness had been
encrusting upon my heart. I softened
towards all who had ever shown me kind-
ness; and, in my mind, I faithfully retraced
the last time that I had ever walked to
church with her whom I had been fond
to deem my mother. ‘These silent devo-
tions and these home-harmonised thoughts,
first chastened, and then made me very,
very happy. At last I felt the spirit of
blissful serenity so strong upon me, that,
forgetting for a moment to what ridicule
I might subject myself, I began to sing
aloud that morning hymn that I had never
omitted, for so many years, until I had
joined the service—

«“ Awake, my soul, and with the sun.”

And I confess that I sang the whole of the
first verse.

I am sure that no one will sneer at all
this. The good will not—the wicked dare
not. Lhe worst of us, even if his sin
have put on the armour of infidelity, must
remember the time when he believed in
a God of love, and loved to believe it. For
the sake of that period of happiness, he
will not, cannot condemn the expression
of feelings, and the manifestation of a bliss
that he has himself yoluntarily, and, if .he
would ask his own heart, and record the
answer, miserably, cast away.

However, it will be long before I again
trouble the reader with anything so owtré
as that which I have just written. Many
were the days of error, and the nights of
sin, that passed before I again even looked
into my own heart. The feelings with
which I made my masthead orisons are
gone, and for ever. How often, and with
what. bitterness of spirit, have I said;
“Would that I had then died!” If there
is mercy in heaven—I say it with reverence
_] feel assured that then to have passed
away, would have been but the closing
of the eyes on earth to awaken immediately
in the lap of a blissful immortality. Since
then the world’s foot has been upon my
preast, and I have writhed under the Oppro-
brious weight; and, with sinful pride and
self-trust, have, though grovelling in the

THE REEFER.

87

dust, regurned scorn for scorn, and injury
for injury—even wrong for wrong.

I have been a sad dog, and that's the
truth; but-——

I have been forced to hunt, and to house,
and to howl with dogs much worse than
myself, and that’s equally true.

‘“‘ Maintopmast-head. there,’ squeaked
out the very disagreeable treble of Captain
Reud, wha had then come on deck, as I
was trolling, ‘‘Shake off dull sloth, and
early rise.” ‘‘Mr. Rattlin, what do you
say 2"’

fe Ay, ay,.sint

‘Ay, ay, sir! what were you saying?
How many sails are there in sight?”

“‘T can't make out, sir.”

“Why not? Have you counted them?”

Now, as I before stated, I had taken off
my hat, and was standing up in a fit of
natural devotion; and the captain, no
doubt, thought that I was bareheaded,
and shading my eyes, the better to reckon
the convoy. To lie would have been so
easy, and I was tempted to reply to the
question, that I had. But my better feel-
ings predominated; so, at the risk of a
reprimand, I answered, “' Not yet, sir. *

At this moment Mr. Silva, the lieutenant
of the watch, placed the mast-head look-
outs, and sent the signal-man up to assist
me in counting the convoy; and, at the
same time, the latter bore me a quiet
message, that when the number was ascer-
tained I might come down.

I came on deck, and gave the report.

‘‘T am very glad, Mr. Ratilin,” said the
captain, approvingly, ‘‘to see you so at-
tentive to your duty. No doubt you went
up of your own accord to count the con-
voy?

‘Indeep, sir,” said I, with a great deal
of humility, ‘‘I did not.”

“ What—how? I thought when I came
on deck I heard you singing out.”

‘“T was mast-headed, sir.”

“ Mast-headed ! How—for what ?*’

At this question, revenge, with her in-
sidious breath, came whispering her yenom
into my ear; but a voice, to the warnings
of which I have too seldom attended, seemed
to reverberate in the recesses of my heart,
If I had told

and. say, ‘‘ Be generous.
the truth maliciously, I should ‘have. as-
suredly drawn ridicule, and perhaps

anger, on the head of the lieutenant, and
approbation to myself. I therefore briefly
replied, “ For impertinence to Mr. Silva;
sir.

‘And I was amply repaid by the eloquent
look that, with eyes actually moistened, my
late persecutor cast upon me. I read the
look aright, and knew, from that moment,that he was deserving of better things than

a continued persecution for having unfor-

tunately misapplied an expression. I

immediately made a vow that I would

read the ‘‘’Tour up and down the Rio de
la Plate’’ with exemplary assiduity.

‘Iam glad,” said the captain, ‘‘ that you
candidly acknowledge your offence, instead
of disrespectfully endeavouring to justify it.
I hope, Mr. Silva, that it is not of that
extent to preclude me from asking him to
breakfast with us this morning ?”’

‘“By no means,” said Silva, his features
sparkling with delight; ‘he is a good
lad: I have reasons to say, a very good
lad.”’

I understood him; and though no ex-
planations ever took place between us, we
were, till he was driven from the ship, the
most perfect friends.

“Well,” said the captain, as he turned
to go down the quarter-deck ladder, ‘‘ you
will, at the usual time, both of you, pave
your way into the cabin. J am sure, Mr.
Silva, you won't object to that, though I
have not yet made up my mind as to the
propriety of the expression, so we'll have
the purser, and talk it over in a friendly,
good-humoured way.’”’ And saying this,
he disappeared, with a look of merry
malignancy that no features but his own
could so adequately express.

The scene at the breakfast-table was of
the usual description. Authority, masking
ill-nature under the guise of quizzing, on
the one hand, and literary obstinacy fast
resolving itself into deep personal hostility
on the other.

CHAPTER. XL;

How to make a day's work easy — Ralph avoideth
trouble by anticipating land, but is anticipated by the
enemy—A chapter altogether of chasing, which it is
hoped will pleasantly chase away the reader's e717121.

WE had now the usual indications of
approaching the land. In fact, I had
made it, by my reckoning, a fortnight
before. The non-nautical reader must

88 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

had fully conquered all the various methods
of making this calculation, to make it all
became a great bore. So I clapped on
more steam, and giving the ship more
way, and allowing every day for forty or
fifty miles of westerly currents, I, by my
account, ran the Hos high and dry upon
the Island of Barbadoes three good weeks
before we made the land. Thus, I had the
satisfaction of looking on with placid in-
dolence, whilst my messmates were furiously
handling their Gunter’s scales, and straining
their eyes over the small printed figures in
the distance and departure columns of John
Hamilton Moore, of blessed (cursed ?) me-
mory, in a cabin over go degrees Fahren-
heit, that was melting at the same time the
youthful navigator, and the one miserable
purser's dip that tormented rather than
enlightened him with its flickering yellow
flame.

As we neared the island, greater precau-
tions were taken to preserve the convoy.
We sailed in more compact order, and
scarcely progressed at all during the night,
The whippers-in were on the alert, for it
was well known that this part of the At-
lantic was infested with numerous small
French men-of-war, and some privateer
schooners.

That morning at length arrived, when it
was debated strongly whether the faint dis-
coloration that broke the line of the western
horizon, as seen from the mast-head, were
land or not. As daylight became more
decided, so did the state of our convoy,
The wolves were hovering round the sheep.
Well down to the southward there was a
large square-rigged, three-masted vessel,
fraternizing with one of our finest West
Indiamen. The stranger looked tall, grim,
and dark, with his courses up,_but his top-
gallant sails and royals set. The white
sails of the merchant vessel, and she was
under a press of sail, were flying in all
directions ; she was hove-to, with her stud-
ding-sails set, and many,of her tacks and
sheets were flapping to the wind. Both
vessels were hull down from the deck, and
we well understood what was going for-
ward. Right astern, and directly in the
wind's eye of us, was a flat, broad schooner,
running before the wind, with nothing set
but her fore stay-sail. As she lifted to the

understand, that the young gentlemen are sea, at the edge of the horizon, her strength

required to send into the captain daily, a
day's work, that is, an abstract of the
course of the ship for the last twenty-four
hours, the distance run, and her where-
abouts exactly.

Now, with that failing that never left me
through life, of feeling no interest where
there was no difficulty to overcome, after I

 

of beam was so great, and her bulwarks so
little above the water, that she seemed to
make way broadside on, rather than to sail
in the usual position. There was no vessel
particularly near her. Those of the mer«
cantile navy that most enjoyed her propin-
quity did not seem, by the press of sail
that they were carrying, to think the situa-

 

 

  

aa

 

 

ia i i ata anition very enviable. However, the /adcoz,
one of our men-of-war brigs, was between
this schooner and all the convoy, with the
signal flying, ‘‘ May I chase?”

But this was not all; a whitish haze
cleared up to the northward there was a
spanking felucca, with her jong lateen sails
brailed up, and sweeping about in the very
centre of a knot of dull sailing merchant
vessels, four of which, by their altered
courses, had evidently been taken posses-
sion of. Reversing the good old adage,
first come first served, we turned our atten-
tion to the last appearance. We made the
signal to the other man-of-war brig, the
Curlew, to chase and capture the felucca,
she not being more than two miles distant
from her.

No sooner did the convoy generally
begin to find out how matters stood, than,
like a parcel of fussy and frightened old
women, they began to pop, pop, pop, firing
away their one and two pounders in all
directions, and those farthest from the
scene of action serving their guns the
quickest, and firing the oftenest. It seemed
to them of but little consequence, so long
as the guns were fired, where the shot fell.
Now this was a great nuisance, as it pre-
vented, by the smoke it raised, our signals
from being distinguished, even if these
belligerents in a small way had not been
so occupied by these demonstrations of
their valour from attending to them. In-
deed, the volumes of smoke the popping
created became very considerable. I do
not now know if there be any convoy
signal in the merchant code equivalent to
‘cease firing,’ If there were at that time,
I am sure it was displayed, but, displayed
or not, the hubbub was on the increase.
We were at last compelled to fire shot over
these pugnacious tubs to quiet them, and
there was thus acted the singular spectacle
of three vessels capturing the convoy, whilst
the artillery of its principal protector ap-
peared to be incessantly playing upon it.

Having our attention so much divided,
there was a great deal of activity and
bustle, though no confusion, on our decks.
We were hoisting out the boats to make
the recaptures, and dividing the marines
into parties to go in each. In the midst
of all this hurry, when Mr. Farmer, our
gallant first-heutenant, was much heated,
a droll circumstance occurred, the conse-
quence of the indiscriminate firing of the
convoy. A boat pulled alongside, and a
little swab-man, with his face all fire, and
in an awfully sinful passion, jumped on the
quarter-deck, with something rolled up in
a silk handkerchief. He was so irritated
that whilst he followed the first-lieutenant

    
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

RATTLIN, THE REEFER: 39

about for two or three minutes, he could
not articulate.

‘‘Out of my way, man. Mr. Burn, see
that all the small arms are ready, and
handed down into the boat in good order.
Out of my way, man—what the devil do
you want? Muster the pinnace’s crew on
the starboard gangway— move all these
lubberly marines. Mr. Silva, if that stupid
fool don’t cease firing, send a shot right
into him. Man, man, what do you want
—why don’t you speak ?”

‘There, sir,’ at last stammered out the
little angry master of a brig, unfolding his
handkerchief, and exhibiting a two-pound
shot in a most filthy condition, ‘‘ What—
what do you think of that, sir? Slap on
board of me, from the Lady Fane, sir—
through, clean through my bulwarks into
the cook's slush-tub. ‘There’s murder and
piracy for you on the high seas—my slush-
tub, sir—my bulwarks, sir.”

‘‘TD—n you, and your slush-tub too—
out of my way! Sail trimmers, aloft, and
get ready the topmast and top-gallant stud-
ding-sails.”

‘“Am I to have no redress, sir? Is a
British subject to have his slush-tub can-
nonaded on the high seas, and no redress,
sir? Sir, sir, I tell you, sir, if you don't
do me justice, I'll go on board and open
my fire upon that scoundrelly Lady Fane.”

Now this was something like a gasconade,
as our irritated friend happened to have but
three quakers (wooden guns) on each side,
that certainly were not equal to the merits
of that apocryphal good dog, that could
bark, though not bite—however, they looked
as if they could.

‘“You had better,” said Captain Reud,
‘go on board the Lady Fane, and, if
you are man enough, give the master a
hiding.”

‘(If I'm man enough!” said he, jump-
ing with his shot into his boat, with ireful
alacrity. Shortly after, taking my glass, I
looked at the Lady Fane, and sure enough
there was a pugilistic encounter proceeding
on her quarter-deck, with all that peculiar
gotit that characterises Englishmen when
engaged in that amusement.

In answer to the signal of the Falcon,
which was astern of all the convoy, and
between it and the gigantic schooner,
‘Shall I chase?” we replied, ‘‘ No.” By
this time we had thrashed our convoy into
something like silence and good order.
We then signalled to them to close round
the Falcon, and heave-to, ‘To the Falcon,
‘“to protect convoy.”

We had now been some time at quarters,
and everything was ready for chasing and
fighting. But the fun had already begungO 5 RAITLIN, LHE REEFER.

to the northward. Our second man-of-war
brig, the Curlew, had closed considerably
upon the felucca, which was evidently endea-
vouring to make the chase a windward one.
The brig closed more upon herthanshe ought.
It certainly enabled her- to fire broadside
after broadside upon her, but, as far as we
could perceive, with little or no effect. In
a short time the privateer contrived to get
into the wind’s eye of the man-of-war and
away they went. After the four ships that
had been taken possession of, and which
were each making a different course, we
sent three of the boats—the barge, yawl,
and pinnace—under the command of Mr.
Silva, in order to recapture them, of which
there was Every prospect, as the breeze was
light, and would not probably freshen be-
fore ten o'clock; for, however the captured
vessels might steer, their courses must be
weather ones, as, if they had attempted to
run to leeward, they must have crossed the
body of the convoy.

Having now made our arrangements, we
turned all our attention to leeward, upon
the large dark three-masted vessel, that
still remained hove-to, seeming to honour
us with but little notice. She had taken
possession of the finest and largest ship of
the convoy.

Long as I have been narrating all these
facts, I assure the reader they did not occupy
ten minutes in action, including the episo-
dical monomachia on board of the Lady
jane. Just as we had got the ship's head
towards the stranger, with every stitch of
canvas crowded upon her, and the eight-
oared cutter, manned, armed, and marined,
towing astern, they had got the captured
West Indiaman before the wind, with every-
thing set. The stranger was not long in
following this example; but steered about
aS.W. and by W. course, whilst his prize
ran down nearly due south.

I have always found in the beginning,
that the size of the chase is magnified,
either by the expectaticns or the fears of
the pursuers. At first, we had no doubt

ut that the flying vessel was a French
frigate, as large, or nearly as large, as
ourselves. We knew from good authority
that a couple of large frigate-built ships
had, evading our blockading cruisers, es-
caped from Brest, and were playing fine
pranks among the West India’ Islands:
Everybody immediately concluded the
vessel in view to be one of them. If this
conjecture should turn out true, there
would be no easy task before us, seeing
how much we had crippled ourselves, by
sending away, in the boats, so many officers
and men.

It now became a matter of earnest de-

liberation, to which of the two ships we
should first turn our attention, as the pro-
babilities were great against our capturing
both. The Prince William, the captured
West Indiaman, I have before said, was
the largest and finest ship of the convoy.
Indeed, she was nearly as large as our-
selves, mounted sixteen guns, and we had
made her a repeating ship, and employed
her continually in whipping-in the bad
sailers.

The -chase after her promised to be as
long as would have been the chase after
the Frenchman.

Mr. Farmer, who was all for fighting,
and getting his next step of promotion,
was for nearing the West Indiaman a little
more, sending the cutter to take possession,
and then do our best to capture the frigate.
Now, the cutter pulled eight oars, there
were two good-looking jollies, with their
muskets between their knees, stuck up in
the bows, six in the stern-sheets, Mr. Prids
homme, the enamoured master's mate, and
the Irish young gentleman, who had seen
as much service and as many years as my-
self, with the coxswain, who was steering.
Mr. Farmer, of course, measured every-
body’s courage by his own; but I think it
was taxing British intrepidity a little too
much to expect that nineteen persons, in
broad daylight, should chase, in an open
boat, and which must necessarily pull up
a long stern-pull of perhaps two or three
hours, exposed to the fire of those on
board, and then afterwards, supposing that
nobody had been either killed or wounded
by the ball practice that would have been
certainly lavished on the attacking party,
to get alongside, and climb up the lofty
side of a vessel, as high out of the water
as a fifty-gun ship. We say nothing of the
guns that might have been loaded by the
captors with grape, and the number of men
that would infallibly be placed to defend |
and to navigate so noble a vessel.

Captain Reud weighed all this, and de-
cided upon making, with the frigate, the
recapture first, and then trusting to Provi-
dence for the other: for which decision,
which I thought most sound, he got black
looks from the first-lieutenant and some of
the officers, and certain hints were whis-
pered of dark birds sometimes showing
white feathers.

The sequel proved that the captain acted
with the greatest judgment. To our utter
astonishment, we came up hand over hand
with a vessel which we before had shrewd
suspicions could, going free, sail very nearly
as well as ourselves. Of course we were
now fast leaving the convoy; we found
that the felucca had worked herself deadRATTLIN,

to windward, and was, by this time, nearly
out of gun-shot of the Curlew, and that
the fazneant strange schooner had now
made sail, and on such a course as ap-
proximated her fast to the other privateer.

The large vessel, perceiving our attention
solely directed to the capture, shortened
sail and made demonstrations .of rescue.
At this, Mr. Farmer grinned savage ap-
probation, and, not yet having had a good
view of her hull, we all thought, from her
conduct, that she: was conscious Olt once.
We were, therefore, doubly on the alert
in seeing everything in the very best order
for fighting. “The bulk-heads of the cap-
tain’s cabin were knocked down, and the
sheep, pigs, and poultry, gingerly ushered
into the hold, preparatory to the demolition
of their several pens, styes, and coops, on
the main deck. All this I found yery amus-
ing, but I must confess to a little anxiety,
and, younker as I was, I knew, if we came
to action, that the eighty or ninety men
away in the boats would be very severely
felt. I was also sorry for the absence of
Mr. Silva, as_I had ‘a great yet puerile
curiosity to see how a man that had
written a book would fight.

The run of an hour and a half brought
us nearly alongside the Prince Wzailiam,
when we expected, at the least, a ten hours’
chase” “it* was well we came up SQ.soon,
the Frenchman had clapped forty as ill-
looking savage yagabones on board of her
as ever made a poor fellow walk the plank.
They had fully prepared themselves for
sinking the cutter, as soon as she could
come alongside, and their means for doing
so were most ample.

As our prisoners came up the sides, we
soon discovered, by the shabby, faded, and
rent uniforms of the two officers among
them, that they belonged to the French
imperial service. They bore their reverse
of fortune, notwithstanding they belonged
to a philosophical nation, with a very
despicable philosophy. They stamped with
rage, and ground their sacres unceasingly
between their teeth. They could not
comprehend how so fine a looking vessel
should sail so much like a haystack. ‘The
mystery was, however, soon solved. ‘The
third mate, with about half a dozen men,
had been left on board of her; and the
provident and gallant young fellow had,
whilst the Frenchmen were SO pre-occupied
in preparing to resist the threatened attack
of the boat, contrived to pass, unobserved,
overboard from the bows, a spate sail,
loaded with shot, that effectually had
checked the ship's way. Had the French-
men turned their attention to that part of
the vessel, without they had examined

THE REEFER.:

Or

narrowly, they would have perceived nothing
more than a rope towing overboard. He
certainly ought to have shared with us
prize-money for the recapture; but, after
all, he sustained no great loss by not having
his name down on the prize-list, as nobody
but the captain, got anything for what we
did that day. He, lucky dog, got his share
in advance, many said much more, for
appointing the Messrs. Isaiahsons and Co.
as our agents. They got the money, and
then, as the possession of much cash (of
other people’s) is very impoverishing, they
became baukrupts, paid nothing-farthing
in the pound, were very much commiserated,
and the last that we heard of them was;
that they were living like princes in America,
upon the miserable wreck of their (own?)
property.

We made, of course, most anxious and
most minute inquiries of Messieurs les
Francois as to the class of vessel to which
they belonged, and which we were in tum
preparing to pursue. As might be expected,
we got from them nothing but contradictory
reports; but they all agreed in giving us
the most conscientious and disinterésted
advice, not to think of irritating her, as we
should most certainly be blown out of the
water. We read this backwards. If she
were strong enough to take us, it was their
interest that we should engage her, and
thus their liberation would be effected.

As it was, notwithstanding these many
occurrences, only eight A.M. when we made
the recapture, and as the convoy were all
still in sight, we only put six men in the
Prince William, which, in addition to the
English still on board, were sufficient to
take her to the Czr/ew, near which vessel
the merchantmenr had all nestled, and orders
were transmitted to her commanding officer
to see that men enough were put on board
the re-capture to insure her safety.

CHAPTER XLI.

Ralph maketh acquaintance with bloody instruments,
and boweth to. the iron messengers of death ; and is
taught to stand fire, by being nearly knocked down.

We now pressed the ship with every stitch
of canvas that we could set. We had
already learned the name of our friend in
the distance; it was the Year Bart. \ndeed,
at this time, almost every fourth French
vessel in those seas, if its occupation was
the cutting of throats, was a Year Bart.92 RATILIN, THE REEFER.

However, Yean Bart, long before we had By noon we had a staggering breeze,
done with the Prince William, had spread We could now perceive that we were ch
a cloud of canvas—a dark one, it is true— ing a large corvette, though,
and had considerably increased his distance on view we had of her, we co
from us. It was a chase dead before the her ports. The os seemed
wind. By nine o'clock the breeze had_ the water.
freshened. I don’t know how it could be At one o’clock the Spars began to com-
otherwise, considering the abundance of plain—preventer braces were rove, but no
wishing and votive whistling. At ten we one thought of shortening sail.
got a good sight of Johnny Crapaud’s hull At two o'clock we had risen the Fean
from the maintop, and found out that she Sart, so as to clear her broadside from the
was no frigate. I was not at all nervous water's edge, as seen from our decks. The
before, but I must confess, at this certainty appetites of the doctor and purser had
my courage rose considerably. Inarrowly risen in Proportion. They made a joint
Inspected the condition of the four after- and disconsolate visit to the galley. All
quarter.deck guns, my charge, and was the fires were put out. The hens were
very impressive on the powder-boys as to cackling and the pigs grunting in dark
the necessity of acti ity, coolness, and pre- security among the water-casks. Miserable
sence of mind. . men! there was no Prospect of a dinner,
Dr. Thompson now came on deck, very They were obliged to do detestable penance
much lamenting the disordered rites of his upon cold fowl and ham, liquefied with
breakfast. The jocular fellow invited me nothing better than claret, burgundy, and
down into the cock-pit, to see his prepara- the small solace derivable from the best
tions, in order, as he said, to keep up my brandy, mixed with filtrated water in most
spirits, by showing me what excellent praiseworthy moderation.
arrangements he had made for trepanning _— At three o'clock we had the Yean Bart
mygskull, or lopping my leg, should any perfectly in sight, and we could, from the
accident happen to me. I attended him. foreyard, observe well the motions of those
What with the fearnought* screens, and on deck. The master was broiling his very
other precautions against fire, it was cer- red nose Over his sextant in the forestay-sail
tainly the hottest place in which Thad yet netting, when it Was reported that the
ever been. The dim, yellow, yet sufficient Frenchman was getting aft his two long
light from the lanterns, gave a lurid horror brass bow chasers; and in half an hour
to the various ghastly and blood-greedy after, we had the report from the said
instruments that were ostentatiously dis- brass bellowers themselves, followed by the
played upon the platform. Crooked knives, whistling of the shot, one wide of the ship,
that the eye alone assured you were sharp, but the other smack through our foresail,
seemed to be twisting with a living arixiety and which must have passed very near the
to embrace and separate your flesh ; and nose of our respectable master,
Saws appeared to grin at me, which to look Most of the Officers, myself with the rest,
upon, knowing their horrid office, actually were standing on the forecastle. Though
turned my teeth on edge. There were the not the first shot that [ had seen fired in
three assistant-surgeons, stripped to their anger, it certainly was the first that had
shirts, with their sleeves tucked up ready, ever hissed by me. This first salute is
looking anxious, keen, and something terri- always a memorable epoch in the life of
fied. As to the burly doctor, with his a soldier or sailor, By the rent the shot
huge, round, red face, and his coarse jokes, made in the foresail, it could not have
he abstracted something from the romantic passed more than two yards directly over
terrors of the place; but added considerably myhead. I was taken by surprise. Every-
to the disgust it excited, as he strongly body knows that the rushing that the shot
reminded me of a carcass butcher in full makes is excessively loud. As the illus-
practice. trious stranger came on board with so much
No doubt, his amiable purpose in bring- pomp and ceremony, I, from the impulse
ing me to his den was to frighten me, and of pure courtesy, could not do otherwise
enjoy my fright. Be that as it may, I took than bow to it: for which act of politeness
the matter as coolly as the heat of the place the first-lieutenant gave me a very con-
would permit me. The first lesson in bravery siderably tingling box of the ear.
is to assume the appearance of it; the . My angry looks, my clenched fists and
second, to sustain the appearance; and my threatening attitude, told him plainly
ant of spirit that made me

from the end-
uld not count ~
to fly through ~

the third will find you with all that courage that it was no w

 

“that doth become a man.” duck to the shot. Just as I was Passionately
exclaiming, ‘ SirJ—]_] ” Captain
* An amazingly thick cloth of a woollen texture. Reud put his h

and gently on my shoulder,

 

as- —RAT EEN,

and said, ‘‘ Mr. Rattlin, what are you
about? Mr. Farmer, that blow was not
deserved. JI, sir,” said he, drawing himself

up proudly, ‘‘ ducked to the first shot.
Many a fine fellow that has bobbed to the
first has stood out gallantly to the last.
What could you expect, Mr. Farmer, from
suchamereboy? Andtostrikehim! Fieupon
it! That blow, if the lad had weak nerves,
though his spirit were as brave as Nelson's,
and as*noble as your namesake's, that foul
blow might have cowed him for ever.”

‘They are getting ready to fire again,”
was now reported from the foreyard.

‘Here, Rattlin,’’ continued the captain ;
*‘take my glass, seat yourself upon the
hammock-cloths, and tell me if you can
make out what they are about.”

Two flashes, smoke, and then the rush-
ing of the shot, followed by the loud and
ringing report of the brass guns, and of
reverberation ef metal, was heard imme-
diately beneath me. One of the shot had
struck the fluke of the anchor in the fore-
chains.

‘“There, Mr. Farmer,” said the captain
exultingly, ‘(did you mark that? I knew
it—I knew it, sir. He neither moved nor
flinched—even the long tube that he held
to his eye never quivered for an instant.
Oh! Mr. Farmer, if you have the generous
heart I give you credit for, never, never
again strike a younker for bobbing at the
first, or even the fifth shot.”

“‘T was wrong, sir,’ was the humble
reply; ‘‘ lam sorry that I should have given
you occasion to make this public repri-
mand.”

“No, Farmer,” said the little Creole
very kindly; ‘‘I did not mean to repri-
mand, only to remonstrate. The severest
reprimand was given you by Mr. Rattlin
himself.”

I could, at that moment, have hugged
the little yellow-skinned captain, wicked as
I knew him to be, and stood unmoved the
fire of the grape of a twenty-gun battery.

But was I not really frightened at the
whistling of the shot ?

Yes; a little.

CHAPTER XLII.

It’s well to have a long spoon when one sips soup with
the Devil—The captain's shot seldom misses.

It is always a greater proof of courage to
stand fire coolly than to fire. Captain
Reud, IJ must suppose, wished to try the
degree of intrenidity of his officers, by per-

 

TIGER IIE IOI SITE

93

mitting the chase to give us several weighty
objections against any more advance of
familiarity on our parts. A quarter of a
century ago there were some very strange
notions prevalent in the navy, among which
none was more common than that the
firing of the bow guns materially checked
the speed of the vessel. The captain and
the first-lieutenant both held this opinion.
Thus we continued to gain upon the cor-
vette, and she, being emboldened by the
impunity with which she cannonaded us,
fired the more rapidly and with the greater
precision, as our rent sails and ravelled
running rigging began to testify.

I was rather impatient at this apparent
apathy on our parts. Mr. Burn, the
gunner, seemed to more than participate
in my feelings. Our two bow guns were
very imposing-looking magnates. They
would deliver a message at three miles’
distance, though it were no less than a
missive of eighteen pounds avoirdupois ;
and we were now barely within half that
distance. Mr. Burn was particularly ex-
cellent at two things--a long shot, and
the long bow. In all the ships that I
have sailed, I never yet met with his
equal at a cool, embellished, intrepid lie,
or at the accuracy of his ball practice.
Baron Munchausen would have found
no mean rival in him at the former; and,
were duels fought with eighteen pounders,
Lord Camelford would have been remark-
ably polite in the company of our master
of projectiles.

I was upon the point of writing that
Mr. Burn was durning with ardour. I
see it written-—it is something worse than
a pun—therefore, per omnes modos et Casus
_heretical and damnable—consequently, I
beg the reader to consign it to the oblivion
with which we cover our bad actions, and
read thus :—The gunner was burning with
impatience to show the captain what a
valuable officer he commanded. The two
guns had long been ready, and, with the
lanyard of the lock in his right hand, and
the rim of his glazed hat in his left, he was
continually saying, ‘‘Shall I give her a
shot now, Captain Reud?”

The answer was as provokingly tauto-
logous as a member of parliament's speech
who is, in aid of the whipper-in, speaking
against time. ‘Wait a little, Mr. Burn.”

(Well, Mr. Rattlin,’”’ said the fat doctor,
blowing himself up to me, “so you have
been knighted—on the deck of battle too
—knight banneret of the order of the light
bobs.” ‘

I was standing with the captain's glass to
my eye, looking over the hammocks. In
order to get near me he had been obliged64 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

to cling hold of the hammeock-rails with
both hands, so: that his huge, round,
red face just peeped above the tarpaulin
hammock-cloths, his chin resting upon
them, no bad type of an angry sun show-
‘ing his face above the rim of a black cloud,
through a London November fog.

“Take care, doctor,’’ I sang out, for J
had séen the flashings of the enemy's
guns.

“Light bobs,” said the jecring doctor;
when away flew the upper part of his hat,
and down he dropped on the deck, on that
part which naturé séems to have purposely
padded in order to make the fall of man
easy.

‘‘No light bob, however,” said I.

The doctor arose, rubbing with an as-
siduity that strongly reminded me of my
old schoolmaster, Mr. Root,

“To your station, doctor,’
captain, harshly.

‘“Spoilt a good hat in trying to make
a bad joke;” and he shuffled himself
below.

“Your gig, Captain Reud, cut all to
shivers,”” said a petty officer.

This was the unkindest cut of all. As
we were approaching Barbados, the captain
had caused his very handsome gig to be
hoisted in from over the stern, placed on
the thwarts of the launch, and it had been
in that, position, only the day before, very
elaborately painted. The irtitated com-
mander seized hold of the lanyard of one
of the eighteen-pounders, exclaiming, at
the same time, ‘Mr. Burn, when you
haye got your sight, fire!”

The two pieces of artillery simultaneously
roared out their thunders, the smoke was
driven aft immediately, and down toppled
the three topmasts of the corvette. The
falling of those masts was a beautiful sight.
They did not rush down impetuously, but
stooped themselves gradually and grace-
fully, with all their Clouds of canvas. A
Swan in mid air, with her drooping wings
broken by a shot, slowly descending, might
give you some idea of the view. But after
the descent of the multitudinous sails, the
beauty was wholly destroyed. Where before
there caréered gallantly and triumphantly
before the gale a noble ship, now nothing
but a wreck appéared painfully to trail
along laboriously its tattered and degraded
ruins.

“What do you think of that shot,. Mr.
Farmer?” said the little captain, all exulta-

tion. ‘‘ Pray, Mr. Rattlin, where did Mr.
Burn's shot fall?”

‘Qe of the shot struck the water about
half a mile to port, sit,’ said I, for I was
still at my post, watching the proceedings.

Said the

 

““O Mr. Burn! Mr. Burn! what could
you be about? It is really shameful. to
throw away his Majesty's shot. in that
manner. Oh, Mr. Burn!” said the cap-
tain, more in pity than in anger.

Mr. Burn looked ridiculously foolish. -

“O Mr. Burn!” said I, ‘‘is this all you
can show to justify your bragging?”

‘“‘If ever I fire a shot with the captain

again,” said the mortified gunner, ‘‘may

I be rammed, crammed, and jammed in
a mortar, and blown to atoms.”’

In the space of a quarter of an hour we
were alongside of. the Jean Bart. She
mounted twenty-two guns, was crowded
with a dirty crew, and after taking out
most of them, and sending plenty of hands
on board, in two hours more we had got
up her spare topmasts.

sefore dark, everything appeared to be
as if nothing had occurred, with the ex-
ception of the captain's gig and the doctor's
hat; and hauling our wind, in company
with our prize, we made sail towards that
quarter in which we had left our convoy.

At daylight néxt morning, we found
Ourselves again with our convoy. | Mr.
Silva had recaptured the four vessels taken
by the felucca. The Falcon hove in sight
about mid-day. She had chased the felucca
well to windward, when the immense large
schooner had intruded herself as a third in
the party, and she and the felucca, as well
as 1 could understand, had united, and
gave the man-of-war brig a pretty con-
siderable tarnation licking, as brother Jona-
than hath it.

She certainly made a very shattered. ap-
pearance, and had lost several men. How-
ever, in the official letter of the commander
to Captain Reud, all this was satisfactorily
explained. He had beaten them both, and
they had struck; but owing to night coming
on before he could take possession of them,
they had most infamously escaped in the
darkness. However, it didnot much signify,
as they were now, having struck, lawful
prizes to any English vessel that could lay
hold of them. I thought at the time that
there was no doubt of ¢had.

The next day we made the land. ‘The
low island of Barbados had the appearance
of a highly-cultivated garden, and the green
look so refreshing in a hot country, and so
dear to me, as it reminded me of England,CHAPTER ALITH.

A naval dinner, with its consequences—A_ naval argu-
ment, with its consequences, also—The way down the

river paved at last, and the progress and the person
of the unfortunate paviour finally arrested.

WE made but a short stay at ‘‘ Little Eng-
land,” as the Barbadians fondly call their
verdant plat, and then ran down through
all the Virgin islands, leaving parts of our
convoy at their various destinations. Our
recaptured vessels, with a midshipman in
each, also went to the ports to which they
were bound. When we were abreast of
the island of St. Domingo, our large convoy
was reduced to about forty, all of which were
consigned to the different ports of Jamaica.
Our prize corvette was still in company, as
we intended to take her to Port Royal.

We were all in excellent humour: luxuri-
ating in the anticipation of our prize-money,
and somewhat glorious in making our ap-
pearance in a manner so creditable to our-
selves, and profitable to the admiral on the
station. All this occupied our minds so
much, that we had hardly opportunity to
think of persecution. But some characters
can always find time for mischief, especially
when mischief is but another name for
pleasure. ‘The activity which Mr. Silva
had displayed in making the recaptures
had gained him much respect with his
messmates, and seemed to pave the way for
a mutual good understanding.

However, he was invited to dinner with
his two constant quizzers, the fat doctor
and the acute purser, just as we had made
the east end of Jamaica. I, it having
been my forenoon watch, was consequently
invited with the officer of it. We had
lately been too much occupied to think of
annoying each other; but those who un-
fortunately think that they have a pre-
scriptive right to be disagreeable, and have
a single talent that way (the most common
of talents), seldom violate the advice of the
Scripture, that warns us not to hide that
one talent in a napkin.

We found our sarcastic little skipperin
the blandest and most urbane humour. He
received mé with a courtesy that almost
made me feel affection for him. We found
Mr. Farmer, the first-lieutenant, with him,
and had it not been for a sly twinkling of
the eye of the captain, and very significant
iooks that now and then stole from Mr.
Farmer, as he caught the expression of his
commander's countenance, | should have
-{hought that that day there was no ‘minch-
ine malicho,’ or anything. like mischief
yieant, There were but five of us sat

 

RATTLIN:. THE REEFER.

 

95

down to table, yet the dinner was superb.
We had, or rather the captain, supplied
himself now with all the luxuries of a
tropical climate, and those of the temperate
were, though he could boast of little tem-
perance, far from exhausted. - We had
turtle dressed different ways, though our
flat friend made his first appearance in the
guise of an appetising soup. We had
stewed guanna, a large sort of delicious
lizard, that most amply repairs the offence
done to the eye by his unsightly appearance,
in conciliating in a. wonderful manner all
those minute yet important nerves that Pro-
vidence has so bountifully and so numer-
ously spread over the palate, the tongue,
and the uvula. ‘The very contemplation of
this beneficent arrangement is enough to
make a swearing boatswain pious.

We lacked neither fish, beef, nor mutton;
though it is true, that the carcasses of the
sheep, after having been dressed by the
butcher and hung up under the half-deck,
gave us the consolation of knowing, that
while there was a single one on board, we
should never be in want of a poop-lantern,
so delicately thin and transparent were the
teguments that united the ribs. Indeed,
when properly stretched, the body would
have supplied the place of a drum, and but
little paring away of flesh would have
fitted the legs and shoulders for drumsticks.
Of fowls we had every variety, and the
curries were excellent. Reud kept two
experienced cooks; one was an Indian,
well versed in all the mysteries of spices
and provocatives ; the other a Frenchman,
who might have taken a high degree in
Baron Rothschild’s kitchen, which Hebrew
kitchen is, we understand, the best appointed
in the Christian world. The rivals some-
times knocked a pot or so over, with its
luscious contents, in their contests for
precedency, for cooks and kings have their
failings in common, but, I must confess,
that their Creole master always administered
even-handed justice, by very scrupulously
flogging them both.

Well, we will suppose the dinner done,
and the West Indian dessert on the table,
and that during the repast the suavity of
our host had been exemplary. He found
some means of putting each of us on good
terms with himself.. At how little expense
we can make each other happy!

. The refreshing champagne had circulated
two or three times, and the pine-apples had
been scientifically cut by the sovereign hand
of the skipper, who now, in his. native
regions; seemed to have taken to himself
an increased portion of life. All this time,
nothing personal, or In the, least offensive
had been uttered. The claret, that hadbeen cooling all day, by the means of
evaporation, in one of the quarter galleries,
was produced, and the captain ordered a
couple of bottles to be placed to each
person, with the exception of myself.
Having thrown his legs upon another chair
than that on which he was sitting, he com-
menced, ‘‘ Now, gentlemen, let us enjoy
ourselves. We have the means before us,
and we should be very silly not to employ
them. In a hot country, I don’t like the
trouble of passing the bottle.”

‘It is a great trouble to me when it is a
full one,” said Dr. Thompson.

‘‘ Besides, the bustle and the exertion de-
stroys the continuity of high-toned and in-
tellectual conversation,” said Captain Reud,
with amiable gravity.

“It is coming now,” thought I. Lieu-
tenant Silva looked at first embarrassed,
and then a little stern: it was evident that
that which the captain was pleased to desig-
nate as highly-toned intellectual conversa-
tion was, despite his literary attainments,
and the gas of superiority the publishing a
book had given him, no longer to the
author's taste.

“I have been thinking,” said Captain
Reud, placing the forefinger of his left
hand with an air of great profundity on the
left side of his nose, ‘‘ I have been thinking
of the very curious fatality that has attached
itself to Mr. Silva's excellent work.”

“Under correction, Captain Reud,” said
Silva, ‘‘if you would permit this unfortu-
nate work to sink into the oblivion that
perhaps it too much merits, you would
confer upon me, its undeserving author,
an essential favour.”

‘“By no means. I see no reason why I
may not be proud of the book, and proud
of the author (Mr. Silva starts), providing
the book be a good book; indeed, it is a
great thing for me to say, that I have the
honour to command an officer who has
printed a book; the mere act evinces great
nerve. (Mr. Silva winces.)

‘And,’ said the wicked purser, ‘‘ Captain
Reud, you must be every way the gainer by
this. ‘The worse the book, the greater the
courage. If Mr. Silva's wit——.”

“You may test my wit by my book,
Mr. , if you choose to read it,” and the
author looked scornfully, ‘‘and my courage,
when we reach Port Royal ;” and the officer
looked magnificently.

‘“No more of this,” said the captain.
‘““I was going to observe, that perhaps I
am the only officer on the station, or even in
the fleet, that has under my command a live
author, with the real book that he has
published. Now, Mr. Silva, weare all com-
fortable here—no offence is meant to you—

 

RALTITIN, THE REBPAR,

 

only compliment and honour; will you per~
mit us to have it read to us at the present
meeting ? we will be all attention. We will
not deprive you of your wine—give the
book to the younker.”

“If you willbe so kind, Captain Reud, to
promise for yourself and the other gentle-
men, to raise no discussion upon any par-
ticular phrase that may arise.”

The captain did promise. We shall
presently see how that promise was kept.
‘The book was sent for, and placed in my
hands. Now I fully opined that at least
we should get past the second page. I was
curiously mistaken,

‘‘ Here, steward,” said the skipper, ‘‘place
half a bottle of claret near Mr. Rattlin.
When your throat is dry, younker, you can
whet your whistle ; and when you come to
any particular fine paragraph, you may
wash it down with a glass of wine.”

‘“‘If that’s the case, sir, I think, with sub-
mission, I ought to have my two bottles be-
fore mealso; but, if I follow your directions
implicitly, Captain Reud, I may get drunk
in the first chapter.’’

Mr. Silva thanked even a midshipman,
with a look of real gratitude, for this diver-
sion in his favour. I had begun to like the
man, and there might have been a secret
sympathy between us, as one day it was to
be my fate also to write myself, author.

Having adjusted ourselves into the most
comfortable attitudes that we could assume,
I began, as Lord Ogleby hath it, “with
good emphasis, and good discretion,’’ to
read the ‘‘ Tour up and down the Rio de la
Plate." Before I began, the captain had
sent for the master and the Honourable
Mr. B ; so I had a very respectable
audience.

[ had no sooner finished the passage,
‘““After we had paved our way down the
river,” than with one accord, and evidently
by pre-concert, every one stretching forth
his right hand, as do the witches in Mac-
beth, roared out, ‘ Stop!” It was too
ludicrous. My eyes ran with tears, as I
laid down the book, with outrageous laugh-
ter. Mr. Silva started to his feet, and was
leaving the cabin, when he was ordered
back by Captain Reud. An appearance of
amicability was assumed, and to the old

argument they went, baiting the poor author
like a bear tied to a stake. Debating is a
thirsty affair; the two bottles to each, and
two more, quickly disappeared ; the wine
began to operate, and with the combatants
discretion was no longer the better part of
valour.

Whilst words fell fast and furious, I ob-
served something about eight feet long and
one high, on the deck of the cabin, coveredwith the ensign. It looked much like a
decorated seat. Mr. Silva would not admit
the phrase to be improper, and consequently
his associates would not permit the reading
to proceed. During most of the time the
captain was convulsed with laughter, and
whenever he saw the commotion at all lull-
ing, he immediately, by some ill-timed re-
mark, renewed it to its accustomed fury.
At length, as the seamen say, they had all
got acloth in the wind—the captain two or
three, —and it was approaching the time for
beating to quarters. ‘The finale, therefore,
as previously arranged, wasacted. Captain
Reud rose, and steadying himself on his
legs, by placing one hand on the back of
his chair, and the other on the shoulder of
the gentleman that sat next to him, spoke
thus :—‘‘ Gentlemen—I'm no scholar—that
is—you comprehend fully—on deck, there !
—don’t keep that d——d trampling—and
ut me out~ where was I?”

‘« Please, sir,’ said I, ‘‘ you were saying
you were no scholar.”

«© T wasn’t—couldn’t have saidso. I had
tne best of educations,—but all my masters
were dull—d—d dull—so they couldn't
teach a quick lad, like me, too quick for
them—couldn’t overtake me with their
d d learning. I’m a straightforward
man. l’ve common sense--com com-
mon sense. Let us take a common-sense
view of this excruciation—ex—ex—-I mean
exquisite argument. Gentlemen, come
here;’’ and the captain, between two
supporters, and the rest of the company,
with Mr. Silva, approached the mysterious-
looking, elongated affair, that lay, covered
with the union-jack, like the corpse of some
lanky giant, who had run himself up into
a consumption by a growth too rapid. The
doctor and purser, who were doubtlessly in
the secret, wore each a look of the most
perplexing gravity—the captain. one of
triumphant mischief ; the rest of us, one of
the most unfeigned wonder.

‘Tf,’ spluttered out Captain Reud, see-
sawing over the yet concealed thing. © If,
Mr. Paviour, you can pave your way down
a river 2

‘“My name, sir, is Don Alphonso Ribi-
diero da Silva,” said the annoyed lieutenant,
with a dignified bow.

‘‘Well, then, Don Alphonso Ribs-are-
dear-o damned Silva, if you can pave your
way down a river, let us see how you can
pave it in a small way down this hog-trough
full of water,’ plucking away, with the
assistance of his confederates, the ensign
-that covered it.

‘‘With fool's heads,” roared out the
exasperated, and, I fear, not very sober,
Portuguese.

 

 

 

   

RATTAN, HE REERER,

 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 

Q7

Though I was close by, I could not fully
comprehend the whole manceuvre. The
captain was head and shoulders immersed
in the filthy trough, which, uncleaned, was
taken from the manger, that part of the
main-deck directly under the forecastle, and
filled with salt water. “The doctor and
purser had taken a greater lurch, and fal’en
over it, sousing their white waistcoats and
weil-arranged shirt frills in the dirty mixture.
The rest of us contrived to keep our legs:
The ship was running before the wind, and
rolling considerably, and the motion, aided
by the wine and the act of plucking aside
the flag, #zgfthaye precipitated the captain
into his unenviable situation; he thought
otherwise. No sooner was he placed upon
his feet, and his mouth sufficiently clear
from the salt-water decoction of hog-wash,
than he collared the poor victim of persecu-
tion, and spluttered out, ‘‘ Mutiny—mu—
roau—mutiny—sentry. Gentlemen, I call
you all to witness, that Mr. Silva has laid
violent hands upon me.”

The ‘‘ paviour of ways” was immediately
put under arrest, and a marine, with a
drawn bayonet, placed at his cabin door,
and the captain had to repair damages,
vowing the most implacable vengeance for
having been shoved into his own hog-
trough. Did ever anybody know any good
come of hoaxing ?

CHAPTER XLIV.

The palisade banquet, and Major Flushfire’s anthem to
Yellow Jack—Who's afraid?—The sands of life’s hour-
glass will run out rapidly, unless well soaked with
wine.

WE will despatch the object of persecution
in a few words. Lieutenant Silva was
given the option of a court-martial or of
exchanging into a sloop of war. He chose
the latter. The captain and his messmates
saw him over the side, two days after we
had anchored in Port Royal. ‘The spiteful
commander purposely contrived, when his
effects were whipped into the boat, that one
of the heavy, suspicious-looking cases should
be swung against the gun and smashed.
The result was exactly what we all expected.
The water was strewed with copies, in
boards, of the ‘‘ Tourup and down the Rio
dela Plate.” They must certainly have been
light reading, as they floated about tri-
umphantly. ‘‘I wonder whether they will
pave their way up to Kingston,” said the
captain, with a sneer.

As the author would not suffer them to
be picked up, they sank, one by one, and

Hdisappeared, like the remembrance of their
creator in the minds of his companions.
We heard, a few weeks after, that he had
died of the yellow fever; and thus he, with
his books, was consigned to oblivion, or is
only rescued from it, if happily this work
do not share his fate, by this short memento
of him.

Yellow fever!—malignant consumer of
the brave!—how shall I adequately apos-
trophise thee? I have looked in thy jaun-
diced face, whilst thy maw seemed insatiate.
But once didst thou lay thy scorched hand
upon my frame; but the sweet voice of
woman startled thee from thy prey, and the
flame of love was stronger than even thy
desolating fire. But now i not the time
to tell of this, but rather of the eagerness
with which most of my companions-sought
to avoid thee.

Captain Reud had got, apparently, into
his.natural as well as native climate. The
hotter it was, like a cricket, he chirped the
louder, and enjoyed it the more. Young
and restless, he was the personification of
mischievous humour and sly annoyance.
‘The tales he told of the fever were ominous,
appalling, fatal. None could live who had
not been seasoned, and none could outlive
the seasoning. For myself, I might have
been frightened, had I not been so con-
stantly occupied in discussing pine-apples.
But the climax was yet to be given to the
fears of the fearful.

All the officers that could be spared
from the ship were invited to dine with the
mess of the 6oth regiment, then doing duty
at Kingston and Port Royal. That day,
Captain Reud, having been invited to dine
with the admiral at the Penn, we were
consequently deprived of his facetiousness.
All the lieutenants and the ward-room
officers, with most of the midshipmen, were
of the party. The master took charge of
the frigate. Suppose us all seated at the
long table, chequered red and blue, with
Major Flushfire, the officer in command of
the garrison, at the top of the table, all
scarlet and gold, and our own dear Dr.
Thompson, all scarlet and blue, at the
bottom. These two gentlemen were won-
fully alike. The major's scarlet was not
confined to his regimentals : it covered his
face. There was not a cool spot in that
flame-coloured region; the yellow of his
eyes was blood-shot, and his nose was
richly Bardolphian. The expression of his
features was thirst; but it was a jovial
thirst withal—a thirst that burned to be

 

supplied, encouraged, pampered. The very
idea of water was repugnant to it. Hydro-
phobia was written upon the majors brow.

We have described our rubicund doctor

 

  

98 Peat, Ye Werner

before. He always looked warm, but since
his entrance into the tropics he had been
more than hot—he had been always steam-
ing. There was an almost perceptible mist
about him. Tis visage possessed not the
adust scorch of the major’s; his was a
moist heat; his cheeks were constantly par-
boiling in their own perspiration. He was
a meet croupzer for our host.

Ranged on each side of this noble pair
were the long lines of very pale and anxious
faces (I really must except my own, for my
face never looked anxious till I thought of
Marrying, or pale till I took to scribbling),
the possessors of which were experiencing
a little the torment of Tantalus. The pali-
sades, those graves of sand, turned into a
rich compost by the ever-recurring burial,
were directly under the windows, and the
land-breeze came over them, chilland dank,
in palpable currents, through the jalousies,
into the heated room; and, had-one thrust
his head into the moonlight and looked be-
neath, he would have seen hundreds of the
shell-clad vampires, upon their long and
contorted legs, moving hideously round,
and scrambling horribly over newly-made
mounds, each of which contained the still
fresh corpse of a warrior, or of the land,
or of the ocean. In a small way, your
land-crab is a most indefatigable resurrec-
tionist. But there is retribution for their
villany. They get eaten in their turn.
Delicate feeding they are, doubtlessly ;
and there can be no manner of question
but that, at that memorable dinner, a
double banquet was going on, upon a most
excellent principle of reciprocity, The
epicure crab was feeding upon the dish,
man, below,—whilst epicure man was feed-
ing upon the dished-up crab above. ‘True,
the guests knew it not ; I mean those who
did not wear testaceous armour: the gen-
tlemen in the coats of mail knew very well
what they were about. It was, at the time
of which I am speaking, a standing joke to
make Johnny Newcome eat land-crab dis-
guised in some savoury dish. Thank God,
that was more than a quarter of a century
ago. We trust that the social qualities and
the culinary refinements of the West Indians
do not now march @ Z/’écrevisse and pro-
gress @ reculons.

There we all sat, prudence coqueting
with appetite, and the finest yellow curries
contending with the direst thoughts of
yellow fever. Eyer and anon some amiable
youth would dash off a bumper of claret
with an air of desperate bravery, and then
turn pale.at the idea of his own temerity.
The most cautious were Scotch assistant-
surgeons, and pale young ensigns who
played the flute, The midshipmen feastedADT IN,

and feared. The major and the doctor
kept, onthe. ‘feven tenor .of their sway,’
that is, they ate and drank @ 7’ enw.

We will now suppose the King’s health
drank, with the hearty and loyal God bless
him! from every lip—the navy drank, and
thanks returned by the doctor, with his
mouth full of vegetable marrow—the army
drank, and thanks returned by the major,
after clearing his throat with a bumper of
brandy—and after ‘‘ Rule Britannia’ had
ceased echoing along the now silent es-
planade, that had been thundered forth
with such energy by the black band, an
awful pause ensues. Our first-lieutenant
of marines rises, and, like conscience,
‘‘with a still small voice,’ thus delivers
himself of the anxiety with which his breast
was labouring.

‘“Major Flushfire, may I claim the pri-
vilege of the similar colour of our cloth to
entreat the favour of your attention? Ah!
heh !—but this land breeze—laden, per-
haps, with the germs of the yellow—fever
—mephitic—and all that—you understand
me, Dr. Thompson ?”’

‘“ As much as you do yourself.”

‘“Thank you—men of superior educa-
tion—sympathy—and all that—you under-
stand me fully, major. Now this night-
breeze coming through that halfopen
jalousie—miasmata—and all that. Dr.
Armstrong, Dr. Thompson—medical pill
—‘pillars of the state’—you will pardon
the classical allusion -

“T won't,” growled out the doctor.

‘ Ah—so like you—so modest— but
don’t you think the draught is a little dan-
gerous?”’

‘“‘Do you mean the doctor's, or this?”
said the inattentive and thirsty major,
fetching a deep dreath, as he put down the
huge glass tumbler of sangaree.

‘*O dear, no !—I mean the night draught
through the window.”

‘The best way to dispose of it,’ said
the purser, nodding at the melting Galen.

‘“No,” replied Major Flushfire, cour-
Xeously, ‘‘ there's no danger in it at all—I
like it.”

‘‘Bless me, major,’ said the marine,
‘‘why it comes all in gusts.”

(ike it, all the better,” rejoimed the
major, with his head again half-buried in
the sangaree glass.

“De gustibus non est disputandum,”
observed Thompson.

‘‘Very true,” said the marine officer,
looking sapiently. ‘‘’That remark of yours
about the z/zds is apposite. We ought to
dispute their entrance, as you said in Latin.
But is it quite fair, my dear doctor, for you
and me to converse in Latin? We may be

 

 

 

THE REEFER.

99

taking an undue advantage of the rest of
the company.”

‘“Greek ! Greek !” said the purser.

‘‘Ay, certainly—it was Greek to Mr,
Smallcoates,’’ muttered Thompson.

‘To be sure it was,” said the innocent
marine. ‘‘ Major Flushfire,” continued he,
once more upon his legs, ‘‘may I again
entreat the honour of your attention? Dr.
Thompson has just proved by a quotation
from a Greek author, Virgil or Paracelsus,
I am not certain which, that the entrance
of the night air into a hot room is highly
injurious, and in—in—and all that. You
understand me perfectly—would it be ask-
ing too much to have all the windows
closed ?”

‘‘Ovens and furnaces!" cried out the
chairman, starting up. ‘‘ Look at me and
worthy Dr. Thompson. Are we persons to
enjoy a repetition of the Blackhole of Cal-
cutta? The sangaree, Quasha—suffoca-
tion! The thought chokes me!” and he
recommenced his devotions to the san-
garee.

‘‘Tt melts me,’ responded the doctor,
swabbing his face with the napkin.

‘“Are you afraid of taking cold?” said
the purser to Mr. Smallcoates.

‘Taking cold—let the gentleman take
his wine,” said the major.

‘‘T must confess Iam not so much afraid
of cold as of fever. I believe, major, you
have been three years in this very singularly
hot and cold climate. Now, my dear sir,
may I tax your experience to tell us which
is the better method of living? Some say
temperance, carried out even to abstemious-
ness, is the safer; others, that the fever is
best repelled by devil's punch, burnt brandy,
and high living. Indeed, I may say that I
speak at the request of my messmates. Do,,
major, give us your opinion.” ;

‘'T think,’ said the man of thirst, ‘‘ the
medical gentlemen should be applied to in
preference to an old soldier like myself.
They have great practice in disposing of
fever cases.”

‘‘But if we must die, either of diet or
the doctor, I am for knowing,” said the
purser, ‘‘not what doctor, but what sort of
diet, is most dilatory in its despatch.”

‘Well, I will not answer the question,
but state the facts. My messmates can
youch for the truth of them. Five years
ago, and not three, I came out with a
battalion of this regiment. We mustered
twenty-five officers in all. We askéd our-
selves the very same question you have just
asked of me. We split into two parties,
nearly even in number. ‘Twelve of us took
to water, temperance, and all manner of
preservatives ; the other thirteen of us led a
HZsnacautes cetacean aaaeienataatimaniais

X00 ALAIN:

harum-scarum life, ate whenever we were
hungry, and when we were not hungry ;
drank whenever we were thirsty, and when
we were not thirsty; and, to create a thirst,
we qualified our claret with brandy; and
generally forgot the water, or substituted
madeira for it, in making our punch. This
portion of our body, like Jack Falstaff, was
given to sleeping on bulkheads on moon-
light nights, shooting in the mid-day sun,
riding races, and sometimes, hem! assist-
ing—a—a—at drinking-matches.”’

Here the worthy soldier made a pause,
appeared more thirsty than ever, scolded
Quasha for not brandying his sangaree,
and swigging it with the air of Alexander,
when he proceeded to drain the cup that
was fatal, he looked round with conscious
superiority. The pale ensign looked more
pale—the sentimental lieutenants more sen-
timental—many thrust their wine and their
punch from before them, and there was a
sudden competition for the water-jug. The
marine carried a stronger expression than
anxiety upon his features—it was conster-
nation — and thus hesitatingly delivered
himself :—

“* And—so—so—sir, the doz vivants—de-
luded—poor deluded gentlemen! all perished
—but—pardon me—delicate dilemma—but
yourself, my good major.”

‘‘ Exactly, Mr. Smallcoates; and within
the eighteen months.”

There was a perceptible shudder through
the company, military as well as naval.
The pure element became in more demand
than ever, and those who did not actually
push away their claret, watered it. The
imperturbable major brandied his sangaree
more potently.

‘But,’ said Mr. Smallcoates, brighten-
ing up, ‘‘the temperate gentlemen all
escaped the contagion—wmwdoubtedly /”’

“‘T beg your pardon—zhey all died within
the year. I alone remain of all the officers
to tell the tale. The year eight was dread-
ful. Poor fellows!" The good major's
voice faltered, and he bent over his sangaree
much longer than was necessary to enjoy
the draught.

Blank horror passed her fearful glance
from guest to guest. Even the rubicund
doctor's mouth was twitched awry. I did
not quite like it myself.

“ But I’m alive.” said the major, rallying
up from his bitter recollections, ‘‘and the
brandy is just as invigorating, and the wine
Just as refreshing, as ever.”

‘“The major zs alive,” said the marine
officer, very sapiently. ‘‘Is that brandy
before you, Mr. Farmer? I'll trouble you
for it—I really feel this claret very cold
upon my stomach. Yes,” he repeated,

 
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
    
   
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
 
 
  
   
    
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
  
    
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
    
    

THE REEFER.

after taking down a {umblerful of half
spirits, half wine, ‘‘ the major zs alive—and
S80) aan 1.”

‘The major is alive,” went round the
table; ‘‘ let us drink his health in bumpers.”

‘The major returned thanks, and volun-
teered asong. I begged it, and the reader
may sing it as he pleases, though I shall
please myself by recording how the major
was pleased to have it sung.

‘“Gentlemen,” said he, * you will do me
the favour to fill a bumper of lemonade,
and when I cry chorus, chorus me stand-
ing,{with the glasses in your hands; and at
the end of each chorus you will be pleased
to remember, that the glass is to be drained.
No heel-taps after, and no daylight before.
Now for it, my lads!” and with a voice
that must have startled the land-crabs from
their avocations, he roared out,—

i vellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee
ack!

To thy damp, drear abode in the jungle ;
I'll be sober and staid,
And drink LEMONADE,
Try and catch me—you’ll make a sad bungle,

Yellow Jack!

‘But he came, the queer thief, and he seized my right
iand,
And I writhed and I struggled, yet could not with-

His hot griping grasp, though I drank lemonade,—
He grinn’d and he clutch’d me, though sober and
staid.

CHORUS (w¢th tucreasing loudness).

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee
pack !
To thy damp, drear abode in the jungle ;
We’ll be sober and staid,
And we'll drink lemonade,
Try and catch us—you’ll make a sad bungle,

Yellow Jack | (tremendously)

‘‘Bumpers of sangaree!” roared the
major, and sang:

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee
ack!
To thy pestilent swamp quickly hie thee ;
For I'll drink SANGAREE,
Whilst my heart's full of glee,
In thy death-doing might I’ll defy thee,
“ellow Jack

“ But the fiend persevered and got hold of my side,
How I burn’d, and I froze, and all vainly I tried
To get rid of his grasp—though I drank sangaree,
No longer my bosom exulted with glee.

CHORUS (still more loudly).
Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee
ick |

a
To thy pestilent swamp quickly hie thee;
For we'll drink sangaree,
Whilst our hearts throb with glee,
In thy death-doing might we defy thee,
Yellow Jack)”After the sangaree, strong, and highly
spiced, had been quaffed, the excitement
grew wilder, and the leader of our revels
exclaimed, at the top of his voice, ‘‘ Wine,
gentlemen, wine-—brimmers !” and thus
continued, —

& ection’ fags! Yellow Jack! hie thee back ! hie thee
ack !
Begone to thy father, old Sootie,
Pure WINE now I’ll drink,
So Jack, should think,
Of me thou wilt never make booty,
Yellow Jack!

“ But a third time he came, and seized hold of my

ead;

'Twas in vain that the doctor both blister’d and bled ;

My hand, and my side, and my heart too, I think,

pyouls soon have been lost, though pure wine I might
rink,

CHORUS.
Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee
back!

Begone to thy father, old Sootie,

Pure wine now we'll drink,

So Jack, we should think,
Of us thou wilt never make booty,

Yellow Jack!”

‘‘Brandy!” shouted the major. ‘‘ Brandy
—he’s a craven who shirks the call.” There
was no one there craven but myself. My
youth excused my apostacy from the night's
orgies. The major resumed, his red face
intensely hot and arid:

“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee
ack!

To the helldam, Corruption, thy mother;
For with BRANDY I'll save
My heart, and thus brave
Thee, and fell Death, thing own brother,
Yellow Jack!

« To brandy I took, then Jack took his leave,
Brandy-punch and neat brandy drink morn, noon, and

eye,
A night drink, then sleep, and be sure, my brave

boys,
Naught will quell Yellow Jack, but neat brandy and

THE CHORUS (s10st uproariously).
“Yellow Jack! Yellow Jack! hie thee back! hie thee
k!

To the helldam, Corruption, thy mother ;
For with brandy we'll save
Our hearts, and thus brave

Thee, and fell Death, thine own brother,

Yellow Jack!”

At last ‘‘ Yellow Jack” was thundered
out loud enough to awake his victims from
the palisades. ‘The company was just then
fit for anything, but certainly most fit for
mischief. Our first-lieutenant intimated to
me that the jolly-boat was waiting to take
the junior officers on board—considerate
man—so I took the hint, marvelling much
upon the scene that I had just witnessed.

RAPTLIN, THE REEFER.

ror

Whether or not there was any mystic
virtue in the exorcisory cantation of the
previous night, I cannot determine; but it
is certain that next morning, though head-
aches abounded among our officers, indi-
cations of the yellow fever there were none.

CHAPTER XLV.

Insubordination followed by elevation—A midshipman
triced up in mid-air, affording a practical lesson on
oscillation—AlU truck and no barter.

BuT as it is not my intention to write a
diary of my life, which was like all other
midshipmen’s lives in the West Indies,
I shall pass over some months, during
which we remained tolerably healthy, took
many prizes, cut out some privateers, and
spent money so rapidly gained, in a manner
still more rapid.

f my own messmates I remember but
little. They were generally shockingly
ignorant young men, who had left school
too early, to whom books were an aver-
sion, and all knowledge, save that merely
nautical, a derision. I had to go more
often to fisty-cuffs with these youths, in
defending my three-deckers—words of Latin
or Greek derivation—than on any other
occasion. I remember well that the word
‘*idiosyncrasy ’ got me two black eyes, and
my opponent as ‘‘pretty a luxation” of the
shoulder, by being tumbled down the main
hatchway at the close of the combat, as any
man of moderate expectations might desire.
I was really obliged to mind my parts of
speech. I know that, instead of using the
obnoxious word ‘‘idiosyncrasy,’’ I should
have said that Mr. So-and-so had ‘‘a list
to port-in his ideas.” I confess my error
—my sin against elegance was great; but
it must be said in extenuation, that then
I was young and foolish.

However, I really liked my mode of life.
Notwithstanding my occasional squabbles
with my messmates upon my inadvertently
launching a first-rate, I can safely say, I
was beloved by everybody—nor is the term
too strong. The captain liked me because
I was always well-dressed, of an engaging
appearance, and a very handsome appen-
dage to his gig, and aide-de-camp 1m his
visits on shore; perhaps from some better
motives—though certainly, amidst all his
kindness to me, he once treated me most
tyrannously.

The doctor and the purser liked me,
because I could converse with them ration-ba
‘
Bal
iT
bi

   

102 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

ally upon matters not altogether nautical.
The master almost adored me, because,
having a good natural talent for drawing,
I made him plans of the hold, and the
stowage of his tiers of water-casks, and
sketches of headlands in his private log-
book, to all which he was condescending
enough to put his own name. ‘The gther
superior officers thought me a very good
sort of fellow, and my messmates liked me,
because I was always happy and cheerful—
and lent them money,

The crew, to a man, would have done
anything for me, because—(it was very
foolish, certainly) —I used, for some months,
to cry heartily when any of them were tied
up. And afterwards, when I got rid of
this weakness, I always begged as many
of them off from the infliction of the lash
of Mr. Farmer, the first-lieutenant, as I
could, With him I could take the liberty,
if I found him ina good humour, though
I dared not with the captain ; for, though
the latter had some attachment for me,
it was a dreadfully wayward and capricious
feeling.

The longer I sailed with him the more
occasion I had to dread, if not hate him.
The poor man had no resources; it is not,
therefore, surprising that he began to have
recourse to habitual ebriety. ‘Then, under
the influence of his wife, he would be gay,
mischievous, tyrannical, and even cruel,
according to the mood of the moment.
Yet, at the worst, though his feet faltered,
when in his cups, his tongue never did.
He even grew eloquent under the vinous
influence. It sharpened his cunning, and
wonderfully increased his aptitude for mis-
chief. It was a grievous calamity to all
on board the ship, that he could not give
his mind healthful occupation. I said that
he was fond of me; but I began to dread
his affection, and to feel myself as being
compelled to submit to the playful caresses
of a tiger. As yet, not only had we not
had the slightest difference, but he had
often humoured me to the detriment of
the service, and in defiance of the just
discipline Mr. Farmer wished to maintain.
If I presumed upon this, who shall blame
such conduct in a mere boy? And then,
Captain Reud was necessary to me. I
found that I could not avail myself of
my too ample allowance until he had
endorsed my bills of exchange.

However, the concealed fang of the paw
that had so often played with, and patted
me into vanity, was to wound meat length
It came upon me terribly, and entered
deeply into my bosom.

I was learning to play chess of the purser
~-the game had already become a passion

    
 

 

with me. It was also my turn to dine in
the ward-room, and, consequently, I was
invited.. The anticipated. game at chess
enhanced the value of the invitation. That
same forenoon the captain and I had been
very sociable. He gracious, and I facetious,
as Icould. Ihad been giving him a history
of my various ushers, and he had been
pleased to be wonderfully amused. I was
down in the midshipmen’s berth: a full
hour after I had received the ward-room
invitation, the captain's steward shoved his
unlucky head within the door, and croaked
out, ‘‘ Captain Reud’s compliments to Mr.
Rattlin, and desires his company to dinner
to-day.”

I answered carelessly, rather flippantly,
perhaps, ‘‘ Tell the captain I'm going to
dine in the ward-room.” I meant no dis-
respect, for I felt none.. Perhaps the fellow
who took back my answer worded it mali-
ciously. I had totally forgotten, as.soon as
I had uttered my excusal, whether I had or
had not used the word ‘‘compliments,”’ or
‘‘respects,'’—perhaps thoughtlessly, neither
one nor the other.

I dined in the ward-room, enjoyed my
chess, and—good, easy youth—with all my
blushing honours thick upon me, of having
given mate with only trifling odds in my
favour, the drum beat to evening quarters.
I was stationed to the four aftermost carron-
ades on the quarter-deck. I had run up
in a hurry; and at that period, straps to
keep down the trousers not having been
invented, my white jeans were riddled a
good deal up my leg. I passed the captain,
touched my hat, and began to muster my
men. Unconscious of any offence, I stole
a look or two at my commander, but met
with no good-humoured glance in return.
He had screwed up his little yellow physiog-
nomy into the shape of anill-conditioned and
battered face on a brass knocker. He had
his usual afternoon wine-flush upon him;
but a feeling of vindictiveness had placed
his feelings of incipient intoxication under
complete mastery.

‘“So you dined in the ward-room, Mr.
Rattlin?”

‘“Yes, sir,’ my hat reverently touched,
not liking the looks of my interrogator.

‘‘And you did not even condescend to
return the compliments I sent you, with
my misplaced invitation to dinner.”

“‘Don't recollect, sir.”’

‘‘Mr. Rattlin, in consideration of your
ignorance, I can forgive a personal affront
—damme—but, by the living G—d, I can-
not overlook disrespect to the service. You
young misbegotten scoundrel! what do you
mean by coming to quarters undressed?
Look at your trousers, sir,”‘‘ The captain is in a passion, certainly,”
thought I, as I quietly stooped to pull the
offending garment down to my shoes.

‘Mr. Farmer, Mr. Farmer, do you see
the young blackguard?” said the com-
mander., ‘‘Confound me, he is making
a dressing-room of my quarter-deck—and
at quarters, too—which is the same as
parade. Hither, sirrah !—ho—ho, my
young gentleman. Young gentleman,
truly—a conceited little bastard !”

The word burnt deeply into my young
heart, and caused a shock upon my brain,
as if an explosion of gunpowder had taken
place within my skull; but it passed in-
stantaneously, and left behind it an un-
natural calm.

ierray, oir? said f, walking up to him,
deliberately and resolutely, “ how do you
know that I am a bastard?”

“Do you hear the impudent scoundrel ?
Pray, sir, who is your father?”

“Oh! that I knew,” said I, bursting into
tears. ‘‘I bless God that it is not you.”

“To the mast-head! to the mast-head!
Where's the boatswain? start him up!
start him up!"

The boatswain could not make his way
aft till 1 was some rattlings up the main
rigging, and thus, his intentional and kind
dilatoriness saved me from the indignity of
a blow. ‘I'wice I gazed upon the clear blue
and transparent water, and temptation was
strong upon me, for it seemed to woo me
to rest; but when I looked inboard, and
contemplated the diminutive, shrivelled,
jaundiced figure beneath me, I said to
myself, ‘‘ Not for such a thing as flvenee

Before I had got to the main-top, I
thought, ‘‘ This morning he loved me !—
poor human nature !’’—and when I got
to the topmast cross-trees, T had actually
forgiven him. It has been my failing
through life, as Shakspeare expresses it,
«to have always lacked gall.” God knows
how much I have forgiven, merely because
I have found it impossible to hate.

But I was to be tried still more. I had
settled myself comfortably on the cross-
trees, making excuses for the captain, and
condemning my own want of caution, and
anticipating a reconciliatory breakfast with
my persecutor, when his shrill voice came
discordantly upon my eats.

“« Mast-head, there!”

aL Le

‘Up higher, sir—up higher.

I hesitated—the order was repeated with
horrid threats and imprecations. There
were no rattlings to the topgallant rigging.
It had been tremendously hot all day, and
the tar had sweated from the shrouds ; and
I was very loth to spoil my beautiful white

 

   

RALELING FHE REEEER A

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  

103

jean trousers by swarming up them. How-
ever, as I perceived that he had worked
himself into a perfect fury, up I went, and
to the topgallant-mast-head, embracing the
royal pole with one arm, and standing on
the bights of the rigging. My nether ap-
parel, in performing this feat, appeared as
if it had been employed in wiping up a
bucket of spilled tar.

But I was not long to remain unmolested
in my stance on the high and giddy mast.
My astonishment and dismay were un-
bounded at hearing Captain “Reud still
vociferate, ‘‘ Up higher, sir!”

The royal pole stood naked, with no-
thing attached to it but the royal and the
signal-halyards, the latter running through
the truck. My lady readers must under-
stand that the truck is that round thing at
the top of all the masts that looks so like a
button. I could not have got up the well-
greased pole if I had attempted it. A
practised seaman could, certainly, and, in-
deed, one of those worthies who climb for
legs of mutton at a fair might have suc-
ceeded to mount a few inches.

‘What!’ said I, half aloud, ‘‘ does the
tyrant mean? He knows that this thing I
cannot do: and he also knows that if I
attempt it, it is probable I shall lose my
hold of this slippery stick, and be rolled off
ito the sea. If he wishes to murder me,
he shall do so more directly. Forgive him
—never. I'll brave him first, and revenge
myself after.”

Again that deadly calm came over me
which makes soft dispositions so desperate,
and to which light-haired persons are so
peculiarly subject. In these temperaments,
when the paleness becomes fixed and un-
natural, beware of them in their moods.
They concentrate the vindictiveness of a
life in a few moments; and, though the
paroxysm is usually short, it is too often
fatal to themselves and to their victims. I
coolly commenced descending the rigging,
whilst the blackest thoughts crowded in
distinct and blood-stained array upon my
brain. I bethought me from whence |
could the most readily pluck a weapon, but
the idea was but instantaneous, and | dis-
missed it with a mighty effort. At length 1
reached the deck, whilst the infuriated
captain stood mute with surprise at my out-
rageously insubordinate conduct. Themen
were still at their quarters, and partook of
their commander's astonishment ; but, lam
convinced, of no other feeling.

When I found myself on the deck I
walked up to Captain Reud, and between
my clenched teeth I said to him, slowly and
deliberately, ‘‘ Tyrant, Iscornyou! Icome
premeditately to commit an act of mutiny:104 RATTLIN,

be tried by a court-martial,
anything to escape from you

able to hang me.
an arrest.”

hatchway.

dashed me on the main deck.
considerably bruised,

f persecutor, looking hate and defiance.
‘To the mast-head, sir, immediately.”

‘“Quarter-masters, the signal halyards.
Sling Mr. Rattlin.” Mr. Rattlin was slung.
‘“Now run the mutinous rascal up to the
truck.”’

In a moment I was attached to a thin
white line, waving to and fro in mid air,
and soon triced up to the very top of the
royal pole, and jammed hard to the truck.
Is this believed? Perhaps not; yet no
statement was ever more true. Atthe time
ie when this atrocity was perpetrating not an
i officer interfered. My sufferings were in-
tense. ‘The sun was still hot, my hat had
fallen off in my involuntary ascent, and, as
the ship was running before the wind under
her topsails, the motion at that high point
of elevation was tremendous. I felt horribly
ee : Sea-sick. The ligature across my chest be-
| came every moment more oppressive to my
lungs, and more excruciating in torture ;
my breathing at each respiration more
difficult, and, before I had suffered ten
minutes, I had fainted. So soon as the
captain had seen me run up he went below,
leaving strict orders that I should not be
lowered down.

Directly the captain was in his cabin, the
first-lieutenant, the doctor, purser, and the
officers of the watch, held a hurried con-
sultation on my situation. But the good-
natured doctor did not stop for the result,
but immediately went below, and told Reud
if I remained where I was I should die.
Those who knew the nayy at that time will
anticipate the answer—no others can—
*““Let him die and be damned!” The good
doctor came on deck, desponding. Mr.
Parmer then hailed me once, and again,

 

I give myself up as a prisoner: I desire to
I will undergo
; and [I don't
think that, with all your malice, you will be
I consider myself under
Then, turning upon my heel,
I prepared to go down the quarter-deck

} Captain Reud heard me to the end
f in silence ; he even permitted me to go

down half the ladder unmolested, when

rousing himself from his utter astonish-
) ment, he jumped forward, and spurning
5 me with his foot violently on my back,
I was
and, before I got to
the midshipman’s berth, two marines seized
me and dragged me again to the quarter-
deck. Once more I stood before my angry

Poa “‘T will not. I consider myself a pri-
SOneiae
‘You refuse to go ?”’
WAL Glos*

   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
 

IHE REEFER.

and again. Of course he received no
answer ; I heard him, but, at that moment,
my senses were fast leaving me. ‘The sea,
with its vast horizon, appearing so illimit-
able from the great height where I was
swaying, rocked, to my failing sight, awfully
to and fro: the heavens partook of the
dizzying motion. I only, of all the creation,
seemed standing still: I was sick unto
death ; and as far as sensation was con-
cerned, then and there I died.

Upon receiving no reply, Mr. Farmer
Sent one of the top-men up to look at me.
No sooner had he reached the topgallant
rigging than hereported me dead. A cry of
horror escaped from all ondeck. The captain
rushed up: he needed no report. He was
frantic with grief. He wept like a child,
and assisted with his own hands to lower
me down: they were his arms that received,
himself that bore me to his cabin. Like a
wilful boy who had slain his pet lamb, ora
Passionate girl her dove, he mourned over
me. It was a long time before my respira~
tory organs could be brought into play.
My recovery was slow, and it was some time
before I could arrangemy ideas. A cot was
slung for me in the cabin, and, bewildered
and exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep.

I awoke a little after midnight perfectly
composed, and suffering only from the wale
that the cord had made across my chest.
Before a table, and his countenance lighted
by a single lantern, sat the captain. His
features expressed a depth of grief and a
temorse that were genuine. Hesat motion-
less, with his eyes fixed upon my cot: m
face he could not see, Owing to the depth of
the shadow in which I lay. I moved: he
advanced to my cot with the gentleness of
a Woman, and softly uttered, —

‘‘ Ralph, my dear boy, do you sleep?”

The tones of his voice fell soothingly
upon my ear like the music of a mother’s
prayer.

‘No, Captain Reud; but I am very
thirsty.”

In an instant he was at my side with some
weak wine and water. I took it from the
hand of him whom, a few hours before, in
my animosity I could have slain.

“Ralph,” said he, as he received back
the tumbler, ‘ Ralph, are we friends >?”

“Oh! Captain Reud, how could you
treat a poor lad thus, who respected, who
loved you so much ?”

‘‘Iwas mad—do you forgive me, Ralph?”
and he took my not unwilling hand.

‘To be sure, to be sure; but do me one
little favour in return.”

‘‘ Anything, anything, Ralph—I'll never
mast-head you again.”

‘‘Oh, T was not thinking of that ; ToughtRALIEIN,

not tohave put youinapassion. Punish me
—mast-head me—do anything, Captain
Reud, but call me not bastard.”

He made no reply: he pressed my hand
fervently ; he put it to his lips and kissed
it—on my soul he did; then, after a pause,
gently murmured ‘‘ Good night ;" and, as he
passed into the after-cabin to his bed, I
distinctly heard him exclaim, ‘‘ God forgive
me, how I have wronged that boy !”

The next day we were better friends than
ever; and for the three years that we re-
mained together, not a reproachful word or
an angry look ever passed between us.

I must be permitted to make three obser-
vationss upon this, to me, memorable trans-
action. The. first is, that at that time, I
had not the power of retention of those
natural feelings of anger, which all should
carry with them as a preservation against,
or a punishment for, injury and insult. I
know that most of my male, and many of
my female readers, will think my conduct
throughout pusillanimous or abject. My
mother's milk, as it were, still flowed in my
veins, and with that no ill blood could
amalgamate. All I can say is, that now I
am either so much better or so much worse,
that I should have adopted towards Captain
Reud a much more decided course of pro-
ceedings.

My second remark is, that this captain
had really a good heart, but was one of the
most striking instances that ever I knew of
the demoralising effect of a misdirected
education, and the danger of granting great
powers to early years and great ignorance.
With good innate feelings, no man ever
possessed moral perceptions more clouded.

And, lastly, that this statement is not to be
construed into a libel on the naval service,
or looked upon in theleast as an exaggerated
account. As to libel, the gentlemanly de-
portment, the parental care of their crews,
and the strict justice of thousands of cap-
tains, cannot in the least be deteriorated by
a single act of tyranny by a solitary member
of their gallant body; and, as to exaggera-
tion, let it be remembered that, in the very
same year, and on the very same station
that my tricing up to the truck occurred,
another post-captain tarred and feathered
one of his young gentlemen, and kept him in
that state, a plumed biped, for more than
six weeks in his hen-coop. ‘This last fact
obtained much notoriety, from the aggrieved
party leaving the service, and recovering
heavy damages from his torturer in a court
of civil law. My treatment never was known
beyond our frigate,

aD

THE REEFER.

CHAPTER XLVI.

Ralph entereth into the regions of romance and priva-
teering carried thither by a pilot, wzadgré /ei—An
inopportune visit.

SHORTLY after the illegal suspension of the
Habeas Corpus that I recorded in the last
chapter, the portion of the navy stationed
in the West Indies became actively employed
in the conquest of those islands still in the
possession of the French. Some fell almost
without a struggle, others at much expense
of life, both of the military and naval forces.
As every one, who could find a publisher,
has written a book on all these events, from
the capture of the little spot Deseada, to the
subduing the magnificent island of Guada-
loupe, and the glorious old stone-built city
of Domingo, I may well be excused detail-
ing the operations.

Among other bellicose incidents that
varied the dull monotony of my life, was
the beating off a frigate equal in force to
our own; though I believe we were a little
obliged to her for taking leave of usin a
manner so abrupt, though we could not cer-
tainly complain of the want, on her part, of
any attention for the short and busy hour
that she stayed with us, for she assisted us
to shift all our topmasts, and as, before
she met us, we had nothing but old sails to
display, she considerably decorated us with
a profusion of ribands gaily fluttering
about our lower masts and the topmasts
that were still standing gracefully hanging
over our sides.

We were too polite and well-bred not to
make some return for all these feti¢s sozns.
As, between the tropics, the weather is gene-
rally very warm, we evinced a most laudable
anxiety that she should be properly venti-
lated, so we assiduously began drilling holes
through and through her hull; and, I assure
the reader, that we did it in a surpassingly
workmanlike manner. But, in the midst of
this spirited exchange of courtesies, our
Gallic friend remembered that he had, or
might have, another engagement, so he took
his leave; and as he had given us so many
reasons to prevent our insisting to attend
upon him, we parted ez pleine mer, leaving
us excessively annoyed that we were pre-
vented from accompanying him any further.

In Captain Reud’s despatches, he stated,
and stated truly, that we beat him off. Why
he went, I could not understand ; for, ex-
cepting in the shattered state of her hull,
and more particularly in a sad confusion of
her quarter gallery, with her two aftermost
main-deck-ports, he sailed off with her
colours flying, and every sail drawing, even106

to her royals. But the French used to have

their own method of managing these little

matters.

But let us rapidly pass over these follies
and hasten to something more exquisiteiy
foolish. And yet I cannot, I have to clear
away many dull weeds, and tread down
many noxious nettles, before I can reach the
one fresh and thornless rose, that bloomed
for a short space upon my heart, and the
fragrance of which so intoxicated my senses,
that, for a time, I was under the blessed
delusion of believing myself happy.

I had now been two years and a half in
the West Indies, and I was fast approach-
ing my nineteenth year. At this period we
had retaken several English West India-
men.

In one of these retaken merchant vessels

there was found, as the French prize-
master, and now of course our prisoner, a
mercurial little fellow of the name of
Messurier. He was very proud of the glory
of his nation, and still prouder of his own.
As France possessed many historians, and
Monsieur Adolphe Sigismund Messurier but
one, and that one himself, of course, he
had the duty of at least three hundred
savans thrown upon his own shoulders: he
performed it nobly, and with an infinite
relish. Now when a person who is given
to much talking, is also given to much
drinking, it generally happens, injurious as
is the vice of the grog-bottle, that the vice
of the voluble tongue is still worse. When
in his cups, he told of the scores that he
had slain, counting them off by threes and
fives upon his fingers, his thumbs indicating
captains, his forefingers, first-lieutenants,
and so on with the various grades in our
service, until the aspirants, or middies, were
merely honoured by his little finger as their
representative, we only laughed; and asked
him, if he had been so destructive to the
officers, how many men had fallen by the
puissance of hisarm. It seemed that these
latter were too numerous and too ignoble
to be counted ; for that question was always
answered with a évh / and arapidly passing
over the extended palm of his left hand with
his open right one.

But when, one evening, he mentioned
that he could pilot a frigate into the inland
waters from whence swarmed the crowd of
schooner privateers that infested the islands,
and by their swift sailing to. windward
eluded our fastest ships, we laughed still ;
and I did something more—I reported this
boast. to Captain Reud.

“Then,” exclaimed my valorous little
creole, ‘‘by all the virtues of a long
eighteen, he shall take in his Majesty's
frigate Zos,”

RATULIN, BHE RE BEER,

Wheneyverhe protested by a long eighteen,
in the efficacy of whose powers he had the
most implicit reliance, we might look upon
the matter as performed.

‘Phe next morning, whilst Monsieur Mes-
sufier was solacing his aching head with
his hands, oblivious “of the events of the
preceding evening, he was feelingly re-
minded of his consummate skill in pilotage.
He then became most unnaturally modest,

and denied all pretensions to the honour.
Now Captain Reud had no idea that
éven an enemy should wrap up his talent
in a napkin, so he merely said to him,
“You must take my ship in.” When
the captain had made up- his mind, the
deed generally trod upon the heels of
the resolve. Poor man! he was always in
want of something to do, and thus he was
too happy to do anything that offered ex-
citement. Monsieur Messurier was in de-
spair; he prayed and swore alternately,
talked about sacrificing his life for the good
of his country; and told us in a manner
that convinced us that he wished us to
believe the absurdity, that honour was the
breath of his nostrils. However, the captain
was fully intent upon giving him the glorious
opportunity of exclaiming with effect, DuJce
et decorum est pro patria mort.

Not knowing the strength of the strong-
hold that it was our intention to surprise,
Captain Reud cruised about for a few days,
until he had collected another frigate, a
sloop of war, and two eighteen-gun_brigs,
the commanders of all being, of course, his
juniors. Having made all necessary arrange-
ments, one beautiful morning we found our-
selves close off the iron-bound and rocky
shores of the east end of St. Domingo.
We ran along shore for a couple of hours,
when we perceived an opening in the lofty
piles of granite that frowned over the blue
ocean. ‘This was the entrance into the
harbour where lay our destined prizes.

Captain Reud, taking the responsibility
into his own hands, had determined to lead
in. The charts were minutely examined,
but they gave us no hepe. The soundings
laid down were so shallow, and the path
So intricate, that, by them, we wondered
much how even a privateer schooner could
make the passage in safety. Toa frigate
drawing three-and-twenty feet of water, the
attempt seemed only a precursor to destruc-
tion.

We hove-to; the captains of the other
vessels were signalled on board, and with
them and our first-lieutenant and master, a
sort of council of war was held; and, as
every one present gaye his voice against the
attempt, our skipper’s mind was made up
directly, He resolved to go in, trusting toRATTLIN,

the chapter of accidents, to a gracious Pro-
vidence, and Monsieur Messurier upon the
fore-yard, with a seaman with a pistol at
each ear, to scatter his brains the moment
the ship struck. The weather was brilliant,
the wind moderate and fair, when we bore
up to the mouth of the passage. It was
something at once ludicrous and painful to
witness the agony of our pilot in spite of
himself. Between oaths, protestations and
tremors, the perspiration of terror flowing
down his face, mingled with his tears, he
conned the ship with a precision that proved,
at least in that matter, that he was no vain
boaster.

But we had scarcely advanced a few
hundred yards within the gorge, than I had
eyes only for the sublimity of the scenery
that opened itself in succession as we passed.
The water was as smooth as the cheek, as
bright as the smile, and as blue as the eye
of our first love. Indeed, it was ‘‘ deeply,
beautifully blue,” as Lord Byron saith—to
that deeply we owed everything. The
channel was so narrow, that, .in many
places there was not sufficient room to tack
the ship, even if she could have turned
within her own length, and, in two remark-
able points, we had not sufficient width to
have carried our studding-sails. At one
singularly romantic spot of this pass, the
rocks far above our mast-heads leant over
towards each other, and the ancient forest
trees that crowned the heights, mingled
their feathery branches, and permitted us
to get a sight of the vaulted blue above us
only at intervals, between the interstices of
the aark-green foliage.

The seamen regarded their situation with
wonder, not unmixed with awe. But the
view was not the unvaried one of two
gigantic walls festooned with flowers and
crowned with trees. At intervals, we found
the channel open into wide lagunes, with
shelving and verdant shores, studded with
white stone buildings, and well cultivated
plantations, and then the passage would
narrow again suddenly, and the masses of
rock rose so high on each side of us, as
almost to exclude the light of the day.
The way was tortuous, but not abruptly so ;
and, as we wound through it, ever and
anon we came to some picturesque inlet,
some cool grotto, so beautiful that its very
beauty must have peopled it with nymphs,
for none could look upon them, without
feeling, for a time, like poets. At the
entrance, the heaving water rose and fell
with a heavy moaning against the eternal
bases of the rocks, though the surface in
mid channel was perfectly smooth; but, as
we advanced, this dull undulation gradually
subsided, and its measured splash no longer

 

THE REEFER.

107

echoed among the cliffs. The silence, as
we proceeded, grew strange to us. An awe
crept over us, like that which is felt upon
the first entrance into a vast cathedral and
the gentle wind came to us noiselessly, and
dying away at intervals, left the ship silently
stealing on, impelled for a space, by no
visible means.

The hush throughout the ship was tomb-
like, and the few words of command that
from time to time broke upon the ear,
sounded hollow and unearthly from the
reverberations of the overhanging pre-
cipices.

But quickly the scene would change; the
jutting promontories and overtopping walls
would recede, and a fairy spot, encircled by
forest-land, would open upon us, studded
with green islands, glorious in all the beau-
ties of an eternal spring, and crowded and
crowned with flowers of every hue, and of
a brilliancy the most intense. We pro-
ceeded in this delightful manner for more
than twelve miles, yet no one had appeared,
in the least: to notice our approach. Had
the most trivial attempt at defence been
made, we could not have proceeded a
quarter of the distance ; for I verily believe
that we passed by points so overhanging,
that a couple of pounds of gunpowder,
properly applied, and fired at the right
moment, would have tumbled fragments
of solid rock upon us, that would have
crushed us to the bottom in an instant, to
mention nothing of the several protruding
corners of this singular pass, on which two
or three guns could have raked an approach-
ing vessel for half an hour with impunity,
as I have before stated that it would be
impossible in those straitened passages to
have turned a broadside to bear on any
impediment. On we came, and at last a
noble bay, or-rather salt-water lake opened
upon us, with two wide rivers delivering
their waters into the bottom of if. .On our
right lay the town of Aniana, with a fort
upon a green mount overlooking the houses,
and rising much higher than our floating
pennant.

Our unexpected entrée, like all other mis-
timed visits, caused the visited a terrible
degree of confusion. Twelve or thirteen
beautiful schooners had their sweeps out,
and all their sails set immediately. We
having anchored opposite the town about
noon, the breeze fell away into almost a
perfect calm, and off they went, making
the best of their way Up the rivers. There
were several other craft lying off the town,
into which the inhabitants were crowding,
with all their effects of any value, no doubt
intending to go a little way up into the
country also, to avoid the inconvenience of108

 

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

inopportune calls. The signal was made frightening them? JI suppose, Captain
for our little squadron to get out their boats, Reud, there can be no harm in going ashore
chase, and capture, now, and paying them a visit, just to
alleviate their fears,’’ was the reply of one
of the commanders.
“Not to-night, not to-night. Depend
Sas upon it, all the best of the beauty, and the
best of the wealth, is safely stowed in this
: numerous fleet, quietly anchored about us :
CHAPTER XLVII. we have them all safe. There might be
some villains lurking about the town with
Treats of kind intentions frustrated—A visiting party their cane knives aa their belts : let us have
prevented by one ball too many having been given— all clear, and daylight before us. Not that
And ready-made domestic happiness for strangers. I think there is any pluck among them—
they have not spirit enough to throw a
WF first of all brought out the heavily laden stone at a dog.”
craft that were still near the town, and Hardly had these taunting words escaped
anchored them under our guns. To the his lips, than ‘‘ bang, crash,” and a four-
privateers that showed their heels, the and-twenty pound shot came reeking
larger boats gave chase; and coming up through the waist-hammocks, —for they had
with them one after another, they were not yet been piped down,--and covered
finally all captured. Had they but acted us over with horse-hair, and an abominable
in combination, I think they might have composition called Hock. The ball took
resisted the boats with success; but their a slanting direction through the main and
commanders seemed to have lost ail pre- orlop decks, and came out just below the
sence of mind, in the confusion and aston- water-line, making instantly a leak that
ishment into which our sudden appearance we could not affect to despise.
had thrown them. ““Droll,”” said Reud, shaking the dust
Now, all this was very pleasant to us, from his person.
Messieurs les concernes. We calculated ‘Very,’ said his well-dined echoes around
upon having the whole wealth of the French him.
town, and the little French fleet converted
into lawful prize-money. The deeply-laden,
poop-encumbered brigs and schooners, so “ Beat to quarters, Mr. Rattlin.”
ungracefully down by the stern, we ima- The lieutenants and more than half of
gined to be full of treasure. Visions of the crew were away in the boats. The men
gold glittered before our mind's eye. We were soon at their guns, and, as they had
were about to recover the plunder of ages ; been only slightly secured, they were ready
for it must be confessed that this Aniana to return the fire almost immediately.
was no better than a haven for pirates. One Upon looking up at the source of our
of us was cruelly undeceived in one Tespect. annoyance, we found that it was a hopeless
As yet, we had met with no manner of case, The height was so great, and so
resistance whatever : it was ten o'clock in immediately above us, that, without heeling
the evening, the full moon giving us a very the frigate over, not a gun could be brought
excellent imitation of daylight, when all to bear. Another shot from the battery
the commanders who had dined With our served to quicken our deliberations. There
yellow skipper came on deck, in the highest was no time to be lost.
possible glee, delightedly rubbing their Captain Reud sent the various com-
hands, and calculating each his share of manders on board their respective vessels,
the prize-money. All this hilarity was in- with orders, as fast as any of their boats
creased, every now and then, by some boats came in, to send them to us immediately
coming on board, and reporting to us, as_ with their marines. For ourselves, all our
commodore, another privateer, or some boats were away except the gig. ~ Into that
fugitive merchantman, taken, and then im- I jumped, followed by the captain and six
mediately shoving off in chase of others. marines. Every man, except a quarter-
“Well, gentlemen,” said the skipper, masterand a couple of look-outs, was piped
“Tl tell you what we'll do. We'll send down below, with strict orders, that they
the marines on shore to-morrow, and take were to stay there and not expose them-
possession of the town. However, we will selves, and the ship was left in charge of
be very civil to the ladies :—.e will, by the gunner; whilst the carpenter and his
Venus! As commanding officer, I'll permit *crew were actively employed in the wings,
of no rudeness.”’ in plugging the shot-holes ; for every ball
“None whatever: who could think of that was fired came in somewhere upon the

If this be jesting, thought I, the cream of
the joke is to come yet.RATTLIN,

tlecks, and made its way through the ship's
sides, low under the water.

However, annoying as this was, there
were but two guns playing upon us, where,
though served with admirable precision,
fired but slowly. We had not laid on our
oars a quarter of an hour, between the ship
and the shore, a space of not more than
forty yards, when we were joined by seven
boats of various dimensions, crammed as
full of jollies as they could possibly hold.
We were on shore in a moment, and,
without much care as to forming, we all
scrambled up the hill as fast as we could.
It was very steep indeed, but we were not
fired upon by any smali arms whatever ;
and the guns could not be sufficiently
depressed from the embrasures to be made
to bear upon us. ‘They certainly must
have perceived us, for the moon was shining
with singular splendour; but they seemed
to take no notice of our advance, but fired
twice upon the frigate as we were climbing,
or rather scrambling up.
¢ This assault was an affair got up with
so little premeditation, that Captain Reud
had no other arms than his regulation
sword; and his aide-de-camp, my _ Tre-
doubtable self, no other weapon of offence
than a little crooked dirk, so considerably
curved, that it would not answer the purpose
of a dagger to stab with, and so blunt that
I am sure, though it might separate, it could
not cz¢ through a plum-pudding. ‘Though
I was approaching pare passu with my
commander to a parapet, where there was
no ‘‘imminent deadly breach,’ I was so
much ashamed of my side-arms, that I
would not expose them to the night alr.

Up we tumbled close under the low, turf-
constructed battlement, and, as we were in
the act of scrambling over it, we received a
straggling and ill-directed fire of musketry.

One hurrah from our party, and we were
into the fort in a moment and that on the
two flanks as well as the front. For all the
service that I could render, I might as well
have charged, as a midshipman usually
walks the deck, with my hands in my
pockets. However, there we were face to
face with our opponents, on the planked
floor of the fort, just as they were making
up their minds to run away. But they did
not go quite so soon as they ought. In
jumping over the turfy mound, it must be
supposed, aS was really the case, that it
took us an instant or two to recover our
equilibrium and ascertain the surety of our
footing; but that instant was a very annoy”
ing one, for the Frenchman directly op-
posed to Captain Reud deliberately put his
musket against the said captain's face, and
though I, unarmed as I was, actually did

THE REEFER.

 

  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  

109

strike up this musket as much as I was able,
it had only the effect of making the bay-
onet at the end of it score a deep wound from
the bridge of his nose to the top of his fore-
head, when the trigger was pulled, and the
whole crown of Captain Reud’s skull com-
pletely blown away. The shot turned him
round like a weathercock ; I naturally half
turned also, giving the enemy the advantage
of studying my profile, whilst I endeavoured
to support my captain in my arms; and
then the same man, being bent on mischief,
thrust his bayonet right through the back
of my neck, grazing the vertebra, and
entering on the right and coming out on the
left side. Having, in this manner, made a
sheath for his weapon, the blackguard left
it there, and thus, having trussed me as
with a skewer, showed me his back and
fled. ‘The butt-end of the musket falling
to the ground, gave me a terrible wrench
of the head, but relieved me at the same
time of my incumbrance.

That was the first time I ever d/ed for my
country. Indeed, I bled much more than
my poor captain. However, the gentlemen
of the fort rushed out as we rushed in, and
rolled head. over heels down the other side
of the hill. ‘Three or four were killed on
the platform; among whom, at the time I
devoutly wished, was the inflicter of my
wound ; some were shot as they ran down
the inland side of the hill, and the fort was
ours, with the loss of one man killed, and,
I think six wounded. My hurt was very
trifling : a piece of adhesive plaster on the
two orifices was all the surgical assistance
that I either had or required. But the case
with poor Reud was very different. I detest
giving a revolting description of wounds ;
Ishall only say, that this was a most dread-
ful one. He lay for a month almost ina
state of insensibility; and, though he lived
for more than half a year with his head
plated with silver, I know that he was
never afterwards perfectly sane.

Walking about for a couple of days with
a stiff neck, which was all the inconvenience
I experienced, I assumed no little upon my
firmness in storming, and on my honourable
scars. ‘The next morning all the prizes were
secured, the town formally taken posses-
sion of, and whilst Captain Reud lay in
the torpor of what was ali but death, it
was deliberated what we should do with
our conquest. It was a matter of some
difficulty to decide upon. At this period,
the two factions of the blacks, Petion’s and
Christophe’s, held the western parts of the
fine island of St. Domingo. The Spaniards
had large possessions in the centre of the
island, and the French still held a sway
over the city of St. Domingo, and had aIto

precarious footing in the eastern division,
where we now were.

The place was too insignifi
son for a permanent conquest for the Eng-
lish. Many of our officers, and all the
men, wished very naturally to plunder it;
but the captain of the other frigate, now
the commander, would not listen to the
proposal for a moment. However, we
totally destroyed their small dock-yard,
burned three fine schooners on the stocks,
demolished the fort that had been so per-
nicious to Captain Reud, and which com-
manded the town; and then, the officers,
and small parties of the ship’s company
were permitted to go on shore, and to live
at free quarters upon theinhabitants. Strict
orders were given to respect life and limb,
and the honour of the ladies; and these
orders were generally well enforced. It
was certainly a pleasant thing to go on
shore and walk into any house that pleased
you, call for what you wanted, be very
protecting, and, after having eaten anddrunk
to satiety, to depart without having to cast
up the items of a bill.

These brigands were treated much too
leniently, for I verily believe that, for a
vast number of years, all the male popula-
tion were born, bred, lived, and had died
pirates. They were of all nations of the
earth; and, I must say, that this blending
of the various races, had produced a very
handsome set of men, and very beautiful
women. ‘There were many English females
among them, who had been captured in
our merchant vessels, and had been forced
into marriages with their lawless captors.
They were, for the most part, like the
Sabine women, reconciled to their lot, and
loth to leave their lords, their mansions,
and their children.

The governor of the place, a French
colonel, was captured as he endeavoured
to make his escape in one of the schooner
privateers. We had him on board of our
ship for some time, and he confessed that
the place flourished only by means of
what he was pleased to designate as free
trading.

The prizes, deeply laden, left the port
one after the other, and then the men-of-
war brigs, afterwards the sloop of war,
and, at length, our consort, the frigate.
We now lay alone in these quiet waters,
and there we remained for nearly three
months. All this time our captain could
hardly be said to be living. No one was
allowed to come aft beyond the mizen-
mast. We always spoke with hushed
voices, and walked about stealthily upon
tip-toe. The bells ceased to be struck,

cant to garri-

and every precaution was taken to preserve

 

     

RATTLIN THE REEFER,

the most profound silence. But our amuse-
ments on shore were more than commen-
surate for our restraint on board. Most of
the officers and men took unto themselves
wives, pro hdc vice--chalked, or rather
painted their names upon the doors of their
mansions, and made themselves completely
at home.

CHAPTER XLVIIL.

Liaisons dangereuses—Ralph diveth into the dilemma
of love, and*admireth the fatherly conduct of the
parent of his Dulcinea—Yet rageth and weepeth that
she is a slave who hath enslaved him.

AT this time I had begun to look fierce, if
any one did not concede to me the rights
and privileges of a man; and especially
since I had received my bayonet wound;
my vanity upon this score became insup-
portable. ‘‘ Younker” was now a term of
bitterness to me; on the word ‘‘lad” I
looked with sovereign contempt; ‘‘ boy”
I had long done with. Heartily I prayed
for a beard, but it came not ; so, in order
to supply the deficiency, I used to practise
looking stern before my dressing-glass. But
all my efforts at an outward semblance of
manliness were vain; my face was much
too fair and feminine, though my stature,
and the firmness of my frame, were just
what J wished. I was not on board the
vessel after the first week that she lay in
the port of Aniana, nor did I rejoin her
until she was in the very act of sailing out
of it.

How am I to approach this subject, so
romantic, so delicious, and so delicate!
How can I record events, that, in proving
to me that I had a heart, first destroyed its
strength by the sweet delirium of ecstasy,
and thus, having enfeebled, almost broke it!
Before, the poetic ardour had often been
upon me; but the fire was lighted up at the
shrine of vanity, and I sang for applause,
Itawas to be rekindled by love ; but to burn
with a concealed fury, to be whispered only
to my own soul—a feeling too great for
utterance, too intense for song, was to de-
vour me. I experienced ecstasies that were
not happiness ; I learnt the bitter truth, that
rapture is not bliss,

About a week after we had obtained a
quiet settlement in the town, and very many:
of us a quiet settlement in the hearts, as
well as in the houses, of the beautiful Creoles
and half castes; I also went on shore, with
Modesty walking steadily on my right hand,
Whilst Madame Temptation was wickedly
ogling me on the left, I looked in on theRAPTLIN,

establishments of several of my brother
officers, and certainly admired the rapidity
with which they had surrounded themselves
with all manner of domestic comforts, In-
cluding wives, and, in some instances, large
families of children. There was much
more than ready-made love in these arrange-
-ments; any one may buy that for ready
money; but a ready-made progeny, a
ready-made household, and a ready-made
wife, without one stiver of ready money
was the astonishment ; but English sailors
can do anything.

Well, at No. 14, Rue Coquine, I accepted
the purser’s invitation to dinner at four, ez
famille. It seemed quite natural.

‘“My dove,” said he, ‘‘you'll get usa bit
of fish. Mr. Rattlin loves fish.”

“‘Certainly, my love,” said Mrs. Purser
pro tempore, looking a battery of amiabili-
ties.

«« Allow me to introduce you to my sister-
in-law, Ma'amselle D’Avalonge,’”’ said the
purser, presenting a very well dressed young
lady to me, with all the ease of a family
man.

The introduction took place immediately,
and the lady and I found each other charm-
ing; indeed we said so. After a few more
compliments, and a very pretty song, ac-
companied by the guitar, from mademoiselle,
I took my leave, promising to be punctual
to my appointment. I was not punctual—
I never saw their dear faces again.

I left the town, and strolled up into the
interior, keeping, however, our small fleet
in sight, and walking seaward. I found the
environs well cultivated, and the houses in
the various plantations solidly built, and of
stone. From every habitation that I passed
I had pressing invitations to enter and re-
fresh myself. These I declined. At length
I arrived at a beautiful wood, evidently
under the care of man; for the different
trees were so atranged as to produce a
romantic effect. The shade that the lofty
mahogany-trees afforded was very grateful,
for it was now alittle after noon ; and in this
grove I paced slowly up and down, nursing
my pride with all manner of conceits.

At length in the distance, and much
below where I stood, I heard voices in
violent altercation; among which the ‘‘’vast
heavings,”’ ‘‘ blow me tights,” ‘‘ a stopper
over all,” with other such nautical exple-
tives, were predominant. I broke from my
cover, and found myself immediately on a
slope, before a very respectable habitation,
nearly surrounded by boiling-houses, and
other outbuildings necessary to a sugar and
coffee plantation. The group before me
consisted of a small, energetic, old, and
white-haired Frenchman, neatly dressed in

THE REEFER.

 

 

 

  

Iii

a complete suit of nankeen, with his broad-
brimmed straw hat submissively in his hand,
speaking all manner of fair and unin-
telligible French words to two Jacks, not
of my ship, between which two, now pulled
this way, now plucked that, was a timid
and beautiful girl, of about fifteen years of
age. ‘There were several negroes, grinning
and passive spectators of this scene. I
understood it in a moment. So did my
gentlemen in the tarpaulin hats. They
were off to me ina less time than a top-
gallant breeze takes to travel aft from
the flying jib-boom, supposing the ship to
be at single anchor.

I took out my pocket-book, wrote down
their names (most likely purser’s ones), and
ordered them on board their vessel directly.
They obeyed, or at least appeared to do so,
and departed, casting many ‘‘a lingering,
longing look behind,” leaving me the
triumphant master of the field—the paladin,
who had rescued the fair, for which I re-
ceived much clapping of hands from the
dark visages, and an intense look of grati-
tude from the fair, pale creature, whom I
had released from the very equivocal rude-
ness of her admirers. The thanks from
Monsieur Manuel, the father, were neither
silent nor few, and when he found that I
could converse in French, he exhausted the
vocabulary of that copious language of all
its expressions of gratitude. I hardly could
perceive that I had rendered any service at
all; I had struck no blows and had run no
risk; I had merely spoken, and obedience
followed. However as I could not stem
the torrent of his gratitude, I determined
to divert its course, by yielding to his urgent
entreaties to accompany him to his house,
and recruit myself after my perilous and
heroic deed.

We were soon seated in the coolest room
of his mansion, and every West Indian
luxury was quickly produced to tempt my
palate. In fifteen minutes he had ac-
quainted me with his parentage, his pos-
sessions, and his history. He assured me,
with gesticulations, and a few oaths, that
he was not at all connected with the bri-
gands that inhabited the town below—that
he despised them, knew them all to be
pirates, or abettors of pirates, revolution-
ists, and republicans that he was at heart,
yea, in heart and soul, a royalist, and de-
votedly attached to the veux régime ,; that
the estate he now cultivated he had in-
herited from his father, who had been one
of the few spared in the revolt of the blacks;
that he had been educated at Paris, but, for
the last five-and-thirty years, had hardly
been off his own grounds—that he had no
wife, and, indeed, never married, had noIre RATTLIN,

family at all, excepting Josephine, who sat
beside him, who was his very dear and only
child.

He did not add, ‘‘a slave, and the
daughter of a slave.”

I now looked upon her steadfastly for the
first time, and with the most intense emo-
tion: but it was pity. I had been suffi-
ciently long in the West Indies to know
exactly the relation in which she stood to
her father. However, he went on to relate,
how she had been born to him by a beauti-
ful mulatto, for whom he had given a great
sum; yet at this she startled not, moved
not, blushed not. But hers was not the
calmness of obduracy, but of innocence.

Strongly did I commiserate her, and
gently strove to draw her into discourse. I
found her ignorant, oh! how profoundly
ignorant! She had no ideas beyond the
estate in which she lived, and those that she
had gathered from the gang of negroes that
worked it. Her father had taught her
nothing but to play a few tunes by ear upon
the guitar, and sing some old Frenck songs.
Yet she had been accustomed to all the ob-
servances of a lady—had slaves to wait upon
her, and was always elaborately, sometimes
richly, dressed. Isolated as she had been,
I soon discovered that she was a compound
of enthusiasm, talent, and melancholy.
She was little more than fifteen years old,
yet that age in those tropical climates,
answers fully to an European one-and-
twenty. In form, she was a perfect woman,
light, rounded and extremely active; all
her motions were as graceful, and as undu-
lating, as the gently-swelling billow. If she
moved quickly, she bounded, if slowly, she
appeared to glide on effortless through
space. She had taken her lessons of grace
in the woods, and her gymnasium had been
among the sportive billows of the ocean.
It is but of little use my describing her face;
for every one supposes, that in these affairs,
the author draws at once, as largely as he
can, upon his own imagination, and as he
dares, upon the credulity of his readers.
‘Though a slave, she had but little of the
black blood in her—in her complexion
none. She was not fair, but her skin was
very transparent, very pure, and of a daz-
ziing and creamy sort of whiteness. I have
seen something like it on the delicate
Chinese paintings of the secluded ladies of
that very secluded empire, and should
imagine it just such a permanent tint as the
Roman empress strove to procure by bath-
ing every day in milk. Colour she had
none, and thrilling must have been the
emotions that could call it into her placid
and pensive cheeks. Her features not
chiselled, and had any sculptor striven to

 

      
 

 

THE REEFER.

imitate them on the purest marble, he
would have discovered that chiselling would
not do. They were at once formed and
informed by the Deity. It is of no use
talking about her luxurious and_night-
emulating hair, her lips, and those eyes,
that seemed to contain, in their smal! com-
pass, a whole sea of melancholy, in which
love was struggling to support a half:
drowned joy.

As I turned to converse with her, she
looked up to me confidingly. She appeared,
as it were, incessantly to draw me to her
with her large black eyes; they seemed to
say to me, ‘‘Come nearer to me, that I
may understand thee. Art thou not some-
thing distinct from the beings that I see
around me—something that can teach me
what I am, and willalso give me something
to venerate, to idolise, and to love?” As
I continued to speak to her, her attention
grew into a quiet rapture, yet still a sublime
melancholy seemed to hold her feelings ina
solemn thraldom. -

My name, my rank, and my situation
were soon disclosed to the father and
daughter ; the former seeing how entranced
we were with each other's company, like a
prudent parent, left us to ourselves. My
French was much purer, and more gram-
matical than hers, hers much more fluent
than mine. Yet, notwithstanding — this
deficiency on both sides, we understood
each other perfectly, and we had not been
above two hours together alone, before I
told her that I loved her for her very igno-
rance, and she had confessed to me that she
loved me, because—because—the reader
will never guess why—because I was so
like the good spirit that walked gently
through the forest, and gathered up the
fever-mists before they reached the dwell-
ings of man.

I very naturally asked her if she had seen
this being. She said no, but knew him as
well as if she had; for old Jumbila, a
negress, had so often talked to her about
him, that her idea of him was as familiar to
her as the presence of her father.

‘“You have much to unlearn, my sweet
one,’ thought I, ‘‘and I shall be but too
happy in being your preceptor.”

At sunset Monsieur Manuel returned, led
us into another apartment, where a_ not
inelegant dinner was served up to us.
Knowing the habits of my countrymen, we
Sat Over some very superior claret, after
Josephine had retired. I took this oppor-
tunity to reproach him, in the gentlest
terms that I could use, with the dreadful
ignorance in which he had suffered a
creature so lovely, and so superior to re-
main,His reply was a grimace, a hoisting of
his shoulders above his head, an opening
of his hands and fingers to their utmost
extent, and a most pathetic ‘‘ Que voulez-
vous 2?”

oot. will tell you, friend, Manuelja
answered, for his wine had warmed me
much, his daughter more; ‘‘ I would have
had her taught, at least, to read and write,
that she had an immortal soul, a soul as
precious to its Maker as it was to herself.
I would have had her taught to despise
such superstitious nonsense as Obeoism,
mist spirits, and all the pernicious jargon
of spells and fetishes. I would, my dear
Manuel, have made her a fit companion for
myself ; for with such beauty and such a
soul, I am convinced that she would realize
female perfection as nearly as poor humanity
is permitted to do.”

“ Oue voulez-vous ?”’ again met my ears;
but it was attended by some attempt at
justification of his very culpable remissness.
‘He assured me, that, according to the laws,
social as well as judicial, a person of her
class, were she possessed of all the attri-
butes of an angel, could never be received
into white society, nor wed with any but a
person of colour. ‘The light of education,
he asserted, would only the more show her
her own degradation : he said he felt for her,
deply felt for her, and that heshuddered at the
idea of his own death, for in that event he felt
assured that she would be sold with the rest
of the negroes on the estate, and be treated
in all respects as a slave-—and she had been
so delicately nurtured. She had indeed:
her long white fingers and velvety hand
bore sufficient testimony to this.

‘‘But can you not manumit her?” said I.

‘‘Impossible. When the island was
more settled and better governed than now,
the legal obstructions thrown in the way of
the act were almost insuperable: at present
it is impossible. I have no doubt that our
bloodthirsty enemies, the Spaniards, who
are our nearest neighbours, immediately
you English leave the town, as you have
dismantled our forts, and carried away
almost all the male population captive, will
come and take possession of this place—
not that I care a soz for the brigands whom
you have just routed out. I shall have to
submit to the Spanish authority, and their
slave laws are still more imperative than
ours, though they invariably treat their
slaves better than any other nation. No,
there is no hope for poor Josephine.” ‘

‘Could you not send her to F rance?

“ Sacre Dieu! they guillotined all my
relations, all my friends—all, all—and, my
friend, I never made gold by taking a share
in those long low schooners that you have

  

RATTLIN,-THE REEFER.,

II3

kindly taken under your care. I have some
boxes of doubloons stowed away, it is true.
But, after all, Iam attached to this place;
I could not sell the estate for want of a
purchaser; and I am surrounded by such
an infernal set of rascals, that I never could
embark myself with my hard cash without
being murdered. No, we must do at Rome
as the Romans do.”

‘CA sweet specimen of a Roman you
are,” thought J, and I fell into a short
reverie; but it was broken up most agree-
ably, by seeing Josephine trip before the
open jalousies with a basket of flowers in
her hand. She paused for a moment before
us, and looked kindly at her father and
smilingly at me. It was the first joyous,
really joyous, smile that I had seen in her
expressive countenance. It went right to
my heart, and brought with it a train of
the most rapturous feelings.

““God bless her heart; I do love her
dearly!” said the old man. ‘‘I'll give you
a convincing proof of it, my young friend,

Rattlin. Ah! bah—but you other English
have spoiled all—you have taken him with
you.”

Pa \WbOlgs

““Why, Captain Durand. That large
low black schooner was his. Yes, he would
have treated her well (said Monsieur le
Pére, musing), and he offered to sign an
agreement, never to put her to field-work,
or to have her flogged.”’

‘Put whom to field-work?—flog whom?”
said I, all amazement.

‘Josephine, to be sure; had you not
taken him prisoner, I was going, next
month, to sell her to him for two hundred
doubloons.’’

‘““Now, may God confound you for an
unholy, unnatural villain!” said I, spring-
ing up, and overturning the table and wine
into the fatherly lap of Monsieur Manuel.
‘Tf you did not stand there, my host, I
would, with my hand on your throat, force
you on your knees to swear that—that—
that youll never sell poor, poor Josephine
foraslave. llog her!” said I, shuddering,
and the tears starting into my eyes—‘‘I
should as soon have thought of flogging an
empress’s eldest daughter.” ,

‘‘Be pacified, my son,” said the old
slave-dealer, deliberately clearing himself
of the dédris of the dessert—‘‘ be pacified,
my son.”

‘The words ‘‘ my son’ went with a strange
and cheering sound into my very heart's
core. The associations that they brought
with it were blissful—I listened to him with
calmness.

‘‘Be pacified, my son,” he continued,
‘‘and I will prove to you that I am doing

iRES NEI

fi

 

114 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

everything for the best. The old Colonel,
eur late governor, would have given three
times the money for her. I gould not do
better than make her over to 4 kind-hearted
man, who would use her well, and who, I
think, is fond of her. Not to part with
her for a heavy sum would be fixing a
stigma upon her;” and wretched as all this
reasoning appeared to be, I was convinced
that the man had really meant to have
acted kindly by selling his own datighter.
What a pernicious, d ble, atrocious
social system that must have been where
such a State of things existed!

 

CHAPTER XLIX.

Ralph deserteth his duty—All for ove, or ‘‘ thie wotld
well lost,” with his wits into the bargain—Very nice
disquisitions on honour:

THE sdyez tranguil’e of Monsieur Manuel
fidd but a transient effect. It brought no
consolation with it. What I had heard
seemed to clog the usual healthy beating of
my heart; my respiration laboured, and I
fell into a bitter reverie. The profoundest
pity, the most impassioned admiration, and
the most ardent desire to afford protection
—-are not these the ingredients that make
the all-potent draught of love? Let uni-
versal humanity reply—I loved. But the
feeling, generally so blissful, came upon
my young heart, and steeped it in the
bitterness of apprehension. My bosom
was swollen with big resolves, with the
deepest affection for one, and hate for all
the rest, of my species; and the thought
came over me vividly, of flight with the
young and pensive beauty into the inacces-
sible seclusion of the woods, and of the
unalloyed happiness and the imaginary
glories of a savage life. In this sudden
depression of spirits, my mind looked not
unloathingly on mutual suicide. It was a
black and a desponding hour, and fell upon
me with the suddenness of a total éclipse
on a noontidé summer's day.

I sat with my clasped hands between my
kneés, and my head hanging upon my breast,
almost unconscious of the black servitors
around me, who were re-ordering the room
that I had sorecently disarranged. I noted
all this as something that did not belong to
the world in which I had existence. I very-
thing around me seemed the shadows of
somebody’s dream, in which I had no part,
and could take no interest. I had but two

 

all-absorbing ideas; and these were—in-
justice and Josephine. So distraught was
I with the vastness of the one and with the
loveliness of the other, that, when the young
and splendid reality stole into the apart-
ment softly, and moved before my eyes in
all the fascination of her gracefulness, yet
was I scarcely conscious of the actual pre-
sence of her whose ideal existence was tor-
turing my brain.

To the cold, the unimpassioned, or the
unpeetical, this may seem impossible. I
will not go into metaphysical reasonings on
the subject. I only know that it was true.
Whilst I was. conceiving her flying from
oppression with me, her protector, into some
grim solitude, she came and placed herself,
altiest unnoticed, by my side, took my
unresisting hands between her own, and,
seeing how little I appeared to notice he
endearment, she gradually sank on her
knees before me, and, placing her forehead
upon my hands, remained for a space in
silence. Feeling her hot tears trickling
through my fingers called me back from
my dark reverie; and, as I became aware
of the present, a sigh so deep and so
long burst forth, that it seemed to rend my
bosom.

Those dark, lustrous, melancholy eyes,
swimming in tears, were then lifted up to
mine. Ages of eloquence weré contained
in that one look. In it, I read the whole
story of her life, the depth of her love, the
fealty of her faith, and the deep, thé un-
speakable prayer for sympathy, for love,
and for protection. The mute appeal was
unanswerable. It seemed to be conveyed
to me by the voice of destiny, to my mind
louder and more awful than thunder. At
that moment, I pledged myself eternally to
her; and, gradually drawing up her yield-
ing, light, and elastic form from my knees
to my bosom, I sobbed out, ‘‘ Whilst I
breathe, dearest, thou shalt never writhe
under the lash;” and then, giving way to
an uncontrollable passion of weeping, I
mingled my tears with hers—and wé were
happy. Yes, our young love was baptized
with tears—an ominous and a fitting rite.
We cried in each other's arms like children,
as we were; at first, with anguish; then,
with hope and affection; and, at length, in
all the luxury of a new-born bliss.

When this passion had a little subsided,
and smiles, and murmuring ejaculations of
happiness, had driven away the symbols of
what is not always anguish, old Manuel
approached, and appeared much pleased at
the tokens of affection that we mutually
lavished upon each other. And then, with
my arm encircling Josephine's slender waist,
and her fair face upon my shoulder, he

 

  

 

2

eebegan his artful discourse. Gradually, he
led me to speak of myself, my friends, my
views; and, ultimately, my strange and
mysterious story was fully unfolded. Even
in this prolonged relation, I was amply
rewarded by the impassioned looks, at once
so tender and so thrilling, of the beauteous
listener by my side, and by the ready tear
at every passage that told of suffering ; the
fond creature still creeping more closely to
me at every instance of danger; and bright
the beam of triumph would flash from her
eye, responsive to. every incident of my
success.

When all was told, and half wondering,
and faintly smiling, I finished by the rather
silly expression of—‘‘ And here I ae
was immediately imprisoned in the arms of
Josephine, as she pathetically exclaimed,
“and for ever!”

“Josephine speaks well,’ said Manuel,
rising and placing patriarchally a hand on
the head of each of us. ‘‘ My children,
would it were forever! It appears, by the
narrative that Monsieur has done us the
great honour to relate, that he is a castaway
—-an unowned—and, if my young friend
makes use of all the wisdom he doubtless
possesses in so high a degree, he will join
us in blessing Providence, that has given
the gallant young homeless one a home;
for I need not tell him that all he sees
atound is his—the land and the house, and,
to the hitherto unloved, a young and tender
heart that will cherish him, to the fatherless
aather.

And thus the old emzgré concluded his
speech, with a tear glistening in his eye—
and an unexceptionable bow. Had he flung
himself into my arms, the effect would have
been complete. I hate to record scenes ot
this sort; but, as I have imposed the task
upon myself, I will go through it; and,
though the temptation is great, seeing what
I was then, the disciple as well as the off
spring of romance, and what I now am,
worldly in the world’s most sordid world-
liness, to do my penance in self-mockery—
for the sake of the young hearts still un-
seared, | will refrain.

I was exceedingly affected and agitated
at this appeal, the purport of which I could
not misunderstand. My emotions, at first,
prevented me from speaking. I arose from
the sofa, Josephine still hanging upon my
shoulder, and, taking her father’s hand, led
them both to the window. The sun was
near the horizon; and mountain, sea, and
green valley, and dark forest, were steeped
in a roseate glory. About three miles dis-
tant, and beneath us, my gallant frigate sat
in the bosom.of the gently rippling waters,
like a sultana upon her embroidered divan,

RAEEEON, “THE REEPER,

II5

her ensign and her pennant streaming out
fair and free to the evening breeze. I
pointed to her, and with a voice scarcely
articulate—for, at that period, the sob
would rise too readily to my throat, and
the tear start too freély to my eye—I ex-
claimed, —

‘‘Behold my home—my country claims
the duty of a son!”

‘‘Monsieur knows best,” said Manuel,
almost coldly. ‘‘His countrymen have
conquered us: you are a gallant race, un-
doubtedly; but one of them has not shown
much mercy to my daughter.”

The passionate girl was at my feet—yes,
kneeling at my feet, and her supplicating
hands were clasped in that attitude of
humility that is due only to God. Who
taught her the infinite pathos of that beau~-
tiful posture? Taught her! She had no
teacher, save Nature and Love.

“Josephine,” said IJ, lifting her gently up, -
and kissing her fair brow, ‘‘ you ate break-
ing my heart. I cannot stand this--I must
rush out of the house, J have never said
I loved you;’’—(mean subterfuge !)

‘‘But you do, you do—it is my.fate—it
is yours—for three years I have been ex-
pecting you—disbelieve me not—ask the
Obeah woman. It is true, —and then,
hurrying out the words like the downpour-
ing of the mountain torrent, she continued,
“Do you love me ?—do you love me?—do
you love me?”

“T do, Josephine—I do distractedly !
But stern honour stands in the way.”

‘‘And what is this honour?” she ex-
claimed with genuine simplicity ; for it was
evident that, if she had ever heard the word
before, she had not the remotest idea of its
meaning: ‘‘E¢ quedle est cette honneur-la?”
and there was contempt in her tone.

I had no words to reply.

‘© Will this honour do that for you which
my father—which I—will do? What has
this honour done for him ?—+tell me, father.
Has it put that gay blue jacket on him, or
that small sword by his side? Show him,
my dear father, the rich dresses that we
have, and the beautiful arms. Will honour
watch you in your hours of sickness, take
you out in the noon-day heats, and show
you the cool shady places, and the refresh-
ing rippling springs? What is this honour,
that seems to bid you to break my heart,
and make me die of very grief?”

“Monsieur Manuel,” said I, extremely
confused, ‘‘ have the kindness to explain to
dear Josephine what honour is.”

‘© yule*of conduct,” he replied with
severity, ‘‘that was never recorded, never
understood, and which men construe just
as suits their convenience, One honest

KZ

reesas

 

T16

 

impulse of the heart is worth all the honour
J ever heard of.”’

This was a delicate helping of a friend
inadilemma. I turned for relief from the
sarcastic father to the beautiful countenance
of the daughter, and I there beheld an
expression of intense sorrow that agonised
me. Her sudden, and, to me, totally
unexpected animation, had disappeared.
Melancholy seemed to have drooped her
darkest wings over her. I thought that
she must soon die under their noxious
shadow. For one instant, my eyes caught
hers: I could not stand the appeal.

‘“‘T will stay,’ said I gently, ‘‘until the
ship sails.”

I had then, for the first time, to witness
the enthusiasm of the melancholy tempera-
ment—-the eloquence of unschooled nature.
The bending figure that seemed to collapse
in weakness upon my supporting arm, sud-
denly flung herself from me; her rounded
and delicate figure swelled at once into
sudden dignity; her muscles assumed the
rigidity, yet all the softness of a highly-
polished Grecian statue; and stood before
me, as if by enchantment, half woman,
half marble, beautiful inexpressibly. I was
sorely tried. There was no action, no
waving of the arms, as she spoke. Her
voice came forth musically, as if from some
sacred oracle, that oracle having life only
in words. Monsieur Manuel had very
wisely departed.

‘“Not an hour—not a minute—not an
instant, or—for ever / Young sir, you
have already stayed too long, if you stay
not always. Leave me to dream of you,
and to die. The thorn is in my heart; it
may kill me gradually. Go. Why, sir,
have you looked upon me as man never be-
fore looked? Why, why have you mingled
your false tears with mine, that were so
true—and, oh, so loving! But what am I,
who thus speak so proudly to a being,
whom, if I did not know he was treacher-
ous, I should think an angel? (az des bons
esprits.) I, a poor, weak, ignorant girl of
colour—born of a slave, to slavery—whose
only ambition was to have been loved, loved
for a short, short while—for know, that I
am to die early—I should not have troubled
you long. But you are too good for me—
I was a presumptuous fool. Go, and at
once, and take with you all that I have to
give—the blessing of a young-born bonds-
woman.”

All this time she had stood firmly and
nearly motionless, with her hands folded
beneath her heaving bosom, at some dis-
tance from me. I approached her with
extended arms, and had some such foolish
rhapsody on my tongue as ‘‘ Beautiful

 

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

daughter of the sun,” for I had already
contemplated her under a new character,
when, retreating and waving me from her,
she continued,-—

‘Already too much of this—let me die
by cruelty rather than by caresses, which
are the worst of cruelty. I feel a new spirit
living within me. I am a child no more.
Yesterday I should have crouched before
you, as one degraded, as I ought to do.
You have pressed me to your bosom—you
have spoken to me as your equal—even
your tears have bathed my brow. You
have ennobled me. Oh! it is a happiness
and a great glory. I, formerly so humble,
command you to go—go, dear, dear Ralph.
You will not kill me quite by going zow:
therefore, be generous, and go.”

I was already sufficiently in love, and
began to feel ashamed of myself for not
having as yet caught a little of her enthu-
siasm.

“Josephine,” said I, in a quiet serious
tone, ‘‘ give me your hand.” I took it--it
was deadly cold. At that moment all her
best blood was rallying round her young
heart. I led her to the open window, and
showed her the noble frigate, so hateful to
her sight, and said, ‘‘Dear Josephine, in
that ship there are more than three hundred
gallant fellows, all of whom are my country-
men, and some of them my familiar friends.
I have often shared with them danger,
unto the very jaws of death. I have broken
my bread with some of them, constantly,
for nearly three years. These are all claims
on me: you see that I am speaking to you
calmly. I had no idea what a little im-
passioned orator you were—do not look so
dejected and so humble. I love you for it
the more. I only made the remark to
convince you that what I now say is not
the mere prompting of a transient impulse.
But, Josephine, in my own far-away land, I
have also a few friends; nor am I wholly
a castaway; there is a mystery about_my
origin, which I wish to dissipate, yet that
I cherish. If I conduct myself as I have
hitherto done, in time I shall have the sole
control and government of a vessel, as
proud as the one before you, and of all the
noble spirits it will contain. The mystery
of which I have spoken Iam most sanguine
will be cleared up; and I may, peradven-
ture, one day take my place among the
nobles of my land, as it now is among the
nobles of the sea. Weep not thus, my
love, or you will infect me with emotions
too painful to be borne. Let us be calm
for a little space. ‘The reign of passion
will commence soon enough. Mark me,
Josephine... For you—God forgive me if I
commit sin!—for you, I cast off my asso-RALEEIN,

clates, sever all my ties of friendship, let
the mystery of my origin remain unrayvelled,
renounce the land of my birth—for you, I
encounter the peril of being hung for de-
gertion. Josephine, you will incur a great
debt—a heavy responsibility. My heart,
my happiness, is in your hands. Josephine,
I stay.”

a honeveln 4

“For ever!” A wild shriek of joy burst
from her delighted lips, as she leaped to
my bosom; and, for the first time, our lips
sealed the mysterious compact of love.
After a moment, I gently released myself
from the sweet bondage of her embrace,
and said, ‘‘ Dear Josephine, this cannot be
to me a moment of unalloyed joy. You
see the sun is half below the horizon; give
me one moment of natural grief; for, so
surely as I stay here, so surely, like that
orb, are all my hopes of glory setting, and
for ever.” And the tears came into my
eyes as I exclaimed, *' Farewell, my country
farewell, honour—£os, my gallant frigate,
fare thee well!”

As if instinct with life,
vessel answered my apostrophe. The ma-
jestic thunder of her main-deck gun boomed
awfully, and methought sorrowfully, over
the waters, and then bounded among the
echoes of the distant hills around and
above me, slowly dying away in the dis-
tant mountains. It was the gun which, as
commodore, was fired at sunset.

‘‘Ttis all over,’ I exclaimed. “ I have
made my election—leave me fOK. a. little
while alone.”

the beautiful

CHAPTER L.

Ralph falleth into the usual delusion of supposing. him-
self happy—Wisheth it may last all his life, making it
areality—As yet no symptoms of it dispelling ; but
the brightest sunset may have the darkest night.

Sur bounded from me in a transport of
joy, shouting, “ He stays, he stays!” and
I heard the words repeated among the
groups of negresses, who loved her; it
seemed to be the burthen of a general
song, the glad realisation of some pro-
phecy; for, ere the night was an hour
old, the old witch, who had had the tuition
of Josephine, had already made a mongrel
sort of hymn of the affair, whilst a circle
of black chins were wagging to a chorus
of,
« Goramity good, buchra body stays!”

I saw no more of Josephine that night.

THE REEFER.

 

117
The old gentleman, her father, joined me
after 1 had been alone nearly two hours—
two hours, I assure the reader, of misery.

I contemplated a courtship of some
decent duration, and a legal marriage at
the altar. I tried to view my position on
all sides, and thus to find out that which
was the most favourable for my mind's eye
to rest upon. It was but a disconsolate
survey. Sometimes a dark suspicion, that
I repelled from me as if it were a demon
whispering murder in my ear, would hint
to me the possibility that I was entrapped.
However, the lights that came in with
Monsieur Manuel dissipated them and
darkness together. He behaved extremely
well—gave me an exact account of all his
possessions, and of his ready money, the
latter of which was greatly beyond my
expectations, and the former very con-
siderable.

He immediately gave mean undertaking,
that he would, if I remained with him,
adopt me as his son, allow me during life
a competency fit to support me and his
daughter genteelly, and to make me his sole
heir at his death. ‘This undertaking bound
him also to see the proper documents duly
and legally drawn up by a notary, SO as to
render the conditions of our agreement
binding on both parties. We then spoke,
as father and son, of our future views.
We were determined to leave the island,
immediately we could get anything like its
value for the plantation and the large gang
of negroes upon it. But where go to then?
England—my desertion. France ?— yes, it
was there that we were to spend our lives.
And thus we speculated on future events,
that the future never owned.

I have said before, that, during the whole
time that I was in the navy, I never was
intoxicated — and never once swallowed
spirituous liquors. Both assertions are
strictly true. This memorable evening,
over our light supper, I drank, perhaps,
two glasses of claret more than was my
wont at Captain Reud’s table. 1 was
excessively wearied both in mind and
body. I became so unaccountably and
lethargically drowsy, that, in spite of every
effort of mine to the contrary, I fell fast
asleep in the midst of a most animated

harangue of the good Manuel, upon the ,

various perfections of his lovely daughter
—a strange subject for a lover to sleep
upon; but so it was. Had Josephine's
nurse and the Obeah woman anything to
do with it? perhaps. They are skilful
druggers. If my life, and the lives of all
those dearer to me than life itself, had
depended upon my getting up and walking
across the room, I could not have done it.

ee

metr8 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

‘How I got to bed I know not; but I
awoke in the morning in luxuriant health,
with a blushing bride upon my bosom.

And then ensued days of dreamy ecstasy ;
my happiness seemed too great, too full,
too overflowing, to be real. Everything
around me started into poetry. I seemed
to be under the direction: of fairy spirits:
all my wants were cared for as if by in-
visible hands. It appeared to me that J
had but to wish, and gratification followed
before the wish was half formed. I was
passive, and carried away in a trance of
happiness. I was beset with illusions;
and so intense were my feelings of rapture,
mingled with doubt, and my blissful dis-
traction so great, that it was late in the
day before I noticed the dress I had on.
The light and broad-brimmed planter’s hat,
the snowy white jean jacket and trousers,
and the infinitely fine linen shirt, with its
elaborately laced front, had all been donned
without my noticing the change from my
usual apparel. It was a dress, from its
purity and its elegance, worthy of a bride-
groom. I learnt afterwards, that Jose-
phine’s old negress-nurse had, with many
and powerful incantations — at least, as
powerful as incantations always are —
buried under six feet of earth every article
of clothing in which I had first entered
the mansion,

Well, there we were, avery pretty yersion
of Paul and Virginia—not perhaps quite so
innocent, but infinitely more happy, roving
hand in hand through orange bowers and
aromatic shades. Love is sweet, and a
first love very, very delightful; but, when
we are not only loved, but almost wor-
shipped, that, that is the incense that
warms the heart and intoxicates the brain.
Wherever I turned, I found greeting and
smiles, and respectful observance hovered
along my path. The household adored
their young mistress, and me_ through
her.

Old Manuel seemed serenely happy. He
encouraged us to be alone with each other.
I could write volumes upon the little inci-
dents, and interesting ones too, of this
singular honeymoon. I observed no more
bursts of passion in Josephine; her soul
had folded its wings upon my bosom, and
there dreamed itself away in a tender and
loving melancholy.- How I now smile,
and perhaps could weep, when I call to
mind all her little artifices of love to pre-
vent my ever casting my eyes upon the
hated ship! As I have related before, our
little squadron at anchor in this secluded
bay departed one by one, leaying only the
fos, with her sorely-wounded captain ; yet,
though I saw them not, I knew, by Jose-

 

phine’s triumphant looks, when a vessel
had sailed. All the 7alouszes in front of the
house were nailed up, so that, if by chance
I wandered into one of the rooms in that
quarter, I saw nothing.

I had been domesticated in this paradise
—a fool's, perhaps, but still a paradise—a
month; and I was sitting alone in the shade,
reading, behind the house, when Josephine
flew along the avenue of lemon-trees, and
flung herself into my arms, and, sobbing
hysterically, exclaimed, ‘‘My dear, dear
Ralph, now you are almost wholly mine!
there is only one left.’’

‘‘And that one, my Josephine?”

“Speak not of it, think not of it, sweet;
it is not yours. But, swear, swear to me
again, you will never more look upon it;
do, dearest, and I will learn a whole column
extra of words in two syllables.”

And I repeated the often-iterated oath ;
and she sat down tranquilly at my feet, like
a good little girl, and began murmuring the
task she was committing’ to memory.

And how did the schooling get on? Oh!
beautifully; we had such sweet, and so
many school-rooms, and interruptions still
more sweet and numerous. Sometimes our
hall of study was.beneath the cool rock,
down the sides of which, green with age,
the sparkling rill so delightfully trickled;
sometimes in the impervious, quiet, and
flower-enamelled bower, amidst all the
spicy fragrance of tropical shrubs; and
sometimes in the solemn old wood, be-
neath the boughs of trees that had stood
for uncounted ages. And the interrup-
tions! Repeatedly the book and the slate
would be cast away, and we would start
up, as if actuated by a single spirit, and
chase some singularly beautiful humming-
bird ; sometimes the genius of frolic would
seize us, and we would chase each other
round and round the old mahogany-trees,
with no other object than to rid ourselves
of our exuberance of happiness; but the
most frequent interruptions were when she
would close her book, and, bathing me in
the lustre of her melancholy eyes, bid me
tell her some tale that would make her
weep; Or, with a pious awe, request me
to unfold some of the mysteries of the
universe around her, and commune with
her of the attributes of their great and
beneficent Creator. °

Was not this a state of the supremest
happiness? Joy seemed to come down to
me from heaven in floods of light; the
earth to offer up her incense to me, as I
trod upon her beautiful and flower-encum-
bered bosom; the richly-plumaged birds to
hover about me, asif sent todo me homage;
even the boughs of the r ~‘estic trees, as Ipassed them, seemed to wave to me a
welcome. Joy was in me and around me ;
there was no pause in my blissful feelings.
I required no relaxation to enjoy them the
more perfectly, for pleasure seemed to

succeed pleasure in infinite variety. It
was too glorious to last. The end was
approaching, and that end was - very
bitter.

CHAPTER II

A short chapter and a miserable one—The less that is
said of it the better.

I HAD been living in the plantation nearly
three months. My little wife, for such I
held her to be, had made much progress
in her education—more in my affection she
could not. I had already put her into join-
ing hand; and I began to be as proud of
her dawning intellect as I was of her person
and of her love. I had renounced my
country, and, in good faith, I had intended
to have held by her for ever; and, when |
should find myself in a country where mar-
riage with one born in slavery was looked
upon as no opprobrium, I had determined
that the indissoluble ceremony should be
legally performed. ‘To do all this 1 was in
earnest; but events, or destiny, or by
whatever high-sounding term we may call
those occurrences which force us on in a
path we wish not to tread, ruled it fearfully
otherwise.

I religiously abstained from looking to-
wards the ship, or even the sea; yet I
plainly saw, by the alternations of hope,
and joy, and fear, on Josephines sweet
countenance, that something of the most
vital importance was about to take place.
‘They could not conceal from me that parties
of men had been searching for me, because,
for a few days, I had been in actual hiding
with Josephine, three or four miles up in
the woody mountain. I must hurry over
all this: for the recollection of it, even at
this great lapse of time, is agonising. ‘The
night before the Zoes sailed she would not
sleep—her incessant tears, the tremulous
energy with which she clasped me and held
me for hours, all told the secret that I wished
not to know. <All that night she watched,
as a mother watches a departing and first-
born child—fearfully anxiously—but, over-
come with fatigue, and the fierce contention
of emotions, as the morning dawned, her
face dropped away from mine, her clasping

 

RATELIN, FHE REBIER,

 

  

119
arms gradually relaxed, and, murmuring
my name with a blessing. she slept. Did
she ever sleep again? May God pardon
me, I know not!

I hung over her, and watched her, almost
worshipping, until two hours after sunrise
I blessed her as-she lay there in all her tran-
quil beauty, fervently, and, instead of my
prayers, | repeated over and oyer again my
oath, that I would never desert her. ut
some devil, in order to spread the ashes of
bitterness through the long path of my
after-life, suggested to me that now, as the
frigate had sailed for some time, there could
be no danger in taking one last look at her;
indeed, the thought of doing so took the
shape of a duty.

I stole out of bed, and crept softly round
to the frontof the house. The place where
the gallant ship had rode at anchor for so
many weeks was vacant—all was still and
lonely. Iwalked on to a higher spot; and,
far distant among the sinuosities of the
romantic entrance to the harbour, my eye
caught, for a moment, her receeding
pennant. I, therefore, concluded that
everything was safe—that I was cut off, and
for ever, from my country.

A little qualm of remorse passed through
my bosom, and then I was exceeding glad,
The morning was fresh, and the air inyi-
gorating, and I determined to walk down to
the beautiful minutely-sanded beach, and
enjoy the refreshment of the sea-breeze
just sweeping gently over the bay. To do
this, | had to pass over a shoulder of land
to my left. I gained the beach, and stood
upon it for some minutes with folded arms.
This particular walk had been so long
debarred to me, that I now enjoyed it the
more. I was upon the point of turn;
ing round, and seeking the nest where I
had left my dove sleeping in conscious
security, when, to my horror, 1 beheld the
Eos's pinnace, full-manned and double-
banked, the wave foaming up her cutwater,
and roaring under her sixteen oars, rapidly
round the rocky hummoek that formed the
eastern horn of the little bay, Her prow
soon tore up the sand; and the third-lieu-
tenant, a masters mate, and the officer of
marines, with four privates, leaped ashore
immediately.

For a few moments I was paralysed with
terror, and then, suddenly springing for:
ward, I ran at the top of my speed. I need
nat say that my pursuers gave chase heartily,
I had no other choice but to run on straight
before me; and that, unfortunately, was
up a rocky, rugged side of a steep hill, that
rose directly from the beach, covered with
that abominable vegetable, or shrub, the
prickly pear. I was in full view; and,120 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

being hailed and told that I should be fired

upon if I did not bring-to, in the space of

a short three minutes, before I was out of

breath, I was in the hands of my captors—

a prisoner.

[ prayed—I knelt—I wept. It was use-
‘less. I have scarcely the courage to write
what then took place, it was so fearful—it
was so hideous. Bounding down the hill
in her night-dress, her long black hair
streaming like a meteor behind her, and
her naked feet, usually so exquisitely white,
covered with blood, came Josephine, shriek-
ing ‘Ralph, Ralph!” Her voice seemed
to stab my bosoin like an actual knife.
Behind her came running her father, and a
number of negro men and women. Before
she could reach me, they had flung me into
the stern-sheets of the boat.

“Shove off! shove off!” shouted the
lieutenant ; and the boat was immediately
in motion. Like a convicted felon, or a
murderer taken in the fact, I buried my
craven head in my knees, and shut my eyes.
I would not have looked back for kingdoms.
But I could not, or did not, think of pre-
venting myself from hearing. The boat
had not pulled ten yards from the beach,
when I heard a splash behind us, and
simultaneous cries of horror from the boat's
crew and those onshore; among which the
agonised voice of the heart-broken father
rose shrilly, as he exclaimed, ‘« Josephine,
my child!” I looked up for a moment,
but dared not look round; and I saw
every man in the boat dashing away the
tears from his eyes with one hand, as he
reluctantly pulled his oar with the other.

‘““Give way! give way!” roared the
lieutenant, stamping violently against the
grating at his feet. ‘‘Give way! or, by
G—d, she'll overtake us !”

The poor girl was swimming after me.

“‘Rattlin,” said Selby, stooping down and
whispering in my ear—‘‘ Rattlin, I can’t
stand it; if it was not as muchas my life
was worth, I would put you on shore
directly.” I could answer him only by a
long convulsive shudder. ‘The horrible
torment of those moments !

Then ascended the loud howling curses
of the negroes behind us. The seamen
rose up upon their oars, and, with a few
violent jerks, the pinnace shot round the
next point of land, and the poor struggler
in the water was seen no more. . Tidings
never after came to me of her. I left her
struggling in the waters of the ocean. My
first love, and my last—my only one.

I was taken on board stupefied. I was
led up the side like a sick man. No one
reproached me, no one spoke to me.

I became physically, as well as mentally, ill,

I went to my hammock with a stern feeling
of joy, hoping soon to be lashed up in it
and find my grave in the deep blue sea. At

first, my only consolation was enacting over
and over again all the happy scenes with
Josephine ; but, as they invariably termi-
“nated in one dreadful point, this occupation
became hateful. I then endeavoured to
blot the whole transaction from my memory
—to persuade myself that the events had
not been real—that I had dreamed thern—
or read them long ago in some old book.
But the mind is not so easily cheated—
remorse not so soon blinded.

CHAPTER Lit:

The captain taketh to tantrums—And keepeth on board
monkeys, bears, and discipline.—It is feared, also,
that the Moon hath too much to do with his observa-
tions.

NOTWITHSTANDING my misery, I became
convalescent. .I went to my duty doggedly.
Everybody saw and respected my grief; and
the affair was never mentioned to me by
any, With one only exception, and that was
six months after, by a heavy brutal master’s
mate, named Pigtop, who had been in the
pinnace that brought me off.

He came close to me, and, without pre-
paration, he electrified me by drawling out,
“Tsay, Rattlin, what a mess you made of
it at Aniana? That girl of yours, to my
thinking, burst a blood-vessel as she was
giving you chase. I saw the blood bubble
out of her mouth and nose.’

“Liar!” I exclaimed, and, seizing a
heavy block that one of the afterguard was
fitting, I felled him to the deck.

‘The base-hearted poltroon went and made
his complaint to Captain Reud, who or-
dered him to leave the ship immediately he
came into harbour.

We must now retrograde a little in the
narrative, in order to show what events led
to the disastrous catastrophe I have just
related. Captain Reud, having been lying
for many, many weeks, apparently uncon-
scious of objects around him, one morning
said, in a faint, low voice, when Dr,
Thompson and Mr. Farmer, the first-lieu-
tenant, were standing near him, ‘Send
Ralph Rattlin to read the Bible to me.”

Now, since my absence, some supposed I
had been privately stabbed by one of the
few ferocious and angry marauders still left
in the town; but, as no traces of my bodyRATTLIN,
could be found, stil more of my shipmates
believed that I had deserted. In plain sin-
cerity, these latter friends of mine were, as
our Transatlantic brethren say, pretty con-
siderably, slap-dashically right. However,
as the shock to the wounded captain would
have been the greater to say that I had been
assassinated, they chose the milder alterna-
tive, and told him that ‘‘they feared I had
deserted.”

Captain Reud merely said, ‘‘I don't be-
lieve it,” turned his face tothe bulkhead, and
remained silent for three or four days more.
Still, as he was proceeding towards conva-
lescence, he began to be more active, or,
rather, orlered more active measures to be
taken to clear up the mystery of my dis-
appearance. Parties were consequently sent
to scour the country for miles round; but 1
was too well concealed to permit them to be
of any utility. The only two seamen that
had seen me near Manuel's premises be-
longed to the frigate which had sailed before
my captain had recovered his faculties.

But I was not to be so easily given up;
perhaps he remembered that what remained
of life to him was preserved by me, and,
notwithstanding his cruel usage, I well
knew that he entertained for me a sincere
affection. As the os got under weigh,
after remaining so long at anchor in the
port, that the men observed she would short-
ly ground upon the beef-bones that their ac-
tive masticators had denuded, and which
were thrown overboard, the wind was light,
and the boats were all out towing, with
the exception of the pinnace, which was
ordered to sweep round the bay and look
into all the inlets, in order to seek for some
vestige of my important self. For good or
for evil, the heart-rending results ensued.

How short is the real romance of life:
A shout of joy—a pulsation of ecstasy—
and it is over! In the course of my event-
ful life, I have seen very fair faces and very
many beautiful forms. The fascinations of
exterior loveliness I have met combined
with high intellect, unswerving principles,
and virtuous emotions, awful from their very
holiness. The fair possessors of many of
these lofty attributes I have sometimes
wooed and strove to love; but, though I
often sighed and prayed for a return of that
heart-whole and absorbing passion, there
was no magic, no charm, to call the dead
embers into life. That young and beautiful
savage swept from my bosom all the tenderer
stuff : she collected the fresh flowers of pas-
sion, and left——it is of no consequence—
Josephine, farewell! --7asse ore

Let us talk idly. It is a droll world : let
us mock each other, and call it mirth.
There 1s my poor half-deranged captain

 

THE REEFER.

 

12f

cutting such antics, that even authority
with the two-edged sword in his haud
cannot repress the outbursting of ignoble
derision. First of all, he takes a mania for
apes and monkeys; disrates all his midship-
men, taking care, however, that they still
do their duty; and makes the ship's tailor
rig out their successors in uniform. ‘The
officers are aghast, for the maniac is so cun-
ning, and the risk of putting a superior
officer under an arrest so tremendous, that
they know not what todo. Besides, their
captain is only mad on one subject at one
time. Indeed, insanity seems sometimes to
find a vent in monomania, actually improv-
ing all the faculties on all other points

Well, the monkey midshipmen did not be-
have very correctly ; so, Captain Reud had
them one forenoon all tied up to one of his
guns in the cabin, and, one after the other,

well flogged with the cat-o’-nine-tails. It
was highly ludicrous to see the poor fellows
waiting each for his turn, well knowing what
was to come; they never, than when under
the impression of their fears, looked more
human. That night they stole into the
cabin, by two or three, in the dead of the
night, and nearly murdered their persecutor.

This looked very like’ combination, and an
exercise of faculties that may be nearly
termed reasoning.

They were all thrown overboard. DHE
next phantasy was the getting up of the
forecastle carronades into the tops, thereby
straining the ship and nearly carrying away
the mast. That folly wore out, and the
guns came down to their proper places.
Then a huge bear came on hoard—a very
gentlemanly, dignified fellow; never in a
hurry, and who always moved about with
a gracious deliberation. Captain Reud
amused himself by endeavouring to teach
him to dance; and a worthless blackguard
who could play on the pipe and tabour, and
who probably had led a bear about the
country, was taken into especial grace, and
was loaded with benefits, in order to assist
his captain in his singular avocations. = =~
«. '*Come and see my bear dance, do come
and see him dance,” was now the little
Creole’s continual cry. But the bear did
not take his tuition kindly, and grew daily
more ferocious; till, at length, seizing his
opportunity, he caught up the diminutive
skipper and nearly hugged the breath out
of his body, and almost rubbed his red
nose off his yellow face in endeavouring to
bite him through his muzzle. The star of
Ursa Major was no longer in the ascendant,
and he was bartered away, with the master
of the first merchant vessel we met, for a
couple of game-cocks; and the bear-leader
was turned back into the waist, and flogged122 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

the next day for impertinence, whilst, two to quarters, making tack and half tack, till
days before, the yagabond was too proud to_ he fairly threw out his starboard grappling-
Say ‘sir’ to a middy. iron, and moored himself to one of the
But it would be ridiculous to enumerate belaying pins round the mizen-mast.
the long succession of these insane whim- ‘‘ Mister Farmer,’’ said he to the first luff,
sicalities, each latter one being more dézarre *' you see I know how to keep a ship in dis-
than the preceding. cipline—not (hiceup) a man drunk on board
Whether man be mad or not, Christmas of her.”
will come round again. Now, Jack, from ‘I doubt it, sir,” was the respectful an-
time immemorial, thinks that he has a right swer. ‘‘I think, sir, I can see one now,”
undeniable to get drunk on that auspicious said he, taking his eyes off his superior,
day. In harbour, that right isnot discussed after a searching glance, and looking care-
by his officers, but is usually exercised sud lessly around.
stlentio under their eyes, with everything but ‘‘ Where is he?”
silence on the part of the exercisers. Even ‘“‘Qh, sir, we must not forget that it is
at sea, without the ship be in sight of the Christmas-day: so, if you please, sir, we
enemy, orit blows hard enough to blow the will not scrutinise yery particularly.”’
ship's ceppers overboard, our friends think ‘‘ But we will scru—scrutinise very parti-
it hard, very hard, to have their cups scored cularly: remember me of scru—scrutinise,
next morning upon their back; and, indeed, Mister Rattlin—a good word that scru—
to keep all a frigate’s crew from intoxication screws — tre-nails—tenpenny nails—ham-
on a Christmas-day would be something mers—iron-clamps, and dog-fastenings—
like undertaking the labour of Sisyphus, what were we talking about, Mr. Farmer?
for, as fast as one man could be frightened Oh, sobriety! we will—assuredly (hiccup)
into sobriety, another would become glo- find out the drunken man,"
riOus. So, with a large cortége of officers, the
It was for this very reason that Captain master-at-arms, and the ship’s corporals,
Reud, the Christmas-day after he had re- Captain Reud leaning his right arm heayily
ceived his wound, undertook the task ; and, upon my left shoulder—for he was cunning
as the weather was fine, he hoped to find it enough, just then, to find that the gout was
not quite so hard as rolling a stone up a getting into his foot—we proceeded round
steep hill, and invariably seeing it bound the ship on our voyage of discovery. Now
down again before it attains the coveted it is no joke for a man half drunk to be
summit. Immediately after breakfast, he tried for drunkenness by one wholly so. It
had the word passed, fore and aft, that was a curious and a comic sight, that
no one should be drunk that day, and that examination—for many of the examined
six dozen (not of wine) would be the reward were conscious of a cup too much. ‘These
of any who should dare, in the least, to invariably endeavoured to look the most
infringe that order. Whatis drunkenness? ~sober.- As we approached the various
What it is we can readily pronounce, when groups around each gun, the different arti-
we see a man under its revolting phases. fices of the men to pass muster were most
What is not drunkenness is more hard to amusing. Some drew themselves stiffly up,
say. Is it not difficult to ascertain the nice and looked as rigid as iron stanchions;
line that separates excitement from incipient others took the examination with an easy
delirium? Not at all, toa man like Cap- dédonnair air, as if to say, ‘Who So inno=
tain Reud. To understand a disease tho- cent asI!’’ Some, again, not exactly liking
roughly, a physician wili tell you that you the judge, quietly dodged round, shifting
will be much assisted by the having suffered places with their shipmates, so that when
from it yourself. Upon this self-evident the captain peered into the eyes of the last
principle, our A‘sculapius with the epaulettes for the symptoms of ebriety, the mercurial
was the first man drunk in the ship. After rascals had quietly placed themselves first,
dinner that day, he had heightened his To the sharp, startling accusation, ‘' You
testing powers with an unusual; even to him, are drunk, sir,’ the answers were beauti-
share of claret. fully various. Theindignant ‘‘ No, sir !"—
Well, at the usual time, we beat to quar- the well-acted surprise, ‘‘ I, sir?’”’—the con<
ters; that is always done just before the ciliatory ‘‘God bless your honour, no, sir!”
hammocks are piped down; and it is then = the logical ‘‘ Bill Bowling was cook to=
that the sobriety of the crew, as they stand day, sir,’'—and the sarcastic *! No more than
to-their guns, is narrowly looked into by your honour's honour,” to witness were, as
the respective officers; for then the grog we small wits Say, better than a play.
has been served out for the day, and it is The search was almost unavailing. The
supposed to have been all consumed. The only fish that came to the net was:a poor
captain, of course, caine on the quarter-deck idiotic young man, that, to my certainRATFTELN,

knowledge, had not tasted grog for months ;
for his messmates gave him a hiding when-
ever he asked for his allowance. To the
sudden, ‘‘ You're drunk, sir,’ of Captain
Reud, the simple youth, taken by surprise,
and perhaps thinking it against the articles
of war to contradict the captain, said, ‘‘ Yes,
sir; but I haven't tasted grog since——’’
‘“You got drunk, sir; take him aft,
master-at-arms, and put him in irons.”
The scrutiny over, our temperate captain
went aft himself, glorifying that, in all the
ship's company, there was only one instance
of intoxication on Christmas-day; and thus
he delivered himself, hiccuping, on the
gratifying occasion, —
‘‘T call that discipline, Mr. Farmer.
The only drunken man in his Majesty's
vessel under my command, aft ‘on the poop,
in irons, and that fellow not worth his

quite agree with you,” said the
sneering purser, ‘‘that the only fellow who
has dared to get disgracefully drunk to-day
is not worth his salt, but he is not in irons,
aft on the poop.”

‘©T am sure he is not,” said the first-
lieutenant.”

“That is as—astonishing,’’ said the
mystified extirpator of intemperance, as
he staggered into his cabin, to console
himself for, and to close his labours with,
the two other bottles.

The reader will perceive, from these
incidents, that it was time that Captain
Reud retired to enjoy his laurels on his
solum natale, in otium cum as much
dignitate as would conduce to the happi-
ness of one of his mischief-loving tempera-
ment, ‘The admiral on the station thought
so too, when Reud took the ship into Port
Royal. He superseded the black pilot,
and took upon himself to con the ship;
the consequence was, that she hugged the
point so closely, that she went right upon
the church steeple of old Port Royal, which
is yery quietly lying beside the new one,
submerged by an earthquake, and a hole
was knocked in the ship's forefoot, of that
large and ruinous description, which may
be aptly compared to a hole ina patriot’s
reputation who has lately taken office with
his quondam opponents. With all the
efforts of all the fleet, that sent relays of
hands on board of us to work the pumps,
we could not keep her afloat; so we were
obliged, first putting a thrummed sail under
her bottom, to tow her alongside of the
dock-yard wharf, lighten her, and lash her
to it.

The same evening, by nine o'clock, she
bad an empty hull, and all the ship's
company and officers were located in the

   

THE REEFER,

 

  

123

dock-yard, and preparations were made,
the next day, for heaving the frigate down.

‘It was the opinion of everybody that, had

not our skipper been the nephew of the
very high official of the Admiralty, he would
have been tried by a court-martial, for thus
attempting to overturn submarine churches,
and cracking the bottom of his Majesty’s
beautiful frigate. As it was, we were only
ordered to be repaired with all haste, and
to go home, very much, indeed, to the
satisfaction of everybody but the captain
himself.

CHAPTER LIIl.

A fever case, and a potion of love, if not altogether a
love-potion—What are the Doctors about when men
die despite of their knowledge, and are cured withaut
it?—Ralph knoweth not

HoweEVER, I must retrogade. It may seem
surprising that I have made so little mention
of my messmates, for it would seem that,
to a midshipman, the affairs and characters
of midshipmen would be paramount. To
me they were not so, for reasons that I have
before stated. Besides, our berth was like
an eastern caravansary, or the receiying-
room of a pest-house. They all died, were
promoted, or went into other ships, except-
ing two, and myself, who returned to Eng-
land. It must not be supposed that we
were without young gentlen.en ; sometimes
we had our full complement, sometimes
half. Fresh ones came, and they died, and
so on, .Before I had time to form friend-
ships with them, or to study their characters,
they took their long sleep beneath the pali-
sades, or were thrown overboard in their
hammocks. ‘This was much the case with
the ward-room officers. The first-lieutenant,
the doctor, and the purser, were the only
original ones that returned to England with
us. The mortality among tke assistant-
surgeons was dreadful; they messed with
us. Indeed, I have no recollection of the
names, or even the persons, of the majority
of those with whom I ate, and drank, and
acted, they being so prone to prove this a
transitory world.

We were tolerably healthy till the capture
of St. Domingo; when, being obliged to
conyey a regiment of French soldiers to
the prisons at Port Royal, they brought
the fever in its worst form on board; and,
notwithstanding every remedial measure
that the then state of science could suggest,
we never could eradicate the germs of it.124 PALIT IN, HE KEELER.

The men were sent on board of a hulk, the
vessel thoroughly cleansed and fumigated,
and, finally, we were ordered as far north as
New Providence; but all these means were
ineffectual, for, at intervals, nearly regular,
the fever would again appear, and men and
officers die.

iitivertoy, 1 had tescaped. he only,
attack to which I was subjected took place
in the capstan-house, for so the place was
called where we were bivouacked during the
heaving down of the ship. I record it, not
that my conduct under the disease may
be imitated, but on account of the singu-
larity of the access, and the rapidity of the
cure.

I had to tow, from Port Royal up to
Kingston, a powder-hoy, and, through
some misconduct of the cockswain, the
boat's awning had been left behind. Six
or seven hours under a sun, vertical at noon,
through the hottest part of the day, and
among the swamps and morasses, so luxu-
riant in vegetable productions, that separate
Port Royal from Kingston, is a good ordeal
by which to try an European constitution.
For the first time my stamina seemed in-
clined to succumb before it.

When I returned to Port Royal, at about
four in the afternoon, the first peculiar
sensation with which I was attacked, was
a sort of slipping of the ground from under
me as I trod, and a notion that I could
skim along the surface of the earth if I
chose, without using my legs. Then I was
not, asis most natural to a fasting midship-
man, excessively hungry, but excessively
jocular. So, instead of seeking good things
to put into my mouth, I went about dis-
pensing them from out of it. I soon began
to be sensible that I was talking much non-
sense, and to like it. At length, the little
sense that I had still left, was good enough
to suggest to methat I might be distin-
guished by my first interview with that
king of terrors, Saffron-crowned Jack.
““Shall I go to the doctor?” said I. ‘‘No
—I have the greatest opinion of Doctor
Thompson —but it is a great pity that he
cannot cure the yellow fever. No doubt
hell be offended, and we are the greatest
of friends. But, I have always observed,
that all those who go to the doctor begin
going indeed—for, from the doctor they
invariably go to their hammocks—from

their hammocks go to the hospital—and -

from the hospital go to the palisades.’
So, while there was yet time, I decided to
go in quite an opposite direction. I went
out of the dock-yard gates, and to a nice
matronly, free mulatto, who was a mother
to me—and something more. She was a
woman of some property, and had a very

strong gang of young negroes, that she
used to hire out to his Majesty to work
in his Majesty's dock-yard, and permit, for
certain considerations, to caulk the sides
and bottoms of his Majesty's vessels of
war.

Notwithstanding this intimate connexion
between his Majesty and herself, she did
not disdain to wash, or cause to be washed,
the shirts and stockings of his Majesty's
officers of the navy; that is, if she liked
those officers. Now, she was kind enough
to like me exceedingly ; and, though very
pretty, and not yet very old, all in a very
proper and platonic manner. She was also
a great giver of dignity balls, and-when she
was full dressed, Miss Belinda Bellarosa
was altogether a very seductive personage.
<A warrant officer was her abomination. She
had refused the hands of many master's
mates, and I knew ‘‘for true,” to use her
own bewitching idiom, that several lieu-
tenants had made her the most honourable
overtures.

Well, to Miss Belinda I made the best
of my way. I amchoice in my phrases. [I
could hardly make my way at all, for a
strange sort of delirium was supervening.
Immediately she saw me, she exclaimed,
‘*Ah, Goramity! him catched for sure—
it break my heart to see him. You know I
lub Massa Rattlin, like my own piccaninny.
S'elp me God, he very bad!”

‘“My queen of countless Indians! dear
duchess of doubloons! marry me to-night,
and then you'll be a jolly widow to-
morrow.

‘Hear him! him! how talk of marry
Mer a

“Oh! Bella, dear, if you will not kill
me with kindness, what shall I do? I can-
not bear this raging pain in my head.
You've been a kind soul to me. Pardon
my nonsense, I could not help it. Let one
of your servants help me to walk to the
doctor.”

‘* Nebber, nebber, doctor!’ and she
spat on the floor with a sovereign contempt.
‘Ah, Massa Ralph, me lub you dearly—
dat, sleep here to-night--me lose my re-
putation—nebber mind you you. What
for you no run, Dorcas, a get me, from
Massa Jackson's store, bottle good port?
Tell him for me, Missy Bellarosa. You
Phebe, oder woman of colour dere, why
you no take Massa Ralph, and put him
in best bed? Him bad, for certainly—make
haste, or poor buckra boy die.”

So, with the assistance of my two dingy
handmaidens, I was popped into bed, and,
according to the directions of my kind
hostess, a suffocating number of blankets
heaped upon me. Shortly afterwards. and

 

 

ss yt lull aiaTAT EEN,

  

when my reeling senses were barely sane
enough to enable me to recognise objects,
my dear doctress, with two more negresses,
to witness to her reputation, entered, and
putting the bottle of port, with a white
powder floating at the top of it, into a china
bowl, compelled me to drink off the whole
of it. Then, with a look of great and truly
motherly affection, she took her leave of
me, telling the two nurses to put another
blanket on me, and to hold me down in the
bed if I attempted to get out.

Then began the raging agony of fever.
I felt as one mass of sentient fire. I had a
foretaste of that state which, I hope, we
shall all escape, save one, of ever-burn-
ing, and never-consuming; but, though
moments of such suffering tell upon the
wretch with the duration of ages, thls did
not last more than half an hour, when they
became exchanged for a dream, the most
singular, and that never will be forgotten
whilst memory can offer me one single
idea.

Methought that I was suddenly whisked
out of bed, and placed in the centre of an
interminable plain of sand. It bounded
the horizon like a level sea: nothing was
to be seen but this white and glowing sand,
the intense blue and cloudless sky, and,
directly above me, the eternal sun, like the
eye of an angry God, pouring down in-
tolerable fires upon my unprotected head.
At length my skull opened, and from the
interior of my head, a splendid temple
seemed to arise. Rows of columns sup-
ported rows of columns, order was piled
upon order, and, as it rose, Babel-like, to
the skies, it extended in width as it in-
creased in height; and there, in this strange
edifice, I saw the lofty, the winding, the
interminable staircase, the wide and marble-
paved courts; nor was there wanting the
majestic and splashing fountain, whose cool
waters were mocking my scorched-up lips;
and there were also the long range of
beautiful statues. The structure continued
multiplying itself until all the heavens were
full of it, extending nearly to the horizon
all around.

Under this superincumbent weight I long
struggled to stand. It kept bearing down
more and more heavily upon the root of
my brain: the anguish became insufferable,
but I still nobly essayed to keep my footing,
with a defiance and a pride that savoured
of impious presumption. At length I felt
completely overcome, and exclaimed, “ God
of mercy, relieve me! the burthen is more
than I can bear.” ‘Then commenced the
havoc in this temple, that was my head,
and was not; there were the toppling down
of the vast columns, the crashing of the

LTS,

 

     
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
     

WGIG IE TEI BIE 125
several architraves, the grinding together
of the rich entablatures; the breaking up,
with noise louder than ever thunder was
heard by man, of the marble pavements ;
the ruins crushed together in one awful
confusion above me ;—nature could do no
more, and my dream slept.

The sun was at its meridian height when
I awoke the next day in health, with every
sensation renewed, and that too in the so
sweet a feeling that makes the mere act of
living delightful. I found nothing  re-
markable, but that I had been subjected ta
a profuse perspiration.

Miss Bellarosa met me at breakfast all
triumph, and I was all gratitude. I was
very hungry, and as playful as a schoolboy
who had just procured a holiday.

‘“Kh! Massa Ralph, suppose no marry
me to-day—what for you say no yes to
dat?”

“Because, dear Bella, you wouldn't have
mess

‘“« Try—you ask me,” said she, looking
at me with a fondness not quite so maternal
as I could wish.

“ Bella, dearest, will you marry me

So. ow thera

FOROmtuuess

‘“Tanky, Massa Rattlin, dear, tanky;
you make me very happy; but, for true,
no. Were you older more fifteen year, or
me more fifteen year younger, perhaps—
but tank ye much for de comblement.
Now, go, and tell buckra doctor.”

So, as I could not reward my kind phy-
sician with my hand, which, by the bye,
I should not have offered had I not been
certain of refusal, I was obliged to force
upon her as splendid a trinket as I could
purchase for a keepsake, and gave my sabe
nurses a handful of bits each. Bits of
what? say the uninitiated.

I don’t know whether I have described
this fever case very nosologically, but, very
truly I know I have.

Da

CHAPTER LIV.

A new character introduced, who claimeth old acquain
tanceship—Not very honest by his own account. which
giveth him more the appearance of honesty than he

deserveth—He proveth to be a steward not inclined to

hide his talent in a napkin.

DURING all the time that these West Indian
events had been occurring, that is, nearly
three vears, I had no other communicationEEL LOO

 

726 RATTLIN:

with England than reguarly and repeatedly
sending there various pieces of paper thus
headed, ‘‘ This, my first of exchange, my
second and third not paid ;”’ or, for variety's
sake, ‘' This, my second of exchange, my
first and third,” &c.; or, to be more various
still, ‘‘ This, my third, my first and second,”
—all of which received more attention than
their strange phraseology seemed to entitle
them to.

But I must now introduce a new cha-
racter; one that attended me for years, like
an evil shadow, nor left me until the ‘‘ be-
ginning of the end.”

The ship had been hove down, the wound
in hér forefoot healed, that is to say, the
huge rent stoppéd up; and we were be-
ginning to get water and stores on board,
and [I was walking on the quay of the dock-
yard, when I was civilly accosted by a
man having the appearance of a captain's
steward. He was pale and handsome, with
small white hands; and, if not actually
genteel in his deportment, had that metro-
politan refinement of look that indicated
contact with genteel society. Though
dressed in the blue jacket and white duck
trousers of the sailor’s Sunday best, at a
glance, you would pronounce him to be no
seaman. Before he spoke to me, he had
looked attentively at several other mid-
shipmen, some belonging to my own ship,
others, young gentlemen who were on
shore on dock-yard duty. At length, after
a scrutiny sufficient to make me rather
angry, he took off his hat very respectfully,
and said, —

‘“ Have I the honour of spéaking to Mr.
Ralph Rattlin?”

‘* You have: well, my man?’

“ Ah, sir, you forget me, and no wonder.
My name, Sir, is Daunton—Joshua Daun-
ton.”

“Never heard the name before in my
life. ;

“Oh, yes, you have, sir, begging your
pardon, very often indeed. Why, you used
to call me Jossey ; little Jossey, come here
you little vagabond, and let me ride you
pick-a-back.”’

ethe devil) did!’

““Why, Mr. Rattlin, I was your fag at
Mr. Roots’ school.”

Now, I knew this to be a lie; for, under
that very respectable pedagogue, and in
that very respectable seminary, as the reader
well knows, I was the fwgged, and not the
fagger.

‘““ Now, really, Joshua Daunton,” said i
‘“T am inclined to think that you may be
Joshua, the little vagabond, still; for, upon
my honour, I remember nothing about you.
Seeing there were so many hundred boys

   
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
   
 
 
  
  
 
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

LHE REEFER,

under Mr. Roots, my schoolfellow you
might have been: but may I be vexed,
if ever I faegéd you or any one else!
Now, my good man, prove to me that you
have been my schoolfellow first, and then
let me know what I can do for you after-
wards, for I suppose that you have some
favour to ask, or somé motivé in seekin
mez?

‘‘T have, indeed,” he réplied, with a
peculiar intonation of voice, that might
have been construed in many ways. He
then proceeded to give me many details of
the school at Islington, which convinced
me, if there he had never been, he had
conversed with s6me one who had. Still,
he evaded all my attempts at cross-examina-
tion, with a skill which gave me a much
higher opinion of his intellect than of his
honesty. With the utmost efforts of m
recollection, I could not recall him to
mind, and I bluntly told him so. I they
bade him tell me who he was and what
he wanted.

‘‘Tam the only son of an honest pawn-
broker of Shoreditch. He was tolerably
tich, and determined to give’ me a good
education. He sent me to Mr. Roots’
school. It was there that I had the happi-
ness of being honoured by your friendship.
Now, sir, you perceive that, though I am
not so tall as you by some inches, I am at
least seven or eight years older, Shortly
after you left school to go to anothér at
Stickenham, I also left, with my education,
as my father fondly supposed, finished.
Sir, I turned out bad. 1 conféss it with
shame—I wasa rascal. My father turned
me out of doors. I have had sevéral ups
and downs in the world since, and I am
now steward on board of the London, the
West Indiaman that arrived here the day
before yesterday.”

‘Very well, Joshua ; but how came you
to know that I went to school at Stickens
ham?”

‘‘ Because, in my tramping about the
country, I saw you, with the other young
gentlemen, in the play-ground on the com-
mon.”

‘“Hum!-but how, in the namé of all
that is curious, came you to know that I
was here at Port Royal dock-yard, and a
young gentleman belonging to the Zos ?”’

‘Oh! very naturally, sir. About tre
years ago, I passed again over the same
common with my associates. I could hot
resist the wish to see if you were still in the
play-ground. I did not see you among the
rest, and I made bold to inquire of one of
the elder boys where you were. He told
me the name of the ship, and of your cap-
tain. The first thing on coming into the

or
S

 

 

 

 

  

se al ho ia clharbour that struck my eye was your very
frigate alongside the dock-yard. I got leave
to come on shore, and I knew you directly
that I saw you.”

“But why examine so many before you
spoke tome? However, I have no reason
to be suspicious, for time makes great
changes. Now, what shall I do for you?”

‘Give me your protection, and as much
of your friendiiness‘as is compatible with
our different stations.”

‘But, Daunton, according to your own
words, you have been a sad fellow. Before
I extend to you what you require, I ought
to know what you really have done. You
spoke of tramping — have you been a
tramper—a gipsy ?”’

‘*T have.”

‘Have you ever committed theft ?”

‘Only in a small way.”

‘Ah! and swindled—only in a small
way, of course?”

“ The temptations were great.”

‘Where will this fellow stop?’ thought
I: ‘‘Jet us see, however, how far he will
go; and then, giving utterance to my
thoughts, I continued, ‘Fhe step between
swindling and forgery is but very short,”
and I paused—for even I-had not the con-
fidence to ask him, ‘‘ Aré you a forger ?”’

“Very,” was the short dry answer. I
was astonished. Perhaps he will confess to
thé commission of murder.

“Oh! as you were just saying to your-
self, we are the mere passive tools of fate—
we are drawn on, in spite of ourselves. If
a man comes in our way, why, you know,
in self-deferrce —hey ? ”

“What do you méan, sir?”

«A little prick under the ribs in a quiet
way. The wanderings and jerkings of the
angry hand will happen. You understand
me.
«Too well, L am afraid, sir. I have
never yet shed man’s blood—I never will.
Perhaps, sir, you would not depend upon
my Virtue for this—you may upon my cow-

ardicée. I tremble—I sicken—at the sight
of blood. I have endeavoured to win your

confidence by candour=—I have not suc-
ceédéd. May I be permitted to bid you a
good day?”

‘«Stop, Daunton, this is a singular en-
counter, and @ still moré Singular eonfer-
encé. As an old schdolfellow, you ask me
to give you my protection. The protection
of a reefer is, in itself, something laugh-
able; and then, as an inducement, you
confess to me that you are a villain, only in
guilt just short of murder. Perhaps, by
this bravado ‘sort of confession, you have
endeavoured to give me a worse impression
of your character than it really deserves,

RATVLIN, THE REEFER.

 

127,
that you might give me the better opinion
of your sincerity. Is it not so?”

‘‘ Tn a great measure, it is.”

‘*T thought so. Now, let me tell you,
Daunton, that that very circumstance makes
me afraid of you. But, still, I will not cast
aside thé appeal of an old schoolfellow.
What can I do for you?”

‘Give me the protection afforded me by
a man-of-war, by taking me as your ser-
vant.”

‘Utterly impossible! I can press you
directly, or give the hint to any of the many
men-of-war here to do so. But the rules of
the service do not permit a midshipman to
have a séparate servant. Do you wish to
enter? =

‘(Only on board of your ship, and with
the privilege of waiting upon you, and
being constantly néar your person.” .

‘“Thank you; but what prevents my im-
pressing you, even as you stand there ?”

‘‘These very ample protections.’ And
he produced them.

‘Yes! I see that you are well provided.
But why give up your berth on board the
London 2?”

‘“Mr. Rattlin, I have my reasons.
mit them, as yet, to remain secret. There
is no guilt attached to them. May I sail
with you in the capacity of your servant?”

‘«T have told you before that you cannot
be my servant solely ; you must be the ser-
vant of the midshipmen’s berth.”

‘‘Yes, with all my heart, provided you
pledge me your honour that I shall never
be put to any other duty.”

I was astonished at this perseverance,
and very honestly told him all the miseries
of the situation for which he seemed so
ambitious. ‘They did not shake his resolu-
tion. 1 then left him, and spoke to Mr.
Farmer. ‘‘ Let the fool enter,’ was the
laconic reply.

“ But he will not enter but on the condi-
tions I have mentioned, and his protections
are too good to be violated.”

‘Phen I authorise you to make them.
We are short of men.”

But Joshua would not enter: he required
to be pressed; so I went on board his
own merchant-ship, according to previous
arrangements, and pressed him. He made .
no resistance, and produced no documents ;
he only called the master of the ship, and
the first and second officer, to witness that
he was a pressed man, and then, taking his
kit with him, he even cheerfully tripped
down the side into the boat; and thus, for
néarly an eventful year, I was the instru-
ment of placing my evil genius near me.

Per-

——$—__=CHART PR seve

The art of mischief made easy — Rather hard upon
the experimented—“ Heaven preserve me from my
friends! I'll take care of my enemies myself,” say the
honest Spaniards, and so says honest Ralph.

AND 50, filling our cabins with invalided
officers, we sailed for England. We took
home with us a convoy; and a miserable
voyage we made of it.

In taking my so¢-disant schoolfellow on
board the os, I had shipped with me my
Mephistopheles. The former servant to the
midshipmen’s berth was promoted to the
mizen-top, and Joshua Daunton inducted,
with due solemnities, to all the honours of
waiting upon about half a dozen fierce, un-
ruly midshipmen, and as many sick super-
numeraries; and he formally took charge
of all the mess-plate and munitions ge
bouche of this submarine establishment.
There was no temptation to embezzlement.
Our little society was a commonwealth of
the most democratic description—and, as
usually happens in these sort of experi-
ments, there was a community of goods
that were good for nothing to the com-
munity.

I will give an inventory of all the mov-
ables of this republic, for the edification of
the curious. Among these, I must first of
all enumerate the sadle a manger itself, a
hot little hole in the cock-pit, of about
eight feet by six, which was never clean.
This dining-parlour and breakfast-room
also contained our cellars, which contained
nothing, and on which cellars we lay down
when there was room—your true midship-
man is a recumbent animal—and sat when
we could notlie. For the same reason that
the Romans called a grove Zucus, these
cellerets were called lockers, because there
was nothing to lock in them, and no locks
to lock in that nothing withal. In the
midst stood an oak table, carved with
more names than ever Rosalind accused
Orlando of spoiling good trees with, be-
sides the outline of a ship, and a number
of squares, which served for an immovable
draught-board. One battered, spoutless,
handless, japanned-tin jug, that did not
contain water, for it leaked; some tin
mugs; seven, or perhaps eight, pewter
plates ; an excellent old iron tureen, the
best friend we had, and which had stood
by us, through storm and calm, and the
spiteful kick of Reefer, and the contemp-
tuous ‘‘slings and arrows of outrageous
fortune,” in the galley; which tureen con-
tained our cocoa in the morning, our pea-
soup at noon, and, after these multiplied

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

  
  
  
   
    
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

duties, performed the character of wash-
hand basin, whenever the midshipman’s
fag condescended to cleanse his hands.
It is a fact that, when we sailed for
England, of crockeryware we had not a
single article. There was a calabash or
so, and two or three sections of cocoa-nut
shells.

We had no other provisions than barely
the ship's allowance, and even these were
of the worst description. Bread, it is well
remarked, is the staff of life ; but it is not
quite pleasant to find it life itself, and to
have the power of locomotion. Every
other description of food was in the same
state of transition into vivification: ‘There
is no exaggeration in all this. From the
continual coming and going, and the state
of constant disunion in which we lived, it
was every man for himself, and God, I am
sorry to say, seemed to have very little to
do with any of us. So complete was our
disorganisation, and so great our destitu-
tion as a mess, that, after the first week,
the supernumerary sick young gentlemen
were relieved from this candle-light den of
starvation and of dirt, and distributed
among the warrant officers.

It was to wait upon our persons, to ad-
minister to our wants, and to take care of
our culinary comforts, that Joshua Daunton
was duly installed. It was very ludicrous
to see our late servant giving up his charge
to our present one—the solemnity with
Which the iron tureen, and the one knife,
and the three forks, that were not furcated,
seeing that they had but one prong each,
were surrendered! Joshua's contempt at
the sordid poverty of the republic to which
he was to administer was quite as undis-
guised as his surprise. I again and again
requested him to do his duty in some other
capacity in the ship, but he steadily re-
fused.

The silky, soft-spoken, cockney-dialected
Josh got me ito continual hot water. At
first, he seemed to consider himself as my
servant only; consequently, he was con-
tinually thrashed, and I, on his appeal,
taking his part, had to endeavour to
thrash the thrasher. Now, this could not
always conveniently be done. The more
I suffered for this Daunton, the more
ardently he seemed to attach himself to
me. But there appeared to be much
more malice than affection in his fidelity.
Nothing prospered either with me or my
messmates. He contrived, in the most
plausible manner possible, to spoil our
almost unspoilable meals. He always
managed to draw for us the very worst
rations, and to lay the blame on the pur-
sers steward. In bringing aft our miser-Able dinners, his foot would slip, or a man
would run against him—or somebody had
taken it off the galley-fire, and thrown it in
the manger. Salt water would miraculously
intrude into my messmates’ rum-bottle, and
my daily pint of wine was either sour, or
muddy, or sandy, or afflicted with some-
thing that made it undrinkable. In one
word, under the care of the good Joshua,
Messieurs the midshipmen ran a most im-
minent risk of being actually starved.

Many a time, after we had gone through
the motions of dining, without eating, and
as we sat in our dark, hot hole, over our
undrinkable potations and our inedible eat-
ables, each of us resting his hungry head
upon his aching elbows, watching the
progress of some animated piece of bis-
cuit, would Master Daunton, the slave of
our lamp, which, by the bye, was a bottle
bearing a miserably consumptive purser’s
dip, beside which a farthing rushlight
would look quite aldermanic—I say, this
slave of our lamp would perch himself
down on the combings of the cable-tier
hatchway, ia the midst of the flood of
heaven's blessed daylight, that came pour-
ing from aloft into this abyss, and very
deliberately take out his private store of
viands, and there insultingly wag his jaws,
with the most complacent satisfaction, in
the faces of his masters. The contrast was
too bad—the malice of it too tormenting.
Whilst he was masticating his beautifully
white American crackers, and smacking his
lips over his savoury German sausage, We
were grumbling over putrid bones and
weavilly biscuit, that we could not swallow,
and yet hunger would not permit us to
desert. It was a floating repetition of the
horrors of Tantalus.

Well, to myself, this rascal was most
submissive—-most eager in forcing upon
me his services. He relieved my hammock-
man of his duty; but, somehow, nothing
prospered to which he put his hand. The
third night, the nails of the cleet that
fastened my head-clews up to the deck
above me, drew, and I came down by the
run, head foremost; and immediately where
my head ought to have alighted on the
deck was found the carpenter's pitch kettle,
-with the blade of an axe in the centre of it,
and the edge uppermost. No one knew
how it came there, and, had I shot out as
young gentlemen usually do on such occa-
sions, 1 should, if I had not been quite
decapitated, at least have died by the axe.
Not being asleep when the descent took
place, I grappled with my neighbour, the
old fat assistant surgeon, and he with the
next, and the three came down on deck

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.!

with a lunge that actually started the marine

 

129

officer—who, everybody knows, is the best
sleeper on board. Happily for myself, I
fell from my hammock sideways. Next,
the accommodating Joshua got the sole
charge of my chest, and, though nothing
was missed, in a short time everything was
ruined. The cockroaches ate the most
unaccountable holes in my best uniforms,
my shoes burst in putting them on, my
boots cracked all across the upper leathers,
and the feet of my stockings came off when
I attempted to draw them on.

The obsequious Joshua was equally as-
siduous with his other six masters, and
even more successful ; so that, in addition
to being starved, there was every possibility
of our being reduced to nakedness. ‘1 his
was no pleasant prospect, running out of
tropical Jaditudes towards Engiand, in the
month of January. In the course of six
weeks, such a ragged, woe-begone, gaunt,
and famished gang of reefers was never
before huddled together in one of his
Majesty's vessels of war. The shifts we
were obliged to have recourse to were
quite amusing, to all but the shiftmakers.
The only good hat, and wearable uniform
coat, went round and round; it was a
happy thing for this disconsolate seven
that we were all nearly of a size. To
aggravate our misfortunes, we could no
longer get an occasional dinner, either in
the captain’s cabin or the ward-room, for
our clothes were all in rags.

In the meanwhile, Joshua Daunton grew
more and more sleek, and pale, and fat.
He throve upon our miseries. He played
his part at length so well, as to avoid
thrashings. He possessed, in perfection,
that which, in classic cockpit, is called
“the gift of the gab.” He was never in
the wrong. Indeed he began to get a
favourite with each of the individuals over
wvhom he was so mercilessly tyrannising,
while each thought himself the tyrant.
All this may seem improbable to well-
nurtured, shore-bred, young gentlemen and
ladies; but midshipmen were always reck-
less and idle—that is, personally. On actual
service, they have ever been equally reck-
less, but commensurably active. This kind-
ness of Joshua, in taking all trouble off
our hands, soon left us almost nothing
wherewith to trouble ourselves. :

—CHAPTER LVI.)

An anticipated dinner—All the enjoyment spoiled by
the first cut—A suit of clothes ill-suited for wearing—
And Joshua Daunton trying on a pair of iron leggings
-—More easily put on than shaken off,

TuIs imp, this Flibbertygibbet, was killing
us byinches. Atlength, one of the master’s
mates, no longer being able to starve quietly
and philosophically, as became a man of
courage, was again determined, by one last
effort, to dine, and breakfast, and sup, in
the captain's cabin and ward-room as often
as he could. So, finding that there was
enough new blue cloth on board, with buttons,
&c., to make him a complete suit, he pur-
chased them at an enormous price, ox credit;
and set the ship’s tailors to work inconti-
nently. By this time we were, with our
homeward-bound convoy, on the banks of
Newfoundland. It was misty and cold—
and we were chilly and ragged. In such
a conjuncture of circumstances, even the
well-clothed may understand what a bless-
ing a new suit of warm blue must be—that
suit bearing in its suite a long line of sub-
stantial breakfasts, dinners, and suppers.
All this was about to be Mr. Pigtop’s, our
kind messmate, and respectable mate of the
orlop deck. He had already begun to pro-
test upon the unreasonableness of rotatory
coats, or of having a quarter-deck pair of
trousers, like the wives of the ancient Britons,
common to the sept. The ungrateful rogue!
He had on, at the very time, the only
quarter-deck-going coat among us, which
was mine, and which he had just borrowed
to enable him to go on deck, and report
everything right below.

“Captain Reud’s compliments to Mr
Pigtop, and would be glad of his company
to dinner,”

Angelic words, when the invited reefer
has a clean shirt, or collar, and a decent
uniform.

““*Mr. Pigtop's compliments to Captain
Reud, and will be most happy to wait on
him.’ There, you dogs,” said the elated
Pigtop, ‘‘I say no more lending of clothes.
Here, you Josh, jump forward, and tell the
tailor I must have my uniform _by four
bells.”

Josh jumped forward with a very intelli-
gent grin upon his tallow-complexioned
but handsome countenance.

Now, the captain and ward-room officers
all knew very well of the unaccountable
destruction of our clothes, which, they
affected to believe, was not unaccountable
to them. They said it arose from very

natural causes; a little of which was to

 

RATILIN, THE REEFER,*

be ascribed to dampness, a little to the
cockroaches, and a great, a very great deal
to our proverbial carelessness. Well.
midshipman careless! But some people
may libel with impunity. Whatever they
thought, they enjoyed our dilemmas, both
of food and of clothing.

An hour before the captain’s dinner was
ready, the much-envied suit was brought
aft, and duly displayed on Mr. Pigtop’s
chest. The ward-room officers, or at least
those of them with whom he could take
that liberty, were invited out to view it. It
was pronounced, for ship-tailoring, excel-
lent.

Pigtop’s elation was great. So was Josh
Daunton’s; but all in a quiet, submissive
way.. Our envy was proportionate. Josh
was an excellent barber, and he volunteered
to shave the happy diner-out—the offer was
accepted. Then came the turn of fate—
then commenced the long series of the
poor mate’s miseries. It was no fault of
Daunton’'s, certainly—but all the razors
were like saws. ‘The blood came out over
the black visage of Mr. Pigtop ; but the hair
stayed most pertinaciously on, The sufferer
swore—how horribly he swore! The time
was fast elapsing. After a most tremendous
oath from the sufferer, which would have
almost split an oak plank, Joshua said in his
lowly and insinuating voice, ‘‘ Mr. Pigtop,'
pray do—do, do, sir, try the razors ourself...
My heart bleeds, sir, more than your face—
do try, sir, for I think the captain's servant is
now coming down the hatchway to tell you
dinner is ready.”

In despair, the hungry depilator seized
the razors: and, being exasperated. with
hurry, he made a worse job of it than
Joshua. Where Josh had made notches,
Pigtop made gashes. The ship's barber
was then sent for, and he positively refused
to go over the bloody surface.

But Joshua Daunton was the true friend,

the friend in need. With Mr. Pigtop’s
permission, he would go and borrow one
of Dr. Thompson's razors. The offer was
gratefully accepted. In the mean time,
dinner was actually announced. It is just
about as wise to attempt to keep the hungry
tiger from his newly-slaughtered prey as
for a mid to make the captain of a man-of-
war wait dinner. Reud did not wait.
However, the fresh razor did its work
admirably, in the adroit hand of Joshua.
The hitherto intractable beard flew off
rapidly, and Joshua’s tongue moved more
glibly even than his razor. Barbers in the
act of office have, like the House of Com-
mons, the privilege of speech. They are
not amenable afterwards for what they say.
In the act they are omnipotent, for whowould quarrel with a man who is slipping
a razor over your carotid artery? Not,
certainly, Mr. Pigtop. Thus spoke Joshua,
amid the eloquent flourishes of his instru-

Tee -——

‘“Mr. Pigtop, I’ve a great respect. for
you—a very great respect indeed, sir. If
you have not been a good friend to me yet,
you will—I know, it sir; you are not like
the other flighty young gentlemen. I have
a respect for years, sir—a great respect for
years, and honoura middle-aged gentleman.
Indeed, sir, it must be a great condescen-
sion in you to permit yourself to be only a
master’s mate of a frigate, seeing that you
are quite an elderly gentleman ~

De ie

‘“There !—that was very imprudent in-

deed, sir, of you to open your mouth. It
was not my fault, you know, that the brush
went into it ; indeed, some people like the
taste of soapsuds.—wholesome, I assure you
ea vcly. © Stubble Of youn oLowine sin
always requires a- double lathering—don't
speak. _ Oh, sir, you aré a happy man—
exceeding. Your face will be as smooth as
a man’s borrowing money. You, boy, just
run up the after-hatchway, and tell the cap-
tain's steward that Mr. Pigtop will be in
the cabin in the flourish of a razor, or be-
fore a white horse can turn grey. Permit
me to take you by the nose ; the true handle
of the face, sir: it gives the man, as it were,
a sort of a command, sir, of the whole
head; he can box the compass with it.
Happy indeed you are, sir, and much to
be envied. ‘There was one of the captain's
turtles killed yesterday—Jumbo is a cook,
a most excellent cook—a spoonful of the
soup to-day will be worth a king's ransom
—a peck of March dust! pooh !—I wouldn't
give a spoonful of that soup for a hundred
bushels of it. Take my advice, sir, and
have soup twice, sir. As it. was carried
along the main-deck, I’m dishonest if the
young gentlemen didn’t follow it with the
water running down in streams from the
corners of their mouths, and their tongues
intreatingly lolling out, like a parcel of
hungry dogs in Cripplegate, following the
catsmeat-man’s barrow. One more rasp
over your upper lip, and you are as smooth
as the new-born habe—talking of lips, as
the first spoonful of that turtle-soup glides
over them—the devil! Ill take God to
witness, it was an accident—the roll of the
ship !”

Joshua Daunton was on his knees before
Mr. Pigtop, who was in an agony of pain,
holding on his upper lip, which was nearly
severed from his face, whilst the blood was
streaming through his fingers.

Doctor Thompson with diachylon and

 

 

 

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

 

r3t

black sticking-plaster was soon on the spot
to the assistance of the almost dislipped
master's mate. After the best was done
for it, the poor fellow cut but a sorry
appearance ; still his extreme hunger, made
almost furious by the vision of the turtle-
soup, so artfully conjured up by the mali-
cious Joshua, got the better of his sense
of pain; and with a great band of black
plaster reaching transversely from the right
nostril to the left corner of his mouth, the
grim-looking Mr. Pigtop made haste to
don the new uniform.

In the meantime, the protestations and
tears of Joshua had convinced everybody
that the horrible gash was merely the
effect of accident, for the ship was rolling
a great deal at the moment. What the
captain and his guests were doing in the
cabin above with the turtle-soup,. it is
needless for me to state, for that same
soup was never fated to gladden the
wounded lip of Mr. Pigtop.

The hasty and famishing gentleman, in
his very first attempt to draw on his new
trousers, to the astonishment of all his
messmates, who had now gathered round
him, found them separated in the middle
of each of his legs. He might as~ well
have attempted to clothe himself - with
cobweb continuations; they came to pieces
almost with a shake.. The waistcoat and
coat were in the same predicament; they
had not the principle of continuity in
them. Everybody was lost in amazement,
except Mr. Pigtop, whose amazement,
quite as great as ours, was lost in his still
greaterrage. It was extremely unfortunate
for Joshua Daunton that he had cut the lip
that day. The kind doctor was still by
duting the apparelling, or the attempt at
it. He examined the rotten clothes, and he
soon discovered that they had been satu-
rated in different parts by some corrosive
liquid, that, instead of impairing, really
improved the brilliancy of the cloth.

During these proceedings, Captain Reua
and his guests had eaten up the dinner;
but the captain, not being pleased to be

pleasantly humoured that day, sent word to
Mr. Pigtop to go to the mast-head till mid-
night, for disrespect in not attending to the
invitation that he had accepted. ‘There
was no appeal, and aloft went the wounded,
ragged, famished hoper of devouring turtle-
soup. Joshua looked very demure and very
unhappy ; but Dr. Thompson set on foot
an inquiry, and the truth of the destruction
of the clothes was soon ascertained.. The
loblolly boy, that is, the young man who
had charge of the laboratory where all the
medicines were kept, confessed, after a little
hesitation, that for certain glasses of grog
K 2’132 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

he had given this pernicious liquid to
Daunton. So, while one of his masters
was contemplating the stars from the mast-
head, the destroyer of reefers’ kits had
nothing else to do but to contemplate the
beauty of his own feet, placed, with a
judicious exactitude, in a very handsome
pair of bilboes under the half deck.

CHAPTER LIT.

The cat-of-nine-tails begets a tale the most annoying to
Ralph—The story of the three crows beaten hollow—
Seven’s the main and a losing cast—A promised trea-
tise on ornithology put an end to rather abruptly by
the biplumal resolving themselves into the mere bi-
pedal.

WHEN fully secured, the poor wretch sent
for me. He was in a paroxysm of fear:
he protested his innocence over and over
again : he declared he should die under the
first lash: that it was for love of me only
that he had come on board of a man-of-war ;
he conjured me by the fellowship of our
boyish days, by all that I loved and that was
sacred to us, to save him from the gangway.
The easiness of my nature was worked
upon, and I promised to use my influence
to procure for him apardon. I went to
Mr. Farmer, but all my efforts were unavail-
ing. The culprit passed a sleepless night
in the intolerable agony of fear. Before he
was brought up to be flogged, Mr. Pigtop
had been fully avenged.

The gratings are rigged, the hands are
turned up, and Joshua Daunton is supported
by two ship's corporals in a nearly fainting
state, and stripped by another—he is too
much paralysed to do it himself. The
officers are mustered on the break of the
quarter-deck, and the marines are drawn
up under arms, on the gangway. Captain
Reud looks fierce and forbidding, and Mr.
Farmer, forhis generally impassible features,
really quite savage. I come forward shudder-
ingly and look down. ‘The wandering and
restless eye of the frightened young man
meet, in an instant, what, most probably
they are seeking—my own.

‘‘Ralph Rattlin, speak for me to the
captain.” The words were in themselves
simple, but they were uttered in a tone of
the most touching pathos. They made me
start: I thought that I knew the voice, not
as the voice of Joshua Daunton, the mis-
chievous imp that had tormented us all so
scientifically, but of some dear and long-
forgotten friend. ‘‘ Ralph Rattlin, speak
for me to the captain—this must not be.” =.

‘But it shall be, by G—!” said the
irascible Creole.

‘“Captain Reud,” said I, ‘‘let me intreat
you for this once only——”

‘« Boatswain's mate ——’

‘‘Oh, Captain Reud, if you knew what a
strange sympathy ss

edhe thichisicatem

‘Indeed, sir, since he has been on board
he has never stolen e

‘““Mr. Rattlin, another word, and the
mast-head. Stand back, Stebbins ! —let
Douglas give him the first dozen.”

Now, this Douglas was a huge, raw-
boned boatswain's mate, that flogged left-
handed, and had also a peculiar jerk in his
manner of laying on the cat-o’-nine-tails,
and that always brought away with it little
knobs of flesh wherever the knots fell, and
so neatly, that blood would, at every blow,
spout from the wounds, as from the punc-
ture of a lancet. Besides, the torture was
also doubled by first scoring over the back
in one direction, and the right-handed
floggers coming afterin another. “They cut
out the skin in lozenges.

I looked in the captain's face, and there
was no mercy; I looked below, and there
2ppeared almost as little life. After the
left-handed Scotchman had _ bared his
brawny arm and measured his distance,
and just as he was about to uplift it and
strike, Daunton murmured out, ‘‘ Ralph
Rattlin, I knew your father! beware, or
your own blood will be dishonoured in
me!

‘* That voice !—they shall flog you through
me!” I exclaimed, and was about to leap
into the waist, and cover him with my arms,
when I was forcibly withheld by the officers
around me; whilst the captain roared out,
‘“ He shall have another dozen for his im-
pudent falsehood—boatswain’s mate, do
your duty.”’

The terrific lash, like angry scorpions,
fell upon the white and quivering flesh, and
the blood spurted out freely. Itwasa vengeful
stroke ; and loud, and long, and shrill was
the scream that followed it. But, ere the
second stroke fell, the head of the tortured
one suddenly collapsed upon the right
shoulder, and a livid hue spread rapidly
over the face and breast.

“He is dead !”” said those around, ina
half-hushed tone.

The surgeon felt his pulse, and placed his
hand upon his breast to seek for the beating
of the heart, and, shaking his head, re-
quested him to be cast loose. He was im-
mediately taken to the sick bay, but, with
all the skill of the doctor, his resuscitation
was, at first, despaired of, and only brought
about, at length, with great difficulty. The

 

 

 

,fact was, not that he had been flogged, but
very nearly frightened to death.

And I was utterly miserable. The words
that Daunton had spoken at the gangway,
and the strange interest that I had taken in
his behalf, gave rise to suspicions that I felt
to be degrading. He had declared himself
to be of my blood; the officers and crew
construed the expression as meaning my
brother. I was now, for the first time,
looked coldly upon ; I felt myself avoided.
Such conduct is chilling—too often fatal to
the young and proud heart ; it will rise in-
dignant at an insult, but guarded and polite
contumely, and long and civil neglect,
witherit. I was fast sinking into an habitual
despondency. This confounded Joshua had
previously completely ruined my outward
man: the inward man was in great danger
from his conduct, perhaps his machinations.
IT was shunned with a studied contempt;
the more particularly as my messmates were
the subjects of the constant jibes of the
captain and the other officers, which mess-
mates were of an unanimous opinion that
Master Joshua ought to have been hung,
inasmuch as it is now apparent that their
ruined apparel was all derivable from his
malice, and his ‘‘ Practice of Chemistry
made Easy.” They all panted with im-
patience for his convalescence, in order that
they might see Mr. Rattlin’s e/der brother
receive the remainder of his six dozen.

I verily believe that, as I approached my
native shores, I should have fallen into a
settled depression of spirits, which would
have terminated in melancholy madness,
had I not been roused to exert my moral
energies, and awaken my half-entombed
pride, by a stinging and a very wholesome
insult.

So soon as we were ordered home, Cap-
tain Reud’s mental aberrations became less
frequent ; but, when they superyened, they
were more extravagant intheir nature. He
grew roguish, fretful, and cruel. Though
he never spoke to me harshly, he addressed
me more rarely. I had not dined with him
for a long while : he had taken the myste-
rious destruction of my wardrobe as a valid
excuse; and had gone so far, On One OG-
casion, in a very delicate manner, as to
present me with a complete change of
linen, which perished like the rest, under
the provident care of Joshua. But, after
the claim of relationship by that very timid
personage, there was no consideration in
Reud's look; and, whenever he did speak
to me, there was a contemptuous harsh-
ness in his tone that would have very much
wounded my feelings at any other time.
But, just then, I took but little notice of
and interest in anything,

RATTLEIN, THE REEFER,

 

133

When I say that we were reduced to
rags in our habiliments, the reader is not
to take the words ax pied de lettre. By
taking up slops from the purser, and by aid
of the ship's tailor, we had been enabled
to walk the quarter-deck without actual
holes in our dress; but the dresses them-
selves were grotesque, for the imitation of
our spruce uniform was villanous, and our
hats were deplorable; they were greased
with oil, and broken, and sewed, and form-
less, or rather multiform: bad as were our
fittings out, we had not enough of them.

Through the rude and the cold flying
mists of winter, after we had struck sound-
ings, we again saw England. It was in
the inclement month of January: I was
starved and half clad. A beggar of any
decent pretension, had he met me in the
streets of London, would have taken the
wall of me, though I had, at the time, more
than three hundred dollars in cash, Spanish
doubloons and silver, a power for drawing
bills for a hundred a-year, more than three
years’ pay due, and prize-money to a very
considerable amount.

Under these circumstances, my eyes once
more greeted my native land.

I got into disgrace. I record it frankly,
as my boast is, throughout this biography,
to have spoken the truth of all the different
variations of my life. Since the captain's
incipient insanity, the Hos had gradually
become an ill-regulated ship. The gallant
first-lieutenant, formerly so smart and so
active, had not escaped the general de-
moralisation. Hewas a disappointed man.
He had not distinguished himself. God
knows, it was neither for want of daring
nor expense of life. He had cut out every-
thing that could be carried, and had at-
tempted almost everything that could not.
I am compelled to say that these bloody
onslaughts were as often failures as suc-
cesses. He was no nearer his next step
on the ladder of promotion than before.
His temper became soured, and he was
now often lax, sometimes unjust, and
always irritable. ‘The other officers shared
in the general falling off, and too often
made the quarter-deck a display for
temper.

The third-lieutenant—yes, I think it was
the third—had mast-headed me, about the
middle of the first dog-watch; most likely
deservedly, for I had lately affected to give
the proud and sullen answer. Before I
went aloft to my miserable station, I 1e-
presented to him that I had the first
watch; that there were now but three of
the young gentlemen doing their duty, the
others having very wisely fallen ill, and
taken the protection of the sick-list. I told134 RATTLIN, THE R EEFER.

him, respectfully enough, ‘‘ that if he kept
me up in that disagreeable station from
half-past five till eight, I could not possibly
do my duty, for very weariness, from eight
till midnight. It was a physical impos-
sibility... But he was inexorable. Up I
went, the demon of all evil passions gnaw-
ing at my heart.

It was almost dark when I went aloft.
It was a gusty, dreary night, bitterly, very
bitterly cold. I was ill clad. At intervals,
the fierce and frozen drifts, llke the stings
of so many wasps, drove fiercely into my
face; and I believe that I must confess that
I erled over my crooked and aching fingers
as the circulation went on with agony, or
stopped with numbness. It is true, I was
called: down within the hour; but that hour
of suffering had done me much constitu-
tional mischief. I was stupefied as much
as if I had committed a debauch upon fat
ale. However, I was too angry to com-
plain, or to seek relief from the surgeon.
I went on deck at half-past eight, with
obtuse faculties and a reckless heart.

The frigate was, with a deeply laden
convoy, attempting to hold her course in
the chops of the Channel. It blew very
hard, ‘lhe waves were bounding about us
with that short and angry leap peculiar, in
tempestuous weather, to the narrow seas
between England and France. It was ex-
cessively dark; and, not carrying sufficient
sail to tack, we were wearing the ship every
half hour, showing, of course, the proper
signal lights to the convoy. We carried
also. the customary poop-light of the com-
modore.

Such was the state of affairs at a little
after nine. The captain, the first-lieu-
tenant, the master, the officer of thf watch,
and the channel pilot that we had f&ken on
board off the Scilly Islands, with myself,
were all on deck. Both the signal mid-
shipmen were enjoying the comforts of
sickness in their warm hammocks below.
Now, I wiil endeavour to give a faithful
account of what happened; and let the
unprejudiced determine, in the horrible
calamity that ensued, how much blame
was fairly attributable to me. I must
premise that, owing to shortness of num-
ber, even when all were well, there was
no forecastle midshipman.

A dreadful gust of iey wind, accom-
panied by the arrowy sleet, rushes aft,
rather heading us.

‘The wind is getting more round to the
east. We'd better wear at once,’ said the
pilot to the master.

‘The pilot advises us to wear,” said the
master to the captain.

“Mr, Farmer,” said the captain to the

 

first-lieutenant; ‘‘ watch and idlers, wear
Ship. =

‘“Mr. Pond,” said Mr. Farmer to the
lieutenant of the watch (a diminutive and
peppery little man, with a squeaking voice,
and remarkable for nothing else excepting
having a large wife and a large family,
whom he was impatient to see), ‘‘ wear.”

‘“Mr. Rattlin,” squeaked Mr. Pond,
through his trumpet, ‘‘order the boats-
wain’s mate to turn the watch and idlers up
—wear ship.”’

‘‘Boatswain’s mate,’ bawled out the
sleepy and sulky Mr. Rattlin, ‘‘ watch and
idlers,. wear ship.”’

‘Ay, ay, Sir—whew, whew, whittle whew
—watch and idlers, wear ship! Tumble
up there, tumble up.  Master-at-arms,
brus _ up the bone-polishers.’’

‘“What an infarnal nonsensical cere-
mony !”’ growled the pilot, sotto voce: ‘‘all
bawl aad no haul—lucky we've plenty of
sea-room.

‘“‘Jump aft, Mr. Rattlin,” said the cap-
tain, ‘and see that the convoy signal to
wear is all right.”’

Mr. Rattlin makés one step aft.

‘“Is the fore-topmast staysail halliards
well manned, Mr. Rattlin?—Jump forward
and see,’ said the officer of fhe watch.

.Mr. Rattlin makes one step forward.

‘Is the deep sea-lead ready?” said the
master. ‘‘Mr. Rattlin, jump into the
chains and see.’

Mr. Rattlin makes one step to the right
—‘‘ starboard, the wise it call.”

“Mr. Rattlin, what the devil are you
about ?--where’s the hand -stationed to
the foresheet ?” said the first-lieutenant.
‘‘Jump there and see.”

Mr. Rattlin makes one step to the left
hand, —“‘ gort, the wise it call.”

‘“ Where's the midshipman o’ th’ watch—
where's the midshipman o’ th’ watch?”
roars out the captain. ‘‘By Heavens,
there's no. light to show over the bows!
Mr. Rattlin, be smart, sir,—jump forward,
and see to it.”

The chilled, the torpid, and half-stupefied
Mr. Rattlin finally went forward on-the
forecastle, where he ought to have been
from the first, the more especially as the
boatswain was also on the sick list.

The consequence of all these multitu-
dinous and almost simultaneous orders—to
jump and see, when, by the bye, it was too
dark to see anything a yard off properly—
was, that one of the signal lanterns was
blown out, and the signal consequently
imperfect—that the fore-topmast staysail
halliards were so badly manned, that those
upon them could seareely start that then
necessary sail fzom its nettine—-that thepeople were not ready with the deep sea-
lead—that little Mr. Pond was obliged to
put down his trumpet, and ease off the
foresheet himself till relieved by the quarter-
master; but, still, there actually was a
lantern over the bows, and that in good
time. i

Well, the noble ship was no longer
puffeted on her bows by the furious wind :
as the haughty Essex turned on his heel
from the blow of his termagant mistress
queen, so did the Zos turn her back to
the insulting blast, and flew rapidly before
it. Owing to the darkness of the night,
assisted by the weak voice of Mr. Pond,
whose orders could not be very distinctly
heard, perhaps a little to his lubberly man-
ner of working the ship, the bounding
frigate was much longer before the wind
than necessary. I was straining my sight
near the cathead on one side, and the cap-
tain of the forecastle on the other, but we
could discover nothing in the nearly pal-
pable obscure.

On she dashed, and our anxious eyes
saw nothing, whilst our minds feared
greatly ;—she is at her utmost speed. In
her reckless course she seems sufficiently
powerful to break up the steadfast rock,
or tear the shoal from its roots at the bottom
of the ocean. On she rushes! I think I
hear faintly the merchant cry Oi “VCO
—yeo!’’ but the roar of the vexed waters
beneath our bows, and the eternal singing
of the winds through the frost-stiffened
shrouds, prevent my being certain of the
face But. i tremble excessively—when,
behold, a huge, long black mass is lying
lazily before us, and so close that we can
almost touch it !

“ Hard a-port,’
top of my voice.

«‘ Hard a-starboard,” sang out the cap-
tain of the forecastle, equally loudly.

Vain, vain were the contradictory orders.
The frigate seemed to leap at the object
before her as at a prey, and dire was the
each that ensucda 25 Wwe may suppose
the wrathful lioness springs upon the buf-
falo, and meeting more resistance from its
borny buik than she had suspected, recoils
and makes another spring, so did the Hos
strike, rebound, then strike again—l felt
two distinct percussions.

The second stroke divided the obstacle.
The Los passed through it or over it, and
the eye looked in vain for the vast West
Indiaman, the bearer of wealth, and gay
hopes, and youth, and infaney, manly
strength, and female beauty. There was
a smothered feminine shriek, hushed by
the whirlpool of down-absorbing waves.
almost as soon as made, It was not

’ I roared out at the very

   

RATTLIN, THE KEEFER.

135

loud, but it was fearfully distinct, and pain-
fully human. One poor wretch only was
saved, to tell her name and speak of the

perished.
As usual, they had kept but a bad look-
out. Her officers and her passengers were

waking merry in the cabin—the wine-cup
was at their lips, and the song was floating
joyously from the mouths of the fair ones
returning to the land of their nativity. Tke
plooming daughters, the newly-married
wife, and two matrons with their: innocent
ones beside them, were all in the happiness
of their hopes, when the Destroyer was
upon them suddenly, truly like a strong
man in the darkness of night ; and they
were all hurled, in the midst of their un-
censurable revelry, to a deep grave, over
which no tombstone shall ever tell “ of their
whereabout.”’

Our own jib-boom was snapped off short,
and as quickly as isa twig in frosty weather.
Supposing the ship had struck, every soul
rushedondeck. Theythanked Godit was oly
the drowning of some forty fellow-creatures,
and the destruction of a fine merchant-ship.
We hauled the single poor fellow that was
saved on board. The consternation among
the officers was very great. It blew too
hard to lower the boats: no effort was or
could be made to rescue any chance
struggler not carried down in the vortex of
the parted and sunken ship—all was blank
horror.

Besides the consternation and dismay
natural to the appalling accident, there was
the fear of the underwriters, and of the
owners, and of damages, before the eyes of
the captain. I was sent for aft.

“JT had not charge of the deck,’ said
Captain Reud, looking fiercely at the first-
lieutenant. ‘7 am not responsible for this
lubberly calamity.”

“J had not the charge of the watch or
the deck either,’ said Mr. Farmer, in his
turn looking at small Mr. Pond, who was
looking aghast; surely, I cannot be held
to be responsible.”

“But you gave orders, sir—I heard you
myself give the word to raise the fore-tack

—‘that looks very like taking charge of the
deck—no, no, / am not responsible. ”

“ Not so fast, mot so fast, Mr. Pond. I
only assisted you for the good of the service,
and to save the foresail.”’

Mr. Pond looked very plank indeed, until
he thought of the master, and then he re-
covered a great portion of his usual vivacity.
Small men are always vivacious.

‘No, no, I am not responsible—I was
only working the ship under the directions
of the master. Read the night orders, Mr,

Farmer,”136

‘« The night orders be d——d!” said the
gruff old master.

‘‘T will not have my night orders d-—d,”’

said Reud. ‘‘ You and the officer of the
watch must share the responsibility between
you.”
« ‘No offence at all, sir, to you or the
night orders either. I am heartily sorry I
d—d them—heartily; but, in the matter
of wearing this here ship precisely at that
there time, I only acted under the pilot, who
thas charge till we are securely anchored.
SureZye, I can't be 'sponsible.”’

‘“ Well,” said the pilot, ‘‘here’s a knot of
tangled rope yarn—but that yarn won't do
for old Weatherbrace, for, diye ssees slam a:
Sea William (civilian), and not in no ways
under martial law—and I’m only aboard
this here craft as respects shoals and that
like—I'm clearly not ’sponsible ! nothing to
do in the varsal world with working her—
‘sponsible ! pooh !—-why did ye not keep a
better look out, for'ard ?”’

‘““Why, Mr. Rattlin, why?” said the
captain, the first-lieutenant, the lieutenant
of the watch, end the master.

‘‘I kept as good a one as I could—the
lanterns were over the bows.”

‘““You may depend upon it,” said the
captain, ‘‘that the matter will not be per-
mitted to rest as it is. The owners and
underwriters will demand a court of inquiry.
Mr. Rattlin had charge of the forecastle at
the time. Mr. Rattlin, come here, sir. You
sang out, just before this calamity happened,
to port the helm.”

e fedidsesim

‘‘ Quarter-master,” continued Reud, ‘‘did
you port the helm? Now, mind what*you
say ; did you, sir? because if you did not,
six dozen.”

“We did, sir—hard a-port.”’

‘“‘And the ship immediately after-struck?”

SP Vies; sini

‘‘Pooh! the case is clear—we need not
talk about it any longer. A clear case, Mr.
Farmer. Mr. Rattlin has charge of the
forecastle—he descries a vessel a-head—he
takes upon himself to order the helm a-port,
and we run over and sink her accordingly.
He is responsible, clearly.”

““ Clearly,” was the answering echo from
all the rejectors of responsibility.

Mie sRattling am sorry for you. I
once thought you a promising young man;
but, since your desertion at Aniana—wwe
must not mince matters now—you have
become quite an altered character. You
seem to have lost all zeal for the service.
Zeal for the service is a thing that ought not
to be lost; for a young gentleman without
zeal for the service is a young gentleman,
surely—you understand me—who is not

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

 

zealous in the performance of his duty
think I have made myself tolerably clear,
Do you think, sir, that I should hold now
the responsible commission I do hold under
his Majesty, if I had been without zeal for
the service? I am sorry that I have a
painful duty to perform. ~ I must place you
under an arrest, till I know what may be
the port admiral's pleasure concerning this
unpleasant business ; for—for the loss of the
Mary Anne of London you are clearly re-
sponsible.”

“Clearly” (omnes rursus).

‘‘ Had you sung out hard a-starboard, in-
stead of hard a-port, the case might have
been different.”

maCleanlyse

‘Go, down below to your berth, and
consider yourself a prisoner. The young
gentlemen in his Majesty's service are not
permitted to run down West Indiamen with
impunity.

4 Clearly. %

In these kind of capstan-head court-
martials, at which captains will sometimes
administer reefers’ law, ‘woe to the
weakest!" A defence was quite a work
of superfluity; so, consoling myself with
the vast responsibility with which, all at
once, I found myself invested, I went and
turned in, anathematising every created
thing above an inch high and a foot below
the satne dimensions. However, ina very
sound sleep I soon forgot everything—even
the horrible scene I had just witnessed.

CHAPTER Sct,

Distressing disclosures, and some very pretty symptoms

of brotherly love—With much excellent indignation
utterly thrown away—Joshua Daunton either 2 very
great man, or a very great rogue—Perhaps both, as
the terms are often synonymous,

I HOPE the reader has not forgotten Joshua
Daunton, for I did not. Having a ver
especial regard to the health of his body,
he took care to keep himself ill. The
seventy-one lashes due to him he would
most generously have remitted altogether.
His eagerness to cancel the debt was only
equal to Captain Reud's eagerness to pay,
and to that of his six midshipmen masters
to see it paid. Old Pigtop was positively
devout in this wish; for, after the gash
had healed, it left a very singular scar, that
traversed his lip obliquely, and gave a most
ludicrous expression to a face that was be-fore remarkably ill-favoured. One side of
his visage seemed to have a continual ghastly
smirk, like what you might suppose to deco-
rate the countenance of a half-drunken Suc-
cubus; the other, a continual whimper, that
reminded you of a lately-whipped baboon.

I concluded that Daunton was really ill,
for he kept to his hammock in the sick bay;
and Dr. Thompson was much too clever,
and too old a man-of-war’s man, to be
deceived by a sirnulated sickness.

The day after, when I was enjoying my
arrest in the dignified idleness of a snooze
in a pea-jacket, on one of thelockers, the
loblolly-boy came to me, saying that Daun-
ton was much worse, and that he humbly
and earnestly requested to see me. I went,
though with much reluctance. He appeared
to be dreadfully ill, yet an ambiguous smile
lighted up his countenance when he saw
me moodily standing near him.

He was seated on one corner of the
bench in the bay, apparently under the
influence of ague, for he trembled exces-
sively, and he was well wrapped up in
blankets. Altogether, notwithstanding the
regularity of his features, he was a revolting
spectacle. The following curious dialogue
ensued :—

‘“‘Daunton, I am ready to hear you.”

“Thank you, Ralph.”

“Fellow! you may have heard that I
am a prisoner—in disgrace—but not in
dishonour; but know, scoundrel, that, if
were to swing the next minute at the yard-
arm, I would not tolerate or answer to such
familiarity. Speak respectfully, or I leave
FOUL:

“Mr. Rattlin, pray do not speak so
loudly, or the other invalids will hear
Se

‘Hear us, sitrah! they may, and wel-
come. Scoundrel! can we have any se-
erets 2)

The fiery hate that flashed from the eye
of venomous impotence played upon me, at
the very moment that the tone of his voice
became more bland, and his deportment
more submissive.

“Mr. Rattlin, your honour, will you
condescend to hear me? It is for your
own good, sir. Pray be no longer angry.
I think Iam dying; will you forgive me?
— will you shake hands with me?” And
he extended to me his thin and delicate
hand.

‘Oh, no, no!” I exclaimed, accompany-
ing my sneer with all the scorn that I could
put in my countenance. “Such things as
you don't die— reptiles are tenacious of life.
Tor the malicious and ape-like mischiefs
that you have done to me and to my mess-
mates—though in positive guilt I hold them

 

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

 

137

to be worse than actual felony—I forgive
you—but, interchange the token of friend-
ship with such as you—never !”

‘Ralph Rattlin, I know you!”

‘‘Tnsolent rascal! know yourself; dare
to send forme no more. I leave you.”

I turned upon my heel, and was about
leaving this floating hospital, when again
that familiar tone of the voice that had
struck the inmost chord of my heart in his
shrieking appeal at the gangway, arrested
me, and the astounding words which he
uttered quickly brought me to his side. In
that strange tone, that seemed to have
been born with my existence, he exclaimed,
distinctly, yet not loudly, ‘‘ Brother Ralph,
listen to me!”

‘‘Liar, cheat, swindler!’ I hissed forth
in an impassioned whisper, close to his
inclined ear, ‘‘my heart disowns you—my
soul abhors you—my gorge rises at you. |
abominate—I loathe you—most contempt-
ible, yet most ineffable liar.”

‘‘Oh, brother!’’ and a hectic flush came
over his chalky countenance, whilst a sar-
donic smile played over his features. ‘‘ You
can speak low enough now. ‘Tis a pity
that primogeniture is so little regarded in
his Majesty's vessels of war ; but methinks
that you are but little dutiful, seeing that
I am some ten years your senior, and that
I do not scorn to own you, though you are
the son of my father's paramour.”

The horrible words shot ice into my
heart. I could no longer retain my stoop-
ing position over him, but, feeling faint
and very sick, I sat down involuntanly
beside him. But the agony of apprehen-
sion was but for a moment. A mirth,
stern and wild, brought its relief to my
paralysed bosom, and, laughing loudly, I
jumped up and exclaimed, ‘‘Josh, you
‘ittle vagabond, come, carry me a-pick-a-
back—son of a respectable pawnbroker of
Whitechapel—how many paramours was
the worthy old gentleman in the habit of
keeping? Respectable scion of such a
respectable parent, who finished his studies
by a little tramping, a little thieving, a little
swindling, a little forging —I heartily thank
you for the amusement you have afforded
me:

‘“Oh, my good brother, deceive not
yourself! I repeat that I have tramped,
thieved, swindled, ay, and forged. And
to whom do I owe all this ignominy? To
you—to you—to you. Yet I do not hate
you very, very much. You showed some
fraternal feeling when they seared my back
with the indelible scar of disgrace. I have
lied to you, but it suited my purpose.”

‘And I have given you the confidence
due to a liar.”138

“What! still incredulous, brother of
mine! Do you know these—and these?”

The handwriting was singular, and very
elegant. I knew the letters at once. They
were the somewhat affected amatory effu-
sions of that superb woman, Mrs. Causand,
whom I have described in the early part of
this life. They spoke of Ralph—of Ralph
Rattlin—and described, with tolerable ac-
curacy, my singular birth at the Crown Inn,
at Reading.

There were three letters. The two first
that I read contained merely passionate
protestations of affection; the third, that
had reference to myself, spoke darkly.
After much that is usual in the ardent style
of unhallowed love, it went on, as nearly
as I can recollect, in these words—‘‘I have
suffered greatly—suffered with you, and for
you. The child is, however, now safe, and
well providedfor. It is placed witha decent
woman of the name of Brandon — Rose Bran-
don. A discovery now is impossible. We
have managed the thing admirably. The
child is fair, &c., &e.”’

In the midst of my agitation, I remarked
that the writer did not speak of the infant
as ‘‘my child,” nor with the affection of a
mother—and yet, without a great stretch of
credulity, the inference seemed plain that
she was the parent of it, though not a fond
one.

‘“Mysterious man! who are you, and
who am [?”

“Your disgraced, your discarded, yet
your legitimate brother. More it suits me
not now that you should know. Iam weak
in frame, but I am steel in purpose. You,
you have been the bane of my life. Since
your clandestine birth, our father loved me
no more. I will have my broad acres back
—I will—they are mine—and you only stand
between me and them.”

‘Desperate and degraded man !—I be-
lieve, even after this pretended confession,
that you are an impostor to me, as much as
you are to the rest of the world. I now
understand some things that were before
dark to me. My life seems to stand in
your way—and your cowardice only pre-
vents you from taking it. You tell me
you are a forger—these letters are forgeries.
Mrs. Causand is not my mother, nor are
you my brother. Pray, where did you get
them?”

“T stole them from our father’s escri-
toire.”’

‘‘Amiable son! But I weary myself no
more with your tissue of falsehoods. To-
morrow we shall cast anchor. I will leave
the service, and devote the rest of my life
to the discovery of my origin. I will learn

your real name, I will trace out your crimes

 

  

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

—and the hands of justice shall at once
terminate my doubts, and your life of in-
famy—we are enemies to the death !”

‘A fair challenge, and fairly spoken. I
accept it, from all my soul. You refused
my hand in brotherly love; for, by the
grey hairs of our common parent, in
brotherly love it was offered to you—will
you now take it as a pledge of a burning,
a never-dying, enmity between us—it is at
present emaciated and withered. It has
been seized up at your detested gangway—
it has been held up at the bar of justice;
but it will gain strength, my brother—
there, take it, sir—and despise it not.”

I shuddered as I received the pledge of
hate; and his grasp, though I was in the
plenitude of youthful vigour, was stronger.
than my own.

This dreadful conference had been carried
on principally in whispers; but, owing to
several bursts of emotion on my patt,
enough had transpired among those pre-
sent to give them to understand that I had
been claimed as a brother, and that I had
very hard-heartedly rejected the claim.

After we had passed our mutual defiance,
there was silence between us for several
minutes; he coiling himself up like an
adder in his corner, and I pacing the deck,
my bosom swelling with contending emo-
tions. ‘‘Ifhe should really be my brother,”
thought I. The idea was horrible to me.
I again paused in my walk, and looked
upon him stedfastly; but I found no sym-
pathy with him. His style of thin and
pallid beauty was hateful to me—there
was no expression in his countenance upon
which I could hang the remotest feeling of
love. He bore my scrutiny, in his weak-
ness, proudly.

““Daunton,” said I, at length, ‘‘ you have
failed : in endeavouring to make a tool, you
have created an enemy and an avenger of
the outraged laws. I shall be in London
in the course of eight-and-forty hours—
you cannot escape me—if it cost me a
hundred pounds, I will loose the blood-
hounds of justice after you—you shall be
made, in chains, to give up your hateful
secret. I am no longer a boy, nor you,
nor the lawyer that administers my affairs,
shall no longer make a plaything of me.
I will know whoI am. Thank God, I can
always ask Mrs. Cherfeuil.”’

At that name a smile, no longer bitter,
but deeply melancholy, and almost sweet,
came over his effeminate features. But it
lasted not long. That smile, like a few
tones -of his voice, seemed so familiar to
me. Was I one of two existences, the
consciousness of the one nearly, but not
quite, blotting out the other? I looked

 

 

  

j
iupon him again, and the smile was gone;
but a look of grief, solemn and _heart-
rending, had supplied its place—and then
the big and involuntary tear stood in his
eye. 1 know not whether it fell, for he
held down his arm to the concealment of
his face, and spoke not.

Had the wretch a heart, after all ?

As I turned to depart, he lifted up his
face, and all that was amiable in its expres-
sion had fled. With a calm sneer he said,
‘May I trouble you, Mr. Rattlin, for those
letters which I handed over to you for your
perusal 2”

‘“T shall keep them.”

‘‘Ts your code of equity as low as mine?
They are my property; I paid dearly enough
for them. And what says your code of
honour to such conduct ?”’

““There, take your detested forgeries !
We shall meet in London.”

“Mr, Rattlin forgets that he
prisoner.”

“ Absurd! The charge cannot be sus-
tained for a moment.”

‘Be it so. Peradventure, I shall be in
London before you ”

is a

CHAPTER Li.

Listeners seldom hear good things of themselves—
Ralph ata dreadful discount with his messmates, but
contrives to settle his accounts with his principal
debtor.

I LEFT him, with a strong foreboding that
he would work me some direful mischiet.
For the long day, I sat, with my head
buried in my hands on the sordid table of
our berth. I ate not, I spoke not. The
ribaldry of my coarse associates moved me
not; their boisterous and vulgar mirth aroused
menot. They thought me, owing tomy arrest,
and my anticipations of its consequences,
torpid with fear. They were deceived. I
was never more alive. My existence was—
if I may so speak—glowing and fiery hot ;
my sense of being was intense with various
misery.
Towards evening, another piece of in-
telligence reached me, that alarmed and
astounded me. Since the laying on’ of the
one lash on the back of Joshua Daunton,
our old servant had descended from the
mizen-top, again to wait upon us. He was,
in his way, an insatiate news-gatherer ; but
he was as liberal in dispensing it as he was
eager in acquiring it. :
The midshipmen were drinking, out of the

RATTEIN, THE REEFER.

139

still unbroken cups and two or three tin
pannikins, their grog at eight o'clock in
the evening, when our unshod and dirty
attendant spoke thus :— :

‘Oh, Mr. Pigtop!—such news !—such
strange news!. Youll be so very sorry to
hear it, sir, and so will all the young gentle-
men.

‘‘ What, has the ship tumbled overboard,

or the pig-ballast mutinied for arrears of
pay 2”
, sir, ten thousand times worse than
that ! That thief of the world, sir, Joshua
Daunton, is not to have his six dozen, after
all, though he did corrupt all the mid-
shipmen’s clothes, sir. | Dr. Thompson has
taken him into his own cabin, and nothing
is now too good for him.”

‘‘But hanging,” said the indignant and
scarred master’s mate. ‘‘If he's not flogged,
I'll have the life out of him yet, though he
should turn out to be the only son of my
Lord Dunknow-who.” Pigtop was a wit,
in a small midshipman-like way. ‘‘ He's
turned out to be some great man, they say,
however—in clog or so, I think they call 1;
though, for my part, I remembers him in
irons well enough not more than a fortnight
aback—and he’s had a taste of the girl with
nine tails, however—that's one comfort,
to me, whatever he may turn out.”

The vulgar have strange sources from
which to derive comfort.

‘But, are you sure of all this, Bill?” said
Mr. Staines. ‘‘ Because, if he should turn
out to be somebody, I'll make him pay me
for my traps; that’s as certain now as that
he'll be sent to Old Davy.”

‘ Certain sure. He showed the Doctor
papers enough to set up a lawyers shop.
But that’s not the best of it—hum—ha! Do
you think, Mr. Pigtop, that Mr. Rattlin’s
caulking?” (¢.e. asleep).

‘‘Ffe has not moved these three hours.
I owe Rattlin one for bringing this black-
guard on board. There may be something
in this, after all. He claimed Rattlin as
his brother at the gangway, or something of
that sort. Now, that makes me comfortable.
It will take our proud messmate down a peg
or two, I'm calculating—with his smooth
face, and his little bits of Latin and
Greek, and his parleyvooing. Oh, oh! but
it's as good as a bottle of rum to me. With
all his dollars, and his bills, and his airs, I
never had a brother seized up at the gang-
way. And the captain and the officers once
made: such a fuss about, him! ;{B>>m bis
smooth face !—I've a great mind to wake
him, and hit him a wipe across the chaps.
He knocked me down with the davit-block,
for twitting him about that girl of his, that
was drowned swimming after him. I'll haveTAG KATIAN, THE REBPER.

satisfaction for that. The captain ordered
me to leave the ship for being knocked down.
Well—we shall see who'll be ordered to
leave the ship now. I never caused a girl's
death by desarting her. Upon my soul,
I've a great mind to rouse him, and hit him
a slap of the chaps. TI hate smooth faces.”

‘‘ Well,” said Staines, ‘‘ you may depend
upon it Rattlin zs asleep, or he would have
wopped you, Pigtop, for your compliments.”

‘“He! I should very much like to see
it—the spooney.”

‘‘If Mr. Rattlin is caulking,” said our
valet-de-chambre, ‘there can't be no harm
done whatsomever. But they dosay, inthe
sick bay, as how Mr. Rattlin isn’t himself,
but that Joshua Daunton is he, and that
he is nobody at all whatsomever; though
Gibbons says, and he's a cute one, that if
Mr. Rattlin is not Mr. Rattlin, seeing as
how Joshua Daunton is Mr. Rattlin, Mr.
Rattlin must be somebody else—and, as a
secret, he told me, as like as not, he must be
Joshua Daunton.”

‘“Well, here's comfort again. If Mr
Rattlin—J/r. indeed !—turns out to be a
swindler, as I’m sure he will, it wouldn't
be lawful, nor right, nor proper in me to pay
him the money I owe him,” said the con-
scientious Mr. Pigtop. ‘‘ D—n his smooth
face !—I should like to have the spoiling
Of it:”’

Here was important information for me
to ruminate upon. I was determined to
remain still as long as I could gain any in-
telligence. But the conversation—if con-
versation we must term the gibberish of my
associates—having taken another turn, I
slowly lifted up my smooth face, and con-
fronting Mr. Pigtop’s rough one, I said to
him very coolly, ‘‘Mr. Pigtop, I'm going to
do what you would very much like to see-—
I am going to wop you.”

‘“Wop me!—no, no, it’s not come to
that yet. I have heard something—I've a
character to support—I must not demean
myself.”

‘“There is my smooth face right before
you —I dare you to strike it—you dare not !
‘Then, thus, base rascal, I beat you to the
earth !"" And Pigtop toppled down.

Now, all this was very wrong on my part,
and very imprudent; for I must confess
that he had before beaten me in a regular
fistic encounter. But it was really a great
relief tome. I longed for some vent to my
angry and exasperated feelings. We were
soon out in the steerage. Oh! the wolfish-
ness of human nature! That low and
brutal fight was a great luxury to me.
Positively, at the time. I did not feel his
blows. At every murderous lunge that I
made at him, I shouted, ‘‘ Take that,

  

   
   

 

Daunton!” or, ‘‘Was that well planted,
brother ?”

Had we fought either with sword or
pistol, the enjoyment would have been in-
finitely less to me. ‘There was a stern
rapture in pounding him beneath me~-in
dashing my hands in his blood—in dis-
figuring his face piecemeal. In our evil
passions we are sad brutes. Pigtop had the
pluck natural to Englishmen—-he would
rather not have fought just then; but,
having once begun, he seemed resolved
to see it out manfully. The consequence
was—to use a common and expressive
phrase—I beat him to within an inch of his
life, and then cried with vexation, because
he could no longer stand up to be beaten
out of the little that my fray had left him.

When the fray was over, my sturdy
Opponent had no reason to be envious ci
my smooth face.

Rather inflamed than satiated with the
result of my encounter, whilst my opponent
turned in his hammock, and there lay
moaning, I, with both my eyes dreadfully
blackened, and my countenance puffed up,
threw myself upon the lockers, and there
sleeplessly passed the whole night, devour-
ing my own heart. If, for a moment, I
happened to doze, I was tearing, in my
imagination, Joshua Dauntcn piecemeal,
hurling him down precipices, or crush-
ing him beneath the jagged fragments of
stupendous rocks. It was anight of agony.

CHAP IHR wIOxT.

Soft tack, one of the best tacks, after all—That legs of
mu*ton sometimes produce friendships of long stand-
Ing completely proved, as well as the value of good
grain best ascertained after it has been well thrashed.

THE next day we anchored in the Downs.
Weak,’ stiff, and “ill, I surveyed myself
in my dressing-glass. My battered features
presented a hideous spectacle. But I
cared not. I was a prisoner—I should
have no occasion to emerge from the gloom
of the steerage. This was truly a happy
return to my native shores.

But I was not altogether left without
commiseration—not altogether without sym-
pathy. Both Dr. Thompson and the purser
looked in to seeme. The Doctor, especially,
seemed deeply to feel for my situation. He
told me that he had heard a strange story ;
but that, as yet, he was not at liberty to
mention any particulars. He assured methat hé entirely acquitted me of any par-
ticipation ina series of base deceptions that
had been practised upon an ancient, a dis-
tinguished, and wealthy family. He bade
me hope for the best, and always consider
him as my friend. The purser spoke to the
same effect. I told them that,my con-
viction was that it was they, and not I, who
were the victims of deception. 1 stated
that I had never pretended to rank or
parentage of any sort ; I acknowledged that
everything connected with my family was a
perfect mystery; but I asked them how they
could place any faith in the assertions of a
man who was in a mean capacity when I
met. with him—who had confessed to me a
multiplicity of villanies—and who had cor-
roborated the truth of his own confessions
by his uniformly wicked conduct whilst on
board.

To all this they both smiled very sapiently,
and told me they had their reasons.

‘“« Well,” said I, ‘‘you are wise, and,
compared to me, old men. You cannot
think this Daunton a moral character: - you
cannot think him honest. Still telling
me you are my friends, you champion
him against me. And yet I know not
not how or in what manner. If he should
prove my brother, the world is wide enough
for us both; let him keep out of my way, if
he can. Depend upon it, Doctor, he is
acting upon an afterthought. He has been
forced into a desperate Course. You marked
his abject €owardice at the gangway. During
the many hours that he was in irons, before
that punishment he so much dreaded was
inflicted, why did he not then send for you,
and, to save himself, make to you these
important disclosures? Merely because he
did not then think of it. By heavens—a
light rushes on me—he is a housebreaker !
—he has committed some burglary, and
stolen papers relating to me, and no
doubt he has followed me, first, with the
intention of selling to me the purloined
secret at some unconscionable price, and he
has since thought fit to change his plan for
something more considerable, more wicked.”

“«My poor boy,” said the Doctor kindly,
«you are under a delusion. Let me change
the subject, and puncture you with my
lancet under the eyes—they are dreadfully
contused. Well, Rattlin, we are to go.to
Sheerness directly, and be paid off. You
may depend upon it, the captain will think
better about this arrest of yours, particularly
as the two menat the wheel positively con-
tradict the quarter-master, and affirm that
the helm was put hard a-starboard, and not
hard a-port. It appears to us that it was
of little consequence, when the ship was
first discovered, how the helm was put.

 

RATTLIN, THE REEFER. 141

The fault was evidently on the part of those
who so awfully suffered for it. By the bye
there has been a change among the ,ords
of the Admiralty —there are two new junior
ones.

‘‘ Begging your pardon, Doctor, what the
devil is a change among the junior lords of
the Admiralty to a half-starved, imprisoned,
blackened-eyed, ragged reefer ?”’

Much more than I was aware of.

“Now,” said I to the purser, ‘Gf you
wish to do mea real kindness, change me
some of my Spanish for English money, and
let the first bumboat that comes alongside
be ready to go ashore in ballast, for I shall
certainly clear it.”

My request was immediately complied
with ; and my friends for the present, took
their leave.

Those blessed bearers of the good things
of this life, the bumboats, were not yet per-
mitted alongside. Every five minutes [sent ,
Master Bill up to see. Great are tha
miseries of a midshipman’s berth, when the
crockery is all broken, and the grog all
drunk, and the salt junk all eaten. But
great, exceedingly great, are the pleasures
of the same berth, when, aftera long cruise,
on coming into a port, the first loaf of
soft tack is on the table, the first leg of
mutton is in the boiler, and the first pound
of fresh butter is before the watering mouths
of the expectants. Aldermen of London,

ou feed much—epicures of the West-end,

you feed delicately ; but neither of you know
what real luxuries are. Go to sea for six
months upon midshipman allowance, eked
out by midshipmen’s improvidence; and,
on your return, the greasy bumboat, first
beating against the ship's sides, will afford
you a practical lesson upon the art of papil-
lary enjoyment.

It is, I must confess, very unromantic,
and not at all like the hero of three volumes,
to confess that, for a time, my impulses of
anger had given way to the gnawings of
hunger; and I thought, for a time, Jessa of
Joshua Daunton than of the first succulent
cut into a leg of Southdown mutton.

The blessed avatar at length took place.
The humboat and the frigate lovingly
rubbed sides, and, like an angel descending
from heaven, I saw Bill coming down the
after-hatchway, his face radiant with the
glory of expectant repletion, a leg of mutton
in each hand, two quartern loaves under
each arm, and between each pair of loaves
was jammed a pound of fresh putter a.
had the legs of mutton in the berth, and
laid on the table that I might contemplate

them, whilst I sent my messenger up for as
many bottles of porter as I could buy. But
I was not permitted to enjoy the divine con-SS

aaa me
Sa

 

  

 

rae - RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

templation all to myself. My five messmates
came to partake of this access of happiness.
As the legs of mutton lay on the table, how
devoutly we ogled their delicate fat, and
speculated upon the rich and gravy-charged
lean! We apostrophised them—we patted
them endearingly with our hands—and,
when Bill again made his appearance laden
with sundry bottles of porter, our ecstasy
was running at the rate of fourteen knots
an hour.

My messmates settled themselves on the
lockers’ smiling amiably. How sorry they
were that my eyes were so blackened, and
my face so swollen! With what urbanity
they smiled upon me! I was of the right
sort—the good fellow—d—n him, who would
hurt a hair of my head. They were all
ready to go a step farther than purgatory
for me.

‘“Gentlemen,”’ said I, making a semi-
circular barricade round. me of my four
quartern loaves, my two pounds of fresh
bunter, and eleven of my bottles of porter,
for I was just about to knock the head off
the twelfth (who under such circumstances
could have waited for corkscrews ?)—‘‘ Gen-
tlemen,” said I, ‘get your knives ready,
we will have lunch.’” Shylock never
flourished his more eagerly than did my
companions theirs, each eyeing a loaf.

‘*Gentlemen, we will have lunch—but, as
I don’t think that lately you have used me
quite well (countenances all round serious),
and as I have, as you all well know, laid out
much money, with little thanks, upon this
mess (faces quite dejected), permit me to
remind you, that there is still some biscuit
in the bread-bag, and that this before me
is private property.”

The lower jaws of my messmates dropped,
as if conscious that there would be no
occupation for them. I cut a fine slice off
the new bread, spread it thickly with the
butter, tossed overa foaming mug of porter,
and eating the first mouthful of the delicious
preparation, with a superfluity of emphatic
smacks, I burst into laughtor at the woe-
begone looks around me.

“What,” said I; ' could you think so
meanly of me? You have treated me
according to your nature. I treat you
according to mine.  Fall-to, dogs, and
devour !—peck up the crumbs, scarecrows,
as the Creole calls you, and be filled. But,
pause and be just, even to your own appe-
tites. Notwithstanding our Iunch, let us
dine. Let us divide the four loaves into
eight equal portions. There are six of us
here, and Bill must have his share, We
will have more for our dinner, when the
legs of mutton make their appearance.”

‘We drank each of us a bottle of porter,

»

and finished our half-quartern loaves: with
wonderful alacrity, Bill keeping us gladsome
company. My messmates then left the
berth, pronouncing me a good fellow. The
eighth portion of soft tommy and _ butter,
with a bottle of porter, I made the servant
leave on the table; and then sent him again
to the bumboat, to procure other necessaries,
to make the accompaniments to our mutton
perfect.

In the meantime, Pigtop, who lay in his
hammock, directly across the window of
our berth, had been a tantalised observer
of all that had passed. I crouched myself
up in one corner of the hole, and was
gradually falling into disagreeable rumi-
nations, when Mr. Pigtop crept out of his
hammock and into the berth, and sat him-
self down as far from me as possible.

‘‘Rattlin,” said he at length dolefully,
‘“‘you have beaten me dreadfully.”

“It was your own seeking—I am sorry
for your sufferings.”

‘“Well—I thank ye for that same—I
don’t mean the beating—you know that I
stood up to you likeaman. Is there malice
between us?”

‘““On my part, none. Why did you pro-
voke me?”

‘““I was wrong—infarnally wrong—and,
may be, I would have owned it before—but
for your quick temper, and that hard punch
in the chaps. I have had the worst of it.
It goes to my heart, Rattlin, that I, an old
sailor, and a man nearly forty, should be
knocked about by a mere boy—it is not
decent—it is not becoming—it is not natural
--I shall never get over it. I wish I could
undo the done things of yesterday.”

‘“And so I do, heartily—fervently.”

‘“Well—that is kindly said—and I old
enough to be your father—-and twenty-five
years at sea—beaten to a stand-still. Sorry
I ever entered the cursed ship.”

How imuch of all this, thought I, is gen-
uine feeling, how much genuine appetite 2
I was sorry for the poor fellow, however.

‘Ratthn, owing to one crooked thing
and another, we have lately fared miser=
ably. The ship has been a hell upon
the waters. I am faint for the want of
something to support me. Is that prog
and that bottle of porter private property ?’”

‘“They are my property. I do not offer
them to you, because I would not that you
thought that I was aping magnanimity.
For the respect that I shall always owe to
an old sailor, I say to you frankly that, if
your feelings are sufficiently amicable te-+
wards me to take it, take it, and with it @
welcome and a wish that it may do you
much good—but, if your blood is still evil
towards me, for the sake of your own in=RATTLIN,

tegrity you. would reject it, though you
starved.”

“Rattlin, I break bread with you as a
friend. J am confoundedly sorry that I
have been prejudiced against you—and
there’s my hand upon it.”

I shook hands with him heartily, and said
—'‘‘Pistop, I cannot regret that I did my
best to repel your insult, but I sincerely
regret its consequences. Henceforward,
you shall insult me twice before I lift my
hand against you once.”

‘‘] will never insult you again. I will
be your fast friend, and perhaps I may
have the means of proving it.”

It now became my turn to be astonished.
Instead of seeing the hungry oldster fall-to,
like a ravenous dog, he broke off a small
corner from the bread, ate it, and was in
the act of retiring, when I hailed him.

‘‘Halloa!—Pigtop—what’s in the wind
now? My friend, you do but little honour
to my cheer, and I am sure that you must
want it.”

“No, no,” said Pigtop, with much feel-
ing—‘‘you shall never suppose that the old
sailor sold the birthright of his honour for
a mess of pottage.”’

“Well felt and well said, by all that's
upright! But, nevertheless, you shall
drink this bottle of porter, and eat this
bread and butter—and so I'll e’en cut it up
into very excellent rounds. You shan't
accept my friendship without accepting my
fare. I like your spirit so well, Pigtop,
that, for your sake, | will never judge of a
man again until I have thrashed him
soundly.”

To the surprise of my messmates, when
they assembled punctually to the feast of
mutton, they discovered me and old Pigtop,
hand in hand across the table, discussing
another bottle of porter.

CHAPTER LXIl.

Ralph is placed in an awkward predicament, being put
upon his trial to prove his identity, and having no
witnesses to call but himself—All voices against him
but his own.

AT this period, every day, nay, almost
every hour, seemed to bring its startling
event. Ere good digestion had followed
our very good appetites, bustle and agita-
tion pervaded the whole ship. It had been
telegraphed from on shore that one of the
junior lords of the Admiralty was coming
on board immediately. There was blank

THE REEFER,

145
dismay in our berth. How could my mess
mates possibly go on the quarter-deck, and
assist to receive the dignified personage?
Much did I enjoy the immunity that, I sup-
posed, being a prisoner gave to me.

The portentous message came down that
‘‘the young gentlemen, in full uniform, are
expected to be on the quarter-deck to receive
the lord of the Admiralty.’ All the con-
solation that I could give was quoting to
them the speech of Lady Macbeth to her
guests—‘‘ Go, nor stand upon the order of
your going.” ‘The firing of the salute from
the main-deck guns announced the ap-
proach, and the clanking of the muskets
of the marines on the deck, after they had
presented arms, the arrival of the lord
plainly to me, in my darksome habitation.
‘Ten minutes had not elapsed, during which
I was hugging myself with the thought
that allthis pomp and circumstance could
not annoy me, when, breathless with haste,
there rushed one, two, three, four messen-
gers, each treading on the heels of the
other, telling me the lord of the Admiralty
wished to see me immediately in the cap-
tain’s cabin.

‘“Me! see me! What, in the name of
all that is disastrous, can he want with
me?” I would. come when I had made a
little alteration in my dress. ‘Trusting that
he was as impatient as all great men
usually are when dealing with little ones,
I hoped by dilatoriness to weary him out,
and thus remain unseen. Vain specula-
tion! A minute had scarcely elapsed,
when one of the lieutenants came down in
a half friendly, half imperative manner,
to acquaint me that I #zws¢ come up imme-
diately.

The scene that ensued—how can I suf-
ficiently describe it! Had I not been
sustained by the impudence of despera-
tion, I should have jumped overboard,
directly I had got on deck. I found my-
self, not well knowing by what kind of
locomotion I got there, in the fore-cabin,
where was spread a very handsome colla-
tion, round which were assembled some
fifteen officers, all in their full-dress
uniforms, in the midst of which a feeble,
delicate-looking, and excessively neatly
dressed old gentleman stood, in plain
clothes. His years must have been. far
beyond seventy. He was fidgety—indeed,
to that degree that would induce you to
think that he was a little palsied.

I cannot answer for the silent operations
that take place in other men’s mind's but
in my own, even under the ,greatest mis-
fortunes, a droll conceit will more rally
my crushed spirits than all the moral
consolations that Blair ever penned.

PEE.

wie144 RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

“Tf this be the juzzzor lord of the
Admiralty,” thought I, ‘‘how venerably
patriarchal must be his four seniors!” I
smiled at the idea as I bowed.

Let us describe the person that smiled
and bowed to this august assembly.

Figure to yourself a tall youth, attired
in a blue cotton jacket, with the uniform
button, a once white kerseymere waistcoat,
and duck trousers, on which were mapped,
in cloudy colours—produced by stains of
black-strap, pea-soup, and the other et-
ceteras that may be found in that recep-
tacle of abominations, an ill-regulated mid-
shipman’s berth—more oceans, seas, bays,
and promontories than nature ever gave to
this unhappy globe. Beneath these were
discovered a pair of dark blue worsted
stockings, terminated by a pair of purser's
shoes—things of a hybrid breed, between
a pair of cast-off slippers and the plough-
man’s clodhoppers, fitting as well as the
former, and nearly as heavy as the latter.
Now, this costume, in the depth of winter,
was sufficiently light and dzzarre; but the
manner in which I had contrived to deco-
rate my countenance soon riveted all at-
tention to that specimen of the ‘‘ human
face divine,’ marred by the hand of man.
Thanks to the expertness of Mr. Pigtop,
my eyes were singularly well blackened,
and the swelling of my face, particularly
about the upper ‘lip, had not yet subsided.
Owing to my remaining so much, since my
arrest, in the obscurity of the between-
decks, and perhaps to some inflammation
in my eyes, from my recent beating, I
blinked upon those before me like an owl.

‘“As—ton—ish—ing!"” said my Lord

Whiffledale. ‘‘Is that Mr. Ralph Rat-
tlin ?”

‘“The same, my lord,” said Captain
Reud. ‘‘Shall I introduce him to your
lordship 2?”

‘* By no manner of means—yet, for his
father's sake—really—ridiculous!—Henry,
the fifth baron of Whiffledale — ah !—black
eyes, filthy costume, very particularly filthy,
upon my honour. How is this, Captain
Reud? Of course, my present visit is not
official, but merely to satisfy my curiosity
as a gentleman—how is it that your first-
lieutenant permits the young gentlemen to

’so far disgrace—I must use the word—

the service—as you see—in—in my young
friend there, with the worsted stockings, and

swelled lip, and—black eyes ——”

When [I first made my appearance, all
the captains, then and there collected,
had looked upon me with anything but
flattering regards; some turned up their
noses, some grinned, all appeared as-
tonished, and all disgusted. At the con-

clusion of this speech, I was surprised at
the benignity which beamed upon me from
under their variously shaped and coloured
eyebrows. ‘There was magic in the words
‘for his father's sake,’ and ‘‘my young
friend.”’

Captain Reud replied, ‘‘It is not, my
lord, so much the fault of Mr. Rattlin as
it would, at the first blush, appear to be.
He himself pressed a wicked, mischievous,
young blackguard, who was appointed the
young gentleman's servant. Incredible as
the fact may appear, my lord, he contrived,
in a manner that Dr. Thompson can best
explain to you, to destroy all the clothes
of his young master merely in the wanton-
ness of his malice. I know that Mr. Rat-
tlin is well provided with money, and that
he will take the first opportunity 2gain to
assume the garb of a gentleman; and I
do assure your lordship. that no man be-
comes it better.”

‘Sir, if this youth be Mr. Rattlin—I
believe it—the very oldest blood in the
country flows in his veins—but it does
seem a sort of a kind of a species of miracle
how a scion of that noble house should
stand before me, his father’s friend, with
two black eyes and a ragged jacket—there
may be some mistake after all. I was
going, Mr. Rattlin, to take you with me,
to my hotel, having matters of the utmost
importance to communicate to you; but,
oh no!—I am not fastidious, so’ we had
better first have a little private conference
in the after—gentlemen, will you excuse
us?” bowing round—‘‘ Captain Reud will
poe do me the favour to be of the
party ?

So, into the after-cabin we three went,
I burning with impatience, and speechless
with agitation, supposing that the much-
coveted secret of my parentage would be
at length unfolded to me.

Lord Whiffledaie and Captain Reud
being seated with their backs to the cabin-
windows, and I standing before them with
the light full upon my disfigured face, I
must have had a great deal more the look
of a battered blackguard, being tried for
petty larceny, than a young gentleman on
the eve of being acknowledged the heir to
greatnsss by a very noble lord.

There was a pause for some minutes,
during which Lord Whiffledale was pre-
paring to be imposing, and the light of
mischief began to beam with incipient
insanity in “Reud’s eye. -oCertainlyia
said to myself, ‘‘ he will not dare to practise
one of his mad pranks upon a lord of
the Admiralty!” What will not madness
dare ?

His lordship, having taken snuff verysolemnly, and looked round him with a
calm circumspection, fixing his dull eye
upon me, and wagging his head, with an
equable motion, slowly up and down, spoke
as follows :—

‘‘There is a Providence above us all.
It is seen, Mr. Rattlin, in the fall of a
sparrow—it has protected our glorious
constitution—it has sanctified the pillars
of the state. Providence is, Mr. Rattlin—
do you really know what Providence is 2—
I ask you the question advisedly—I always
speak advisedly—I ask you, do you know
what Providence is?—Do not speak —inter-
ruptions are unseemly—there are few who
interrupt me. Providence, young map,
has brought me on board this frigate
to-day—the wind is north-easterly, what
there is of it may increase my catarrh—
there is the hand of Providence in every-
thing. I promised my most honourable
friend that I would see you as you are—
how equipped, how lodged, ‘ how cabined,
cribbed, confined.’ Apt quotation !—you
are cabined—you are cribbed—you are
confined—criébed—look at your counte-
nance—as I said before, ‘tis the hand of
Providence——"’

“Begging your lordship’s pardon,” said
Reud submissively, with the dubious twinkle
in his eye, ‘‘ for interrupting a nobleman
who is so seldom interrupted—I rather
think that it was the fist of Pigtop.”

‘“« Pigtop !—Providence—my quotation.
Captain Reud, I have not really the plea-
sure of understanding you. This young
gentleman, who has been so lately under
the chastising hand of Providence —_"

c]Pigtop S.°

“Ts now about to receive from that
pountiful hand some of the choicest gifts
it is the happiness of man to receive—rank,
wealth, a father’s blessing. Oh! ‘tis too
much—I am affected—what can I possibly
do with him with those black eyes? Mr.
Ralph Rattlin, you have not yet spoken to
me—indeed, how can you? What words
would be sufficiently expressive of—of—
what you ought to express! Captain Reud,
don't you find this scene rather affecting ?
Young gentleman, I am here to verify you
—are you fully prepared, Sim to, De, as Ie
were, verified ?”’

“My lord, my lord, I am bursting with
impatience !”

‘ Bursting with impatience ! The scene
is affecting, certainly—touching—complete,
with the exception of the black eyes. What
would not Miss Burney make of it in one
of her admirable novels! But you might
have made use of a better word than burst-
ing—I am ready to dissolve with emotion
at this tender scene—the discovery of his

RATTEIN THE REERER,

145

parentage to a tall ingenuous youth—burst-
ing—you might have used, firstly, burning
—secondly, glowing—thirdly, consuming
—fourthly, raging—fifthly, dying—sixthly,
there is perishing; but I will not much
insist upon the last, though it is certainly
better than bursting. You mean to say
that you are burning, not bursting, with
impatience—it is a natural feeling, it is
commendable, it is worthy of a son of
your most honourable father—I will faith-
fully report to him this filial impatience,
and how eager I was to remove it. I do
not say, Satisfy it—a person less careful
of the varieties of language would have
said satisfy an impatience satisfied is
what? a contradiction of terms; but, an
impatience removed, is—is—the removal
of an impatience. This interview will
grow very touching. Those blackened
eyes—I would that there were a green
shade over them! Are you prepared to
be verified ?”’

I bowed, fearing that any other expres-
sion of my wishes would lead to further
digression. His lordship, then putting on
his spectacles, and reading from a paper,
commenced thus, I, all the while, trembling
with agitation :—

‘Are you the person who was nursed
by one Rose Brandon, the wife of Joseph
Brandon, by trade a sawyer?”

HCl ayaa,

“What name did you go by when under
the care of those persons ?”’

‘Ralph Rattlin Brandon.”

“Right, very good. I shall embrace
him shortly—my heart yearns towards
him. Were you removed to a school, by
a gentleman in a plain carriage, from those
Brandons?”’

tL was

«© To where?”

‘“To Mr. Roots’ academy.”

“Right—a good boy, an amiable boy,
he was removed to Mr. Roots’: and,
having there imbibed the rudiments of a
classical education, you were removed to
where?”

“To a boarding-school, kept by a French
gentleman at Stickenham, where, in’ his
wife, I thought I had founda mother ——"

‘«Stop, we are not come to that yet ; that
is too affecting—of that anon, as somebody
says in some play. Have you, Captain
Reud, a glass of water ready, should this
amiable youth or myself feel faint during
this exciting investigation?”

‘« Perfectly ready,” said the Creole,
decidedly in one of his insane fits; for he
immediately skipped behind his lordship,
and, jumping upon the locker, stood ready
to invert a glass of water upon his nicely-

i

Ee.powdered head, containing at least three
fallotis, this glass being a large globe, con-
taining several cufious fish, which swung,
attached to the beam, directly over my
interrogator.

Here was a critical situation forme! A
mad captain about to blow the grampus
(z.e. souse) a lord of the Admiralty, that
same lord, I firmly believed, about to
declare himself my father. I was, in a
tanner, spell-bound. Afraid to interrupt
the conference, I bethought me that my
Lord Whiffledale would be no less my
father wet or dry, and so I determined to
let things take their course. So I permitted
his lordship to go on with his questions, at
every one of which Captain Reud, looking
more like a baboon than a human being,
canted the globe more and more.

‘© All very satisfactory—all very satis-
factory, indeed! And now, Ralph, on
whom have you been in the habit of draw-
ing for your allowance while you were in
the West Indies?”

ec Wire. of King’s Bench Walk, in
the Temple.”

‘‘ Perfectly correct — perfectly’ (—-still
reading :—

‘Are you a well-grown youth for your
age?’

Lam, ¢

‘‘Of an interesting physiognomy ?”’

Here the malicious madman grinned at
me in the most laughable manner, over the
devoted head of the ancient lord.

‘‘T hope you will think so, my lord, when
I have recovered my usual looks.”’

‘*Ugh —hum—ha—of dark brown hair,
approaching to black?”

 

 

‘‘ With intensely black eyes?”

‘“No.’—‘‘ YES.” Mine was the nega-
tive, Captain Reud’s the affirmative, spoken
simultaneously.

At this crisis, his lordship had made a
very proper and theatrical start. Captain
Reud grasped the glass with both hands ;
and the severe, bright eye of Dr. Thomp-
son fell upon the prank-playing captain.
The effect was instantaneous: he slank
away from his intended mischief, com-
pletely subdued. The fire left his eye, the
grin his countenance; and he stood beside
his lordship in a moment, the quiet and
gentlemanly post-captain, deferentially po-
lite in the presence of his superior, I
understood the thing in a moment—it was
the keeper and his patient.

‘‘T am particularly sorry, my lord,” said
the Doctor—‘‘ 1 am very particularly sorry,
Captain Reud, to break in upon you un-
announced; the fact is, I did knock several
times, but I suppose I was not heard. This

546 RATTLIN THE REEFER,

letter, my lord, I hope will be a sufficient
apology.”

His lordship took the letter with a proud
condescension. Captain Reud said, ‘‘ Dr.
‘Thompson's presence is always acceptable
formes”

Lord Whiffledale read this letter over
three times distinctly; then, from his usual
white he turned a palish purple, then
again became white. In no other manner
did he seem to lose his self-possession.

‘“Dr. Thompson,” said he, at length,
very calmly, ‘‘let me see some of these
documents immediately.”

‘‘Anticipating the request, my lord, I
have them with me.” ‘The Doctor then
placed in his hands several letters and
papers. ‘At length, his lordship  ex-
claimed, —

“‘Tam confounded. It is wholly beyond
my comprehension—I know not how to act.
It is excessively distressing. I wish, on my
soul, I had never meddled in the business,
Can I see the young man?”

‘“Certainly, my lord; I will bring him to
you immediately.”

During Dr. Thompson's short absence,
his lordship walked up and down with a
contracted brow, and much more than
his usual fidgety movements.. Not wholly
to my surprise, but completely to my dis-
may, the Doctor reappeared with my arch
and only enemy in his hand—Joshua
Daunton.

The contrast between him and me was
not at all in my favour. Not in uniform
certainly, but scrupulously clean, with a
superfine blue cloth jacket and trousers,
white neckerchief, and clean linen shirt;
he looked not only respectable, but even
gentlemanly. I have before described my
appearance. 1 may be spared the hateful
repetition.

‘‘And so,” said his lordship, turning to
Joshua, ‘‘you are the true and veritable
Ralph Rattlin?”

*‘T am, my lord,” said the unblushing
liar. ‘‘The young gentleman near you is
my illegitimate brother; his mother is a
beautiful lady of the name of Causand—a
most artful woman. She first contrived to
poison Sir Reginald’s mind with insinuations
to my disfavour ; and, at last, so well car-
ried on her machinations as to drive me
first from the paternal roof, and, lastly—I
confess it with horror and remorse—into a
course so evil as to compel me to change
my name, fly from my country, and subject
me to the lash at the gangway. If these
documents, that I confide to your hands,
and to yours only, will not remove every
doubt as to the truth of my assertions,
afford me but a little time, till I can sendto London, and every point shall be satis~
factorily cleared up.”

He then placed in Lord Whiffledale’s
hands the papers that had been so conyinc-
ing to Dr.’Thompson. Captain Reud, now
reduced by the presence of the good Doctor
to the most correct deportment, stepped
forward, and assured his lordship that I, at
least, was no impostor, and that, if imposi-
tion had been practised, I had been made
an unconscious instrument.

‘« Perhaps,” said his lordship, after scru-
tinising the papers, and returning them to
Joshua, ‘‘the young gentleman with the
blackened eyes will do us the favour, ina
few words, to give us his own version of
the story; for, may I die consumptive, me 1
can tell which is the real Simon Pure !”’

Placed thus in the embarrassing situa-
tion of pleading for my own identity, I
found that I had very little to say for my-
self, I could only affirm that, although
always unowned, I had been continuously
cared for; and that the bills I had drawn
upon Mr. ——, the lawyer in the King’s
Bench Walk in the Temple, had always
been honoured. My lord shook his head,
when I had finished, diplomatically. He
took snuff. He then eyed me and my
adversary carefully. He now waved his
head upwards and downwards, and at
length opened his mouth and spoke :—

“Captain Reud, I wash my hands of
this business. I cannot decide. I was
going to take on shore with me the
legitimate and too-long-neglected son of
my good old friend, Sir Reginald. Where
is that son? Icome on board the Hos, and
J ask him at your hands, Captain Reud.
Is that person with the discoloured coun-
tenance my friend’s son? Certainly not.
Is that other person his son—a disgraced
man? Knowing the noble race of my
friend, I should say, certainly not. Where
is Sir Reginald’s son? He is not here; or,
if he be here, I cannot distinguish him,
wash my hands of it—I hate mysteries. I
will take neither of them to London. Lam
under some s/zght obligations to Sir Reginald
—and yet—I cannot decide. The weight of
evidence certainly preponderates in favour
of the new claimant. Captain Reud, per-
haps, will permit him to land, and he may
go up to town immediately, and have an
interview with Mr. , the lawyer; and,
if he can satisfy that person, he will receive
from him further instructions as to his future
proceedings."

 

RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

CHAPTER, EXIT.

The confessions of a madman, which, nevertheless,
embrace a very wise caution—Ralph gets his liberty-
ticket—Very needless, as he is determined hencefor-
ward to preserve his liberty—And, being treated so
aly as a sailor, determines to turn ciyilian him-
seit.

HERE Captain Reudinterrupted the speaker,
and told him that Joshua was a prisoner
under punishment, and waiting only for
convalescence to receive the remainder of
his six dozen lashes. At hearing this, his
lordship appeared truly shocked ; and, draw-
ing Reud aside, they conversed for some
minutes, in whispers.

At the conclusion of this conference,
Captain Reud stepped forward; and, re-
garding Joshua with a look of much seve-
rity, he said: ‘‘ Young man, for the sake
of other parties, and of other interests,
your errors are overlooked. Your discharge
from this ship shall be made out imme-
diately. If you are the person you claim
to be, your three or four months’ pay can
be of no consequence to you. Have you
sufficient money to proceed to London im-
mediately?”

‘‘ Much more than sufficient, sir.”

‘‘T thought so. Proceed to London to
the lawyers. If you are no impostor, I
believe that a father’s forgiveness awaits
you. Forget that you were ever in this
ship. My clerk will make out your dis-
charge immediately. Take care of your-
self, You are watched. There is a wakeful
eye upon you; if you swerve from the
course laid down for you, and go not
immediately to Mr. 's office, be as-
sured that you will be again in irons under
the half-deck. Have I, my lord, correctly
expressed your intentions ?”

‘« Correctly, Captain Reud.”’

‘Joshua Daunton, get your bag ready;
and, in the meantime, I will give the neces-
sary orders to the clerk. You may go.”

With an ill-concealed triumph on his
countenance, Joshua Daunton bowed sub-
missively to all but myself. To me he
advanced with an insulting smile and an
extended hand. I shrank back loathingly.

‘‘ Farewell, brother Ralph. I told you
that I should be in London before you.
Will you favour me with any commands ?
Well—your pride is not unbecoming—I
will not resent it for your father’s sake;
and, for his and for your sake, I will for-
give the juggle that has hitherto placed the
natural son—that is, I believe, the delicate
paraphrase—in the station of the rightful
heir. Farewell.”

I made no reply ; he left the cabin, and,

2
=Co ene AA EE EOE GT

 

T48

in an hour after, the ship.  I- shall not
advantage myself of that expression, so
fully naturalised in nov els, that ‘‘ my feel-
ings might be conceived, but cannot be
expressed :” for they caz be expressed easily
enough—in two words, —stupefied indigna-
tion. After Joshua had departed, the other
persons remaining in the after-cabin’ fol-
lowed shortly after, with the exception of
myself; for Reud told me to stay where I
then was, until he should see me again.

In the course of an hour, Lord “Whiffle-
dale went on shore with his cortége; and
Captain Reud returned into the after-cabin,
which I had been, during his absence, dis-
consolately pacing. Hewas a little flushed
with the wine he had taken, but perfectly
sane. He came up to me kindly, and,
placing his hands upon my _ shoulders,
looked me fully and sorrowfully in the face.
There was no wild speculation in his eyes;
they looked mild and motherly. The large
tear gathered in each gradually, and, at
length, overflowing the sockets, slowly
trickled down his thin and sallow cheeks.
He then pressed his right hand heavily on
the top part of his forehead, exclaiming, in
a voice so low, so mournful, and so touch-
ing, that my bosom swelled at its tones,
“Tt is here !—it is here !”

“Ralph, my good Ralph,” said he, after
he had seated himself, weeping all the while
bitterly, ‘‘ we will take leave of each other
now. We are true brothers in sorrow—
our afflictions are the same—you have lost
your identity, and [ mine. Ever since that
cursed night at Aniana, John Reud’s soul
was loosened from his body; I have the
greatest trouble to keep it fixed to my cor-
poreal frame; it goes away, in spite of me,
at times, and some other soul gets into this
withered carcase, and plays me sad tricks
—sad tricks, Rattlin—sad tricks. My iden-
tity is gone, and so, poor youth, is yours.
We will part friends. These tears are not
all for you—they are for myself too. Ido
not mind crying before you now, for it is
not the true John Reud that is now weep-
ing. You think that I have been a tyrant
to ~you—but, I tell you, Rattlin, there is a
tyrant in the ship greater than [—it is that
horrible Dr. Thompson. He is plotting to
take away my commission, and to get me
into a madhouse—a madhouse !—oh, my
God !—my God! remove from me this agony.
Hath thine awful storm no thunderbolt—thy
wave no tomb? Must I die on the straw,
like a beast of burden worn to death by
loathsome toil?—and so many swords to
have flashed harmlessly over my head, so
many balls to have whistled idly past my
body! But God's will be done! Bear
yourself, my dear boy, carefully in the

  

Ten Tas IN,

IGSOR TS EIGET AK,

presence of all medical men. They have
the eye of the fanged adder. You know
that your identity also has been questioned ;
but your fate is happier than mine, for you
can hear, see, touch your double ; but mine
always eludes me, when I come home, after
an excursion, to my own temple. But, if
I were you, when 1 got hold ‘of the thing
that says it is, and is 7o7, yourself, | would
ene it, I would crush it, I would destroy

‘«T will, so may Heaven help me at my
utmost need !”

‘‘ Well said, my boy, well said—because
he has no right to get himself flogged, and
thus give a wretched world an opportunity
of saying that Ralph Rattlin had been
brought to the gangway. But do not let
this cast you down. ‘You will do well yet
—while I—Oh, that I had a son!—I might
then escape. God bless you !—-I must pray
for strength of mind—strength of mind—
mark me, strength of mind. Go, my good
boy; if misfortunes should overtake you,
and they leave me anything better than a
dark cell and clanking chains, come and
share it with me. Now go (and he wrung
my hands bitterly), and tell Dr. Thompson
{ wish to speak with him, and just hint to
him how rationally and pleasantly we have
been discoursing together—and remember
my parting words—deport yourself warily
before the doctors, carefully preserve your
identity, and sometimes think on your poor
captain.”’

This last interview with Captain Reud—
for it was my last—would have made me
wretched, had it not been swallowed up by
a deeper wretchedness of my own.

Early next morning we weighed, and
made sail for Sheerness. On anchoring in
the Medway, Captain Reud went on shore;
and, as I shall have no more occasion to
refer to him, I shall state at once, that the
very fate he so feared awaited him. Six
months after he left the os, he died
raving mad, in a private receptacle for the
insane.

At Sheerness we were paid off.

As I went over the side of the Zos for
the last time, I was tempted to shake the
dust from off my feet, for, of a surety, it
had lately been an accursed abode to me.

In order entirely to elude all observation
from my late companions, I abandoned
everything I had on board—not much
worth, truly—with the exception of my
sextant and telescope ; and took on shore
with me only the clothes (miserable they
were) in which I stood. I went to no hotel
or inn; but, seeing a plain and humble
house in which there were lodgings to let
for single men, I went and hired a littleRATTLIN,

apartment that contained a press bedstead.
I took things leisurely and quietly. IT was
now fuliy determined to discover my parent-
age; and, after that event, entirely to be
governed by circumstances, as to my future
course of life, and the resuming of the
naval profession.

My first operations were sending for a
tailor, hatter, and those other architects
so essential in building up the outward
man. ‘The costume I now chose was as
remote from official as could be made. I
provided myself with one suit only, leaving
the rest of my wardrobe to be completed
in London.

Knowing that I had an active and intel-
ligent enemy who had two days the start of
me, I was determined to act with what I
thought caution. I had more than a half-
year's stipend due to me, I accordingly
drew for it upon the lawyer, nearly 475;
intimating to him, at the same time, by
letter, my arrival in England, and asking
if he had any instructions as to my future
disposal. ‘This letter was answered by re-
turn of post, written with all the brevity of
business, stating that no such instructions
had been received, and enclosing an order
on the Sheerness Bank for the money.

So far, all was highly satisfactory. It
proved two things: first, that Joshua
Daunton had not yet carried his machi-
nations in the quarter from which arose
the supplies ; and, secondly, that I should
now have considerable funds wherewith to
prosecute my researches. In the space of
three days, beholdme dressed in the fashion-
able costume of the period—blue coat,
broad yellow buttons, yellow waistcoat with
ditto, white corduroy continuations, tied
with several strings at the knees, and top-
ped boots. It was in the reign of the
‘‘bloods” and the “‘ruffians,’” more fero-
cious species of coxcombs than our dandies,
and much more annoying.

CHAPTER LXIV.

z rery » creat changes—Gives way to
Ree ea ae aol changes rhe chapter
will be found either the worst or the best of Ralph’s
confessions, according to the feelings of the reader.
HAvInG stayed one week at Sheerness,
and laid down my plan of future action,
I started in the passage-boat for Chatham.
There was not much room for recumbency.
T found it, however, and placed the only
luggage that I had, a small parcel, covered

   

Gekie em e iE Te.

£49
with brown paper, under my head as a
pillow. The parcel contained my logs,
and my certificates, and a single change of
linen. Very providentially, I had placed
my pay-ticket, with my bank notes, in my
pocket-book.

Once, as I opened my eyes at the explo-
sion of an oath more loud than usual, me-
thought I saw the sodden and white-com-
plexioned face of Joshua Daunton hanging
closely over mine. I started up, and rubbed
my eyes, but the vision had fled; E:was
determined to be watchful; and, with this
determination in full activity, I again fell
asleep; nor was I once more properly
awakened until we had arrived at Chat-
ham. When I had roused myself up, to
my consternation, I discovered that my
pillow was nowhere to be found. Many
of the passengers had already gone their
ways, and those that remained knew no-
thing about either me or my packet. In-
deed, I only drew suspicions on myself, as
my paucity of baggage and the pretensions
of my dress, were decidedly at variance.
The gentleman in top-boois and with the
brown-paper parcel seemed ridiculous
enough. Seeing how ineffectual noise was,
I held my peace, now that | had nothing
else to hold; got on the outside of the
first coach for London ; and, by ten at
night, found myself in the coffee-room of
the White Horse, in Fetter vane:

The next morning, when I arose, it was
my birthday, the 14th of February; and I
stood at mine inn, a being perfectly isolated.
But I was not idle; on descending into the
coffee-room, I procured the Court Guide ;
but my most anxious scrutiny could dis-
cover no such person among the baronets
as Sir Reginald Rattlin. Paying my bill,
I next went to Somerset House, and drew
my pay; I then repaired to the aristocratic
mansion of Lord Whiffledale, in Grosvenor
Square. ‘‘Not at home,” and ‘‘in the
country for some time,” were the surly
answers of the indolent porter.

It was a day of disappointments. The
lawyer who cashed my bills was civil and
constrained. To all my entreaties first, and
to my leading questions afterwards, he gave
me cold and evasive answers. He told me
that he had received no further instructions
concerning me; reiterated his injunctions
that 1 should not endanger the present
protection that I enjoyed, by endeavouring
to explore what it was the intention of those
on whom I depended to keep concealed;
and he finally wished me a good morning,
and was almost on the point of handing
me out of his office.

But I would not be so repelled. 1 be-
came impassioned and loud; .nor would |\

it
i
;

   

T50

depart until he assured me on his honour,
that he knew almost as little of the secret
as myself, and that he was only the agent
of an agent, never having yet had any
communication with the principal, whose
mame, even, he assured me, he did not
know.

I had now nearly exhausted the day.
The intermingling mists of the season and
the heavy smoke of the town were now
shrouding the streets in a dense obscurity.
Then the nights of gas were not. Pro-
foundly ignorant of the intricacy of the
streets of the metropolis, I was completely
at the mercy of the hackney-coachmen,
and they made me buy it extremely dear,
Merely from habit, I again repaired to the
White Horse, and concluded my nine-
teenth natal day in incertitude, solitude,
and misery.

To Stickenham—yes, I would go there
immediately. But the resolve gave no ex-
ulting throb to my bosom.

I went to that spot so consecrated to my
memory by bright skies and brighter faces ;
the spot where I had so often urged the
flying ball and marshalled the mimic army
—it was there that I stood; and I asked of
a miserable half-starved woman, ‘‘ where
was the play-ground of my youth?” and
she showed me a “ brick-field.”’

I walked a few steps farther, and asked
for the school-house of my happiest days—
and one pointed out to me a brawling ale-
house. It was a bitter change. I asked
of another where was now my old light-
hearted, deep-learned, French schoolmaster,
Monsieur Cherfeuil. He had gone back to
France. The emzgrés had been recalled by
Napoleon.

There was one other question that I
dreaded, yet burned to ask—I need not
state how fearful it was to me, since it
was to learn the fate of her whom I had
honoured, and loved, and hailed, as my
mother—the beautiful and the kind Mrs.
Cherfeuil. I conjectured that she, too, had
gone to France with her husband, and the
idea was painful to me.

‘There have been great alterations here,
my good girl,” said I to a young person
whom I afterwards met.

“Very great, indeed, sir — they have
ruined father and mother.”

‘Your name, my dear, is Susan Archer.”

“Bless me,-so it is, sir!”

‘“And you seem a very intelligent little
girl, indeed.”

“Yes, I have had a good deal of book-
learning, but all that is past and gone now.
When Mrs. Cherfeuil lived in that house,
she took care that we should always have a
home of our own, fire in the grate, and a

      
 

RATTLIN, THE REELER.

loaf in the cupboard—she had me sent to
school—but now she is gone!”’

‘*Gone !-—where ?—with her husband ?”

‘*Don’'t you know, sir?” said she, witha
quiet solemnity, that made me shudder with
dreadful anticipations. ‘‘ If you will come
with me, I will show you.”

I dared not ask the awful question, ‘‘ Is
she dead?” I took my gentle guide by. the
hand, and suffered her to lead me slowly
through the village. Neither of us spoke.
We had almost attained to the end of the
hamlet, when my sad guide gently plucked
me by the arm to turn down to the right.

‘“No,’’ said I, tremulously, ‘‘that is not
the way; we must go forward. ‘That lane
leads to the churchyard.”

‘‘And to Mrs. Cherfeuil.”

‘“Go on, and regard me not.”

In another minute we were both sitting
on a newly-made grave, the little girl weep-
ing in the innocent excess of that sorrow
that brings so soon its own sweet relief.

My at first low and almost inaudible
murmurs gradually grew more loud and
more impassioned. At last they aroused
the attention of my weeping companion,
and she said to me artlessly, ‘‘It is of no
use taking on in this way, sir; she can
never speak up from the grave. She is in
heaven now; and God does not permit any
of his blessed saints to speak to us sinners
below.”

‘‘ You are quite right, my good girl,” said
I, ashamed of this betrayal of my emotion.
‘It is very foolish indeed to be talking to
the dead over their damp graves, and not
at all proper. But, I have a great fancy to
Stay here a little while by myself. Pray go
and wait for me at the end of the lane. I
will not keep you long, and I have some-
thing to say to you.”

‘‘T will do as you tell me, sir, most
certainly. I will tell you all about her
death, for I was a sort of help to the nurse.
1 know you now, sir, and thought I knew
you from the first.”

I shall not repeat the extravagances that
I-uttered when alone. I was angry with
myself and with all the world; and I fear
that I exasperated myself with the thought
that I did not sufficiently feel the grief
with which I strove to consecrate my loss.
I remember, I concluded my rhapsody
thus :—

‘*Again I call upon you by the sacred
name of mother—for such you were—and
no other will my heart ever acknowledge.
I adjure you to hear me swear that I will
have all the justice done to your memory
that man can do; and may we never meet
in those realms where only the injured find
redress, if I fail to scatter this sacred earthRATTLIN, THE. REEFER. TSt

in token of dishonour upon the head of
him who has dishonoured you—were he
even my own father! It is an oath. May
it be recorded, should that record be used
as my sentence of death?”

Having made this harsh and impious
vow, the effect of over-excitement, Ltorea
considerable portion of the earth from the
grave, and, folding it In my handkerchief,
1 knotted it securely, and placed it round
my heart next to my skin, like those belts
that are worn by Roman Catholics as in-
struments of penance.

With a wish for something very like the
shedding of blood in my heart, and with
a fervent prayer in my imagination and
on my lips, I left Mrs. Cherfeuil’s humble
grave, and joined my companion.

In one little half-hour, I found my belt
of vengeance so cold and so inconvenient,
that I heartily wished I was well rid of it: it
is a miserable confession, asad falling off in
my heroics; but the oath that I had volun-
tarily and so solemnly taken prevented me
from ridding myself of the disgusting in-
cumbrance. :

According to the account of my com-
panion, all was smiles, and happiness, and
sunshine, around Mrs. Cherfeuil; when a
person made his appearance, by the de-
scription of whom I at once recognised that
fiend, Daunton. Domestic happiness then
ceased for the poor lady; rumours of the
worst nature got abroad; her little French
husband instead of being, as for twelve
years beforerhe had been, her shadow, her
slave, and her admirer, became outrageous
and cruel, and after the horrid word bigamy
had been launched against her, she never
after held up her head.

She sickened and died. Nor did Daunton
succeed in his plans of extorting moncy—
but his scheme was infinitely more deep
and more hellish. He had, but not tell
after her death, declared himself to be her
son. This, instead of having any effect
upon the outraged widower, only made
him more eager to drive the impostor from
his presence; and, the opportunity offering
itself to leave the spot now SO hateful to
him, and the country that had sheltered
him, and in which he had grown so rich,
he availed himself of it eagerly. This
account did not aggravate my implacable
feelings against this Daunton, for my hate
was beyond the capability of increase. :

After hearing all that the little wench
had to discover, and rewarding her, I pro-
ceeded alone to wander over the spots that
were once so dear to me. In this melan-
choly occupation, when the cold mists of
the early evening fell, | continued heaping
regret upon regret, until a more miserable

   

 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
 
  
  

being, short of being impelled to suicide,
could not have trod the earth. About five
it began to grow dark ; and, weary both in
mind and body, I commenced climbing the
long hill that was the boundary of the com-
mon, on my return to London.

On the Surrey side of the hill, for its
apex separated it from another county, the
descent was more precipitous—so much so,
that it is now wholly disused as a road for
carriages; and not only was it precipitous,
but excessively contorted, the bends some-
times running at right angles ,with each
other. High banks, clothed with imper-
vious hedges, and shadowed by tall trees,
made the road both dank and dark; and,
at the time that I was passing, or, rather,
turning round one of the elbows of this
descent, a sturdy fellow, with a heavy
cudgel, followed at some distance by a
much smaller man, accosted me in a rude
tone of voice, by bawling out, —

‘‘T say, you sir, what's o'clock?”

‘‘Go about your business, and let me

pass.”
“Take that for your civility !’’—and
with a severe blow with his stick he laid
me prostrate. I Was not stunned, but felt
very sick, and altogether incapable of
rising. . Inj this state I determined to
feign stupefaction, so I nearly closed my
eyes, and lay perfectly still. The huge
vagabond then placed his knee upon my
chest, and called out to his companion, —

‘7 say, Mister, come and see if this here
chap’s the right un.”

The person called to came up; and
immediately after, through my eyelashes,
I beheld the diabolical white face of
Daunton. It was so dark that, to recog-
nise me, he was obliged to place his
countenance so close to mine that his hot
breath burned against my cheek. He was
in a passion of terror, and trembled as if in
an access of ague.

‘Tt is,” said he, whilst his teeth chattered.
‘Ts he stunned ?”’

«Mister, now I take that as an insult.
D'ye think that John Gowles need strike
such a strip of a thing as that ere twice?”

‘ Hush !—how very, very cold it is!
Where is your knife? Will you do it ee

“Most sartainzy not. There-—he's at
your merecy—I never committed murder
yet—no, no, must think of my precious
soul. A bargain’s a bargain—my part on't
is done.”

‘“Gowles, don’t tall so loud: ly cant
bear the sight of blood—and, oh God!
of this blood—it would spurt upon my
hand. Strike him again over the head---
he breathes heavily—strike him a

‘(No,” said the confederate, sullenly.

“eee:182 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

‘Tell ye—u'll have neither art nor part in
this ere murder.”

During this very interesting conference, I
was rallying all my energies for one: des-
perate effort, intending, however, to wait
for the uplifted knife. to grasp it, in order
that I might turn the weapon against the
breast of one assassin, and then use it as a
defence against the other.

“Would to God,” said the villain, adding
blasphemy to concerted murder—‘‘w ould
to God that my hand was spared this task !
Give me the knife now. Where shall I
strike him?—I have no strength to drive
it into him far,”

“Tell ye, Mister, u'll have nought to do
with the murder—but u'd advise thee to
bare his neck, and thrust in the point just
under his right ear.

“Hush! Will it bleed much?”
a NO ie
“ Florrible !—horrible! Do you t hink

the story about Cain and Abel is true ?’
‘As God is in heaven !’

“Can't it be done without blood?”

“T’ll have nothing to do with the murder.
But, Mister, if so be as you are so craven-
hearted, take your small popper, and send
a ball right into his heart. It is a gentle-
man's death, and will make the prettiest
small hole imaginable, and bleed none to
signify. But, mind ye, this ere murder’s
all your own.”

At this critical moment, as I was inhaling
a strong breath, in order to invigorate my
frame for instant exertion, I heard two or
three voices in the distance carolling out,
in a sort of disjointed chorus,—

“ Many droll sights I’ve seen,
But I wish the Wars Were over.”

‘« Now or never,” said Joshua, producing
and cocking his pistol. I leaped upon my
legs in an instant, and, seizing the weapon,
which was a small tool, manufactured for a
gentleman’s pocket, by the barrel with my
left hand, and this amiable specimen of
fraternity by the right, the strugele of an
instant ensued. ‘he muzzle of the pistol
was close against my breast when my ad-
versary discharged it. I felt the sharp
hard knock of the ball upon my chest, and
the percussion for the moment took away
my breath, but my hold upon the villain’s
throat was unrelaxed. The gurgling of
suffocation became audible to his brutal
companion.

‘‘Ods sneckens!" said the brute, ‘‘ but
this ere murdered man is throttling my
Mister in his death-throe.”

Down at once came his tremendous cud-
gelupon myarm. I released my grip, and
again fell to the earth,

‘‘He’s adead man,” said Gowles; ‘run
for your life! Mind, Mister, I had neither
art nor part in this ere :

And they were almost immediately out of
sight and out of hearing.

"At. the report of the pistol the jolly
choristers struck up prestissimo with their
feet. They were standing round me just
as the retreating feet of my assassins had
ceased to resound in the stillness of the
darkness.

“A voice,” which I ney knew
to be that of my old adversary, the masters
mate, Pigtop, accosted me.

“ Holloa, shipmate !—fallen foul of a
pirate mayhap—haven't slipped your wind,
ha ye, messmate 2?”

Ae but I believe my arm’s broken,
and I have a pistol-ball between my ribs.”

‘Which way did the lubbers sheer off?
Shall we clap on sail, and give chase ?’

= liis-or no; use 1 know one of them
well. ‘They shall not escape me.”

“Why, I know that voice. Yes—no—
damn me—It must be Ralph Rattlin—it
bean't, sure—and here on his beam ends,
a shot in his hull, and one of his spars
shattered. I'd sooner have had my grog
watered all my life than this should have
fallen out.”’

“You have not had your grog watered
this evening, Pigtop,”’ said I, rising, assisted
by himself and his comrades. +: lovdonit
feel much hurt, after all.”

‘“True, true, shipmate.
clap a stopper over all. Small shot in the
chest are bad messmates. We must make
a tourniquet of my skysail here.’

So, without heeding my cries of pain, he
passed his handkerchief round my breast;
and by the means of twisting his walking-
stick in the knot, he hove it so tight, that
he not only stopped all effusion of blood,
but almost ail my efforts at breathing. My
left hand still held the discharged pistol,
which I gave into the custody of Pigtop.
Upon farther examination, I found that
there was no fracture of the bone of my
arm; and that, all things considered, I
could walk tolerably well. However, I
still felt a violent pain in my chest, at-
tended with difficulty of breathing, at the
least accelerated pace.

 

But we mustRATTLIN,

CHAPTER LXV.

Ralph appears before a magistrate, and proves to be
more frightened than hurt, though frightened as little
as averitable hero should be—A great dval of fuss
about a little dust, not kicked up, but finally laid
down.

WE got on, nevertheless, Pigtop shaking
his head very dolefully, whenever I paused
to recover breath.

We entered the first house that we came
to: that of an agricultural labourer. We
told our adventure, and the good man
immediately proceeded to acquaint the
patrol and the constable. I was anxious
to examine the nature of my wound, to
which my old messmate would not listen
for a moment. He was particularly sorry
that he saw no biood, from which symptom
he argued the worst—looking upon me as
a dead man, being certain that I was bleed-
ing inwardly.

I decided for a post-chaise, that I might
hasten to town and make my depositions;
for | was determined to let loose the hounds
of the law after my dastardly enemies, with-
out the loss of amoment. The chaise was
soon procured ; and much to the satisfac-
tion of Pigtop, we drove directly to Bow
Street—the good fellow having a firm per-
suasion that the moment his made-shift
tourniquet was withdrawn, Ishould breathe
my last. I had no such direful apprehen-
sions.

When we arrived at the office, the worthy
magistrate was on the point of retiring.
The clatter of the chaise driving rapidly
up to the door, and the exaggerated report
of the post-boy, heralded us in with some
éclat. ‘The magistrate, when he had heard
that it was a case of murder, very well dis-
guised his regret at the postponement of
his dinner.

Mr. Pigtop insisted upon supporting
me, although I could walk very Wea
quite as well as himself, considering his
potations : and insisted upon speaking.
He was one of the old school of seamen,
and could not talk out of his profession.
Accordingly he was first sworn. We will
give the commencement of his deposition
verbatim, as he is one of a class that is
fast disappearing from the face of the
waters.

‘Tf you please, your worship, I and my
two consorts that are lying#o in my wake,
after having taken in our wood and water at
Woolwich, we braced up sharp, bound for
London.”

“What do you mean by your wood and
water?” said the magistrate.

“Our bub and grub-—Here's a magistrate

THE REEFER.

  

153

for you! (aside to me)—your worship down
to our bearings. So, as Bill here said, as
how we were working Tom Coxe's traverse
—your worship knows what that means,
well enough.”

‘« Indeed, sir, I don't.”

“Tt's the course the lawyers will take
when they make sail for heaven. I can
see, in the twinkling of a purser’s dip, that
your worship is no lawyer.”

‘« This, sir, is the first time that any one
has had the impertinence to tell me Soh,

‘‘Well, well, no offence, I hope, your
worship ?—there is no accounting for taste,
as the monkey said when he saw the cat pitch
into the tar barrel;’’ and then the worthy
witness embarked into a very irrelevant
digression about land-sharks. The magis-
trate, however, was patient and sensible,
and at length overcame the great difficulty
arising from his never having been to sea,
and Pigtop never having been to law.

His deposition, having been translated
into the vulgar tongue, out of nautical
mysticisms, was duly sworn to; yet not
without an interruption when the magis-
trate heard that it was supposed that I
had the pistol-ball still somewhere in my
body—he wishing me to be examined by
a surgeon immediately. Mr. Pigtop was
opposed to this, lest I should die upon
the spot; but I gave the magistrate more
satisfaction by telling him I had good
reason to suppose that the ball had not
penetrated deeply.

I was the last examined; and I almost
electrified Pigtop when I deposed that I
knew well the person of my murderous as-
saulter, and that it was Joshua Daunton.

At this announcement, my quondam
messmate slapped his hand upon his knee
with a violence that echoed through the
court—grinned—then looked profoundly
serious; but made me very thankful by
holding his peace, and shaking his head
most awfully. When I proceeded to give
a very accurate description of this wretch’s
person, looks of understanding passed be-
tween three or four of the principal runners,
who were attentively listening to the pro-
ceedings. When this business was con-
cluded, the magistrate said to me, alive
young man who has committed this out-
rage upon your person, we have strong
reason to believe, is amenable to the laws
for other crimes. He has eluded our most
active officers; and it was supposed that
he had left the kingdom. It appears now
that he hasreturned. You have had a most
providential escape. This pistol will give
us a good clue. There is no dcubt but
that shortly we shall be able to g.ve a 4scod
account of him. Let me now advise you,T54 RATEEIN, BE REE

Mr. Rattlin, to have your hurt examined.
Come into my private room; a surgeon
will be here in an instant.”’

Pigtop and I were then ushered into a
room on one side of the office. I looked
extremely foolish—almost, in fact, as con-
fused as if I had been charged with an
offence. The surgeon soon made his appear-
ance ; but, in the short interval, the magis-
trate had begun to thrust home with his
questions as to who I was, what were my
intentions, and the probable motives of
Daunton’s attempt on my life. All these
I parried as well I could, without letting
him know anything of the supposed con-
sanguinity between myself and the culprit ;
his motive I accounted for, as revenge for
some real or imaginary insult inflicted by
me when we were on board the Los.

Upon my persisting to refuse, for some
time, to strip, that the wound might be
examined, the magistrate began to look
grave, and the surgeon hinted that it was,
perhaps, as well not to seek for what was
not to befound. The dread of being looked
upon as an impostor overcame my shame
at the expose of my romantic weakness.
Poor Pigtop had alarms upon totally other
grounds. He watched with painful anxiety
the unwinding of his tourniquet, ready to
receive me dying into hisarms. His sur-
prise was greater, I fear me, than his joy,
when he discovered no signs of bleeding
when his handkerchief was removed.

‘‘What, in the name of pharmacy, is
this?” said the surgeon, detaching my
belt of earth; ‘‘but here is the ball, how-
ever—it has more than broken the skin;
and there has been a good deal of blood
extravasated, but it has been absorbed by
the mould in this handkerchief. By what-
ever means this singular bandage was placed
where I found it, you may depend upon it,
young gentleman, that it has saved your
life: %

‘‘T presume, Mr. Ratilin, you are a
Catholic ?”’ said the magistrate, ‘‘ and
that you have been a very naughty boy: if
so, the penance that your confessor has
enjoined you has been miraculously pro-
vidential, and I shall think better of pen-
ances for the rest of my life.”’

The lie so temptingly offered for my
adoption, I was about to make use of.
But when I reflected from whence I had
collected that sacred earth, I dared not
profane it by a falsehood. So, with a
faltering voice, and my eyes filling with
tears, I told the magisirate the truth.

‘“My young friend,” said he, ‘‘ these
superstitious fancies and acts are best
omitted. Iam sure that you do not need
this earth to remember your mother, Be-

sides, it must be prejudicial to your health
to carry it about your person, to say nothing
of the singularity of the deed. ‘Take my
advice, and convey it carefully to the nearest
consecrated ground, and there reverently
deposit it. We will preserve this ball,
with the pistol; and now let Mr. Ankins
dress your slight wound. We must see
you well through this affair, and the Ad-
miralty must prolong your leave of absence,
if it be necessary. J should wish to know
more of you as a private individual-——_there
is my card. You are a very good lad for
honouring your mother. Fare ye well.”

With many compliments from the sur-
geon also, and a roller or two of cotton
round my chest, we mutually took leave of
each other; the gentleman very considerately
refusing the guinea that I tendered him.

Having discharged the post-chaise, Mr.
Pigtop, his two companions, and myself,
left the office—I bearing in my hand the
handkerchief nearly filled with mould.
What did I do with it—saturated as it was
with my blood, and owing as I did my life
to it? Perhaps, sweet and gentle lady, you
think that I preserved it in a costly vase,
over which I might weep, or had it made up
by some fair hands systematically in a silken
belt, and still wore it next my heart, or, at
least, that I placed it in a china flower-vase,
and planted a rose-tree therein, which I
watered daily by my tears. Alas! for the
lovers of the romantic, I did none of these.
I told you before all my incidents turn out
mere matter-of-fact affairs. Like a good
boy, I did as the magistrate bade me. As
I passed by St. Paul’s, Covent Garden, I
turned into the churchyard; and with a
silent prayer for the departed, and asking
pardon of God for the profanation of which
I had been guilty, I poured out the whole
of the dust, with reverence, on a secluded
spot, and then returned and joined my
companions.

‘Taking leave of them shortly after, I
repaired to the White Horse in Fetter
Lane, and eating a light supper, retired
to bed early, and thus finished this very
memorable day.

On the day succeeding, I found my arm
so much swollen, and myself altogether so
ill, that I kept my bed. I need not men-
tion that the same surgeon attended me.
I took this opportunity of furnishing my-
self with a few necessaries and a carpet-
bag; so I was now no longer the gentle-
man without any luggage.

On the third day of my confinement to
the house, sitting alone in the deserted
coffee-room, chewing the cud of my bitter
fancies, Mr. Pigtop made his appearance.
Though I knew the man to be thoroughlyRATTLIN, THE REEFER.

selfish, I believed him to have that dog-
ged sort of honesty not uncommon to very
vulgar minds. As, just then, any society
was welcome, I received his condolements
very graciously, and requested his company
to dinner. My invitation was gladly ac-
cepted; and he occupied the time pre-
viously to that repast in giving me a history
of his life. It was a very common. one:
He was the son of a warrant officer. He
was but all born on board a man-of-war.
At the age of fifteen he got his rating asa
midshipman, and then rose to be a master's
mate. ‘There his promotion ceased, and, to
all appearances, for ever. He had been
already twenty-five years in the service, and
was turned forty.

Never having had anything beyond his
pay, his life had been one of ceaseless pri-
vation and discontent. He had now nearty
spent all his money, and had omitted to
make those reparations in his wardrobe,
rendered so necessary by the malignity of
Joshua Daunton. He wished to leave the
service, and be anything rather than what
he had been. He had no relations living,
and positively no friends. His prospects
were most disconsolate, and his wretched-
ness seemed very great. However, he
found considerable relief in unburthening
himself to me.

After our frugal dinner of rump steaks,
and our one bottle of port, he returned to
the subject of the morning, by asking my
advice as to his future conduct.

‘‘Nay, Pigtop,’ I. replied, ‘‘you should
not ask me. You are much more capable
of judging for yourself—you, who have been
so much longer in the world than I.”

‘There you are out of your reckoning.
I have lived more than twice your years,
and have never been in the world at all
On shore, I'm like a pig afloat ina washing-
tub. What would you advise me to do?”

“You have no relations or friends to
assist you?”

The mournful shake of his head was
eloquently negative. ;

‘“And yet you will not resume that life
for which alone you were educated?”

«T will not, and I cannot.” = -

“Well, you must either go on the
highway, or marry a fortune.’’

‘Took at this figure-head—lock at this
scar. No—no one ‘will ever splice with
such an old ravelled-out rope-yarn as
Andrew Pigtop. The road is no longer
a gentlemanly profession. I intend to be
a servant.”

“You, Pigtop!—begging your pardon,
who the devil would be encumbered with

ou?”

“You, I hope—no, don’t laugh; 1 know

155

you to be a gentleman born, and that you
have a hundred a-year. By hints that I
have picked up, I believe when you come
of age, and that all is done right by you,
that you'll have thousands. We have one
view in common—to hang that rogue,
Daunton. I certainly do not wish to put
on your livery without you insist upon it.
Call me your secretary, or anything you
tike—only let me be near you—your servant
and your friend.”

I saw the poor fellow’s eye glisten, and
his weather-worn features quiver. I looked
upon his worn and shabby uniform, and
reflected upon his long and unrequited
services. Venerate him I knew that I never
could; but I already pitied him exceed-
ingly. I resolved, at least, to assist him,
and to keep him near me for some time.

‘Well, ‘Pigtop,’ I at length said,; (af
you would be faithful——"

‘“To the backbone—to the shedding of
my blood. Stand by.me now in my distress :
and while I have either soul or body, I will
peril them for your safety.”

‘‘Pigtop, I believe you. Say no more
about it. I engage you as my travelling
tutor, and I will pay you your salary when
I come of age—that is, if lam able. Now,
what money have you?”

“Three pounds, fifteen shillings, and
sevenpence-halfpenny. Not enough to take
me down to the guard-ship, when I have
paid my bill at the tavern.”

“Then, my good fellow, go and pay it
immediately, and come back with all pos-
sible speed.’’ ‘The prompt obedience that
he gave to my first order argued well for
his attention.

On his return, I addressed him seriously
to this effect ; ‘‘ My friend, you shall share
with me to the last shilling; but, believe
me, my position is as dangerous as it is
unnatural. It is full of difficulty, and re-
quires not only conduct, but courage.
have a parent that either dares not, or from
some sinister motive will not, own me ; and
I fear me much that I have a half-brother
that I know is pursuing me with the assas-
sin’s knife, whilst 1am pursuing him with
the vengeance of the law. Itis either the
death of the hunted dog for me, or of the
felon'é scaffold for bim... The, event is am
the hand of God. We must be vigilant, for
my peril is great. My implacable enemy is
leagued with some of the worst miscreants
of this vast resort of villany; he knows all
the labyrinths of this Babel of iniquity ;
and the fraternal steel may be in my bosom
even amidst the hum of multitudes. That
man has a strong motive for my death, and
to personify me afterwards. Already has
he stolen my vouchers and my certificates.156 RATTILIN, THE REEFER,

The mystery to me appears almost inscru-
table ; but his inducements to destroy me
are obvious enough. I think that I am
tolerably safe here, though I am equally
sure that Iam watched. Here is money.
Go now, and purchase two brace of service-
able pistols and a couple of stout sword-
canes. We will be prepared for the worst.
Of course you will sleep here, and hereafter
always take up your abode in whatever
place I may be. As you return, you must
find, in some quiet street, an unobtrusive
tailor—he must not have a shop—bring
him with you. I must put you in livery,
after all.”

‘‘Why, ifso be you must, I suppose you
must—lI'm off.”’

Pigtop did his commissions well. He
returned with the arms, and the tailor.
‘‘T hope,’ said he, ‘‘you won't want ‘me
to wear this livery long?”

‘Not long, I hope. My friend,”’ said I,
addressing the man of measures, ‘this
gentleman, lately in the navy, has had
recently a very serious turn. He is pro-
foundly repentant of the wickedness of his
past life—he has had a call—he has listened
to it. It is not unlikely that he may shortly
take out a licence to preach. Make him
a suit of sad-coloured clothes, not cut out
after the vanities of the world. Your own
would not serve for a bad model. You go
to meeting, I presume?”’

‘‘T have received grace—I eschew the
steeple house—I receive the blessed crumbs
of the word that fall from the lips of that
light of salvation, the Reverend Mr. Oba-
diah Longspinner.”

“A holy and a good man, doubtless;
would that we were all like him! But our
time will come—yes, our time will come.
As is the outward man of the Reverend Mr.
Obadiah Longspinner, so would my friend
have his outward man—verily, and his in-
ward also—improved unto sanctity.”

The devout tailor snuffled out ‘‘ Amen,”
and did his office. Whilst Pigtop’s clothes
were preparing, he was not idle. He pro-
cured all the requisites for travelling, and I
sent him ona fruitless mission to discover
the residence of the Brandons. He was
told by the neighbours that, a year back,
they had all emigrated to Canada. Every-
thing seemed to favour the machinations of
my enemy, and to prevent my gaining any
clue by which to trace him out, or the ob-
ject of my search. However, I had one
chance left—an interview with the superb
Mrs. Causand, that lady that Joshua had
so kindly bestowed upon me for a mother.

In three days behold us in private lodg-
ings, the Reverend Mr. Pigtop looking as
sour as any canting methodist in Barebones’

   
   
 
   
   
 
 
  
    
  
   
   
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 

parliament, and quite reconciled to the
singularly starch figure that he presented.
There was certainly a sad discrepancy
between his dress and his discourse. How-
ever, it was a good travelling disguise, and
very serviceable to a petty officer breaking
his leave of absence.

With my health perfectly recovered,
dressed with the greatest precision, and
with a beating heart, I went to call upon
Mrs. Causand. On her all my hopes
rested. I knew that, as a schoolboy, she
was extremely fond of me, and I really
loved her as much as I admired her.

I had never before visited her, and was
consequently totally ignorant of the style
in which she lived. I found the house
which she inhabited, for I always carefully
preserved her address, to be one of those
which faced Hyde Park. I was rather
chilled as I observed its quiet aristocratic
appearance. ‘The porter told me, that if I
would walk into the adjoining parlour, and
favour him with my name, he would go up
immediately she was alone and announce
me.

CHAPTER LXVI.

Ralph, finding himself in pleasant pace prepareth a
love-speech, which is not uttered in this chapter—
Ralph describeth only.

IN about five minutes the servant returned,
bowed, and led the way. He stepped up
quietly and slowly. There was an awe in
his deportment that chilled me. He opened
the door of the drawing-room with extreme
caution and gentleness, bowed, and closed
it upon me. As I stood near the threshold,
the last low tones of some plaintive and
soothing melody, sung ina tone much more
subdued than that of common conversation,
died faintly away to the vibrating of a chord
of the harp; and a youthful figure, bathed
in a misty light from the window recess,
rose, and moving silently across the room,
without once casting her eyes upon myself,
disappeared through a door parallel to the
one by which I had entered.

Whilst I remain in the darker portion of
this saloon, it is necessary for me to describe
it. I could not have imagined such a com-
bination of taste and luxury. At first, I
was almost overpowered by the too genial
warmth of the apartment, and the aromatic
and rose-imbued odours that filled it. I
trod on, and my step sank into, a yieldingcarpet, that seemed to be elastic under my
feet, and which glowed with a thousand
never-fading, though mimic flowers. The
apartment was not crowded, though I saw
candelabra, vases, and side tables of the
purest marble, supported upon massive gilt
pedestals. In all this there was nothing
singular—it was the work of the uphol-
sterer ; but the beautiful arrangement was
the work of a presiding taste.

At the farther end of this superb room,
stood two fluted and gilded pilasters, and
two pillars of the Corinthian order, the
capitals of which reached the ceiling : but
they were not equidistant from each other,
the space from the pilaster to the pillar, on
either side, being much less than that be-
tween the two pillars. Between the two
former there were placed statues of the
purest marble; what fabled god or goddess
they were sculptured to represent [ know
not; I only felt that they personified male
and female beauty. I was too agitated to
permit myself to notice them accurately.
Between this screen of pillars and statues,
hung two distinct sets of drapery, the one
of massive and crimson silk curtains, en-
tirely opaque by their richness and their
weight of texture, that drew up and aside
with golden cords; the other of a muslin
almost.transparent, how managed I had no
time to examine.

When the draperies fell in their gorgeous
and graceful folds to the ground, they made
of the saloon two parts, and the division
that embraced the windows had then all
the privacy of asecluded apartment. When
the curtains were let fall, thus intercepting
the light from the bayed windows, there
was still sufficient from the three sash-
windows on the left of this large apart-
ment to give splendour to what would then
become the inner room.

The heavy draperies that hung between
the pillars were drawn up, but the light
muslin was dropped even with the rich
Turkey carpet, through which I caught but
a dim and glowing view of the recess. It
was, as nearly as I can recollect, about
three o'clock in the afternoon; and the
sun, just dallying with the tops of the trees
in the distant Kensington Gardens, sent his
level beams directly through the large win-
dows, and the orange-trees and exotics that
were placed about them.

I advanced to thescreen ; and when close
upon it, I perceived the figure, though but
faintly, of Mrs. Causand, reclining upon-a
couch. I paused—I do not think, on ac-
count of the distribution of the light, that
she could have seen me through the veil
that intervened between us. I dared not
break through it without a summons ; and

RARPLING LHE REBNER.

     
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
    

157

there I stood, for two unpleasant minutes,
endeavouring to imagine of what nature
my reception would be; and whether a
lady surrounded by so much magnificence
would listen to the appeal of her former
pet-playfellow.

At this time, it was the fashion, in full
dress, to show the whole of the arm bare
to the shoulder. At length, from out of the
mass of rich shawls, there was lifted the white,
rounded, exquisitively-shaped, though some-
what large, arm of the lady, beckoning me
to enter ; but sound there wasnone. ‘‘She
is delighted to play the empress,” said I, as
I pushed aside the curtain, and stood before
her in her odoriferous sanctum.

Verily, in the pride of her beauty, she
never looked more beautiful. She was in
full dress—and, as I surveyed her in mule
admiration, and my mind was busy at once
with the past and the present, I pronounced
her improved since I had last seen her; for
I could perceive no difference in her counte-
nance, except that her rounded and classic
cheek glowed with a ruddier hue, and her
eye sparkled with a more restless fire.

I stood before her at the foot of the
couch, and my heart confessed that the
perfection of womanly beauty lay beneath
my wandering eyes, but a beauty which, if
in smiles, would rather madden with
voluptuousness, than subdue with tender-
ness, and, if in repose, seemed to command
worship, more than solicit affection.

As Istood mutely there, I looked into her
regal countenance for some encouragement
to speak—I saw none. I then strove to
read there the sentiment then passing in her
mind, and to my confusion, to my dismay,
it seemed to me that she was endeavouring
to conquer in her countenance the expression
of pain. I watched intently—I was not
deceived—a sudden convulsion passed over
her features, succeeded by the paleness of
an instant, and then a gush of tears—I was
moved, almost to weeping, yet dared not
advance. Her tears were hurried off in-
stantly; and then again her dear smile of
former days sunned up her countenance
into something heavenly.

CHAPTER LXVII.

Ralph beginneth a conversation totally beyond his com-
prehension, and yet comprehendeth more than the
conversation is meant to convey—He feeleth some
inclination towards love-making, but checketh himself
valiantly.

“My own brave Ralph,”

ing to me both her hands.

said she, extend-158 RATILIN,

‘Your schoolboy lover,” said I: an
immense weight of anxiety removed from
my mind, as I kissed her jewelled fingers.

‘“Hush, Ralph! such words are vanities
—but ask me not why? Oh, my dear boy,
make the most of this visit——”’

‘«T will, I will—how beautiful you are!
how very, very beautiful !’’

‘Am I?—I rejoice to hear you say so!
Ralph, speak to me as my own devoted, my
more than loved friend—by all the affection
that I have lavished on you, speak to me
truly ; do you, dearest Ralph, see no alter-
ation in me?”’

“A little,” said I, smiling triumphantly,
“a very little, for there was never room for
much—you are a little more beautiful than
when I last beheld you.”

“Thank you—you have given me more
happiness by the fervent honesty of that
speech than I have experienced for days
and weeks, nay, months before. Stand
from me, and let me look at you—you,
Ralph, are also much, very much improved
—perhaps there is a little too much cast of
thought upon your brow—that thought is
a sad wrinkle maker—but, Ralph, you are
not well dressed. But come and sit by me
now there, on that low footstool. I always
loved to play thus with your pretty curls—
I wish' that they were a shade darker ; as
you have grown so manly, it would have
been as well. ‘Truly, as I look into the
ingenuous brightness of your countenance,
the joys of past happy hours seem to wing
themselves back, and whisper to me that
word so little understood—Happiness. But,
Ralph, we will be alone together for this
day at least—you shall dine with me here —
we will have no interruption—you shall tell
me all your deeds of arms—and, you
naughty boy, of love also. Reach that
bell, and ring it—but gently.”

I obeyed, and the same handsome young
lady, whom I had before seen, answered the
silver summons. She glided in, and stooped
over to Mrs. Causand, as she lay on the
couch, and their short conference was in
whispers. As she retired, I was rather
puzzled by the deep sorrow on her counte-
nance, and the unfeigned look of pity with
which she regarded her mistress or her
friend. When we were again alone, I re-
sumed my low seat, and was growing rather
passionate over one of her beautiful hands,
when, looking down, apparently much
pleased with these silly endearments, she
said, ‘‘Yes, Ralph, make the most of it:
hand and heart, all, all are yours, for the
little space that they will be mine.’’

Strange and disloyal thoughts began their
turmoil in my bosom; and speculation was
busy, and prospects of vanity began to

 

 

LHE REEFER,

dance before my eyes. Old enough to be
my mother! What then? Mother! the
thought brought with it the black train of
ideas of which Daunton was the demoniac
leader. He had asserted that the superb
woman before me might claim from me the
affection of a son. I then felt most strongly
that I was not there to play any ridiculous
part.

The protestations that I was about to
utter died on my lips—I spake not, but
pressed the hand that I held to my heart.

‘Now, Ralph,” said Mrs. Causand,
‘‘relate to me all the wonders that you
have encountered—speak lowly ’’—and she
threw a white and very thin handkerchief
over her face.

‘But, my dear madam, why may I not
gaze upon a countenance that you know is
very dear to me?_ And this setting sun—
how glorious! Do you know that, at his
rising and his setting, I have often thought
of you? Pray come to the window, and
look upon it before it is quite hid among
the trees.”

“ Ralph, by all the love that I-bore your
mother, by the affection that I bear to you,
do not talk to me of setting suns! I dread
to look upon them. You ask me to rise—
oh, son of my best friend—know, that I can-
not—without assistance—without danger—
Iam on my sick couch—on my dying bed
—they tell me—me—me, whom you just
now so praised for improved beauty, that
my days are numbered—but, I believe them
not—no—no—no—but — hush, softly !—I
may not agitate myself—you, my sweet
boy, have surely come to me the blessed
messenger of health—your finger shall turn
back the hand upon the dial, and years,
whole years of happiness, shall be yours
and mine.”

‘‘Inscrutable Ruler of heaven!” I ex-
claimed, ‘‘it is impossible! You are but
trying my affection—you do but wish to
witness’ the depth of my agony—you
would prove me—but this is with a torture
too cruel. Say—oh say—my dear Mrs,
Causand, that you are trifling with me—
you—you are now the only friend that I
have upon earth.”

“These emotions, my dear boy, will
slay me outright—the monster is now, even
now, grappling with me—give me your
hand.” She took it, and placed it over
the region of her heart. ‘The shock it
gave me was electric—that heart trembled
beneath her bosom rapidly as flutter the
wings of the dying bird—then paused—
then went: on.» I looked into her face,
and saw again the instant and momentary
pallor, that had surprised me so much on
my first entrance, The paroxysm was asshort as it was violent, and her features
again returned to their usual placidity of
majestic beauty.

“You know it all now, Ralph—the least
motion sets my heart in this unaccountable
fury—and—alas, alas! every attack is more
acute than the last. hey tell me that I
am dying—I cannot believe it. I cannot
even comprehend it. I have none of the
symptoms of death upon me. Everything
around me breathes of health and happi-
ness—you alone were wanting to complete
the scene—you are here—no—no, I will
not die. Had my hair whitened, my form
bowed, my complexion withered—why then
—I might have been reconciled—but, no
—it is impossible—no—-no—Ralph, I am
not dying.”

‘‘Fervently do I pray God that you are
not. It alsoseems to me impossible—but
still, the youngest of us cannot always
escape—hoping, trusting, relying on the
best, we should be prepared for the worst.”

“But Lam not prepared,” she exclaimed,
with a fierce energy that breathed defiance;
and then, relapsing into a profound melan-
choly, she mournfully continued—" and I
cannot prepare myself.”

“Haye you spoken to a clergyman?”
said I, not knowing exactly what else to
say. ‘‘Is not this some book of divine
consolation ?’’.,

I took it ftp; it was the popular novel
of the day, entitled, ‘‘ The Rising Sun.”
What a profound mockery for a death-
bed!

“Ttell you, my dear Ralph, that you
must not agitate me. Talk of anything
but my approaching death—for know, that
I am resolved zof to die. To-morrow there
will be a consultation over my case of the
very first of the medical faculty in the
world. Ralph, do you not league together
with the rest of the world, and condemn
me to an untimely death.”

‘Untimely, indeed.”

She had now evidently talked too much;
she closed her eyes, and seemed to enjoy 4
peaceful and refreshing slumber. I sat by
and watched her. Was I then in a sick
chamber?—was _ that personification of
beauty doomed? I looked round, and
pronounced it incredible. I gazed upon
the recumbent figure before me, so still, so
living, and yet so death-like—and moral-
ized upon the utter deception of appeat-
ances.

At length she awoke, apparently much
reanimated.

«My dear Ralph,” said she, ‘why are
you not in mourning?”

“JT understand you—and I perceive now
that you are in black. But I must not

RATTLIN, THE REEFER. T59

disturb you—yet, if I dared, I would ask
you one question—oh,in:jpity answer it—
was she my mother?’

“Does death absolve us from our
oaths 2”

‘‘T am not, dear lady, casuist enough
to answer you that question. But, do you
know that I have become a desperate cha-
racter lately? I write myself man, and
will prove the authenticity of the signature
with my life. I have renounced my pro-
fession—every pursuit, every calling, every
thought—that may stand between me and
the development of the mystery of my
birth. It is the sole purpose of my life—
the whole devotion of my existence.”

‘‘ Ralph—a foolish one—just now. Bide
the course of events.”

“T will not—if I can control them.
Through this detestable mystery, I have
been insulted, reviled—a wretch has had
the hardihood, the turpitude, to brand both
you and me—ime as the base-born child,
and you as the ignominious parent.”

“Who, who, who?”

‘A pale-faced, handsome, short, smooth-
worded villain, with a voice that I now
recognise for the first time—a coward—a
swindler, that calls himself, undoubtedly
among other aliases a

“Stop, Ralph, in misery!” and, for the
first time, she sat upright on her couch.
“The crisis of a whole life is at hand—l
must go through it, if I die on the spot—
ring again for Miss ‘Tremayne.”

The gentle and quiet lady was soon at
Mrs, Causand’s side. There was a little
whispering passed between them, some
medicines put on the small work-table near
the head of the couch, and, finally, a
tolerably large packet of papers. She then
cautioned Mrs. Causand most emphatically
to keep herself tranquil, and, bowing to
me slightly, glided out of the room.

 

CHAPTER LXVIII.

The veil is fast dropping from before Ralph's mysterious
parentage—Strange ¢ isclosures, and much good evi-
dence that this 1s a very bad world—Ralph’s love
symptoms are fast subsiding.

“RALPH,” said the lady, when we were
again alone, “T have, through the whole
of my life, always detested scenes, and, to
the utmost of my power, ever repelled all

Ee160 RATTIELN,
violent emotions. I am not now going to
give you a history of my life—to make my
confessions, and ask pardon of you and
God, and then die—nonsense; but I must
say that your fate has been somewhat
strangely connected with my own. [I ac-
knowledge to you, at once, that I ama
fallen woman——but, as I never had the
beauty, so I never had the repentance, of
a Magdalen. I fell to one of the greatest
upon the earth. I still think that it was a
glorious fate. I know that you are going
towound me deeply. I will take it meekly ;
may it be, in some measure, looked upon
as a small expiation for my one great error!
But, spare me, as long as you are able, the
name of this person you have described
with such bitterness—it may not, after all,
be he who has been almost the only bitter-
ness that has yet poisoned my cup of a
too pleasurable existence— tis pleasurable,
alas! until, even in this, my eleventh hour.
Tell me all, and then I shall be able to
judge how much it may be my duty to
reveal to you.”

It was a fine study, that of observing the
gradual emotion of this worldly and magni-
ficent woman, as I proceeded with my
eventful tale. I took it up only at that
period when Joshua Daunton first made his
application to me to be allowed to enter the
Eos. The beginning of my narrative fell
coldly upon her, and her features were
strung up to that tension which [ had
often before observed in persons who were
bracing up their nerves to undergo a dan-
gerous surgical operation. They were cer-
tainly not impassive, for, in the fixed eyes
that glared upon me, there was a strange
restlessness, though not of motion.

The first symptoms of emotion that I
could perceive took place when I described
the lash descending upon the shrinking
shoulders of Daunton. She clasped her
hands firmly together, and upturned her
eyes, as if imploring Heaven for mercy, or
intreating it for vengeance. I perceived, as
I proceeded, that I was gradually losing
ground in her affections—that she was, in
spite of herself, espousing the cause of my
pledged enemy; and when I told her of the
defiance that I had received in the sick
bay, she murmured forth, ‘‘ Well done!
well done!” followed by a name that was
not mine.

When I related to her the documents that
he had shown me to convince me that he
was no imposter, she said, “Ralph, it is
enough—it is of little consequence now
what name you may give him. He zs my
son!”

« And my half-brother ?”

“Oh no, no, young sir! Disgraced as

 

    

THE REE RE R.

he has been, a nobler blood than that of
Rattlin flows in his veins. Degraded, dis-
graced as he is, neither on the side of the
father nor of the mother need he blush for
his parentage. But you. are his sworn
enemy—I can now listen more calmly to
what you have to say. But, graceless as
he is, he should not have denied his own
mother.”

‘Mrs, (CausanGd.: Said. a .tone of
voice more cold than any with which I had
yet addressed her, ‘‘it seems that you have,
and that most unreasonably too, taken part
against me. In no point have I sinned
against you or yours. I have all along
been the attacked, the aggrieved party. I
will no longer offend your ears, or wring
your heart, by a recapitulation of your son's
delinquencies. He has done me much
wrong; he is contemplating more—only
place me in a situation of doing myself
justice, and silence on the past shall seal
my lips for ever; but know that he has
stolen all my documents, and intends pass-
ing himself to whomever may be my father,
as his legitimate son, as myself.”

“This must not be—foolish, mad, wicked
boy! That I, his mother, must stand up
his accuser! must act against him as his
enemy; but I have long ago discarded him
—almost cursed him. Oh, Ralph, Ralph!
had he been like you—but, from his youth
upwards, he has been inclined to wicked-
ness—no fortune could have supplied his
extravagance—he has exhausted even a
mother's love. I refused him money, and
he stole my papers—I never dreamt of the
vile use that he intended to put them to.
Spare me for a little while, and I will let
you know all; but should you once get his
neck under your heel, oh! tread lightly on
my poor William!”

She had evidently another and a most
severe attack of her complaint, which
passed rapidly over like the rest; but she
now had, for the first time within my ob-
servation, recourse to her medicines. When
sufficiently recovered, she continued :—

“Ralph, neither you nor any one shall
know my private history. It is enough for
you to understand that I was almost from
infancy, destined to associate with the
greatest of the sterner sex. arly was 1
involved in this splendid—degradation, the
austere would call it, though degradation
IT never held it to be. Even appearances
were preserved ; for, before my wretched
son was born, I was married to one of the
pages of a German court, who was sixty
years of age, and properly submissive and
distant. To the English ear, this sounds
like a confession of infamy. Let me not,
Ralph, endeavour to justify it to you—IRATTLIN,

-was taught otherwise—now, if I could, I
would not regret it. Your father, then an
only son, sometimes visited at the house
of the person over whose establishment I
presided, and—and, mark me, Ralph, in-
juriously as you must now think of me, I
presided over but one. Deride me not
when I tell that to that distinguished per-
sonage, I was chaste.”

She paused, and I thought that her voice
faltered strangely, and that the assertion
died upon her lips, and I made no reply.
I was by no means astonished at this detail.
I could only look upon her most anxiously,
and await her future disclosures.

‘‘T have,” she continued, ‘‘lived for the
world, and found it a glorious one. The
husband of my heart, and the husband of
ceremony, have long both been dead. I
enjoy a competency—nay much more—and
yet, they talk to me of dying. To-morrow
will decide upon my fate. I have lived a
good life, according to my capabilities—it
is no delusion—but, should the sentence of
{o-morrow’s consultation be fatal, then the
lawyer and the clergyman :

‘« And why not to-day 2?”

 

‘Because it is ours, Ralph, or rather,

yours. Well, your mother was of good,
though not of exalted, family, the daughter
of a considerable freeholder in our neigh-
bourhood. She was the eldest of many
children, and the most beautiful born of
all in the county. Her father sent her to
London; and she became thus, for her
station and the period, over-educated. She
foolishly preferred the fashionable, and
refined, and luxurious, service in a noble-
man’s family, to a noble independence in
her honest father’s spacious house. It was
her mistake and her ruin.

‘‘Ralph! I loved your mother — you
know it—-but, as a governess in the Duke
of E——’s family, I hated and feared her.

I don’t think that she was more beautiful
than I, but he—he whom I will never men-
tion—began to be of that opinion—at least,
I trembled. Reginald Rathelin loved her
—wooed her—I entered with eagerness
into his schemes—his success was My secu-
rity. Miss Daventry at first repulsed me;
but, at length, I overcame her repugnance
—many ladies, notwithstanding my am-
biguous position, awed by the rank of my
protector, received me—we became friends.
The beautiful governess eloped—I m anaged
everything—they were married. I was my-
self a witness of the ceremony. ”
‘Thank God !” I exclaimed fervently.”

. ‘‘ Reginald was wild and dissipated, poor
and unprincipled—he cajoled his wife, and
suffered her again to return to her menial
station in the duke’s family. In due time

  

LET Tels FOE es

  

161

there was another journey necessary. It
was when you were born at Reading. ‘A
littie while, and yet a little while,’ was the
constant plea of the now solicited husband,
‘and I will own you, my dear Elizabeth,
and boast of you before all the world.’ ”

‘“ My poor mother !”

‘About two years after this marriage, -
Sir Luke, the father of Reginald, fell ill,
and the neglect of the husband became
only something a little short of actual de-
sertion. Your mother had a proud as well
as a loving spirit. She wrote to the father
of Reginald—she interested the duke in
her favyour--she was now as anxious for
publicity as concealment ; but the expectant
heir defied us all. He confessed himself a
villain, and avowed that he had entrapped
your mother by a fictitious marriage.”

‘“And he my father !—but you, you, her
Jricnd 2”

‘‘He deceived me also. He declared
the man who pretended to perform the
marriage ceremony was not in holy orders.
He dared us to prove it. His father, bred
up in prejudice of birth and family, did not
urge the son to do justice to your mother,
but satisfied his conscience by providing
very amply for yourself: he first took
credit to himself for thus having done his
duty, then the sacrament and died.

‘Your father, now Sir Reginald, in due
time proposed for the richest heiress in the
three adjacent counties, and was rejected
with scorn. We made a strong party
against him — the seat of his ancestors
became hateful to him—he went abroad.
His princely mansion was locked up—
his estates left to the management of a
grinding steward; and the world utterly
forgot the self-created alien from his
country.”’

‘‘Then, alas! after all, I am illegiti-
mate.”

‘‘ And if you were >—but, methinks, that
you are now feeling more for yourself than
for your mother.”

‘Oh, no, no! tell me of her!”

‘After this exposé, she lived some few
years respected in the duke’s family; but
she changed her name—home to her father's
she would never go—no tidings ever reached
her of the man she looked upon as her
seducer. It must be confessed, however,
that he took great care of his child—he
appointed agents to watch over your wel-
fare, though | firmly believe that he never
saw you in his life.”

‘‘T think that he once made the attempt
when I was at Roots’ school; but, before
I was brought to him, his conscience smote
him, and he fled like a craven from his only
and injured son.”

M102

‘Most probably. Rumour said that he
had made several visits to England under
a Strict incognito. But I must pause—the
evening is fast waning—let me repose a
little, and then we will have lights and
dinner.” She fell back upon her couch,
and appeared again to slumber.

CHAPTER: LXIX.

Ralph thinks seriously about changing his name—Gets
a little unwilling justice done to himself, and gains
much information—The whole wound up suddenly
and sorrowfully.

IT was nearly dark, as I sat for more than
half an*hour by the side of the impenitent
beauty—I could not conceive that she was
in any danger. Whilst she discoursed with
me so fully, her voice'was firm, though not
loud, and, were it not for ashort and sudden
check, sometimes in the middle of a word,
I should say that I never before heard her
converse more fluently or more musically.

Whilst she yet reclined, the servants
brought in lights, and made preparations
for our little dinner, a small table being
laid close to Mrs. Causand’scouch. When
this exquisite repast was ready, and Miss
Tremayne made her appearance, Mrs.
Causand rose, apparently much renovated.
She looked almost happy: without assist-
ance, she walked from her sofa, and took
her place at the table.

‘There, Fanny, said she, quite tri-
umphantly — ‘‘and not a single attack!
This dear Ralph has surely brought health
with him. Yesterday, this exertion would
have killed me.’

‘Do not, however,’ said the lady, ‘‘try
yourself too much.”

We dined cheerfully: she seemed to have
forgotten her son, and I my much injured
mother. After the dinner was concluded,
and Miss Tremayne had retired, and my
hostess had returned to her sofa, she sent
for her writing-desk, and then proceeded
with her narrative.

‘“Your mother, my dear Ralph, yearned
for your society. She had saved a con-
siderable sum of money—she wished for a
home, to procure which, she married that
little ugly, learned Frenchman, Cherfeuil—
but even that she did not do, until it was
currently reported, and generally believed,
that your father was dead.”

  

 
 

AMIN, ere. RePe e,

‘‘T admire the delicacy of the scruple—I
honour her for it.”

‘‘Sip your wine, Ralph—you'll find it
excellent—I will indulge in one glass, let
Dr. Hewings say what he will—to your
health, my little lover, and may I soon
hail you as Sir Ralph Rathelin!”

“« How is it possible?”

‘‘VYou shall hear. We were talking about
your good mother. When she had married
this Cherfeuil, who was the I*rench assistant
at a large school, she found out the agents
to whom you were intrusted,: and soon
arranged with them that you should be
domesticated under her own roof—you were
removed to Stickenham, and she and ‘you
were happy.”

‘‘Oh, how happy!”

‘‘ Well, you know it was in: those happy
days that 1 had first the pleasure of forming
an acquaintance with the inimitable Ralph
Rattlin.”’

‘‘But why Rattlin?-—my name must be
either Daventry or Rathelin.’’

‘‘Rathelin, of a surety—it was first of
all corrupted to Rattlin, by that topmost of
all top-sawyers, Joe Brandon—it having
thus been so established, for many reasons,
concealment among the rest, your mother
thought it best for you to retain it. Now,
Ralph, mark this—about eight, or rather
seven, months ago, I took a short trip to
my native country in Germany. Never was
my health more redundant. I left your
mother prosperous and happy, and beautiful
as ever—she had heard of you, and heard
much in your favour, though you never
once condescended to write to any one
of us. Whilst I was in your father
returned, a changed man — changed in
everything, even in religion: he had turned
penitent and a Catholic; and so had his
travelling companion, the very man who
had married him to your sweet mother.”

‘«'Then he was in holy orders ?”

“Fle was.”

‘God of infinite justice, I thank you.”

‘The Reverend Mr. Thomas came here
to my very house, when I was away, with 2
long and repentant letter from his patron—
full of inquiries for yourself, and for yout
mother, Lady Rathelin.”’

‘‘ Where is that inestimable letter?”

‘‘Qh, where?” said the again agonised
Mrs. Causand. ‘‘Ralph,; much mischiei
was done in that absence—my boy, my lost
William! he, whom you’ know as Joshua
Daunton, broke into his mother’s house,
rifled my escritoire, and carried off some
of my most important documents,—that
unread letter among the number.”

‘‘But how know you its contents?” said
I, breathless with agitation.RATTLIN, THE REEFER, 163

_. * By thé tenor of these succeeding ones
$ : . . .
‘from Sir Reginald and his priest.”

She opened her desk, and gave me two
letters from my father to her. They were,
as she described them, repentant, and spoke
most honourably and most fondly of my
deceased mother—praying Mrs. Causand
most earnestly to tell him of the happiness
and the whefeabout of his wife.

*t And you did, of couse.”

—'tNo, Ralph, I did not—look at, the
dates. It was a fortnight after these arrived
before I returned home. | weep even now
When I think of it—three days before I
returned your mother had died, almost
suddenly.” ty

_ ‘©Ah, true, true!” Said I mournfully.
But, a sudden patg of agony seizing my
inmost heart, I suddenly started up, and,
geiaitig her roughly by the hand, I said
Sternly—

‘Took me in the face, madam—do you
see any resemblance there to my poor, poor
mother?”

‘Qh, very, very gteat—but why this
yiolence?”’

“ Because I now understand the villany
that caused her death. Your son murdered
her—see in me her reproachful countenance
—oh, Mrs. Causand, you and yours have
been the bane, the ruin of me and mine.”

'‘What do you mean by those horrible
words? © Ralph, beware, or you will your-
self commit’a dastardly murder upon me,
even as you stand there.”

““Mrs. Causand, I will be calm. I see
it all. With the first letter of Sir Reginald’s
in his hand, he went to Stickenham ; and,
with the murderous intent strong in his
black bosom, he branded my mother with
bigamy, incensed the weak Frenchman
against her, and, in twenty-four hours, did
the mortal work that years of injustice and
injury could not effect.”

«Good God, it must be so!—Ralph, I
do not ask you to forgive him—but pity his
poor suffering mother--he has broken my
heart—not Ralph, in the mystical, but in
the actual, the physical, sense. In the very
hour in which I returned home, I found a
warrant had been issued for his apprehen-

‘sion as a housebreaker; and the> stony-
hearted reprobate had the cruelty to insult
his mother by a letter giorying in the fact,
-at- the same time demanding a thousand
pounds for his secrecy and the papers that
he had stolen. The shock was too much
for me. I had an attack, a fit—I know
not what—I fell senseless to the earth—my
heatt has never since beaten healthfully.
-©h, perhaps, after all, it would be a happi-
ness for me to die!—Poor Elizabeth—my
more than sister, my friend !”’

     

‘But why do I waste my time here?”
said I, starting up, and seizifg my hat.
't The reptile is at work. Where lives Sir
Reginald ?—my demon-like doubie may be
there before me. He may personate me
long enough to kill my father, and rifle
his hoards, I must away—but, ere I go,
know that, with these abstractéd papefs,
he sought me in the West Indies, cheated
tne out of my name on my return to Eng-
land, and, finally, waylaid and attempted,
with a low accomplice, to assassinate me
en my return from Stickenham,”

'' God of Heaven, lét me die !—heé could
never have been son of mine—let me know
the horrid particulars.”

‘‘ No—no—no—I must away—or more
murders will be perpetrated.”

‘‘Stop, Ralph, a little moment—do not
go unprovided. Take these and these—he
stole not all the documents—let me als6
give my testimony under my own hand of
your identity. It may be of infinite service
to you,”

She then wrote a short letter to Sir
Reginald, describing accurately my present
appearance, and vouching that I, and none
other, was the identical Ralph Rattlin, who
was nursed by the Brandons, and born at
Reading.

“Take this, Ralph, and show it to Sir
Reginald. I only ask one thing : spare the
life —only the life—of that unfortunate boy!
—and in his, spare mine—for I am unpre-
pared to die! '

‘“The mercy that he showed my mo
ther: %

I had proceeded no farther in my cruel
speech, when a great noise was heard at the
door, and two rough-looking Baw Street
officers, attended by the whale household,
rushed into the room. They advanced ta-
wards the upper end of this elegant sanctum,
Mrs. Causand sprang up from her sofa, and,
standing in all the majesty of her beauty,
sternly demanded, ‘‘ What means this in:
dignity?”

‘Beg your ladyship’s pardon, sorry to
intrude—duty—neyver shy, that you know,
ma'am—only a search-warrant for one

oshua Daunton, alias Sneaking Willie,
alias Whitefaced——’

“Stop, no. more of this ribaldry—you see
he is not here—I know nothing concerning
him—of what is he accused ?”’

‘“‘Of forgery, housebreaking, and, with
an accomplice, of an attempt to murder a

 

young gentleman, a naval officer of Chey

name of Ralph Rattlin.”

Mrs. Causand turned to me sorrowfully,
and exclaimed, ‘‘ Oh, Ralph! was this well
done of you?’’ Her fortitude, her sudden
accession of physical strength, seemed to
M 2164.

desert her at once; and she, who just be-
fore stood forth the undaunted heroine,
now sank upon her couch, the crushed
invalid. At length she murmured forth,
feebly, ‘‘ Ralph, rid me of these fellows.”

I soon effected this. I told them that I
was the culprit’s principal accuser; that I
was assured he was not only not within the
house, but I verily believed many miles
distant. They believed me, and respect-
fully enough retired.

Miss ‘Tremayne, the companion and nurse
of the invalid, now with myself stood over
her. She had another attack upon the
region of her heart: and it was so long
before she rallied that we thought the fatal
moment had arrived. When she could
again breathe freely, her colour did not,
as formerly, return to her cheeks. ‘They
wore an intense and transparent whiteness,
at once awfal and beautiful. Yet she spoke
calmly and collectedly. I entreated to be
permitted to depart—my intercessions were
seconded by the young lady. But the now
cold hand of Mrs. Causand clasped mine
so tightly, and the expression of her eyes
was so imploring, that I could not rudely
break away from her.

‘“But °a few short minutes,” she ex-
claimed, ‘‘and then fare you well. I feel
worse than I ever yet remember—and very
cold. It is not now the complaint that has
cast me down upon a sick bed that seems
invading the very principle of life—a chilly
faintness is coming over me—yet I dare not
lay my head upon my pillow, lest I never
from thence lift it again. Ralph, there is
warmth in your young blood—support
el

I cradled her head upon my shoulder,
and whispered to Miss Tremayne, who
immediately retired, to procure the speedy
attendance of the physician.

‘« Are we alone, Ralph?” said the shud-
dering lady, with her eyes firmly closed.
“‘T have a horrid presentiment that my
hour is approaching — everything is so still
around and within me. Every sensation
seems deserting me rapidly, but one—and
that is a mother’s feelings! You will
leave me here to die, amongst menials
and strangers !"’

‘Miss Tremayne?” said I, soothingly.

‘Ts but a hired companion; engaged
only since the occurrence of these attacks.
Yes, you will desert me to these—and for
what, God of retribution !—to hunt down
the life of my only son! Will you, will
you, Ralph, do this over cruel thing?”

“He has attempted mine—he still seeks
Let us talk, let us think, of other mat-

Compose your mind with religious

1s
ters,

thoughts. Your strength will rally during

 
 

    

RATTLIN, THE REEFER,

the night; te-morrow comes hope, the con-
sultation of physicians, and, with God's
good blessings, life and health.”

“To hear, to know, that he is to die the
death of the felon! Promise me to forego
your purpose, or let ype die first !”

“‘T have sworn, 6yer the grave of my
mother, that the laws shall decide this
matter between us. If he escape, I for-
give him, and may God forgive him,
too!”

«And must it come to this ?” she sobbed
forth in the bitterness of her anguish, whilst
the tears streamed down her cheeks from
her closed eyelids. ‘“‘ Will this cruel youth
at length extort the horrible confession !—
it must be so—one pang—and it will be
over. Let mé forego your support—lay
me gently on the pillow, for you will loathe
me. A little while ago, and I told you I
had been faithful to Azm—it was a bitter
falschood—know, that my son, my aban-
doned William, is also the son of your
father—say, will his blood now be upon
your hands?”’

‘“Tell me, beautiful cause of all our
miseries, does your miserable offspring
know this?”

‘‘Yes,”’ said she, very faintly.

‘Vet he could seek my life—basely—but
no matter. His blood shall never stain my
hand—I will not seek him—if he crosses
my path, I will avoid him—I will even
assist him to escape to some country where,
unknown, he may, by a regenerated life,
wipe out the dark catalogue of his crimes,
make his peace with man here, and with
his God hereafter.”’

“Will you do all this, my generous, my
good, my godlike, Ralph?”

‘‘You and God be my witnesses!”

She sprang up wildly from her apparent
state of lethargy, clasped me fervently in
her arms, blessed me repeatedly, and then,
in the midst of her raptures she cried out,
‘‘Oh, Ralph, you have renewed my being,
you have given me long years of life, and
health, and happiness. You———” and here
she uttered a loud shriek, that reverberated
through the mansion—but it was cut short
in the very midst—a thrilling, a horrible
silence ensued—she feil dead upon the
couch.

I stood awe-struck over the beautiful
corpse, as it lay placidly extended, dis-
figured by no contortion, but, on the con-
trary, a heavenly repose in the features—a
sad mockery of worldly vanity. Death had
arrayed himself in the last imported Parisian
mode.

At that dying shriek in rushed the house+
hold, headed by the physician, and closely
followed by the companion, with the hiredRADIAN, LAE REAPER, 165

nurses. Methought that the doctor looked
on this wreck of mortality with grim satis-
faction. ‘‘I knew it,’ said he, slowly;
‘“tand Doctor Phillimore is nothing more
than a solemn dunce. I told him that she
would not survive to be subjected to the
consultation of the morrow.—And how
happens it,” said he, turning fiercely to
the companion and the nurses, ‘“‘ that my
patient was thus left alone with this strip-
ling?”

«Stripling, sir!” said I.

‘““Young man, let us not make the
chamber of death a hall of contention.
Tell me, Miss Tremayne, how comes my
patient thus unattended, or rather thus ill
attended ?”

“Tt was her own positive command,’
said the young lady, in a faltering voice.

‘‘Ah! she was always imperious, always
obstinate. There must have been some
exciting conversation between you, sir
(turning to me), and the lady; did you say
anything to vex or grieve her ?”’

“On the contrary; she was expressing
the most unbounded hope and happiness
when she died.”

‘And the name of God was not on her
lips, the prayer for pardon not in her heart,
when she was snatched away.”

I shook my head. “Well,” said he,
‘it is a solemn end, and she was a wilful
lady. Do you know, Miss Tremayne, if
she have any relations living?—they should
be sent for.”

‘‘T know of none. A person of distinc-
tion whose name I am not at liberty to
mention, sometimes visited her. We had
better send for her solicitor.”

Some other conversation took place,
which I hardly noticed. ‘The body was
adjusted on the couch, we left the room,
and the door was locked. As I walked
quietly, almost stealthily, home, i tele
stunned. Health and mortality, death and
life, seemed so fearfully jumbled together,
that I almost doubted whether I was not
traversing a city of spirits.

My Achates stared at me when I de-
scribed to him the late occurrences.

“*So you have at length discovered him?”
said he.

‘‘T have—a voice almost from the grave
has imparted to me all that I wished to
know—and something more. I _ have
sprung from a beautiful race—but we must
not speak ill of kith and kin, must we,
Pigtop?”’

‘For certain not. And, so your father
actually did send that old lord to look after
you at your return from the West Indies.
Well, that shows some affection for you,
at all events.”

“The fruits of which affection Daunton
is, no doubt, now Yeaping.”

‘““Well, let us go and cut his throat, or
rather turn him over to the hangman.”

‘“No, Pigtop; I have promised his
mother that I will not attempt his life.”

eoBut, lk have not...

“Humph—let us to roost. To-morrow,
at break of day, we will be off for Rathelin
Hall. See that our arms are in order.
And now to what rest-nature and good
conscience will afford us,”

CHAPTER LXX.

Mr. Pigtop believeth in ghosts,and hath some trust in
witches, but none at all in lawyers.--A consultation
after supper, and, after supper, action.

EARLY next morning, ‘Mr. Pigtop and my-
self were seated in a post-chaise, making
the best of our way towards the western
extremity of England. When we had
arrived at Exeter, where we found it
necessary to sleep, in order to gain some
little restoration from the fatigues of our
incessant travelling, we made up our minds
to hire three horses and a groom, and,
having very accurately ascertained the exact
site of Rathelin Hall, which was _ situated
a few miles to the north-eastward of Barn-
staple, we arrived there towards the close
of the day, and put up at a very decent inn
in an adjoining village.

The old and large house was distinctly
visible, notwithstanding the well-wooded
park in which it was situated, from the
windows of our inn. A conference with
our host fully realized our worst fears. He
informed us that Sir Reginald was not ex-
pected to live many days; that his whole
deportment was very edifying; and, more-
over, that his dying hours were solaced
and sweetened by the presence and the
assiduities of his only and long-disowned,
but now acknowledged, son Ralph. We,
moreover, learned that this Ralph came
attended by a London attorney; and that
they, with the priest Thomas, in the in-
tervals between rest, refection, and prayer,
were actively employed in settling his
sublunary affairs, very much to the dis-
satisfaction of a Mr. Seabright, the family
solicitor, and the land-steward of the estate.

‘Where does Mr. Seabright reside?”
was my question, instantly.

‘‘Why, here, sir, to be sure, in our town

 
  
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
    

fe

e166 RATTLIN, THE REEFER.

of Antwick, and mortally in dudgeon he
has taken all this.’’ 3

“‘Undoubtedly, and with justice,’’ was my
reply.. ‘‘So faithful a servant, who has for
so many years had the sole management
of the Rathelin affairs, should not be cast
off so slightly. Give us as good a supper,
landlord, as your skill and Antwick can
produce, and let us have covers for three.
Send. your porter.down to Mr. Seabright—
but, I had better write him a note.” Sol
sent to him a polite invitation to sup with
us, telling him that two strangers wished to
see him on important business.

To all these proceedings Pigtop demurred.
He was for the summary process of going
before a magistrate next morning, and
taking out a warrant to apprehend Joshua
Daunton on the capital charge for which
he was pursued in-London, and thus, at
one blow, wind up the affair.

But I held my promise to Mrs. Causand
to be sacred, and determined to give him,
my fraternal enemy, one chance of escaping.
Pigtop's repugnance, however, to the em-
ployment of a lawyer could not be over-
come; so, not being able to obtain his
consent, I determined to try and do with-
out it, which my friend avowed to be im-
possible,

At nine o'clock precisely, as the smoking
dishes appeard, so did the lawyer. A sud-
den emotion was perceptible on his iron-
bound visage when his eyes first fell upon
me, of the nature of which I could form
no idea. Mr. Pigtop bowed to him very
stiffly; and it was some time before the
genuine cordiality of my manner could put
Mr. Seabright at his ease.

While we were at table, I begged to
decline giving him our names, as I was
fearful that the intelligence might travel
fo the Hall, and thus give some scope
for further machinations on the part of
Joshua, But, as is too often the case,
we were prudent only by halves.

The groom that we had hired, not being
enjoined to secrecy, had unhesitatingly told
every one belonging to the establishment
our appellations. The landlord and _ his
household were much struck by the simi-
larity of the name by which I still went,
Rattlin, and that of Rathelin; and. thus,
whilst I was playing the cautious before
Mr. Seabright, the news had already
teached the Hall, and those most con-
cerned to know it, that two gentlemen,
a Mr. Rattlin and a Mr. Pigtop, with
their groom, had put up at the Three
Bells. in the village, and had sent for the
lawyer.
awe hen, after supper, we had carefully se-
Clired the privacy of our apartment, amidst

many nudges and objurgations from my
former shipmate, I proceeded to relate to
the astonished solicitor who 1 was, and
what were my motives for appearing at
that juncture in the neighbourhood. I
also told him of the personation of myself
that I understood was then going on at
the Hall, at the same time totally sup-
pressing every other guilty circumstance
of Daunton’s life.

When I had finished my recital, 1 pro-
duced my documents; and, notwithstand-
ing that he was almost breathless with
wonder, he confessed that he believed
implicitly all my assertions, and would
assist me to recover my rights, and dis-
abuse my father to the utmost of his
abilities.

‘‘You have lost much valuable. tiie,”
said he. ‘‘This impostor has now been
domesticated some days with Sir Reginald.
I think, with you, that he has no ulterior
views upon the title and the estates. His
object is present plunder, and the inducing
your father, through the agency of that
scoundrel London lawyer, to make him
sign such documents, that everything that
can be willed away will be made over
to him. We must, to-morrow, proceed
in a body to the Hall, and take the villains
by surprise. I will now return home and
prepare some necessary documents. As
this is a criminal matter, I will also take
care to have the attendance of an upright
and clear-seeing magistrate, who will pro-
ceed with us—not certainly later than ten
o'clock to-morrow.”

He then took his leave with an air of
much importance, and more alacrity than
I could have expected from a man of his
years.

When Pigtop and myself were left alone,
neither the first nor the second nor-wester
of brandy-and-water could arouse him from
his sullen mood. He told me frankly, and
in his own sea-slang, that he could not dis-
integrate the idea of a lawyer from that of
the devil, and that he was assured. that
neither I nor my cause would prosper. if
I permitted the interference of a land-
shark. I was even obliged to assume a
little the authority of a master, in order’
to subdue his murmurings: to convince
his judgment I did not try—in which for-
bearance I displayed much wisdom. We
each retired to our respective room, with
less of cordiality than we had ever dis-
played since our unexpected re-union.

I had no sooner got to bed, than I
determined, by a violent effort, to sleep.
I had always a ready soporific at hand.
It was a repeating and re-repeating of
a pious little ode by a late fashionableTIS RL EIN. HE KEELER, 167

poet. It seldom failed to produce som-
nolency at about the twelfth or thirteenth
repetition. I would recommend a similar
prescription to the sleepless ; and I can
assure him that there is much verse lately
printed, and by people who. plume them-
selves no little upon it, that need not be
gone over more than twice at farthest;
excepting the person may have the St.
Vitus’s dance, and then a third time may be
necessary, 1 would specify some of these
works, were it at all necessary ; but the
afflicted have only to ask, at random, for
the last published volume of poems, OF
to take up an annual, either old or new,
and they may be dosed without the per-
petration of a pun.

Three times had I slept by the means
of my ode, and three times had I awaked
by some horrible dream, that fled my
memory with my slumbers. I could draw
no omen from it, for my mind could not
bring it out sufficiently distinct to fix a
single idea upon it. However, as I found
my sleep so much more miserable than
my watchfulness, 1 got up, and, putting
on a portion of my clothes, began to
promenade my room with a slow step
and a very anxious mind.

I had made but few turns, when my door
was abruptly thrust open, and Pigtop stalked
in, fully dressed.

««T can't sleep, Rattlin,’’ said he; sand
tarnation glad am I to see that you can't
caulk either. A dutiful son you would be
to be snoozing here, and very likely, at this
very moment, the rascal’s knife is hacking
at your father’s weasand. It is not yet
twelve o'clock; and I saw from my win-
dow, from whence I can see the Hall
plainly, a strange dancing of light about
the windows, and you may take an old
sailors word that something uncommon’s
in the wind. Let us go and reconnoitre.”’

“With all my heart; any action is better
than this wretched inactivity of suspense.
I will complete my dress, and you, in the
meantime, look to the pistols.”

We were soon ready, and sallied forth
unperceived from the inn. We had no
purpose, no ultimate views; yet both Pig-
top and myself seemed fully to understand
that we should. be compelled into some
desperate adventure. I was going armed,
and by night, like an assassin, to seek the
presence, OF, at least, to watch over the
safety, of a father whom I had never seen,
never loved, and never respected.

The space that separated the abode of
my father from theinn was soon passed ;
and, a little after midnight, I stood within
the gloomy and park-like enclosure that

    

circumscribed the front of the large old
mansion. ‘The lodge was a run, the
gates had been long thrown down, and
wwe stumbled over some of their remnants,
imbedded in the soil, and matted to it with
long and tangled grass. L observed that
there was a scaffolding over the front of
the lodge; but whether it were for the
purpose of repairing or taking down, I
could not then discover.

As my companion and myself advanced
to the front of the building, we.also observed
that, lofty as were its walls, it was scaffolded
to the very attics, and some part of the roof
of the right wing was already. removed.
Altogether, a more comfortless, a more
dispiriting view could hardly have been
presented; and its disconsolateness Was
much increased by the dim and fitful light
that a young moon gave, at intervals, upon
gables, casements, and clumps of funereal
yews.

“And this,” as we: stood before the
portals, said I to Pigtop, 4s ammyinber
itance—mine, Is it not a princely resi-
dence?”

“Tt looms like a county jail, that's being
turned into a private madhouse. If so
be as how witches weren't against the law
of the land, this seems the very place for
them. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Verily, yes, and—no.”

«Because I think that I see the ghosts
of a hearse and four horses among those
tall trees in that corner?”

‘ Then, Pig, we must be on the alert—
for I see it, too*but the vision has assumed
the every-day deception of a post-chaise and
four.’

‘‘Jeer as you will, it is a hearse : Some-
body's just losing the number of his mess;
it will take away a corpse to-night, de-
pend upon it. That a post-chaise ! pooh !
--J can see the black plumes waving upon
the horses’ heads and-—hark at the low,
deep moanings that seem to sweep by it
—that is not at all natural—let us go
back.’

‘“7T was never more resolved to go for-
ward. here is  villany hatching—com-
pleting. Wrap your cloak closely about
your countenance ; don't mistake the wind
for groans, nor the waving branches of
cedar-trees for hearse-plumes- -but follow
mer

“Whose afraid ?”” said Pigtop.

His chattering teeth answered the ques-
tion.

As I was prepared for everything, I was
not surprised to find the principal door
open, and the hall filled with iron-bound
cases, and several plate-chests. As we

 

ERS168 RAPTPLIN, THE. REBRER:

stepped into the midst of these, completely
muffled in our cloaks, a fellow came and
whispered us, ‘‘ Is all ready?”

‘* Hush !” said I.

‘“Oh, no fear—they are at prayers in Sir
Reginald’s bedroom—he is going fast—he
is restless—he cannot sleep.”’

‘* Where are the servants?”

‘* Snoring in their nests.”’

‘*And who is with Sir Reginald?”

‘‘Nobody but the priest and his son,
Master Ralph—without the lawyer has
gone up since ; he saw all right about the
chaise. But am I on the right lay?”

‘Surely. Joshua Daunton and I——”

‘*Enough—you're up to trap—so lend
us a hand, and let us take the swag to
the shay—though swag it ain't, for it's
Josh's by deed of law. Sir Reginald
signs and seals to-night, as they say he
can't live over to-morrow.”

‘“No, there is no occasion to stir yet—
Which is the way to Sir Reginald’s room?
I must speak one word to Joshua before
we start. I know the countersign—it will
bring him out to me in a moment. I
would advise you, in the meantime, just
to step to the chaise and see all right,
and bring it up nearer the door quietly,
mind—quietly—for these boxes are d—d
heavy.”

‘‘You're right there,’’ said the accom-
plice, and departed on his errand, after
previously showing me the staircase that
led to the apartment of my sick father.”

When the rascal’s steps were no longer
heard, ‘‘ Now, Pigtop,” said I, ‘‘ show
your pluck—help me to lotk and bar the
hall-door—good—so one bloodhound is
disposed of ; he dare not make a noise,
lest he should rouse the establishment.
Now follow me—but, hark ye—no murder
—the reptile’s life must spared.”’

Pigtop made no answer ; but pointed to
his scarred and disfigured lip, with a truly
ferocious grin.

It is necessary, for the fully understand-
ing of the catastrophe that ensued, that I
describe the site of the old building in
which such startling events were passing.
The front approach was level from the
road; but, on the back, there was a pre-
cipitous, and rugged, and rocky descent,
up to the very buttresses that supported
the old walls—not certainly so great or so
dangerous as to be called a precipice; for,
on the extreme right wing of the rear of
the house, it was no more than a gentle
inclination of the soil, deepening rapidly
towards the left, and there, directly under
the extremity of that wing, assuming the
appearance of a vast chasm, through the

bottom of which a brawling stream chafed
the pointed stones, on its way to the adja-
cent S€a.

Sir Reginald’s sleeping-room was a large
tapestried apartment on the first floor; the
windows of which occupied the extreme of
the left wing of the house, and was directly
over the deepest part of the chasm which I
have described.

All this part of the mansion was scaffolded
also; the ends of the poles having what
appeared to be but a very precarious inser-
tion on the projectioas of the rocks below.
It had been the intention of Sir Reginald
thoroughly to repair his mansion; but, fall-
ing sick, and in low spirits, he had ordered
the preparations to be delayed. ‘The scaf-
folding had been standing through the
whole of ‘the previous winter; and the
poles, and. more especially the ropes that
bound them to the cross-piece, had already
gone through several stages of decay.

CHAPTER UXXL

Conclusion.

My associate and myself advanced stealthily
and noiselessly up the staircase. We met
no one. - The profoundest security seemed
to reign everywhere. Favoured by the
dark shadows that hung around us, we
advanced to the door that was nearly wide
open, and we then had a full view of every-
thing within. The picture was solemn.
Seated in a very high-backed, elaborately-
carved, and Gothic chair, supported on all
sides by pillows, sat the attenuated figure:
of my father. I gazed upon him with an
eager cCurlosity, mingled with awe. His
countenance was long and ghastly—there
was no beauty in it. Its principal expres-
sion was terror. It was evident his days
were numbered. I looked upon him in-
tently. I challenged my heart for affection,
and it made no answer.

Directly before my father was placed a
table, covered with a rich and gold embroi-
dered cloth, bordered with heavy gold fringe,
upon which stood four tall wax candles,
surrounding a mimic altar surmounted by
an ebony crucifix. His chaplain, dressed
in popish canonicals, was mumbling forth
some form of prayer, and a splendidly-
illuminated missal lay before him. ‘There
was also on the table a small marble basin
of water, and a curiously inlaid box filled
with bones—relics, no doubt—imbued withRATTLIN, THE REEFER. 169

the spirit of miracle-working. The priest ‘“A miracle!’’ exclaimed the priest.
was perhaps performing a private midnight ‘‘The sinner's supplication has been heard.
mass. Let us pray.” “

The fitful attention that Sir Reginald During this solemn scene, events of a
gave to this office was painful to contem- very different description were taking place
plate. His mind was evidently wandering, at the inn which we had just clandestinely
and he could bring himself to attend only left. Our exit had been noticed. The
at intervals. At another table, a little re- landlord was called up ; he became seriously
moved from the one I have described, sat alarmed, the more especially when the direc-
the person of the London attorney; he tion that we had taken had been ascertained.
had also two lights, and he was most He immediately concluded that we had
busily employed in turning over and index- gone to Rathelin Hall to commit a bur-
ing various folios of parchment. But I glary, or perhaps a murder. He summoned
have yet to describe the other figure—the, to his aid the constables of the village—
to me, loathsome person of my illegitimate called up the magistrate, and the lawyer,
half-brother. He was on his knees, mum- Mr. Seabright; and, with a whole posse of
bling forth the responses and joining in the attendants, proceeded to the rescue. We
prayers of the priest. He was paler and will conduct them to the door that Pigtop
thinner than usual; he looked, however, and myself had secured when we barred
perfectly gentlemanly, and was scrupulously out Daunton’s accomplice, and, there leav-
well dressed. ing them, return to the sick chamber.

As yet, I had not heard the voice of Sir After the reverend gentleman had con-
Reginald; his lips moved at some of the cluded his extempore prayer, but few of
responses that the two made audibly, but the sentences of which reached our place
sound there was none. At length, when of concealment, Sir Reginald said,—
there was a total cessation of the voices ‘‘My friends, the little business that we
of the other, and a silence so great in that have to do to-night had better be done
vast apartment, that the rustling of the speedily. I feel unusually depressed. I
lawyer's parchments was distinctly heard, hope that it is not the hand of death that
even where I stood—even this hardened is pressing so heavily upon me. I would
wretch seemed to feel the general awe of live a little while longer—but the will of
the moment, and ceased to disturb the tomb- God, the Redeemer of our sins, be done!
like silence. Bring the papers here—I will sign them.

In the midst of this, the prematurely-old My friend Brown, and you, my poor and
Sir Reginald suddenly lifted up his voice too long neglected Ralph (addressing
and exclaimed loudly, in a tone of the most Joshua), I trust to your integrity in all
bitter anguish, ‘‘ Lord Jesu, have mercy this matter; for not only am I averse to,
upon me!”’ but just now incapable of business. But,

The vast and ancient room echoed dolor- my dear Ralph, before we do this irrevo-
ously with the heart-broken supplication. cable deed, kneel down and receive a re-
It was the first time that my father’s voice pentant father’s blessing, and hear that
fell upon my ear—it was so plaintive, so father ask, with a contrite heart, pardon of
imbued with wretchedness, that the feeling his sonand of his God.”
of resentment which, I take shame to my- The parchments were brought and placed
self, I had long suffered in my bosom, before the baronet by the assiduous lawyer,
melted away at once, and a strange tender- and the son—for son to Sir Reginald he
ness came over me. I could have flung really was—with looks of the most devout
myself upon his bosom and wept. I felt humility, and his eyes streaming with hypo-
that my mother’s wrongs had been avenged. critical tears, knelt reverently down at the
Even as it was, with all the secrecy that feet of the trembling and disease-stricken
I had then thought it my interest to pre- parent. His feeble hands are outstretched
serve, I could not refrain, in a subdued, over the'inclined head of the impostor, his
yet earnest tone, from responding to his lips part—this—this—I cannot bear—so,
broken ejaculation, from the very bottom before a single word falls from our com-
of my heart, ‘‘ Amen.” mon father, I rush forward, and, kneeling

A start of surprise and terror, as my down beside my assassin-brother, exclaim,
hollow response reached the ears of all in all the agony of wretchedness, and the
then and there assembled, followed my _ spirit of a newly-born affection, ‘‘ Bless me,
filial indiscretion. Each looked at. the even me also, O my father !—he has taken
other with a glance that plainly asked, away my birthright, and, behold, he would
“Was the voice thine?” and each in reply take away my blessing also, Bless even
shook his head. me!

 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
    

ERE.170°

a Ralph Rattlin, by all that’s damn-
able!’’ screamed forth the selfconvicted
impostor.

Thus, this apparently imprudent and
rash step was productive to me of more ser-
vice than could have been hoped from the
deepest-laid plan. In a moment we were
on our feet, and our hands on each other's
throat’s. ‘This sudden act seemed miracu-
lously to invigorate our father—he rose from
his seat, ane standing to the full height of
his tall and gaunt figure, placing his bony
hand heavily on my “shoulder, and looking

e fixedly in the face, said, ‘‘If thou art
Ralph Rathelin, who then is this ?

‘©The base-born of your paramour |’
and with a sudden energy I hurled om
from me; and he lay bruised and crouch-
ing beneath the large oriel window, at the
extremity of the room.

‘« Tt was unseemly said, and cruelly done,’
said the baronet, sorrowfully. “Oh, but
now my sins are remembered upon me!
I cast my sons loose upon the face of the

earth, and, in my dying hour, they come
and struggle together for their lives before
my eyes — verily. am I punished ; my crime
is yisited heavily upon me.

The other parties in the room were little
less affected with various emotions. The
London attorney was making rapidly for
the door, when he was met bythe ad-
vancing Pigtop, who thrust him again into
the apartment, and then boldly faced the
priest—the latter still in his canonicals, the
former. dressed as a Sectarian preacher.

Their antipathy was mutual and instan-
taneous... But ere the. really reverend
gentleman could begin some pious objur-
gation at this apparent interference with
his communicant, Pigtop indulged in one
of the heaviest oaths that vulgarity and
anger. together ever, concocted, and
straightway went and seized the crouch-
ing Joshua, and lugged him before the
agonised father, exclaiming, ‘* Warrants
out against. him, Sir Reginald, for bur-
glary, forgery, and assassination—he is
my_ prisoner.

The craven had not a word to say—his
knees knocked together—he was a pitiable
object,,.of a terror-stricken wretch. Sir
Reginald, already; began to look down
upon,..him with contempt: and my heart
bounded within. me, when I. already found
him leaning parentally on my shoulder.

‘‘ Speak, trembler!—is this person the
veritable Ralph Rathelin?”’

4 /{{ Pity me, pardon me, and I will confess
all.”’

«« Splits!” said the attorney, and vanished
through the now unguarded door.

 

    

RADLLIN, DHE [hi hah.

‘t Speak...

iS ‘th us gentleman is your lawful son—
but Lals

a No. m
cape—hide yourself from the eye of man
for. ever | |

‘No,’ said Pigtop,. giving jhim,.a, Te-
morseless shake—‘‘Do you see.this scar?”

‘‘Tet him go. instantly, Pigtop.!—obey
me—I have promised: his mother—it is
Sacnech ¢

‘(For my sake!” said Sir Reginald.

At this instant the steward rushed in,
partly dressed, crying out, ‘‘Sir Reginald,
Sir Reginald, the constables. and the
are tee have broken down the hall-
door, and are now coming up-stairs, to
arrest the housebreakers—they have packed
up all the plate, and it lies in the hall, ready
to be carried off!”

“My, God)... lt. isx too. late, ¢
Reginald, wringing his hands.

e No,’ said 1; “Tet him “escape by the
window. Be so good, sir,’ said I,.to the
priest, ‘‘ to secure the door—we shall gain
time. Hold it as long as you can, against
all intruders. The scaffolding will enable
the cuipat to reach the round with com-
paratively little danger.

‘The priest obeyed : and not.only fastened

 

                            

said Sir

the door, but also barricaded it with fur-
niture.
‘‘Now, Pigtop,’ said. I,, ‘‘ifyyou swish jto

preserve my friendship, assist this poor
wretch to escape—he is paralysed with his
abject fears. Come, sir,’ addressing
Joshua, ‘‘you will certainly be hung if you
don't exert yourself.”

“He'll be hung yet,” said Pigtop, sulkily.
‘‘But Iam an old sailor, and will obey
orders—nevertheless, I know. that I shall
live to see him hung. Comealong, sirrah }”

Between us, we led him to the window.
We then thrust him out, and. he stood
shivering upon the cross. boarding of the
scaffolding level with the window-sills.

‘‘Slide down the poles, and run,”’ said I
and Pigtop together.

oy _Canit.« said; he; shuddering.
chasm is awfully deep.”

‘‘You must, or die the death of. the
felon.”

‘‘Oh, what shall I,do?”’

‘Cast off the lashing just above you, °
said Pigtop; ‘‘pass it over the cross-piece
over your head, make a running noose,
put it under your arms, and keep the other
end of the rope in your hand. You may
either cling to the pole with your legs as
you like, or not—for then you can lower
yourself down at your ease, as comfortably
as if you were taking a nap,”

‘“‘theRATTLIN,

" Come away, Pigtop—shut the window,
close the shutters —the constables are upon
us!’ I exclaimed. This was done imme-
diately, and thus .was the immaculate
Joshua shut out from all view. As the
attacks on the door of the apartment be-
came more energetic, and we concluded
that Joshua was now safe, we were going
to give the authorities entrance, when we
heard a dreadful crush on the outside of
the window.

‘The lubber's gone by the run, by
G—d1" said Pigtop; ‘‘hell escape hang-
Ing, qaiter all! ,

“Tet us hope in mercy not,’’ said Sir
Reginald, shuddering. ‘‘ I trust. it is not
so. i. hear no scream, no shriek... 1 am
sure, by the sound, that it was the toppling
down of the boards—he has most likely
displaced some of them in his descent.”

‘Shall we admit, Sir Reginald the
people who are thundering at the door 2’

‘“Not yet: let there be no appearance
of disorder—remove these;” pointing to
the small altar and the crucifix; ‘‘and
would it not be as well, my friend, to divest
yourself of those holy vestments ?-- they are
irritating to heretical eyes. Assist me, Sir,
to my, chair,’

I placed him respectfully nearly in the
position in which I first discovered him.
‘All vestiges of the Catholic religion were
carefully removed, and the door, at last;
thrown open. The crowd entered.

Hurried explanations ensued; but, we
could not conceal from the magistrate that
a robbery had«been planned, and nearly
effected, and that the real culprits, for
whom, at first, Pigtop and I had been
mistaken, had escaped.

At length, the master of the inn sug-
gested that perhaps they had. passed out
of the window, and might be still upon the
boarding or the, scaffolding. The. shutters
were hastily thrown open—and, sight. of
horrors! Joshua Daunton was discovered
hanging by the neck—dead! Sir Reginald
gazed for some moments in speechless
ferror on the horrible spectacle, and then
fell back in a death-like swoon.

The body was brought. in, and every
attempt at resuscitation was useless. Ele
had died, and was judged;, may he have
found pardon! Some thought that he had
hung himself intentionally, so completely had
the noose clasped his neck;, others, among
whom were Pigtop, thought differently.
The old sailor was of opinion, from the
broken boards that had given way beneath
his feet, that, ,when, he had got. the noose
below. his chin, and no lower, his. footing
or the scaffolding had failed him; and that,

   

THE. REEPER.

I71
letting go the other end of the rope, it had
taken a half hitch, and thus jammed upon
the cross pole. However, the operation
was brought about, he was exceeding well
hung, and the drop represented to perfec-
tion. As Pigtop had prophesied, the post-
chaise in the shrubbery was turned into
a hearse, in order to convey his body to
the inn for the coroner’s inquest.

‘J knew I should live to see him hung,”
said Pigtop, doggedly, as he bade me
good night, when we both turned into our
respective rooms for the night, in the house
of my father.

Contrary to all expectations, the shock,
instead of destroying, seemed to kave had
the effect of causing Sir Reginald to rally.
He lived for six months after, became fully
satisfied of my identity;, and just as he was
beginning to taste of happiness in the duty
and affection of his. son, he, died, having
first taken every legal precaution to secure
me the quiet possession of my large in-
heritance.

My grief at his decease was neither violent
nor prolonged. After his; burial, 1 was on
the point of repairing the old mansion,
when I found myself, involved in three. law-
suits, which, challenged my right to it,all.
IT soon came to a determination as to my
plan of action. . I paid off all the establish-
ment; and, having got hold; again of my
foster-father and. mother, Mr. and. Mrs.
Brandon, I rebuilt. the lodge for them
comfortably, and there I located them. I
shut up the whole of the Hall, excepting a
small sitting-room, and two bed-rooms, for
Pigtop and myself;.and thus we led the
lives of recluses, having no other attendants
than the Brandons.

By these means I was enabled to- reserve
all my rents for carrying on my lawsuits,
without. at. all impairing the estate, In
eighteen years, I thank God, I ruined my
three opponents, and. they all died.1in
beggary. The year after L.came into mn-
disputed possession of my estates, the next
heir got a writ issued against me of ‘de
inguirendo lunatico, on the ground.of the
strange and unworthy manner that I, asa
baronet with an immense estate, had. lived
for those. last eighteen years. I told: my
reasons most candidly to the jury, and they
found-me to be the most sensible man that
they had ever heard of, placed in'a similar
position.

After having thus speedily settled these
little matters, as I was fast,approaching my
fortieth year, I began to alter my style, and
live in a manner; more befitting: my rank
and revenues; yet J still, helde much aloof

from all intimacy with my neighbours.

7

|
}
{
{172 oe RATTLIN,

I am now in my forty-first year, and
grown corpulent. It is now twenty-one
years since I saw my unfortunate parent
interred, and I walk about my domains Sir
Ralphed to my heart's content-—-or, more
properly speaking, discontent. Old Pigtor.
is a fixture, for he has now really become
old. I cannot call him my friend, for I
must venerate him to whom I give that
title, and veneration, or even esteem, Pig
was never born to inspire. My humble
companion he is not, for no person in his
deportment towards me can be less humble
than he. He is as quarrelsome as a lady's
lapdog, and seems never so happy as when
he has effectually thwarted my intentions.
Prince Hal said of the jolly wine-bibber
Jack, that ‘‘ he could have better spared a
better man.”’ Of Pigtop I am compelled
to say more—‘‘I could not spare him at
all.” He has become necessary to me.
He was never very handsome; but now,
in his sixty-second year, he is a perfect
fright; so, at least, everybody tells me,
for I don't see it myself.

His duties about my person seem to
be continually healthily irritant ; the most
important one of which is, to keep me a
bachelor, and scare away all womankind
from Rathelin Hall. He controls my
servants, and helps me to spoil them.
Such a set of heavy, bloated, good-for-
nothing, impudent, and happy dogs, never
before fed upon a baronet’s substance, con-
tradicted him to his very face, and fought
for him behind his back. The females in
my establishment bear but a most niggardly
proportion to the males—in the ratio of
Falstaff, one pennyworth of bread to his
many gallons of sack: and these few are
the most hideous, pox-marked, blear-eyed
damsels that the county could produce—
all Pigtop's doing.

Never shall I forget the consternation,
the blank dismay, of his countenance,
when, one fine, sunshiny morning, I an-
nounced to him my intention of installing
in the mansion some respectable middle-
aged gentlewoman as my housekeeper.
It was some time before he could find his
speech.

‘Blood and thunder! bombs and fury!
what have I done, that you should turn
me out of your house in my grey hairs?
Now, I’m dismantled, as it were, and laid
up in ordinary.”

‘‘Turn you out, Piggy! what could put
that in your foolish noddle?”

‘‘If madam comes in, I cut my cable,
and pay off Rathelin Hall right abaft—
even if I die in a ditch, and am buried
by the parish, Take a housekeeper !—oh

   
 
   
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
   
   
   
  
  
  
   
   
   
  
 

THE KREEBIGEE,

Lord! oh Lord! oh Lord! I would just
as soon see you married, or in your
coffin.”

‘But some such a person is absolutely
necessary in an establishment of this ex-
tent ; so a housekeeper I'll have, of some
sort.”

‘“Why the devil need it be a woman,
then? why won't a man do—why won't I
do 2”

our. res

‘“Yes, me—Andrew Pigtop. I ask the
appointment—do, there’s a good Sir Ralph,
make it out directly. Clap your signature
to it, and let it run as much like a commis-
sion as possible. Iaskitasafavour. You
know the great sacrifices that I have made
for you.”

‘“The first time I ever heard of them,
upon my honour. Pray, enlighten me.”

‘“Why you must be convinced, Sir
Ralph, if I had not left the navy to
attend you all the world over, as the
pilot-fish sticks to the shark, I should, by
this time, have been an old post-captain,
and very likely C.B. into the bargain.”

‘““You, who remained one quarter of a
century a master’s-mate during an active
war, should rush up through the grades of
lieutenant and commander to be posted
during another quarter of profound peace !
But, perhaps, you would have depended
upon your great family interest. Well,
if I make out your commission as my
housekeeper, will you do the duties of the
office ?”’

‘*On course.”

*“ And wear the uniform ?”

‘On course, if so be it be such a man
might wear, I bar petticoats and mob-
caps, and female thingamies.”’

‘Will you carry the keys ?'

‘“On course.”

“And see that the rooms and the pas-
Sages are well swept, and that the maids
are up betimes in the morning ?”’

‘““D—n them !—on course—certainly.”

“And, when Lady Aurelia Cosway, and
her five beautiful daughters, drive up to the
door, will you go and receive them in the
hall; and, making them a profound curt-
sey, beg to conduct them into a dressing-
room ?”

‘‘No—because, d'ye see, no ladies ever
come farther than your door.”

‘“‘And whom may I thank for that?”

‘Me, assuredly,”’ said Pigtop, very
proudly.

eal do.

I did not make out his commission,
which vexed him; but, on the other hand,
I did not get me a housekeeper, which, at

 

KoneRAT ELEN,

first, a little vexed me; but, really, my
friend, in an ex-officio manner, does most
of the duties of the office to which he
aspired extremely well.

Without vanity, I still preserve my good
looks, though I must confess to a little un-

 

EE ee eT,

 

 

 

 

 

     
  
 
 

becoming obesity of figure; yet, through
my indolence, and the perseverance of Pig-
top, and perhaps certain recollections of a
green and bright bay in one of the summer
islands, I do fear that I am a confirmed
bachelor,

THE END.

 

. Woodfall and Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W C.

173

    

 

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AUTHOR OF “PETER SIMPLE,” °

AUTHORS COPYRIGHT EDITION

LONDON

CRERORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SOWe
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE

NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREDBe TIETE ITCHAPTER I.

I HAVE titled these pages with nothing more
than my baptismal name. If the reader
finds sufficient interest in them to read to the
end, he will discover the position that I am
in, after an eventful life. I shall, however,
not trespass upon his time by making many
introductory remarks; but commence at
once with my birth, parentage, and educa-
tion. ‘This is necessary, as although the two
first are, perhaps, of little comparative con-
sequence, still the latter is of importance, as
it will prepare the reader for many events in
my after-life. I may add, that much de-
pends upon birth and parentage; at all
events, it is necessary to complete a perfect
picture. Let me, therefore, begin at the be-
ginning.

I was born in France. My father, who
was of the azczenne moblesse of France, by a
younger branch of the best blood, and was
a most splendid specimen of the outward
man, was the son of an old officer, and an
officer himself in the army of Napoleon. In
the conquest of Italy he had served in the
ranks, and continuing to follow Napoleon
through all his campaigns, had arrived to
the grade of captain of cavalry. He had
distinguished himself on many occasions,
was a favourite of the Emperor's, wore the
cross of the Legion of Honour, and was con-
sidered in a fair way to rapid promotion,
when he committed a great error. During
the time that his squadron was occupying a
small German town, situated on the river
Erbach, called Deux Ponts, he saw my
mother, fell desperately in love, and matried.
There was some excuse for him, for a more
beautiful woman than my mother I never
beheld ; moreover, she was highly talented,
and a most perfect musician; of a good
family, and with a dower by no means con-
temptible.

The reader may say that, in marrying such
a woman, my father could hardly be said to
have committed a very great error. This is

true, the error was not in marrying, but in
allowing his wife’s influence over him to stop
his future advancement. He wished to leave
her with her father and mother until the
campaign was over. She refused to be left,
and he yielded to her wishes. Now, Na-
poleon had no objection to his officers being
matried, but a very great dislike to their
wives accompanying the army ; and this was
the fault which my father committed, and
which lost him the favour of his general.
My mother was too beautiful a woman not
to be noticed, and immediately inquired
about, and the knowledge soon came to
Napoleon’s ears, and militated against my
father’s future advancement.

During the first year of their marriage,
my eldest brother, Auguste, was born, and
shortly afterwards my motaer promised an
increase to the family, which was the occa-
sion of great satisfaction to my father, who,
now that he had been married more than a
year, would at times look at my mother, and
beautiful as she was, calculate in his mind
whether the possession of her was indemni-
fication sufficient for the loss of the brigade
which she had cost him.

To account for my father’s satisfaction, I
must acquaint the reader with circumstances
which are not very well known. As I before
observed, Napoleon had no objection to
marriage, because he requiced men for his
army ; and because he required men, and
not women, he thought very poorly of a
married couple who produced a plurality of
girls. If, on the contrary, a woman pre-
sented her husband with six or seven boys,
+f he was an Officer in the army, he was cer-
tain of a pension for life. Now, as my
mother had commenced with a boy, and it
is well known that there is every chance of a
woman continuing to produce the sex which
first makes its appearance, she was much
complimented and congratulated by the
officers when she so soon gave signs of an
increase, and_ they prophesied that she
would, by her fruitiulness, in a few years ob-tain a pension for her husband. My father
hoped so, and thought that if he had lost the
brigade, he would be indemnified by the
pension. My mother was certain of it ; and
Geclared it was a boy.

But prophecies, hopes, and declarations
were all falsified and overthrown by my un-
fortunate appearance. The disappointment
of my father was great; but he bore it like
aman. My mother was not only disap-
pointed, but indignant. She felt mortified,
after all her declarations, that I should have
appeared and disproved them. She was a
woman of violent temper, a discovery which
my father made too late. To me, as the
cause of her humiliation and disappoint-
ment, she took an aversion, which only .in-
creased as I grew up, and which, as will be
hereafter shown, was the mainspring of all
my vicissitudes in after-life.

Surely there is an error in asserting that
there is no feeling so strong as maternal
love. How often do we witness instances
like mine, in which disappointed vanity, am-
bition, or interest, have changed this love
into deadly hate!

My father, who felt the inconvenience of
my mother accompanying him on forced
marches, and who, perhaps, being disap-
pointed in bis hopes of a pension, thought
that he might as well recover the Emperor’s
favour, and look for the brigade, now pro-
posed that my mother should return with
her two children to her parents. ‘This my
mother, who had always gained the upper
hand, positively refused to accede to.. She
did, however, allow me and my brother
Auguste to be sent to her parents’ care at
Deux Ponts, and there we remained while
my father followed the fortunes of the Em-
peror, and my mother followed the fortunes
of my father. I have little or no recollection
of my maternal grandfather and grand-
mother, I remember that I lived with them,
as I remained there with my brother, till I
was seven years old, ‘at which period my
paternal grandmother offered to receive my
brother and me and take charge of our edu-
cation. This offer was accepted, and we
both went to Luneville, where she resided.

I have said that my paternal grandmother
offered to receive us, and not my paternal
grandfather, who was still alive. Such was
the case; as, could he have had his own
way, he would not have allowed us to come
to Luneville, for he had a great dislike to
children ; but my grandmother had property
of her own, independent of her husband,
and she insisted upon our coming. Very
often, after we had been received into her

 

  
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 

6 VALERIE.

house I would hear remonstrance on his
part relative to the expense of keeping us,
and the reply of my grandmother, which
would be, ‘4% bcen, Monsieur Chateneuyf,
c'est mon argent que je dépense. I must de-
scribe Monsieur Chatenceuf. As I before
stated, he had been an officer in the French
army ; but had now retired upon his pension,
with the rank of major, and decorated with
the Legion of Honour. At the time that I
first saw him, he wasa tall, elegant old man,
with hairas white as silver. I heard it said,
that when young, he was considered one of
the bravest and handsomest officers in the
French army. He was very quiet in his
manners, spoke very little, and took a large
quantity of snuff’ He was egotistic to
excess, attending wholly to himself and his
own comforts ; and it was because the noise
oi children interfered with his comfort that
he disliked them so much. Wesavw little of
him and caredless, IfI came into his room
when he was alone, he promised me a good
whipping, I therefore avoided him as much
as I could : the association was not pleasant.

Luneville is a beautiful town in the de-
partment of Meurthe. ‘The castle, or rather
palace, is a very splendid and spacious
building, in which formerly the Dukes of
Lorraine held their court. It was afterwards
inhabited by King Stanislaus, who founded
a military school, a library, and an hospital.
The palace was a square building, with a
handsome facade facing the town, and in
front of it there was a fountain. ‘There was
a large square in the centre of thepalace, and
behind it an extensive garden, which was
well kept up and carefully attended to.
One side of the palace was occupied by the
officers of the regiments quartered in Lune-
ville ; the opposite side, by the soldiery ; and
the remainder of the building was appropri-
ated to the reception of old retired officers
who had been pensioned. It was in this
beautiful building that my grandfather and
grandmother were established for the re-
mainder of their lives. xcept the Tui-
leries, I know of no palace in France equal to
that of Luneville. Hereit was that, at seve
years old, I took up my quarters ; and it is
from that period that I have always dated
my existence,

I have described my grandfather and my
residence, but now I must introduce my
grandmother ; my dear, excellent grand-
mother, whom I loved so much when she
was living, and whose memory I shall ever
revere. In person she was rather diminutive,
but although sixty years of age, she still re-
tained her figure, which was remarkablypretty, and she was as straight as an arrow.
Never had age pressed more lightly upon
the human frame; for, strange to say, her
hair was black as jet, and fell down to her
knees. It was considered a great curiosity,
and she was not a little proud of it, for there
was net a gray hair to be seen. Although
she had lost many of her teeth, her skin was
not wrinkled, but had a freshness most re-
markable in 2 person so advanced in years.
Her mind was as young as her body; she
was very witty and coquettish, and the
officers living in the palace were continually
in her apartments, preferring her company
to that of younger women. Partial to chil-
dren, she would join in all our sports, and
sit down to play ‘hunt the slipper’ with us
and our young companions. But with all
her vivacity, she was a strictly moral and re-
ligious woman. She could be lenient to in-
discretion and carelessness. but any devia-
tion from truth and honesty, on the part of
my brother or myself, was certain to be
visited with severe punishment. She argued,
that there could be no virtue, where there
was deceit, which she considered as the hot-
sed from which every vice would spring out
spontaneously ; that truth was the basis of
ail that was good and noble, and that every
other branch of education was, comparatively
speaking, of no importance, and, without
truth, of no value. She was right.

My brother and I were both sent

schools. ‘Lhe maid Catherine al

to day-
rays took

 

 

me to school after breakfast, and came to
fetch me home about four o'clock in the
afternoon. Those were happy times. With

what joy I used to return to the palace,
bounding into my grandmother's apartment
on the ground-floor, sometimes to frighten
her, leaping in at the window and dropping
at her feet, the old lady scolding and laugh-
ing atthesametime. My grandmother was,
as I observed. religious, but she was not a
devotee. The great object was to instil into
me a love of truth, and in this she was inde-
fatigable. When I did wrong, it was not the
fault I had committed which caused her con-
cern, it was the fear that I should deny it
which worried and alarmed her. To prevent
this, the old lady had a curious method—she
dreamed for my. benefit. If I had done
wrong, and she suspected me, she would not
accuse me until she had made such inquiries
as convinced her that I was the guilty per-
son ; and then, perhaps, the next morning,
she would say, as I stood by her side : *’ Va-
lerie, I had a dream last night ; I can't get
it out of my head. I dreamt that my little
girl had forgotten her promise to me, and

  

 

 

   

VALERIE.

7

when she went to the stéreroom had eaten a
large piece of the cake.’

She would fix her eyes upon me as she
narrated the events of her dream, and, as
she proceeded, my face would be covered
with blushes, and my eyes cast down in con-
fusion ; I dared not look at her,and by the
time that she had finished, I was down on
my knees, with my face buried in her lap.
If my offence was great, I had to say my
prayers, and implore the Divine forgiveness,
and was sent to prison, thatis, locked up for
a few hours in my bedroom. Catherine, the
maid, had been many years with my grand-
mother, and was, to a certain degree, a pri-
vileged person ; at all events, she considered
herself warranted in giving her opinion, and
grumbling as much as she pleased, and such
was invariably. the case whenever T was
locked up. ‘ Towjours en prison, cetle pau-
ure petite, It is too bad, madam, you must
let herout.’ My grandmother would quietly
reply, ‘Catherine, you are a good woman,
but you understand nothing about the edu-
cation of children.’ Sometimes, however,
she obtained the key from my _ grand-
nother, and I was released sooner than was
originally intended.

The fact is, that being put in prison wasa
very heavy punishment, as it invariably took
place in the evenings after my return from
school, so that I lost my play-hours. There
were a great many officers with} their wives
located in the palace, and, of course, no
want of playmates. The girls used to go to
the dosguet, which adjoined the gardens of
the palace, collect flowers, and make a gar-
land, which they hung on a rope stretched
across the courtyard of the palace. As the
day closed in, the party from each house, or
apartments rather, brought out a lantern,
and having thus illuminated our ballroom by
subscription, the boys and girls danced the
vondé, and other games, until it was bed-
time. Asthe window of my bedroom looked
out upon the’court, whenever I was put into
prison, I had the mortification of witnessing
all these joyous games without being per-
mitted to join in them.

To prove the:effect of my grandmother's
dreaming upon me, I will narrate a circum-
stance which occurred. My grandfather had
a landed property about four miles from
Luneville. A portion of this land was let
to a farmer, and the remainder he farmed
on his own account, and the produce was
consumed in the housekeeping. From this
farm we received milk, butter, cheese, all
kinds of fruit, and indeed everything which
a farm produces. In that part of FranceSAM TE

TIMER:

 

 

 

 

 

they have a method of melting down and
clarifying butter for winter use, instead of
salting it. This not only preserves it, but,
to most people, makes it more palatable ; at
all events, I can answer for myself, for I was
inordinately fond of it. There were eighteen
or twenty jars of it in the storeroom, which
were used up in rotation. I dared not take
any out of the jar in use, as I should be cer-
tain to be discovered ; so I went to the last
jar, andby my repeated assaults upon it, it
was nearly empty before my grandmother dise
covered it. As usual, she had a dream.
She commenced with counting over the
number of jars of butter; and how she
opened such a one, and it was full; and
then the next, and it was full; but before
her dream was half over, and she was stilla
long way from the jar which I had despoiled,
I was on my knees, telling her the end of the
dream, of my own accord, for I could not
bear the suspense of having all the jars ex-
amined. From that time, I generally made
a full confession before the dream was ended.

But when I was about nine years old I was
guilty of a very heavy offence, which I shall
narrate, On account of the peculiar punish-
ment which I received, and which might be
advantageously pursued by the parents of
the present day, who may happen to cast
their eyes over these memoirs. It was the
custom for the children of the officers who
lived in the palace, that is, the girls, to club
together occasionally, that they might have
a little /éfe in the garden of the palace. It
was. a Sort of picnic, to which every one con-
tributed : some would bring cakes, some
fruit ; some would bring money (a few sous)
to purchase bon-bons, or anything else which
might be agreed upon.

On those occasions, my grandmother in-
variably gave me fruit, a very liberal allow-
ance of apples and pears, from the store-
room ; for we had plenty from the orchard
of the farm. . But one day, one of the elder
girls told me that they had plenty of fruit,
and that I must bringsome money. I asked
my grandmother, but she refused me; and
then this girl proposed that I should steal
some from my grandfather. I objected ;
but she ridiculed my objections, and pressed
me until she overcame my scruples, and I
consented. But when I left her, after she
had obtained my promise, I was in a sad
state. I knew it was wicked to steal, and
the girl had taken care to point out to me
how wicked it was to break a promise. I
did not know what to do: all that evening
I was in such a state of feverish excitement,
that my grandmother was quite astonished.

VALERIE.

   

The fact was, that I was ashamed to retract
my promise, and yet I trembled at the deed
that I was about to do. I went into my room
and got into bed. I remained awake; and
about midnight I got up, and creeping softly
into my grandfather's room, I went to his
clothes, which were on a chair, and rifled
his pockets of—two sous !

Having effected my purpose, I retired
stealthily, and gained myown room. What
my feelings were when I was again in bed,
I cannot well describe—they were horribie—
I could not shut my eyes for the remainder
of the night, and the next morning I made
my appearance, haggard, pale, and trem-
bling. It proved, however, that my grand-
father, who was awake, had witnessed the
theft in silence, and informed my grand
mother of it. Before I went to school, my
grandmother called me in to her, for I had
avoided her.

‘Come here, Valerie,’ said she; ‘I have
had a dream—a most dreadful dream—it
was about a little girl, who, in the middle of
the night, crept into her grandfather’s
room i

I could bear no more. I threw myself on
the floor, and, in agony, screamed out—

‘Yes, grandmamma, and stole two sous.’

A paroxysm of tears followed the confes-
sion, and for more than an hour I remained
on the floor, hiding my face and sobbing.
My grandmother allowed me to remain
there—she was very much annoyed—I had
committed a crime of the first magnitude—
my punishment was severe. I was locked
up in my room for ten days ; but this was
the smallest portion of the punishment:
every visitor that came in, I was sent for,
and on my making my appearance, my
grandmother would take me by the hand,
and leading me up, would formally present
me to the visitors.

‘Permettez, madame (ou monsieur), que
je vous présente Mademoiselle Valerie, qui
est enfermée dans sa chambre pour avoir
volé deux sous de son grand-pére.’

Oh ! the shame, the mortification that I
felt. This would take place at least ten
times a day; and each succeeding presenta-
tion was followed by a burst of tears, as I
was again led back to my chamber. Severe
as this punishment was, the effect of it was
excellent. I would have endured martyr-
dom, after what I had gone through, before
I would have taken what was not my own.
It was a painful, but a judicious, and most
radical cure.

For five years I remained under the care
of this most estimable woman, and, underher guidance, had become a truthful and re-
ligious girl ; and I may conscientiously add,
that I was as innocent as a lamb—but a
change was at hand. The Emperor had
been hurled from his throne, and was shut
up on a barren rock, and soon great altera-
tions were made in the French army. My
father’s regiment of hussars had been dis-
banded, and he was now appointed to a
dragoon regiment, which was ordered to
Luneville. He arrived with my mother and
a numerous family, she having presented
him with seven more children ; so that, with
Auguste and me, he had now nine children.
I may as well here observe that my mother
continued to add yearly to the family, till she
had fourteen in all, and out of these there
were seven boys ; so that, had the I-mperor
remained on the throne of France, my father
would certainly have secured the pension.

The arrival of my family was a source
both of pleasure and pain to me. I was
most anxious to see all my brothers and
sisters, and my heart yearned towards my
father and mother, although I had no recol-
lection of them; but I was fearful that I
should be removed from my grandmother's
care, and she was equally alarmed at the
chance of our separation. Unfortunately
for me, it turned out as we had anticipated.
My mother was anything but gracious to my
grandmother, notwithstanding the obliga-
tions she was under to her, and very soon
took an.opportunity of quarrelling with her.
The cause of the quarrel was very absurd,
and proved that it was predetermined on the
part of my mother. My grandmother had
some curious old carved furniture, which my
mother coveted, and requested my grand-
mother to let her have it. This my grand-
mother would not consent to, and my mother
took offence at her refusal. I and my bro-
ther were immediately ordered home, my
mother asserting that we had been both
very badly brought up; and this was all
the thanks that my grandmother received
for her kindness to us, and defraying all our
expenses for five years.

I had not been at home more than a week
when my father’s regiment was ordered to
Nanci; but, during this short period, I had
sufficient to convince me that I should be
very miserable. My mother's dislike to me,
which I have referred to before, now assumed
the character of positive hatred, and I was
very ill-treated. I was employed as a ser-
vant, and as nurse to the younger children ;
and hardly a day passed without my feeling
the weight of her hand. We set off for
Nanci, and I thought my heart would break

VALERIE.

9

as I quitted the arms of my grandmother,
who wept over me. My father was very
willing to leave me with my grandmother,
who promised to leave her property to me ;
but this offer in my favour enraged my
mother still more ; she declared that I should
not remain ; and my father had long suc-
cumbed to her termagant disposition, and
yielded implicit obedience to her authority.
It was lamentable to see such a fine soldier-
like man afraid even to speak before this
woman ; but he was completely under her
thraldom, and never dared to contradict.

As soon as we were settled in the barracks
at Nanci my mother commenced her system
of persecution in downright earnest. I had
to make all the beds, wash the children,
earry out the baby, and do every menial
office for my brothers and sisters, who were
encouraged to order me about. I had very
good clothes, which had been provided me
by my grandmother; they were all taken
away, and altered for my younger sisters ;
but what was still more mortifying, all my
sisters had lessons in music, dancing, and
other accomplishments, from various masters,
whose instructions I was not permitted to
take advantage of, although there would
have been no addition to the expense.

‘Oh! my father,’ cried I, ‘why is this?
—what have I done ?—am not I your daugh-
ter—your eldest daughter ?’

‘1 will speak to your mother,’ replied he.

And he did venture to do so; but, by so
doing, he raised up such a tempest, that he
was glad to drop the subject, and apologize
for an act of justice. Poor man! he could
do no more than pity me.

I well remember my feelings at that time.
I felt that I could love my mother, love her
dearly, if she would have allowed me to do
so. I had tried to obtain her goodwill, but
I received nothing in return but blows, and
at last I became so alarmed when in her
presence, that I almost lost my reason. My
ears were boxed til] I could not recollect
where I was, and I became stupefied with
fear. All I thought of, all my anxiety, at
last, was to get out of the room where my
mother was. My terror was so great, that
her voice made me tremble, and at the sight
of her I caught my breath and gasped from
alarm. My brother Auguste was very nearly
as much an object of dislike to my mother
as I was, chiefly because he had been brought
up by my grandmother, and, moreover, be-
cause he would take my part.

The great favourite of my mother was my
second brother, Nicolas ; he was a wonderful
musician, could play upon any instrument,/

 

 

LO_ VALERIE.

and the most difficult music at sight. This
talent endeared him to my mother, who was
herself a first-rate musician. He was per-
mitted to order me about just as he pleased,
and if I did not please him, to beat me
without mercy, and very often my mother
would fly at me and assist him. But Au-
guste took my part, and Nicolas received
very severe chastisement from him, but this
did not help me ;.on the contrary, if Auguste
interfered in my behalf, my mother would
pounce upon me, and I may say that I was
stunned with her blows. Auguste appealed
to his father, but he dared notinterfere. He
was coward enough to sit by and see his
daughter treated in this way without remon-
strance; and, in ashort time, I was fast ap-
proaching to what my mother declared me
to be—a perfect idiot.

I trust that my own sex will not think me
a renegade when I say, that if ever there
was a proof that woman. was intended by
the Creator to be subject to man, itis, that
once place power in the hands of woman,
and there is not one out of a hhundred who
will not abuse it. We hear much of th
rights of woman, and their wrongs; but
this is.certain, that in a family, as in a State,
there can be no divided rule—no equality.
One must be master, and no family is so
badly managed, or so badly brought up, as
where the law of nature is reversed, and we
contemplate that most despicable of all Zzsz
nature —a hen-pecked husband. ‘To pro-
ceed, the consequence of my mother’s treat-
ment was to undermine in me all the pre-
cepts of my worthy grandmother. I was a
slave; and a slave under the continual influ-
ence of fear cannot be honest. The fear of
punishment produced deceit to avoid it.
Even my Bion 1er' Auguste, from. his regard
and pity for me, would fall into the same
error. . ‘ Valerie,’ he would say, running out
to me as | was coming home with my little
brother in my arms, ‘ your mother will beat
you on your return. You must say so and
so.” This so and so was, of course, an un-
truth ; and, in consequence, my fibs were so
awkward, and accompanied by so much
hesitation and blushing, that I was invaria-
bly found out, and then punished for what I
did not deserve to be ; and when my mother
obtained such triumphant proof against me
she did not fail to make the most of it with
my father, who, by degrees, began to con-
sider that my treatment was merited, and
that I was a bad and deceitful child

My only happiness was to be out in the

open air, away from my mother’s eS
and this was only to be obtained when I wa

 

ordered out with my little brother Pierre,
whom I had to carry as soon as I had done
the household work. If Pierre was fractious
my mother would order me out of the house
with him Eee This I knew, and I
used to pinch the poor child to make him
ery, that I might gain my oleae and be
sent away; so that to duplicity I added
cruelty. Six months before this, had any
one told me that I ever would be guilty of
such a thing, with what indignation I should
have denied it !

Although my mother flattered herself that
it was only in her own domestic circle that
her unnatural conduct towards me was
known, such was not the case, and the
treatment which I received from her was the
Occasion of much sympathy on the part of
the officers and their wives, who were quar-
tered in the harracks. Some of them ven-
tured to remonstrate with my father for his
consenting to it; but although he was cowed
by a woman, he had no fear of men, and as
he told them c< andidly that any future inter-
ference in his domestic concerns must be an-
swered by the sword, no more was said to
him on the subject. Strange, that a man
should risk his life with such indifference,
rather than remedy an evil, and yet be under
such thraldom to a woman !—that one who
was always distinguished in action as the
most forward and the most brave, should be
a trembling coward before an imperious
wife! But this is a world of sad contradic-
tions.

There was a lady ia the barracks, wife to
one of the superior officers, who was very
partial tome. She had a daughter, a very
sweet girl, who was also named Valerie.
When I could escape from the house, I used
to be constantly with them ; and when I saw
my namesake caressing and caressed, in the
arms of her mother, as I was sitting by ona
stool, the tears would run down at the
thought that such pleasure was debarred
from me.

‘Why do you cry, Valerie ?’

‘Oh! madam, why have I not a mother
like your Valerie? Why am I to be beat in
stead of being caressed and fondled like
her? What have I done?—But she is not
my mother—I’ m sure she cannot be—I never
will believe it.’

And such had really become my convic-
tion, and in consequence I never would ad-
dress her by the title of mother. This my
mother perceived, and it only added to her
ill-will. Only permit any one feeling or
passion to master you—allow it to increase by
never being in the slightest degree checked,VALERIE, =r

and it is horrible to what an excess it will
carry you. About this time, my mother
proved the truth of the above observation
y saying to me, as she struck me to the
ground, —

direct to Luneville, on account of my grand-
father, who, I knew, from motives of parsi-
mony, would be unwilling to’ receive me. I
told my history to the farmer's wife, showing
ound. — mee her my face covered with bruises and scars,
I'll kill you,’ cried she ; and then, catch- and entreated her to go tomy grandmother's
ing her breath, said in a low determined and tell her where Iwas. She put me to
tone, ‘Oh! I only wish that I dared.’ bed, and the next morning set off for Lune-
ville, and acquainted my grandmother with
—— the circumstances. ‘The old lady immedi-
ately ordered her char-d-bane and drove out
GHAPTER. Wh forme. ‘There was proof positive of my
mother’s cruelty, and the good old woman
ONE day, a short time after this, I was shed tears over me when she had pulled off
walking out as usual with my little brother the humble blue cotton dress which I wore
Pierre in my arms ; I was deep in thought ; andexamined my wounds and bruises... When
in imagination I was at Luneville with my we arrived at Luneville, we met with much
dear grandmother, when my foot slipped, Opposition from my grandfather, but my
and I fell.. In trying to save my brother, I grandmother was resolute.
hurt myself very much, and he, poor child, ‘Since you object to my receiving her in
was unfortunately very much hurt, as Well the house,’ said she, ‘at all events you can-
as myself. Hecried and moaned piteously, not prevent my doing my duty towards her,
and I did all that I could to console him, and doing as I please with my own money.
but he was in too much pain to he com- I shall therefore send her to school, and pay
forted. I remained out for an hour or two, her expenses.’
not daring to go home, but the evening was As soon as new clothes could be made for
i at last...The me, I was sent to the best pexszon in Lune-

 

   

closing in, and I returned
child, who could not yet speak, still moaned ville. Shortly afterwards my father arrived ;
and cried, and I told the truth as to the he had been despatched by my mother to
cause of it. My mother flew at me, and I reclaim me and bring me back with him ;
received such chastisement that I could be but he found the tide too strong against him,
patient no longer, and I pushed my mother and my grandmother threatened to appeal to
from me; I was felled to the ground, and the authorities and make an exposure ; this
left there bleeding profusely. he knew would be a serious injury to his
After a time I rose up and crawled to character, 'and he was therefore compelled
bed. Ireflected upon all I had suffered, to go back without me, andI remained a
and made up my mind that I would nolonger year and a half at the penszon, very happy,
remain under my father’s roof. At day- and improving very fast in my education and
break I dressed myself, hastened out of the my personal appearance.
barracks, and set off for Luneville, which But I was not destined to be so happy
was fifteen miles distant. I had gained long. True it was, that during this year and
about halfthe way when I was met by a sol- a half of tranquillity and happiness, the feel-
dier of the regiment who had once been our ings created by my mother’s treatment had
servant. I tried to avoid him, but he recog- softened down, and all animosity had long
nised me. I then begged him not to inter- been discarded, but I was too happy to
fere with me, and told him that I was run= want to return home again. At the ex-
ning away to my grandmother's. Jacques, piration of this year anda half, my father’s
for that was his name, replied that I was regiment was again ordered to shift their
right, and that he would say nothing quarters toa small town, the name of which
about it. I now forget; but Luneville lay in their
‘But, mademoiselle,’ continued he, ‘you route. My mother had for some time ceased.
will be tired before you get to Luneville, and to importune my father about my return.
may have a chance of a conveyance if you The fact was, that she had been so coldly
have money to pay for it.’ treated by the other ladies at Nanci, in con-
He then slipped a five-franc piece into my sequence of her behaviour to me, that she
hand. and left me to pursue my way. I con- did not think it advisable ; but now that they
tinued my journey, and at last arrived at the were about to remove, she insisted upon my
farm belonging to my grandfather, which I father taking me with him, promising that I
have before mentioned as being about four should be well treated, and have the same
miles from the town. I was afraid to go instruction as my sisters ; in fact, she pro-ee REELS ID

 

 

 

 

   

 

r2 VALERIE.

mised everything ; acknowledging to my
grandmother that she had been too hasty to
me, and was very sorry for it. Even my
brother Auguste thought that she was now
sincere, and my father, my brother, and even
my dear grandmother, persuaded me to con-
sent. My mother was now very kind and
affectionate towards me, and as I really
wanted to love her, I left the pezszon and
accompanied the family to their new
quarters.

But this was all treachery on the part of
my mother. Regardless of my advantage,
as she had shown herself on every occasion,
she had played her part that she might have
an opportunity of discharging an accumu-
lated debt of revenge, which had been heaped
up in consequence of the slights she had re-
ceived from other people on account of her
treatment of me. We had hardly been set-
tled in our new abode, before my mother
burst out with a virulence again which ex-
ceeded all her former cruelty. But I was
no longer the frightened victim that I had
been ; I complained to my father, and in-
sisted upon justice; but that was useless.
My brother Auguste now took my part in
defiance of his father, and it was one scene
of continual family discord. I had made
many friends, and used to remain at their
houses all day. As for doing household
work, notwithstanding her blows, I refused
it. One morning my mother was chastising
me severely, when my brother Auguste, who
was dressed in his hussar uniform, came in
and hastened to my assistance, interposing
himself between us. My mother's rage was
beyond all bounds. :

‘Wretch,’ cried she, ‘would you strike
your mother ?’

‘No,’ replied he, ‘but I will protect my
sister. You barbarous woman, why do you
not kill her at once? it would be a kindness.’

It was after this scene that I resolved that
I would again return to Luneville. I did
not confide my intentions to any one, not
even to Auguste. There was a great diffi-
culty in getting out of the front door without
being perceived, and my bundle would
have created suspicion; by the back of
the house the only exit was through a
barred window. I was then fourteen years
old, but very slight in figure. I tried if my
head would pass through the bars, and suc-
ceeding, I soon forced my body through,
and seizing my bundle, made all haste to the
diligence office. I found that it was about
to start for Luneville, which was more than
half a day’s journey distant. I got in very
quickly, and the conducteur, knowing me,

   

thought that all was right, and the diligence
drove off.

There were two people in the coupé with
me, an officer and his wife; before we had
proceeded far, they asked me where I was
going; I replied, to my grandmother's at
Luneville. Thinking it, however, strange
that I should be unaccompanied, they ques-
tioned, until they extracted the whole history
from me. ‘The lady wished me to come to
her on a visit, but the husband, more pru-
dent, said that I was better under the care
of my grandmother.

About mid-day we stopped to change
horses at an auzberge called the Louis d’Or,
about a quarter of a mile from Luneville.
Here I alighted without offering any ex-
planation to the conducteur, butas he knew
me and my grandmother well, that was of
no consequence. My reason for alighting
was, that the diligence would have put me
down at the front of the palace, where I was
certain to meet my grandfather, who passed
the major portion of the day there, basking
on one of the seats ; and I was afraid to see
him until I had communicated with my
grandmother. I had an uncle in the town,
and I had been very intimate with my cousin
Marie, who was a pretty, kind-hearted girl,
and I resolved that I would go there, and

eg her to go to my grandmother. The
difficulty was, how to get to the house with-
out passing the front of the palace, or even
the bridge across the river. At last I decided
that I would walk down by the river side
until I was opposite to the dosgwet, which
adjoined the garden of the palace, and there
wait till it was low water, when I knew that
the river ‘could be forded, as I had often seen
others do so.

When I arrived opposite to the dosguet, I
sat down on my bundle, by the banks of the
river for two or three hours, watching the
long feathery weeds at the bottom, which
moved gently from one side to the other
with the current of the stream. As soon as
it was low water I pulled off my shoes and
stockings, put them into my bundle, and
raising my petticoats, I gained the opposite
shore without difficulty. Ithen replaced my
shoes and stockings, crossed the dosqguer, and
gained my uncle's house. My uncle was
not at home, but I told my story and showed
my bruises to Marie, who immediately put
on her bonnet and went to my grandmother.
That night I was again installed in my own
little bedroom, and most gratefully did I pray
before I went to sleep.

This time my grandmother took more de-
cided steps. She went to the commandantVALERIE.

of the town, taking me with her, pointing
out the treatment which I had receivea, and
claiming his protection ; she stated that she
bad educated me and brought me up, and
that she had a claim uponme. My mother's
treatment of me was so notorious, that the
commandant immediately decided that my
grandmother had a right to detain me ; and
when my father came a day or two after to
take me back, he was ordered home by the
commandant, with a severe rebuke, and the
assurance that I should not return to a father
who could permit such cruelty and injustice.

I was now once more happy ; but as I re-
mained in the house, my grandfather was
continually vexing my grandmother on my
account; nevertheless, I remained there more
than a year, during which I learnt a great
deal, particularly lace work and fine em-
broidery, at which I became very expert.
But now there was another opposition raised,
which was on the part of my uncle, who
joined my grandfather in annoying the old
lady. The fact was, that when I was not
there, my grandmother was very kind and
generous to my cousin Marie, wno certainly
deserved it ; but now that I was again with
her, all her presents and expenses were
lavished upon me, and poor Marie was neg-
lected.

My uncle was not pleased at this; he
joined my grandfather, and they pointed out
that I was now more than fifteen, and my
mother dare not beat me, and as my father
was continually writing for me to return, it
was her duty not to oppose. Between the
two, my poor grandmother was so annoyed
and perplexed that she hardly knew what to
do. They made her miserable, and at last
they worried her into consenting that I
should return to my family, which had now
removed to Colmar. I did not know this.
It was my grandmother's birthday. I had
worked for her a beautiful sachet in lace and
embroidery, which, with a large bouquet, I
brought to her as a present. The old lady
folded me in her arms, and burst into tears.
She then told me that we must part, and
that I must return to my father's. Had a
dagger been thrust to my heart, I could not
have received more anguish.

‘Yes, dear Valerie,’ continued she, ‘you
must leave me to-morrow; I can no longer
prevent it. I have not the health and spirits
that [had. Iam growing old—very old.’

I did not remonstrate, or try to make her
alter her decision. I knew how much she
bad been annoyed and worried for my sake,
and I felt that I would bear everything for
hers, I cried bitterly. The next morning

 

 

 

 

13

my father made his appearance and em~
braced me with great affection. He was
much pleased with my personal improve-
ment. I was now fast budding into woman-=
hood, although | had the feelings of amere
child. I bade farewell to my grandmother,
and also to my grandfather, whom I never
saw again, as he died three months after it
quitted Luneville.

I trust my readers will not think that I
dwell too long upon this portion of my life.
I do it because I consider it is necessary they
should know in what manner I was brought
up, and also the cause of my leaving my
family, as I afterwards did. If I hadstated
merely that I could not agree with my
mother. who treated me cruelly, they might
have imagined that I was not warranted, in
a moment of irritation, in taking such a de-
cided step; but when they learn that my
persecutions were renewed the moment that
I was again in my mother’s power, and that
nothing could conquer her inveteracy against
me, neither time, nor absence, nor submis-
sion on my part, nor remonstrance from
others, not even a regard for her own cha-
racter, nor the loss of her friends and ac-
quaintances, they will then acknowledge that
T could have done no otherwise, unless IL
preferred being in daily risk of my life. On
my arrival at Colmar, my mother received
me graciously, but her politeness did not
last long. I now gave a new cause of offence
—one that a woman, proud of her beauty,
and jealous of its decay, does not easily for-
give. I was admired and paid great atien-
tion to by the officers, —much more attention
than she received herself.

‘M. Chatenceuf,’ the officers would say,
‘you have begotten a daughter much hand-
somer than yourself.’ My mother considered
this as a polite way to avoid saying that IL
wvas much handsomer than she was. If she
thought so, she did herself a great injustice,
for 1 could not be compared to what she was —
when she was of my age. She was even
then a most splendid matron. But I had
youth in my favour, which is more than half
the battle. At all events, the remarks and
attentions of the officers aroused my mother’s
spleen, and she was more harsh in language
than ever, although I admit that it was but
seldom that she resorted to blows.

I recollect that one day, when I was not
supposed to be in hearing, one of the officers
said to another, ‘Za fot, elle est jolie—elle
a besoin de deux ans, et elle sera parfaite.’
So childish and innocent was I at that time,
that I could not imagine what they meant.

‘Why was I to be two years older? I14 VALERIFA.

thought and puzzled over it till I fell fast
asleep. The attentions of the officers,
and the flattery he received from them
on my account, appeared to have more
effect on my father than I could have ima-
gined. Perhaps he felt that I was somebody
to be proud of, and his vanity gave him that
courage to oppose my mother which his
paternal feelings had not roused. I recol-
lect one instance particularly. ‘There was a
great ceremony to be performed in the
church, no less than the christening of the
two new belis, previous to their being hoisted
up in the belfry. The officers told my father
that I must be present, and on his return
home he stated to my mother his intention
of taking me with him on the following day
to see the ceremony.

“She can’t go—she has no clothes fit to
wear, cried my mother.

‘Why has she not, madam?’ replied my
father, sternly. ‘Let her have some ready
for to-morrow, and without fail.’

My mother perceived that my father was
not to be trifled with, and therefore thought
proper to acquiesce. Pity it was that he did
not use his authority a little more, after he
had discovered that he could regain it if he
pleased.

On the following day I accompanied my
father, who was one of the officers on duty
in the interior of the church, and as he stood
in advance of his men, I remained at his
side, and of course hada very complete
view of the whole ceremony. I was very
neatly dressed, and my father received many
compliments upon my appearance. At last
the ceremony began. ‘The church was lined
with troops to keep back the crowd, and the
procession entered the church, the bishop
walking under a canopy, attended by the
priests, then the banners, and pretty child-
ren, dressed as angels,, tossing frankincense
from silver censers. The two bells were in
the centre of the church, both of them
dressed in white petticoats, which covered
them completely. ornamented with ribands,
and a garland of flowers upon the head of
each—if I may so designate their tops. The
godmothers, dressed in white, as on bap-
tismal ceremonies, and the godfathers in
court suits, stood on each side. They had
been selected from the ézfe of the families
inthe town. The organ and the military
band relieved each other until the service
commenced. The bishop read the for-

mula; the godfathers and godmothers gave
the customary security ; the holy water was
sprinkled over the bells, and thus were they
regularly baptized.

One was named Eulalie

and the other Lucile. It was a very pretty
ceremony, and I should have liked to have
been present at their ‘premdéere communion’
if it ever took place.

My English readers may consider this as
a piece of mummery. At the time I did not.
Asa good Catholic, which I was at that
time, and a pretty Frenchwoman, I thought
that nothing could be more correct than the
décoration des belles. believe that it has
always been the custom to name bells—to
consecrate them, most certainly—and if we
call to mind what an important part they
perform in our religion, I do not wonder at
it. By being cotisecrated, they receive the
rites of the church. Why, therefore, should
they not receive the same rites in baptism ?
But why baptizethem? Because they speak
to us in many ways, and with their loud
tongues express the feelings, and make
known the duties imposed upon us. Is
there cause for the nation to rejoice, their
merry notes proclaim it from afar ; in solemn
tones they summon.us to the house of prayer,
to the lifting of the Host. and to the blessing
of the priest ; and it is their mournful notes
which announce to us that one of our gene-
ration has been summoned away, and has
quitted this transitory abode. ‘Their offices
are Christian offices, and therefore are they
received into the church.

CHAPTER IIT.

AN elder sister of my mother’s résided at
Colmar, and I passed most of my time with
her during our stay. When my father’s re-
giment was ordered to Paris, this lady re-
quested that [ might remain with her; but
my mother refused, telling her sister that she
could not, conscientiously asa mother, allow
any of her daughters to quit her care for
any worldly advantage. hat this was
mere hypocrisy, the reader will imagine ;
indeed, it was fully proved so to be in two
hours afterwards, by my mother telling my
father that if her sister had offered to take
Clara, my second sister, she would have con-
sented. The fact was, that the old lady had
promised to dower me very handsomely (for
she was rich), and my mother could not bear
any good fortune to come to me.

We passed through Luneville on our road
to Paris, and Isaw my dear grandmother
for the last time. She requested that I might
be left with her, making the same offer as
she did before, of leaving me all her pro-
perty at her death; but my mother wouldVALERIE.

iiot listen to any solicitation. Now as our
family was now fourteen in number, she
surely might, in either of the above in-
stances, have well spared me, and it would
have been a relief to my father; but_ this- is
certain, she would not spare me, although
she never disguised her dislike, and would,
if she had dared, have treated meas she had
formerly done, I was very anxious to stay
with my dear grandmother. She had altered
very much since my grandfather's death,
and was evidently breaking up fast ; but my
mother was inexorable. We continued our
route, and arrived at Paris, where we took
up our quarters in the barracks close to the
Boulevards.

My mother was as harsh as ever, and now
recommenced her boxes of the ear—which
during the time we were at Colmar had but
seldom been applied. In all my troubles I
never was without friends. I now made an
acquaintance with the wife of a colonel of
the regiment, who joined us at Paris. She
had no children. I imparted all my troubles
to her, and she used to console me. She
was a very religious woman, and as [ had
been brought up in the same way by my
grandmother, she was pleased io find piety
in one so young, and became much attached
tome. She had a sister, a widow of large
fortune, who lived in the Rue St. Honoré,
a very pleasant, lively woman, but very sar-
castic when she pleased, and not caring
what she said if her feeling prompted her.
constantly met her at the colonel’s house,
and she invited me to come and see her at
her own ; but I knew that my mother would
not permit me, so I did not ask. As the
colonel was my father’s superior officer, all
attempts to break off my intimacy with her,
which my mother made, were unavailing,
and I passed as usual all my time in any
other house except my home.

I have now to record but two more beat-
The reader may think that I have
recorded enough already ; butas these were
the two last, and they were peculiar, I
must beg him to allow me so todo. Lhe
first beating was given me for the following
cause :—A very gentlemanlike young officer
in the regiment was very particular in his
attentions to me. I liked his company, but
my thoughts had never been directed to-
wards marriage, for I was too childish and
innocent. One morning it appeared that he
proposed to my father, who immediately
gave his consent, provided that I was agree-

>

ings.

able, and this be ventured to do without con-

Perhaps he thought it

sulting my mother.
me from my

a good opportunity to remove

 

 

 

 

 

 

rs

mother’s persecution. At all events, when
he made known to her what he had done,
and requested her to sound me on the sub-
ject. she was in no pleasant humour. When
she did so, my reply was (he being a very dark-
complexioned man, although wel -featured),
‘Non, mama, Je ne veux Pas. Ll est trop
22027.

To my astonishment, my mother flew at
me, and I received such an avalanche. of
boxes on the ears for this reply, that 1 was
glad to make my escape as fast as I could,
and locked myself up in my own room.
Now, I really believe that I was almost a
single instance of a young lady haying. her
ears well boxed for refusing to marry a man
that she did not care for—but such was my
fate.

The treatment I received in this instance
got wind in the barracks, and my cause was
warmly taken up by every one. Finding
myself thus supported, I one day ventured to
refuse to do a very menial and unpleasant
office, and for this refusal 1 received th
second beating. It was the last certainly,
but it was the most severe ; for my mother
caught up a hearth-brush, and struck me
for several minutes such a succession of
severe blows, that my face was So disfigured
that 1 was hardly to be recognised, my head
cut open in several places, and the blood
pouring down me in- every direction. At
last she left me for dead on the floor. After
a time I recovered my recollection, and
when I did so, I sprang away from the ser-
vants who had been supporting me, and
with my hair flying in the wind, and my face
and dress streaming with blood, I ran across
the barrack-yard to the colonel’s house, and
entering the room in which she was sitting
with her sister, sank at her feet, choking
with the blood which poured out of my
mouth.

‘Who is it?’ exclaimed she, springing up
in horror and amazement.

‘ Valerie —pauvre Valerie,’ moaned I, with
my face on the floor.

They raised me up,

 

 

 

sent for the servants,
took me into a bed-room, and sent for the
surgeon of the regiment, who lived in the
barracks. As soo. ast was somewhat re-
covered, I told the » <nat it was my mothers
treatment ; and I became so excited, that
as soon as the surgeon had left the house, L
cried.

‘Never, madam, willl again enter my
father’s house ; never while I live—if you do
not protect me—9or if nobody else will—if
you send me back again, I will throw myself

in the Seine. I swear it as 1 kneel.’‘What is to be done, sister?’ said the
colonel’s wife.

‘I willsee. At all events, Valerie, I will
keep you here a few days till something can
be arranged. It is now quite dark, and you
shail stay here, and sleep on this bed.’

* Or the bed of the river,’ replied I ; ‘I care
not if it were that, for I should not rise up to
misery. I have made a vow, and I repeat,
that I never will enter my father’s house
again.’

‘My dear Valerie,’ said the colonel’s wife,
in a soothing tone,

‘Leave her to me, sister,’ said the other,
who was busy arranging my hair, now that
my wounds had stopped bleeding, ‘TI will
talk to her. The colonel will be home di-
rectly, and you must receive him.’

Madaine Allarde, for that was the colo-
nel’s wife’s name, left the room. Assoon as
she was gone, Madame d’Albret, her sister,
said to me, ‘Valerie, I fear that what you
have said you will adhere to, and you will
throw yourself into the river.’

“Yes, if I am taken back again,’ replied I.
‘I hope God will forgive me ;but I feel I
shall, for my mind is overthrown, and I am
not sane at times.’

“My poor child, you may go back again
to your father’s house, because my sister and
her husband, in their position, cannot pre-
vent it, but believe me, you shal] not remain
there. As long as I havea home to offer,
you shall never want one; but you must
listen to me. I wish to serve you and to
punish your unnatural mother, and I will do
so ; but Valerie, you must well Weigh cir-
cumstances before you decide; I say that I
can offer you a home, but recollect life is
uncertain, and if it pleases God to summon
me, you will havea home no longer. What
will you do then ?—for you will never he able
to return to your father’s house.’

“You are very kind, madam,’ replied I,
‘hut my resolution is formed, and I will
work for my daily bread in any way that J
can, rather than return. Put me but in the
way of doing that, and I will for ever bless
you.’

‘You shall never work for your bread
while I live, Valerie ; but if I die, you will
have to do something for your own support,
and recollect how friendiess you will be, and
So young.’

‘Can I be more friendless than I am at
home, madam?’ said I, shaking my head
mournfully.

‘Your father deserves punishment for his
want of moral courage, as well as your
mother,’ replied Madame d’Albret, “You

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
   
   
   
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
    

16 VALERIE.

had better go to bed now, and to-morrow
give me your decision.’

‘To-morrow will make no change, madam,’
answered I, ‘but I fear that there is no
chance of my escape. To-morrow my
father will arrive for me as usual, and—but
I have said it. You may preserve my life,
madam, but how I know not ;’ and I threw
myself down on the bed in despair.

CHAPTER. TV,

ABOUT an hour afterwards Madame d’Albret,
who had left me on the bed while she went
down to her sister, came up again, and spoke
tome; but from weakness, occasioned by
the loss of blood and from excitement, I
talked for many minutes in the most inco-
herent manner, and Madame d’Albret was
seriously alarmed. In the mean time the
colonel had come home, and his wife ex-
plained what had happened.- She led him
up to my room just at the time that I was
raving. He took the candle, and looked at
my swelled features, and said,

‘I sheuld not have recognized the poor
girl. Alort de ma vie / but this is infamous,
and Monsieur de Chatenceuf is a contemp-
tible coward. I will see him to-morrow
morning,’

The colonel and his wife then left the
toam. By this time I had recovered from
My paroxysm. Madame d’Albret came to
me, and putting her face close to mine, said,
‘Valerie.’

‘Yes, madam,’ replied I.

‘Are you more composed now ?
think that you could listen to me?”

‘Yes, madam, and thankfully,’ replied I.

‘Well, then, my plan is this. I am sure
that the colonel will take you home to-
morrow. Let him do so; inthe morning I
will tell you how to behave. ‘T’o-morrow
night you shall escape, and I will be with a
fiacre at the corner of the street ready to re-
ceive you. I will take you to my house, and
no one, not even my sister, shall know that
you are with me. They will believe that
you have thrown yourself into the Seine,
and as the regiment is ordered to Lyons, and
will leave in ten days or a fortnight, there
will be no chance, if you are concealed till
their departure, of their knowing that you
are alive.’

‘Thank you, thank you, madam, you
know not how happy you have made me,’
replied I, pressing my hand to my heart,
which throbbed painfully with joy. $Gog

Do youbless you, Madame d’Albret. Ob, how I
shall pray for you, kind Madame d’Albret i

Madame d’Albret shed tears over me after
I had done speaking, and then, wishing me
good-night, told me that she would see me
in the morning, and let me know what was
going on, and then give me further direc-
tions for my conduct. She then left me,
and I tried to go to sleep ; but I was in too
much pain. Once I did slumber, and dreamt
that my mother was beating me agains 2
screamed with the pain that the blows gave
me, and awoke. I slept no more that night.
At daylight Irose, and, as may be supposed,
the first thing that I did was to look into the
glass. I was terrified ; my face was swelled
so that my features were hardly distinguish-
able ; one eye was closed up, and the blood
had oozed out through the handkerchief
which had been tied round my head by the
surgeon. I was, indeed, an object. ‘Lhe
servant brought me up some coffee, which I
drank, and then remained till the colonel’s
wife came up to me.

It was the first and only time that I ever
beheld that good woman angry. She called
from the top of the stairs for her husband to
come up ; he did so, looked at me, said no-
thing, but went down again. About half
an hour afterwards Madame d’Albret and
the surgeon came up together. The latter
was interrogated by her as to the effects of
the injuries I had received, and after examin-
ation, he replied, that although it would take
some days for the inflammation and marks
of the blows to go away, yet he did not con-
sider that eventually I should be in any way
disfigured. This gave me great pleasure, as
I suspect it would have done any other pretty
girl in my_ situation. Madame d’Albret
waited till the surgeon was gone, and then

ave me some further instructions, which |
obeyed to the letter. She aiso brought me
a black veil, in case IT had not one of my
own. She then left me, saying, that the
colonel had sent for my father, and that she
wished to be present at the interview.

My father came, and the colonel, after
stating the treatment which I had received,
loaded him with reproaches ; teld him his
conduct was that of a coward, to allow his
wife to be guilty of such cruelty towards his
child. Then he sent Madame d’Albret to
bring me down ; when I entered, my father
started back with surprise ; he had answered
the colonel haughtily, but when he beheld
the condition I was in, he said,

‘Colonel, you are right ; J deserve all you
have said, and even more ; but now do me
the favour to accompany me home, Come,

   

VALERIE.

 

17
Valerie, my poor child, your father begs your
pardon,’

As my father took my hand to lead me
away, Madame d’Albret said to the colonel,

‘My dear Allarde, do you not incur a
heavy responsibility in allowing that girl to
go back again ? You know what she said
yesterday.’

‘Yes, ma chére, | have been told by your
sister, but it was said in a State of excite-
ment, and I have no doubt that kindness
will remove all such ideas. Monsieur de
Chatenceuf, I am at your orders.’

I never said a word during all this inter-
view. Madame d’Albret tied the black veil
round my head and let it fall, to conceal my
features, and I was led home by my father,
accompanied by the colonel. We went into
the room where my mother was sitting. My
father lifted the veil from my face.

‘Madam, said my father, ina severe tone,
‘do you see the condition to which your
barbarity has reduced this poor girl? Ihave
brought Monsieur Allarde here to tell you,
before him, that your conduct has been in-
famous, and that mine has been unpardon-
able in not having protected her from your
cruelty ; but I now tell you that you have
bent the bow till it has broken, and your
power in this house is ended for ever.’

My mother was so much astonished at
this severe rebuke before witnesses, that she
remained with her mouth open and her eyes
staring. At last she gave a sort of chuckling
augh.

‘Madam, I am in earnest,’ continued my
father, ‘and you shall find that in future I
command here. “To your room, madam,
immediately

The last word was pronounced in a voice
of thunder. My mother rose, and, as she
retired, burst into a passionate flood of tears.
The colonel then took his leave, saying tomy
father,

‘Tenez-vous 1a.’

My father remained a quarter of an hour
with me, consoling meand blaming himself,
promising that in the future he would see me
justicedone to. I heard him without reply.
‘The tears started in my eyes at hiskind ex-
pressions, but I felt there was no security for
his adhering to all he promised, and I trem-
bled as I thought so. Heleft me and went out.
My mother, who had been watching, as soon
as she saw that he had left the house, hastened
down stairs from her room, and came into
the one where | was sitting alone.

50) mademoiselle,’ said she, panting,
and apparently striving to coutain herself,
‘my power in this house is gone for ever,

—i NP LINEN

aR TORTTS TO

 

 

18

and all through you.
see, we Shall see. Dy
continued she, with her clenched hand close
to my face. ‘No, not yet,’ said she, aftera
pause, and then she left the room.

If my father’s kindness had somewhat
staggered my resolution, this conduct of my
mother's confirmed it. I felt that she was
right in what she said, and that in a month
she would regain her sway, and drive me to
desperation. During the whole of that day
I made no reply to anything that was said to
me by my brothers and sisters, who came in
by stealth to see me. In this I followed the
advice of Madame d’Albert, and at thesame
time my own feelings and inclinations. The
servants who offered me dinner, and coaxed
me to take some nourishment, could not get
any answer from me, and at last one mor
them, who was a kind-hearted girl, aes
out into tears, crying that mademoiselle was
folle. My father did not come Heine to
dinner: my mother remained in her room
till he came in the evening, and then he
went up to her. It wanted but half an hour
of the time that I had agreed to meet Ma-
dame d’Albert. I waited that time, durit ing
which I heard sounds of high a altercation
above stairs. I was quite alone, for my
mother had prevented the childien coming
to me, and as the clock stru ck, I dropped
my vei] over my face, and quiet] ly walking out
of the house made for the rendezvous agreed.

I found the facre with Madame d'Albret
waiting for me, and stepping into it, Iwas in
a few minutes safely ] odged in her splendid,
comfortable apartments. Madame d'Albert
put me in a little cabinet inside of her own
room, so that no one, except one servant
whom she could trust, knew sf my being on
the premises. There I was left to recover
from my bruises, and regain, if possible
good looks. On the foll lowin ig day re-
paired to the barracks, and: remained with
her sister till the ev ening, when she returned,

Be ha, ha! we shall
e hear me, creature ?’

 

Ny

she

and came up to me.
‘All has happened as I wished,’ said she,
as she took off her bonnet ; ‘you are nowhere

to be found, and they have

suspicion that you are here,
were first missed, they thought you had re-
turned to the colonel’s, and your father did
not think it advisable to make inquiry until
the next morning, when to his surprise he

learnt that you had never been there. The
dismounted hussar, who was sentry during
the evening, was then examined ; and he re-
plied, that about ate eight o'clock, a
young person, who by her fioure he pre-
sumed to be Mademoiselle Chatei 1ceuf, had

not the least
When you

 
  
    
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
   
      
    
   
    
 
    
      
     
  
  
   
  
 
  
     
  
     
  
   
    
     
    
   
     
     
   
      
   
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 

VALERIE.

gone out of the gates, but that she had a
thick veil ove rhe face, and he could not
Seet. = W tie your father and the colonel

and dismissed the
into tears and

had interrogated the man
man, my poor sister burst
said, ‘oAlas!-alast! then s she has kept her
word, and has thrown herself into the Seine.
Oh, Monsieur Allarde, my sister said you
would incur a heavy responsibility by send-

ing that poor girl back, and now it has
pr oved but too true: poor dear Valerie !”
Your father

and the colonel were almost as
much distressed as my sister, and it was just

 

 
 

at that time that I came in.

‘«« Sister,’ cried Madame Allarde to me,
“NAGE HA ,

alerie ha

s left the bane ok
” exclaimed IT, ‘‘
fear was too true! =saick a,
h ess and then faleinig out my handker-

chief, I covered my face and sobbed. — J tell -
you, Valeri ie, that ‘nothing but my affection
for you would have induced me to be so de-

ceitful ; but under the circumstan ces I hope
1 was justified. My assumed grief and dis:
tress quite removed any suspicion’ of your
being here,~ and shortly afterwards the
colonel madea sign to your father. and they
both left the barracks ; I have no doubt they
io dow n to the a oe

et

NVhen? oh my
clasping my

ue; ito’ ascertain if
their fears had already been proved correct.’
“WNAR SS is the ee madam ?’ said I,
‘Do you not know, my child? ‘Itisa
small building by the side of the Seine, where
all bodies which are found in the river, are

Te

Li
jaid out for the examination of the friends of
those who are missing. Below thebridgesthe ere
isa large net laid across, which re-
ceives ailthe bodies as they are swept aw ay by
the tide ; thatis, it receives m any, 1f not most
of them ; but some are never four again.’

Madam Allarde did not fail to return to

the barracks on the next day, and found that

strong

a general excitement prevailed, not only
among ee officers but ae men. My sup-
dosed suicide po been made known. My
father ha d visited the Morgue asecond time,
and the ponte had been on the search with-
ut success. My mother dared not even

self at the Sina of her apart-
ments, and found herseif avoided even by
her own children. As for my father, he was
half-mad, and never met her but to load her
with reproaches, and to curse his own folly
in having so long submitted*to her imperi-
ous will.

‘At all events. one good has arisen from
your supposed death, Valerie,’ said Madame
d’Albret, ‘ which is, that your father has
completely resumed his authority, and I do
not think will ever yield it up again,’

Say‘My poet father,’ replied I, shedding tears,
‘TI feel for him.
‘He is certainly to be pitied,’ replied Ma-

dame d'Albret ; ‘ but it is his own conscience
which must be his greatest tormentor. Ike
was selfish enough not to feel for you during
your years of persecution, ant d rather than
have his own comforts invaded by domestic
brawls for a short period, he allowed you to
be sacrificed. But observe, Valerie, if you
have still a wish to return to your parents,
is not too late. The regiment does not cae
Paris till next Thursday.’

‘Oh, no, no, cried I,
kill me ; don’t mention that again,
continued I, trembling.

‘7 will not, my child; for to tell

 

‘my mother would
me 1d am,

you the

 

 

 

truth, you would not appear in so fay urable
alight, if you were now to return. You
have caused much grief to my sister and
husband, and they would not rec« you

after having thus trifled wi
It would also be a victory for
- and I doubt not but that ina
short time she would again recover al
power which far the present she has posts
You never can be happy in your family afte
what has passed, and I think that what ha

=

u

with cordiality
their feelings,
your mother

7
}
i

 

th
been done is for the best. Your father ¢
well spare one ch t of fourteen, ine

 
 

ld o1

little more than a long sword for their sup-
port. Your suppose d death will be the
cause of your father retaining his lawful

authority, and preve nting any of the1 remal

 
 

 

ng children receiving such injustice as you
have done - and remorse will che ck, if it does

not humanize, your mother, and I trust tha
the latter will be the case. I had well
weighed all this in my BAS my de
Valerie, before I made the proposal, and I
consider ee | that for your sake and for
sake of others, it is better that yo setae ild be
the sacrifice. Nevertheless, | repeat, con-
sult your own feelings, and if you repent the
step which you have taken, there is yet time
for you to return.

‘M y dear madam, return I never will, un-
less I ‘am taken by force. All I fee ol is, that
I should like that my father’s biiter anguish
was assuaged by his knowledge of my being
still in existence.’

« And so should I, Valerie, were it pos ssible
that the communication co uld be made, and
the same happy results be ar ; but
that cannot be, unless it shou Id please
Weaven to summon your mother, and

   

   

rived at
id then
you might safely inform your father of your
existence.

‘You are right, madam.’

‘ Yes, I think I am, Valerie; for, after

VALERIE.

19
9)] ne fat < 7

all, your father duly deserves his severe pen-
ance, which is, to visit the Morgue every
day ; but painful as is the remedy, it is neces-

sary for the cure.

“Yes, madam,’ replied I, sobbing, ‘ all you
say is true; but stil 11 I cannot help weeping
and ‘pi Hynes ny poo or father ; not that it alters
my detel nination, but I cannot command
my fe elt ngs.’

our feelings do you honour, Valerie, and
I done t blame you for your grief. Do not,

   

how sa indul
turning a virtu
There w

ere
vious to

e it to excess, for that is
e into a failing.’

re swt tl ree days remaining pre-
the departure of the regiment for

 

 

  

 

Lyons. -1 was s rely. distressed during this
ee { pictured to nae} my father’ Ss re=

1orse, and would gladly have hastened to
ie barracks cand thrown myself into his
ones but my pee er’s image rose before
me, and her last words, “WwW e shall see if my
Pee is gone for ever, rung in my ears;
her clans hed ha ue was ee parently close to
my face, ae en my resolution “remained
fixed. The swelling aba my features had now

subsided, and I had in
covered my
cheeks were
ous places

quite heale 2d.

some degree re-
good looks ; still my eye and
tinged black and yellow in _vari-
and the cuts in my head not

However, I was satisfied that

  

 

the surgeon of the re ciment was correct in
his a enon that I sl hould not be the least
disficured by the treatment which I had res
ceived
‘T have news for you,’ said Madame
d’ Alb; os as she retur -ned from the barracks,
where + had been to-see her. sister off on
her jou IDEs 3 Your brotier Auguste, who

ou know has beem away, has returned to
j his regiment, but has since obtained
kin another, which is stationed at

 

 

‘Why has he done so, madame? do you
know? have you seen him 2

‘Yes ; he was at the colonel’s ; he stated
that he could not remain in the resiment if
continued with his father ; that

his mother
he should never be able, after what had hap-

pened, to treat his mother with common
courtesy, still less with the duty of a son,
and therefore, he preferred leaving the
reg me

‘

And my father. madam ?”

  

“Vour father allows him to act as he
pleases; indeed, he feels the force of what

your brother says, and so does -my brother-
in-law, who has given his consent, aS com-
manding officer, to your brother’s exchange.

 

 

Auguste laments you very much, and ne
poor fellow locks very } ill, 12 think he. ha= eae

ps Se

 

 

 

 

20

done right, although it is a severe blow to
your mother ; but for her I have no com-
passion.’

‘My mother never liked Auguste, madam.’

‘No, I believe that ; but what annoys her
is the cause of his leaving his regiment, as
it is open condemnation of her conduct.’

‘Yes, I can understand that feeling on
her part,’ replied I.

‘Well, Valerie, I did not return until the
regiment was gone and the barracks cleared.
You know the commandant aiways goes the
last. I saw my sister safe off, and now I am
here to tell you that you are no longera
prisoner, but may make yourself comfortable
by roving through my apartments. But the
first affair which we must take in hand is
your wardrobe. Iam rich enough to fur-
nish you, so that sha!l be seen to imme-
diately. And, Valerie dear, let me now
say, once for all, what I do not intend to
repeat in words, but I hope to prove by my
actions. Look upon me as your mother, for
I have not taken you away from your family
without the resolution of supplying, as far
as I can, not the mother you have lost, but
the mother which in your dreams you have
fancied. I love you, my child, for you are
deserving of love. Treat me, therefore, with
that unlimited confidence and affection
which your young and pure heart yearns to
pour out.’

‘Bless you, madam, bless you,’ cried J,
bursting into tears, and burying my face in
her lap; ‘I feei that now I have a mother.’

 

CHAPTER V;

For several days I remained quiet in the
little ante-chamber, during which Madame
d’Albret had been busy every morning dri-
ving in her carriage, and ordering mea
wardrobe ; and as the various articles came
in, [ was as much surprised as I was pleased
at the taste which had been shown, and the
expense which must have been incurred.

* My dear madam,’ cried I, as each parcel
was opened, ‘these are much too good for
me; recollect I am but a poor soldier's
daughter.’

“You were so,’ replied Madame d’Albret ;
‘but you forget,’ continued she, kissing my
forehead, ‘that the poor soldier's daughter
was drowned in the Seine, and you are now
the protégée of Madame d’Albret. I have
already mentioned to all my friends that I
expect a young cousin from Gascony, whom
I have adopted, having no children of my

 

    

VALERIE.

own. Your own name is noble, and you
may safely retain it, as there are no want of
Chatenceufs in Gascony, and there have
been former alliances between them and the
d’Albrets. I have no doubt that if I were
to refer back to family records, that I could
prove you to be a cousin, some three hun-
dred tinies removed, and that is quite
enough. As soon as you aie quite well, and
I think in a week all vestiges of your ill
treatment will be effaced, we will go down
to my chateau for a few months, and we will
return to Paris in the season. Has Madame
Paon been here ?’

‘Yes, my dear. madam, she has, and has
taken my measure for the dresses ; but don’t
scold me. I must cry a little, for I am so
grateful. My heart will burst if I do not.
Bless you, bless you, dear madam; little
did I think before I saw you, that I should
ever cry for joy.’

Madame d’Albret embraced me with much
affection, and allowed me to give vent to my
feelings which I did, bedewing her hands
with my tears. A week afterwards every-
thing was ready, and we set off for the cha-
teau in Brittany, travelling in Madame
Albret’s post-chariot, with an avant cour rer,
and without regard to expense.

And now I must make the reader some-
what better acquainted with my kind pro-
tectress. I little throught at the time that
she offered me her protection, that she was
a personage of such consequence; but the
fact was, that her sister having made a very
inferior match to her own, she, out of deli-
cacy, while the colonel and his wife were at
Paris, avoided anything like state in paying
them a visit, and I supposed that she was
much in the same rank and society as they
were ; but such was not the case.

Madame d’Albret had married into one
of the highest and most noble families of
France. Her husband had died three years
after their marriage, and, having no children,
had left her a large revenue entirely at her
own disposal during her life, and wishing
her to marry again, had the property en-
tailed upon her children, if she had any ; if
not, after her death it was to go to a distant
branch of the d’Albret family. I was in-
formed that her income amounted to 60,000
livres per annum, besides her chateau in the
country, and the hotel in the Rue St. Ho-
noré, which belonged to her, although she
only occupied a portion of it. Her husband
nad now been dead more than ten years, and
Madame d’Albret had not been persuaded
by her numerous suitors to marry again.
She was still handsome, about thirty-fourVALERIE.

age, and I hardly need say, was in
best society in Paris. Such was the
person who came to the barracks in so un-
assuming a manner, and whose protection
I was so fortunate as to obtain.

I could dwell long upon the happy days
that I passed at the chateau. There was no
want of society, and the réunions Were
charming; and being in the country, I was
allowed to join them, having been formerly
introduced by Madame d’Albret to all her
visitors as her cousin. My time was fully
occupied. Madame d'Albret, perceiving
that I had great talent for music, and a fine
voice, had procured me good masters, and
wishing to prove my gratitude by attention,
I was indefatigable, and made so rapid a
progress, that my masters were surprised.
Music and embroidery, at which I have
before mentioned I was very expert, were
my only occupations—and on the latter my
talents’ were exerted to please Madame
d’Albret, by offering her each piece as they
were successively taken from the frame. So
far from wishing to return to Paris, | was
unhappy at the idea of leaving the chateau.
Indeed, if the reader will recall what I have
narrated of my former life, he will at once
perceive that I could but be ina state of
perfect happiness.

Until I was received by Madame d’Albret,
I had lived a life of persecution, and had
not known kindness. Fear was the passion
which had been acted upon, and which, I
may say, had crushed both mind and body :
now all was kindness and love. Praise,
which I had never before received, waS Now
lavished upon me, and I felt my energies
and talents roused, and developing them-
selves in a way that astonished myself. I
had not known what I was, Or what I was
capable of. I had had no confidence in
myself, and I had believed myself to be
almost as incapable as my mother would
have persuaded me and everybody else.
This sudden change of treatment had a
most surprising effect. In the course of a
few months I had grown nearly three inches
{aller, and not only my figure, but my fea-
tures, had become SO improved, that,
although not vain, it was impossible for me
not to believe what every one said, and what
my glass told me, that I was very handsome,
and that I should make a great sensation
when I was introduced at Paris. But
although I believed this I felt no desire.
I was too happy as I was, and would
not have exchanged the kindness of Ma-
dame d’Albret for the best husband that
France could produce ; and when anything
was mentioned by ladies who visited

years of
the very

et

Madame d’Albret, to the effect, and they
talked about my future establishment, my
reply invariably was ‘Fe ne veux pas.’
had always expressed my regrets that we
should be obliged to go to Paris for the
season, and Madame d’Albret, who of
course had no wish to part with me so soon,
and who felt that I was still young enough
to remain for some years single, made me
very happy by telling me that she did not
intend to stay long in the capital, and that
although I should appear at her parties, she
did not intend that I should be much at
public places. And so it proved; we went
to Paris, and the best masters were procured
for me; but I did not go out with Madame
d'Albret, except occasionally, in her morn-
ing drives, and once or twice to the opera
and theatres. My music occupied the major
portion of my time, and having expressed a
wish to learn English, I had a good master ;
but I had another resource from an intimacy
having arisen between me and Madame
Paon, whom, I believe, T have before men-
tioned as the first milliner in Paris.

This intimacy was brought about in the
following manner. Being very clever with
my needle, and having a great taste for
dress, I used to amuse myself at the chateau
with inventing something new, not for my-
self, but for Madame d’Albret, and very
often surprised and pleased her by making
alterations or additions to her dresses, which
were always admired, and declared to be in
the best taste. On our arrival at Paris,
Madame Paon was visited, of course, that
the new fashions might be ascertained, and
she immediately remarked and admired my
little inventions. I was therefore consulted
whenever a new dress was to be made for
Madame d’Albret, and as Madame Paon
was a very ladylike and superior person,
of a decayed, but good family, we soon
became very intimate. We had been at
Paris about two months, when one morning
Madame Paon observed to Madame d’Al-
bret that, as was learning English, it would
not be abad plan if Madame d’Albret was to
drop me at her establishment when she took
her morning airing, as she had two highly
respectable English modzstes in her employ,
who she found were necessaty for her Eng-
lish customers, and that I should learn more
English by an hour's conversation with them
than a master could supply. Madame
d’Albret agreed with her, | was pleased at
the idea, and consequently three or four
mornings in the week were passed at Ma-
dame Paon’s.

But the reader must be introduced to the
establishment of Madame Paon, or he mayee ene ees

  
 

 

 

 

 

   

22 VALERIE.

imagine that it was too condescending for a
young lady in my position to visit at a milli-
ners. Madame Paon was the first milliner
in Paris, and, as is generally the case, was
on the most intimate terms with all the
ladies. She made for the court, and, in-
deed, for every lady to whom she could
dedicate her time, as it was almost a favour
to be permitted to be one of her customers.
Her establishment was in the Rue St.
Honoré—I forget the name of the hotel, but
it was one of tlie largest,

The suite of apartments were magnificent.
You passed from one room to another, each
displaying every variety of rich and graceful
costume, In every room were demoiselles,
well dressed, to attend to the customers, and
everything bespoke a degree of taste and
elegance quite unparalleled. At last you
arrived at the reception-room of madame,
which was spacious and most superbly fur-
nished. There were no men in the estab-
lishment except in one room. called the
Comptoir, in which were six clerks at. their
desks, When I add that Madame Paon
was elegant in her manners, and handsome
in her person, very tall and majestic ; that
she was rich, kept several s srvants, a hand-
some carriage, and had a mazson de cam-
Pagne, to which she retired every Saturday
afternoon, the reader may acknowledge that
she was a person whom Madame d’Albret
might permit me to visit,

This intimacy soon became very great.
There was a certain degree of éclat at my
being so constantly in the house, and, more-
over, as I had a decided taste for dress, I
often brought forward some new invention
which was not only approved of, but a source
of profit to Madame Paon. Everything was
submitted to my judgment, as Madame
Paon more than once observed, ‘What a
first-rate modiste you would make.
moiselle; but, unfortunately for the fashions,
there is no chance of your being so em-
ployed.’

At last the Paris season was nearly over,
and truly glad was [ when Madame d Albret
mentioned the day of our departure. I had
very much improved in my Music and my
English during our residence at Parisi: «I
had not been -out, except to small parties,
and had no wish whatever to go out at all.
I was satisfied with Madame d’Albret’s com-
pany, and had no wish to leave her.

2, made-

I may

say that I was truly happy, and my counte-
hance was radiant, and proved: that I was
so. My thoughts would occasionally revert
to my father and my brother Auguste, and
make me melancholy for the time ; but I

 

felt that all was for the best, and I built
castles, in which I imagined my suddenly
breaking in upon them, throwing myself in
my father’s: arms, and requesting to share
the wealth and luxury with which I fancied
myself to be endowed.

I was now nearly eighteen years old. I
had been-one year under the protection of
Madame d’Albret; and the old dowagers
who visited us at the chateau were inces-
santly pointing out to Madame d’Albret that
it was time to look out for an establishment
forme. Madame d’Albret was, to a certain
degree, of their opinion ; but she did not
wish to part with me, and I was resolute in
my determination not to leave her. I had
no wish to be married ; I-had reflected much
upon the subject ; the few married lives I
had witnessed were not to my taste. I had
seen my kind-hearted, amiable grandmother
thwarted by a penurious husband; I had
witnessed my father under the control of a
revengeful woman; and when-I beheld, as
I did every day, the peace and happiness in
the establishment of Madame d’Albret, as
. single weman, I felt certain that marriage
was a lottery in which there were thousands
of blanks to one prize. When, therefore,
any of Madame d’Aibret’s acquaintances
brought up the subject, when they left the
room I earnestly implored Madame d’Albret
not to be influenced by their remarks, as I
had made up my mind to remain single, and
that all I asked was to remain with her and
prove my gratitude.

‘I believe you, Valerie,’ replied Madame
d’Albret, “but I should not be doing my
duty if I permitted you to act upon your
own feelings. A girl like you was not in-
tended by Heaven to pine away in celibacy,
but to adorn the station in life in which she
is placed. At the same time I will not press

but if an advantageous offer

c

the matter ;
were to be made, I shall then consider it my
duty to exert my influence with you to make
you change your mind; but, at the same
time, I will never use anything more than
persuasion. Iam too happy with you as a
companion to wish to part with you, but at
the same time, I should be very selfish if I
did not give you up when your own interest
tolu me that such was my duty.’

‘Well, madam, I thank heaven that I have
no fortune, and that will, I trust, be a bar
to any proposals from the interested gentle-
men of the present day.’

‘That may not save you, Valerie,’ replied
Madame d’Albret, laughing; ‘gentlemen
may be satisfied with expectancies : nay, it
is possible that one may be found who mayVALERIE. ax

be satisfied with your own pretty self, and
ask no more.’

‘JT rather think not, madam,, replied I.
‘You have too good an opinion of me, and
must not expect others to view me with your
partial eyes ; all I can say is, that if such a
gentleman could be found. his disinterested-
ness would make me think more highly of
him than I do of the sex at present, although
not sufficiently well. to wish me to change
my present condition.’

‘ Well, well; we shall see,’ replied Madame
d’Albret, ‘the carriage is at the door, SO
bring me my bonnet and cashmere.’

A few weeks after our return to the cha-
teau, a Monsieur de G--—, of an old family
in Brittany, who had been for the last
years in England, returned to his fath
house, and called upon Madame d'Albret.
She had known him from childhood, and
received him most cordially. I must des-
eribe him fully, as he played no small pat
in my little drama. He was, Ishouid think,
nearly thirty years of age, small in person,
but elegantly made, with a very handsome
but rather effeminate face. His address ana
manners were perfect. . He was very witty,
and apparently very amiable. His ceport-
ment towards our Sex Was certainly most
fascinating—so tender and so respectful. 1
certainly never had pefore seen so polished
aman. He sang well, and played upon
several instruments ; drew, caricatured—
indeed, he did everything well that he at-
tempted to do; I hardly need say, that with
such qualifications, and being so olda friend,
that he was gladly welcomed by Madame
d’Albret, and became a daily visitor at the
chateau. I was soon intimate with him and
partial to his company, but nothing more ;
indeed, his attentions to Madame d’Albret
were quite as great as to me, and there was
nothing to permit anyone to suppose that he
was paying his court either to her or to me.
Madamed Albret thought otherwise, because
we sang together, and because he talked to
me in English; and she as well as others
rallied me in consequence.

After two months had passed away, Mon-
sieur de G—— was supposed to be paying
his attentions more particularly to me, and
I thought so myself ; Madame di Albret cet:
tainly did, and gave him every opportunity.
He was the heir to 4 large property, and did
not require money with his wife. About this
time, an English lady of the name of Bath-
urst, who was travelling with a niece, a little
girl about fourteen years old, had accepted
an invitation from Monsieur de G :
father to pass @ week with them at their

WY
py)
ey

 

 

n

CS

chateau, which was about five miles from
that of Madame dAlbret, and this lady was
introduced. She was apparently very-ami-
able, and certainly very distineuce in her
manners, and we saw a great deal of her, as
she was a great favourite with Madame
da’ Albret.

A few weeks after the introduction of this

 
  
 

     

English lady, I was one day on the terrace
alone, when I was accosted by Monsieur de

G2) Atter 2 remark or two upon the
beauty of the autumnal flowers, he observed,
‘Tow different are the customs of two
ereat nations, with but a few leagues of
water between them—lI refer to the French
and the English. You would be surprised
to see how great they are, if you were ever
to go to England—in none, perhaps, more
so than in the affairs of the heart. In
France we do not consult-the wishes or the
feelings of the young lady ; we apply to her
parents, and if the match is considered
equally advantageous, the young lady is told
to prepare herself for changing her condi-
tion. In England the very Teveloe is the
case ; we apply to the young lady. gain her
affections, and when certain of them, we
then request the sanction of those who are
her guardians. Which do you think is the
most natural and satisfactory, Mademoiselle
de Chatenceuf ?’
‘T have been brought up in France,
onsieur de G——, and I prefer the mode
France ; our parents and our guardians
re the people most able to decide upon the
propriety of a match, and I think that, until
that point is ascertained, no affection should
be engaged, as, should the marriage not be
considered advisable, much pain and dis-
appointment will be prevented.’

‘In some instances, I grant that such may
be the case,’ replied he; ‘but still, is 1t not
treating your Sex like slaves to permit no
love before marriage? and is it agreeable
for ours, that we lead to the altar a person
who may consent from a sense of duty,
vithout having the least regard for her hus-
band ; nay, perhaps feeling an aversion ?
‘] do not think that any kind parents
would force their child to marry 4 man for
whom she felt an aversion, teplied 1; cand
if there is not much love before marriage,
there may be a great deal after; but the
fact is, it is a su ject upon which I am not
able, nor do I wish, to give my opinion.’

«As you disagree with me, Mademoiselle
de Chatenceuf,’ replied he, ‘{ fear you will
not be pleased at my courting you in the
English fashion ; and previous to addressing
myself to Madame d’Albret, making known

M
of
a

xx
VV34 VALERIE.

to you my sincere regard for you, and my
humble hopes that I am not indifferent to
ou.

‘I wiil answer you very plainly, Monsieur
de G——; and perhaps it is as well you
have taken this unusual step, as it will save
you the trouble of making any application
to Madame d’Albret. Flattered as I am by
your compliment, I beg to decline the
honour you propose, and now that you
know my feelings, you will of course not be
so ungenerous as to make any application to
Madame d’Albert.’

‘Certainly, mademoiselle,’ replied he,
with great pique, ‘but on one condition,
which is, that you will promise me that you
will not mention to Madame d’Albret what
has now passed between us.’

‘That I willingly promise, Monsieur de
G—--, as I may. consider it as your secret.’

‘And I trust,’ continued he, ‘that you
will not discard me from your friendship,
but receive me as before.’

‘I shall always be happy to receive the
friends of Madame d’Albret,’ replied I ; ‘and
now I wish you a good morning.’

I went to my own room and reflected
upon what had passed. I was angry with
Monsieur de G—— for what I considered
the unwarrantable liberty he had taken, the
greater, as he must have known my utter
dependance upon Madame d’Albret, and
how unlikely it was that I would form any
such engagement without her knowledge
and sanction. ‘That I had no love for
Monsieur de G—— was certain, although
I was pleased with his company and con-
versation. I was sorry on reflection that I
had given my promise not to mention what
had passed ; but having made the promise,
although hastily, I resolved to adhere to it,

I took it for granted that he would gradu-
ally withdraw himself, and that we should
see little more of him; but in this I was
mistaken ; he was as frequent in his visits
as before, dividing his attentions between
Madame @’Albret and me. ‘This annoyec
me, and I avoided him as much as I could,
and the consequence was, that he was
oftener with Madame d’Albret than with
me. At first, when Madame d’Albret per-
ceived this, she appeared to be vexed, as
she had evidently set her mind upon the
match, and expected daily to receive a
formal proposal from him in my behalf; but
gradually, why I know not, it gave her no
further concern, and I was permitted to
leave the room, and do as I pleased without
being subjected to any remarks.

Such was the state of affairs when the

 

an

 

Paris season drew near. Madame Bathurst
had been induced to remain in Brittany, and
was continually with us. She had often
asked me to come over to England and pass
a few weeks with them, and I had jokingly
replied that I would. One morning Madame
d’Albret said to me,—

‘My dear Valerie, Madame Bathurst has
again requested me to allow you to go to
England with her.” Now if vou think that
you would like to pass a short time with her,
instead of remaining at Paris during the
season, J really have no objection, if it would
give you pleasure.’

‘My dear.madam, I was only joking
when I said so.’

‘Well, you have made Madame Bathurst
think you were in earnest, my dear,’ replied
she ; ‘and J thought so too, and have this
morning promised that you shall go with
her. I thought you would perfect yourseif
in English, and it would be a good oppor-
tunity of relieving you for a short time of
your constant attendance upon me; so, my
dear Valerie, I advise you to go. It will
amuse you and a little change will do you
good : besides, my dear, I perceive that the
attentions of Monsieur de G—— are not
agreeable to you, and it is as well to break it
off by a short absence.’

‘I shall not dispute your wishes, madam,’
replied I, mournfully, for my heart misgave
me, why I knew. not, ‘but if I do go, it will
be to oblige you, and not because I really
wish it.’

‘My dear Valerie, I think it will be for
the best, and therefore you will oblige me.
I have promised for you, and I should be
sorry to have to recall my promise—so con-
sent, my dear, and I will write to Madame
Bathurst, that she may be prepared to re-
ceive you.

‘Certainly, madam,’ replied I, ‘your
wishes will ever be a law to me and so
saying, I left the room, and going to my
chamber, I threw myself down on the bed,
and wept bitterly, without knowing why.

About ten days after this, Madame Ba-
thurst called for me to take me to the chateau
of Monsieur de G——’s father, where I was
to remain till the next morning, when we
were to post to Paris. It was with great
pain that I quitted Madame d’Albret ; but
her kindness to me appeared to have in-
creased rather than diminished, after the
proposal of our short separation. ‘God
bless you, my dear Valerie,’ she said, ‘ you
must write to me twice a week; I shall be
most impatient for your return.’ I parted
from her with many tears, and did not leaveVALERIE. Be

off weeping till we arrived at the chateau at
which Madame Bathurst resided.

I was received with formal politeness by
the old gentleman, and Monsieur de G——,
who was also at home, and in an excessive
gay humour. ‘Alas, mademoiselle,’ cried
he, ‘what a desert you. will leave behind
you. It is too cruel, this travelling mania
on your part. We never shall see you
again.’

There was so much irony in his face as he
said this, that I hardly knew what to make
of it; but it made me feel anxious and dis-
satisfied. I would have given much to
have abandoned the journey, but Madame
d’Albret’s wishes were a law to me. To
avoid reflection, which was painful, I talked
with Caroline, the niece of Madame Bath-
urst, and as we were to set off at daylight,
we retired early. The following morning
we set off, and in due time arrived at Paris,
where we remained but one day, and then
proceeded to Boulogne, where we em-
barked.

It was now November, and halfway
across the Channel we were enveloped in a
fog, and it was with difficulty that we made
the harbour. We set off for London, the
fog continued during the whole day, and on
our atrival at the suburbs it was thicker
than ever, and the horses were led through
the streets by people carrying flambeaux. I
had heard that England was a triste Pays,
and I thought it so indeed. At last le ob-
served to Madame Bathurst, ‘ Est-ce qual
ny a jamais de soletL dans ce pays,
madame ?’

‘Oh, yes,’ replied she, laughing, ‘anda
very beautiful sun too.’

The next day we set off for Madame
Bathurst's country seat, to pass the Christ-
mas. Before we were three miles out of
London, the fog had disappeared, the sun
shone out brilliantly, and the branches of
the leafless trees covered with rhime, glit-
tered like diamond wands as we flew past
them. What with the change in the
weather, and the rapid motion produced by
the four English post-horses, I thought
England beautiful ; put I must say that the
first two days were a trial, the more SO as I
was very despondent from having quitted
Madame d’Albret. I was delighted with
Madame Bathurst's country seat, the weil-
arranged gardens, the conservatories, the
neatness displayed in everything, so different
from France, the cleanness of the house and
furniture; the London carpets over the
whole of the rooms and staircases, were, 1n
my opinion, great improvements; but I

cared little’ for the society, which I found
not only dul, but it appeared to me to be
selfish, I found a lively companion iz
Caroline, and we sat up in a little boudoir,
where we were never interrupted. Here I
practised my music, and at Madame Ba-
thurst’s request, spoke alternately English
and French with my little companion, for
our mutual improvement.

I had written twice to Madame a@’Albret,
and had received one very kind answer ; but
po mention was made of my return,
although it was at first arranged that my
visit was to be three weeks ora month. A
fortnight after my arrival at Fairfield, I re-
ceived a second letter from Madame d’Al-
bret, kind as usual, but stating, to my great
grief, that she was not well, having had an
attack on her chest from having taken a
violent cold. I answered the letter im-
mediately, requesting that I might be per-
mitted to return home and nurse ‘her, for I
felt very uneasy. For three weeks, during
which I had no reply, I was in a state of
great anxiety and distress, as I imagined
that Madame d’Albret must have been too
ill to write, and I was in a fever of suspense.
At last I received a letter from her, stating
that she had been very ill, and that she had
been recommended by the physicians to go
to the south of France for the winter. At
the same time, as she could not put off her
departure, she wrote to Madame Bathurst,
requesting, if not inconvenient, that she
would allow my visit to be extended till the
spring, at which season she expected to re-
turn to Paris. Madame Bathurst read her
letter to me, and stated how happy she
should be for me to remain. I could do no
otherwise but thank her, although I was
truly miserable. I wrote to Madame d’Al-
bret, and stated what my feelings were ; but
as she had, by what was said in her letter,
already left for the south of France, I knew
that my letter would arrive too late to enable
her to alter her determination. All I re-
quested was, that she would give me con-
tinual intelligence of her health.

I was, however, much consoled in my
distress by the kindness of Madame Bath-
urst, and affectionate manners of her niece
Caroline, who was my constant companion.
There was a great deal of company not only
visiting, but staying .in the house ;_ but
although there was much company, there
was very little society. Horses, dogs, guns,
were the amusements of the gentlemen
during the day ; in the evening we saw little
of them, as they seldom left the dinner-
table before Caroline and I had retired topico RON

 

 

  

26

our rooms; and the ladies appeared to me
to be all afraid of each other, and to be con-
stantly on the reserve.

Christmas had passed, and I had not
heard again from Madame d’Albret, which
yas a source of great vexation and many
bitter tears. I fancied her dying in the
south of France, without any one to take
care of her. I often spoke to Madame
Bathurst on the subject, who offered all the
excuses that she could devise; but I thought
at the same time appeared to be very grave,
and unwilling to continue the conv ersation.
At last I thought of Madame Paon, and I
wrote to her, ‘nguiring whether she knew
how Madame d’Albret was, detaili ng to her
how I had come to England, and how
Madame d’Albret had been eubedy indis~
posed, stating my fears from not having re-
ceived any r eply to my last letters. The day
after f had written to Madame Paon, Caro-
line, who was sitting with me in the boudoir,
observed, ‘I heard Mrs. Corbet say to my
aunt that she had seen Madame d’Albret at
Paris about ten days ago.’

‘Impossible ! repli ied iL
south of France.’

‘So I understood,’ replied Caroline ; ‘ but
she did say so, and my aunt immediately
sent me out of the room on a message. T
am sure it was to get rid of me, that she
mig ht talk to Mrs. Corbet.’

Wh at can this mean? exclaimed I.
‘Oh, my heart forbodes evil! Excuse me,
Caroline, but I feel very miserable ; and I
laid my face down on the table, covering it
with myhands, and tears trickled fast throug! h
my fingers.

‘Speak to my aunt,’ said Caroline, con-
solingly ; ‘do not cry, Valerie, it may be all
a mistake.’

‘I will at once speak to
thurst,’. said I, raising my head,
the best plan.

J went into my room, bathed my eyes, and
then sought Madame Bathurst, whom I
found in the conservatory, giving directions
to the gardener. After a time she took my
arm, and we walked down the terrace,

‘Madame Bathurst,’ said I, ‘I have been
made very miserable by Caroline stating
that Mrs. Corbet had told you that she met
Madame d’Albret at Paris, How can
this be ?’

‘I cannot imagine more than yourself, my
dear Valerie,’ replied Madame Bathurst,

‘she is in the

’

  

‘except that Mrs. Corbet was mistaken.’
‘Do you think it-was madame ?’
‘T cannotsay, Valerie ; but I have written
to Paris. to ascertain the fact, which is to me

 

VALERIE.

   
  
  
  

incomprehensible. A few days will let us
into the truth; I cannot believe it—indeed, if
it were true, I shall consider that Madame
d’Albret has treated me ill; for much as I
am pleased to have you here, she has not
been candid with me in proposing that you
should remain the winter, upon the plea of
her being obliged to go to the south, when
she is s still at Paris. T cannot understand it,
and until confirmed, I will not believe it.
Mrs. Corbet is not an acquaintance of hers,
and may, therefore, be mistaken.’

‘She must be, madam,’ replied I; ‘still
it is strange that I do not hear from her. I
am fearful something is wrong, and what it
can be I cannot surmise.’

‘Let us talk no more about it, my dear
Valerie. A few days will decide the point.’

A few cays did decide the point, for I re-
ceived an answer from Madame Paon, in
which she said :—

‘MY DEAR MADME. CHATENGUF,—

‘You may imagine my surprise at receiv-
ing your letter, and I fear you must prepare
your ‘self for unpleasant intelligence. Ma-
dame d’Albret is in Paris, and has never
been in the south of France that I have
heard. When she first called, I inquired
after you. The reply was, that you were on
a visit toa lady in England; that you had
left her ; that you hada mante pour 1 Angle-
terre: and so saying, she shrugged up ‘her
shoulders. I was about to inquire more
particul larly, but she cut the conversation
short by asking to see a new pelisse, and I
perceived at once that there was something
wrong, but what I could not comprehend.
I did not see her till four or five weeks after-
wards, when she called, accom aaa bya
\fonsieur de G——,, a person well known in
aris, Where he bears a very indifferent cha-
acter, as a desperate gat nbler, and a man
of very bad dispos ition, concealed under a
very polished exterior; but his character is
better known in England, which country, I
am told, he was obliged to quit in conse-
quence of some gaming transaction, any-
ing but honourable. I again made in-
quiries after you, and this time the reply was
given by Monsieur de G——, who replied
that you were an zzgrvate, and your name
must not be in future mentioned by any one
to Madame .d Albret.

‘The handsome face of Monsieur de
G was changed to that of a demon when
he made this remark, and fully proved to
me the truth of the report that he was a per-
son of very bad disposition.. . Madame
d’Albret made no remark, except that she

 

 

tn

y
L
ieshould be careful how she ever engaged a
demoiselle de compagnie again. I was struck
at this remark from her, as I always con-
sidered that you were (and, indeed, I know
you were at one time) viewed in a very diffe-
rent light, and I was quite mystified. About
a fortnight -afterwards Madame d’Albret
called upon me, and announced her intended
Marriage to Monsieur de'G——, and re-
quested me to make her wedding dresses.
Here the whole mystery was out; but why,
because she marries Monsieur de-G——, you
should lose her protection, and why Monsieur
de G—— should be so inveterate against
you, is more than I can tell. I have now,
my dear mademoiselle, given you a detail of
all I know, and shall be most happy to hear
from you if you will please to write to me,
Cr, KC: ‘EMILE PAON, 2ée MERCE.’

Here was a solution of the whole mystery.
I read the letter, and fell back on the sofa,
gasping for breath. It was some time before
I could recover myself. I was alone in my
bedroom, my head and eyes swimming ; but
I staggered to the washing-stand, and ob-
tained some water. It was half an hour
before I could recall my astonished senses,
and then everything appeared as clear to
me as ifit had been revealed. Monsieur de
G——’s double attentions ; his spiteful look
at my refusal ; his occupying himself wholly
with Madame d’Albret after I refused him ;
her wishing to get rid of me ‘by sending me
to England with Madame Bathurst, and her
subsequent false and evasive conduct.
Monsieur de G—— had had his revenge,
and gained his point at the same time. He
had obtained the wealth of Madame d’Albret
to squander at the gaming-table, and had
contrived, by some means or another, to
ruin me in her good opinion. I perceived
at once that all was lost, and when I con-
sidered the awkwardness of my position, I
was almost in despair.

 

CHAPTER VI.

AsI continued for more than an hour on
the sofa, gloomily passing in review my
short career, my present position, and occa-
sionally venturing a surmise upon the future,
a feeling which I had not had before—one
which had hitherto. been latent—pride, gra-
dually was awakened in my bosom, and as
it was aroused, it sustained me. I have
before observed, that fear had been my pre-
dominating feeling till I had quitted my

VALERIE,

 

27
parents ; love and’ gratitude had succeeded
them ; but now, smarting under injustice,
pride, and, with pride, many less worthy
passions were summoned up, and I appeared
in the course of two short hours to be an-
other being. I felt confidence in myself,
my eyes were opened all at once, as it were,
to the heartlessness of the world ; the more
I considered the almost hopeless condition
in which I was, the more my energy was
I sat down on the sofaa confiding,
clinging girl; I rose up a resolute, clear-
sighted woman.

I reflected, and had made up my mind
that Madame d’Albret would never forgive
one whom she had injured as she had mie.
She had induced me.to break off all family
and parental ties (such as they were) ; she
had made me wholly dependent upon her,
and had now cast me off in a cruel and
heartless manner. She had used deceit,
because she knew that she could not justify
her conduct. She had raised caluminies
against me, accusing me of ingratitude, as
an excuse for her own conduct. Anything
like a reconciliation, therefore, was impossi-
ble, and any assistance from her I was de-
termined not to accept: Besides, was she
not married to Monsieur de G——, whom
pique at my refusal had made my enemy,
and who had, in all probability, as he pressed
his own suit, perceived the necessity, inde-
pendent of the gratification it afforded him
to be my ruin, of removing me as a serious
obstacle to Madame d’Albret’s contracting a
new alliance? From that quarter, there-
fore, there was nothing to be expected or
hoped for, even if it were desired. And
what was my position with Madame Ba-
thurst? Onavisit. At the termination of
which I was houseless.

That Madame Bathurst would probably
offer me a temporary asylum, for she would
hardly turn me out of doors, I felt cone
vineed ; but new-born pride revolted at the
idea of dependence upon one on whom I
had no claim whatever. What, then, was
to be done? I examined my capital. I
was handsome, but that was of no use to me,
the insidious conduct of Monsieur de G
had raised to positive dislike the indifference
that I felt for his sex, and I had no jnclina-
tion to make a market of my personal ad-
vantages. I could sing and play well. “1
spoke French and English, and understood
Italian. I could embroider and work well
with my needle. Such were my capabilities,
my stock-in-trade, with which to commence
the world; I was therefore competent, to a
certain degree, to give lessons in music and inee

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

28 VALERIE.

French, or to take a governess’s place, or to
become a modiste.

I thought of Madame Paon ; but when I
reflected in what manner I had visited her,
the respect and homage, I-may say, which
had been offered up to me, and how different
my reception and treatment would be if I
entered the establishment as one of them-
selves, the reflection was too mortifying, and
I determined, that if I were driven to such
an employment for my livelihood, it should
be where I was not known. After much
consideration, I decided that I would see
Madame Bathurst, make known to her my
intentions, and ask her assistance and re-
commendation to procure measituation. I
arranged my hair, removed all traces of my
late agitation, and went down to her. I
found heralone, and asking her whether she
could spare me a few minutes of her time, I
handed to her the letter which I had received
from Madame Paon, and then made her
acquainted with that portion of my history
with which she had been unacquainted. As
I spoke, my courage revived, and my voice
became firm—I felt that I was no longera
girl.

‘Madame Bathurst, I have confided this
to you, because you will agree with me that
there can be nothing more between Madame
a’'Albret and me; for even if she made an
offer, I would never accept it. Iam now in
a very false position, owing to her conduct.
I am here on a visit, supposed by you to be
the profégée of that lady, and a person of
some consequence. Her protection has been
taken away from me, and I am now a beg-
gar, with nothing but my talents for my
future support. I explain this to you frankly,
because [ cannot think of remaining as your
visitor ; and if I do not ask too much, all
that I wish of your friendship is, that you
will give me such a recommendation as you
think I deserve, by which I may obtain the
means of future livelihood.’

‘My dear Valerie,’ replied Madame Ba-
thurst, ‘I will not hurt your feelings. It is
a heavy blow, and I am glad to perceive,
that instead of being crushed, by it, you
appear to rise. I have heard of Madame
d'Albret’s marriage, and the deceit which
she has been practising evidently to get rid
of you. Not many days ago I wrote to
her, pointing out the variance between what
she stated in her lette1s, and her actual po-
sition, and requesting to know what was to
be done relative to you. Her answer I have
received thisday. She states that you have
cruelly deceived her; that at the very time
that you professed the utmost gratitude and

   

affection, you were slandering her, and
laughing at her behind her back, particularly
to Monsieur de G——, to whom she is now
married ; and that, however she might be
inclined to forgive and overlook your con-
duct herself, that Monsieur de G is
resolute, and determined that you never
shall come again under his roof. She has,
therefore, transmitted a billet of 500 francs
to enable you to return to your father’s
house.’

‘Then,’ replied I, ‘it is as I suspected ;
Monsieur de G is the cause of all.’

‘ Why did you trust him, Valerie, or rather
why were you so imprudent, and I must add
ungrateful, to speak of Madame d’Albret as
you did?’

‘And you believe it, Madame Bathurst.
you believe that I did so? I can only say,
that if such is your belief, the sooner we
part the better.’

I then told her what I had omitted in my
narrative, how I had refused Monsieur de
G——, and, explaining his character,
showed that he had acted thus out of in-
terest and revenge.

‘J believe it all now, Valerie, and I must
beg your pardon for having supposed that
you had been ungrateful. ‘This explanation
relieves me, and enables me to make you
the offer which I had thought of doing, had
I not been checked by this calumny against
you. I say, therefore, for the present, my
dear Valerie, remain here. You are quite
equal to be governess to Caroline, but I
prefer vou should remain with me more as a
friend than as a governess. I say this,
because I fear you will be too proud to
remain as a dependant, without making
yourself useful. You know that [ did in-
tend to take a governess for Caroline as soon
as we went to London. I will now take
you, if you will consent, and shall feel the
obligation on my side, as I shail not only
have retained a capable person, but shall
also not lose a dear young friend.’

‘I thank you for the offer, my dear
madam, replied I, rising and courtesying ;
‘I trust, however, that you will allow mea
little time for reflection before I decide. You
must admit that this is a most critical epoch
in my life, and I must not make one false
step if it is possible to prevent it.’

‘Certainly,’ replied Madame Bathurst,
‘certainly. You are right, Valerie, in re-
flecting well before you decide ; but I must
say that you are rather haughty in your
manner towards me.’

‘I may have been, my dear Madame
Bathurst, but if so, take my excuses, Re»collect, the Valerie of yesterday, who was
your visitor and young friend, is not the
Valerie of to-day !’ and with these words I
took up the cheque for 500 francs which
Madame: Bathurst had laid on the table,
left the room, and returned to my own
apartment,

I returned to my room, and was glad to
be once more alone; for although I bore up
well under the circumstances, still the com-
pressed excitement was wearying to the
frame. I had resolved to accept the offer of
Madame Bathurst at the time that she made
it, but I did not choose to appear to jump at
it, as she probably expected that I would.
I felt no confidence in any one but my own
self, after the treatment of Madame d’Albret,
and I considered that Madame Bathurst
would probably dismiss me, as soon- as my
services were no longer required, with as
little ceremony as had Madame d’Atbret.
That I was capable of taking charge of and
instructing Caroline, I knew well, and that
Madame Bathurst would nct easily procure
a governess so capable in singing and mu-
sic as myself. There would consequently
be no obligation, and I resolved that I would
reject her terms if they were not favourable.
I had some money, for I had spent but a
small portion of twenty sovereigns which
Madame d’Albret had given me in a purse
when I quitted her. I had, therefore,
the means of subsistence for some little
time, should I not come to terms with Ma-
dame Bathurst.

After an hour’s reflection, I sat down and
wrote aletter to Madame Paon, stating what
had occurred, and my determination to ob-
tain my own livelihood, and adding, that as
I was not sure whether I should accept of
Madame Bathurst's. offer, I wished her to
give me a letter of introduction to some
French acquaintance of hers in London, as
I was an utter stranger to everything, and
without advice, should probably be cheated
in every way. As soon as this letter was
finished, I commenced another to Madame
d’Albret, which was in the following words :

“ My DEAR MADAM,

“Ves, I will still say my dear
madam ; for although you will never hear of
me again, you ate still dear to me, more
dear perhaps than you were, when I con-
sidered you my patroness and my more than
mother. And why so?—Because when those
we love are in misfortune, when those who
have benefited us are likely to soon want
succour themselves, it is then the time that
we should pour out our gratitude and love.

VALERIE. ‘

 
  
   
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
    
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
 
  

29
I do not consider it your fault, my dear
Madame d’Albret, that you have been de-
ceived by a base hypocrite, who wears so
captivating a mask; I do not blame you
that you have been persuaded by him that I
have slandered and behaved ungratefully to
you. You have been blinded by your own
feelings towards him and by his consummate
art. I am also to blame for not having
communicated to ‘you that Ze made mea
proposal of marriage but a short time pre-
vious to my departure, and which I indig-
nantly rejected, because he had taken such
an unusual step without any previous com-
munication with you on the subject—not
that I would have accepted him, even if you
had wished it, for I know how false and un-
worthy he was considered to be. I should
have told you, my dear madam, of this offer
of marriage on his part, but he requested
me asa favour not to mention it to you, and
I did not then know that he was a ruined
man, a desperate gambler, and that he had
been obliged to quit this country for dis-
honourable practices at the gaming-table, as
you may easily discover to be true ; for even
Madame Paon can give you all the neces-
sary information. And into this man’s
hands have you fallen, my dear Madame
d’Albret. Alas, how you are to be pitied!
my heart bleeds for you, and I fear that a
few months will suffice to prove to you the
truth of what I now write. That I am a
sufferer by, the conduct of Monsieur de
G—— is true. I have lost a kind patroness,
an indulgent mother, and am now left to
obtain my own livelihood how I can. All
my visions, all my dreams of happiness
with you, all my wishes of proving my
gratitude and love for your kindness have
vanished, and here I am, young, alone, and
unprotected. But I think not of myself ;
at all events I am free—I am not chained to
such a person as Monsieur de G——; and
it is of you, and all that you will have to
suffer, that my thoughts and heart are full.
I return you the check for 500 francs—lI can-
not take the money. You are married to
Monsieur de G——, and I can accept no-
thing from one who has made you believe
that Valerie could be calumnious and un-
grateful. Adieu, my dear madam ; I shall
pray for you, and weep over your misfor-
itunes. —Yours ever gratefully,
‘VALERIE DE CHATENGUF.':

That there was a mixed feeling in this
letter I’confess. As I said in it, I really
pitied Madame d’Albret and forgave her her
unkindness; but I sought revenge upon
Monsieur de G——, and in seeking that, I80
planted daggers into the heart of Madame
d'Albret ; but I did not at the time I wrote
reflect upon this. What I wished to do was
to vindicate myself, and that I could not do
without exposing Monsieur de G—-—, and
exposing him in his true colours was, of
course, awakening Madame d’Albret to her
position sooner than she would have been,
and filling her mind with doubts and jea-
lousy. That this was not kind, I felt when
{ perused what I had written previous to
folding the letter ; but 1 felt no inclination

alter it, probably because I had not quite
so wholly forgiven Madame d’Albret as I
thought that I had. Be it’as it may, the
letter was Sealed and despatched by that
night's post, as well_as that written to Ma-
dame Paon.

I had now only to arrange with Madame
Bathurst, and I went down into the drawing-

room, where I found her alone. ‘1 have
considered, my dear Madame Bathurst,’
said I, ‘your kind proposal. I certainly

have had a little struggle to get over, as you
must admit that it is not pleasant to sink
from a visitor in a family into a dependant,
as I must in future be if I remain with y.Ou ;
but the advantages of being with a person
whom I respect as much as {do you, and
of having charge of a young person to whom
i am so attached as I am to Caroline, have
decided me on accepting your offer. May I
know, then, what may be the terms upon
which I am received as governess ?”

‘Valerie, I feel that this is all pride,’ re-
plied Madame Bathurst, ‘but still it is not
disreputable pride, and though I shall yield
to it, I would have made no terms, but re-
tained you as a dear friend, my purse and
everything in the house at your command,
and I hoped that you would have allowed
me so to do, but as you will not, I have only
to say that I should have expected to pay
any governess whom I might have ravainell
for Caroline a salary of £100 per annum,
and that I offer you the same.

‘It is more than- sufficient, my dear
madam,’ replied I, ‘and I accept your offer
if you will take me on trial for six months.’

‘Valerie, you make me laugh, and make
me angry at the time; but I can bear much
from you now, for you have had a heavy
blow, my poor child. Now let’s say no
more on the subject ; all is settled, and the
atrangement will remain a secret, unless you
publish it Sega

‘I certainly shall make no secret of it,
Madame Ba st ; I should be very sorry

thur he 5
to show urs, and be supposed es

 

 

 

‘alse Cc olo

your friends to be otherwise than what I

 

 

VALERIE.

‘I ma

   

really am. I have done nothing that ¥
aa to be ashamed of, and I abhor deceit.

Nhatever may be my position in life, I trust
He I shall never disgrace the name that I
bear, and I am not the first of a noble name
who has had a reverse in fortune.’

How strange that I now, for the first time
in my life, began to feel pride in my family
name. I presume because when we have
lost almost everything, we cherish more
that which remains to us. From the time
that Madame Bathurst had first known me
till the last twenty-four hours, not a symptom
of pride had ever been discovered in’ me.
As the pr otésée and adopted daughter of
Madame d’Albret, with brilliant prospects, |
was all humility—now-_a dependant, with a
salary of £100 per annum. Valerie was as
proud as iiciver himself. Madame Bathurst
preceived this, and I must do her the justice
to say, that she was very guarded in her
conduct towards nie. She felt sympathy for
me, Re treated me with more kindness, and
say with more respect, than she did
hte I was her visitor and her equal.

The next day I informed Caroline of the
change in my prospects, and of my having
accepted the“office of governess ; that was to
Say, on a six months’ trial. I pointed out to
her that it would now be my duty to see that
she did not neglect her studies, and that I
was determined to do justice to Madame
Bathurst's confidence reposed in me. Caro-
line, who was of a very amiable and sweet
disposition, replied ‘ That she should always
look upon me as her friend and companion,
and from 1 sas love for me, would do every-
thing I wished,’ and she kept her word.

The ate: will agree with me, that it was
impossible for any one to have been lowered
down in position more gently than I was in
this instance. The servants never knew that
I had accepted the offer of governess, for I
was invariably ca lled Valerie by Madame
Bathurst and her niece, and was treated as
I was before when a visitor to the house. I
bestowed much. time upon Caroline, and
taught myself daily, that I might be more
able to teach her. I went back to the ele-
ments in everything, that I might be more
capable of instructing, and Caroline made
rapid progress in music, and promised to
have, in a few years, a very fine voice. We
went to town for the season, but I avoide@
company as much as possible—so much soa,
that Madame Bathurst complained of it.

‘Valerie, you do wrong not to make your
appearance. You retire in such a way that
people naturally put questions to me, and ask
if you are the governess, or what you are,’‘T wish them to do so, my dear madam,
and I want you to reply frankly. . 1 am the

governess, and do not like anything like
concealment.’
‘But I cannot admit that you are what

may be called a.governess, Valerie. You are
a young friend ‘with me, who in-
structs my niece
That is what a governess

VELIIC

 

 

 

plied I, ‘a young friend w
children.’

SAE grant it,’ replied Madame Bathurst ;
‘but I fear if you wer e to take the situation

 

vel! would find that a
eoverness is not generally so considered or
so treated.. I do not know any class of
people who are more to be pitied than these
young people who enter families
nesses ; not considered good enou
CPA TR ER IOOM they are too good
kitchen ;

in family
¢

      
   

 

ehey are treated with
the master and mi tress, and o1 y admitte
or suffered for a time tobe in th eis con
pany ; by the servants they are consid
not having’ claims to those a
civilities, for which they are pai
because receiving salaries
themselves,’ as they assert, they are not en-
titled in their opinion to be attended upon.
Thus.are they, in most houses, eae by
all parties. Unhappy themselves, they cause
ill-will a nd dissension, and mores Scan ont
Sits or give warning, on ac eopnt of
the governesses, than from any other cause.

 

 

 

9

 

 

 

 

 

   

In the drawing-room they are a check upon
i schoolroom, if they do

th ire the cause of discontent,

pouting, and tears ; like the Re th: ey are
neither bird ee beast, and they flit about
the house like ill omens ; they iS se the light-
heartedness and spring of youth; beco! ne

sour from continual vexation and annoyance,
and their lives are miserable, tedious, and
full of repining. I tell you this candidly ; it
is a harsh picture, but I fear too true a one.
With me I trust you will be happy, but you
will run a great risk if you were to change
and go into another family.’

ial have heard as much before, my dear
madam,’ replied I; ‘but your cons! iderate
kindness has made me forget it. I can only
say that it will be a melancholy day when I
am forced to quit your roof.’

Visitors announced, interrupted the con-
versation. I have before mentioned the
talent I had for dress, and the kindness of
Madame Bathurst induced me to exert all
that I possessed in her favour. Every one
was pleased, and expressed admirat ion at
the peculiar elegance of her attire, and asked

 

 

 

VALERIE,

3E

who was the modzste she employed, and

Madame Bathurst never failed to ascribe all
themerit to me.

Time passed on rapidly, and the season

was nearly over. Madame Bathurst had ex-

plained to her most intimate friends thealtera-

tion which had taken place in my prospects,
and that I remai

 

1 ned with her more as a com-
panion than in any other capaeity. This
procured me conside FasOR and respect, and

ad invitation to parties ; but I
fused ; except occasionally, ac-
at in the box at the opera and
, L was content to remain quiet.
aon had, as I requested, sent
of introduction to a friend of
nsieur Gironac, who lived in
are. He was a married man,
y. He obtained his livelihood
-ssons on the flute, on the guitar,
and in teaching French during the day, and
at night was engaged as second violin in the
orchestra of the Opera-house; so that he
had many strings ta his bow, besides those
of his fiddle. His wife, a pretty little lively
woman, taught young ladies to make flowers
in wax, and mended lace in the evenings.
They were a very amiable and amusing
couple, always at good-natured warfare with
each other, and sparring all day long, from
the time they met until “they parted. Their
battles were the most comical and amusing
I ever witnessed, and generally ended in
roars of laughter.. They received me with
the greatest kindness and consideration,
treating me W ith great respect, until our ex-
treme intimacy no longer required it, and
our friendship, increa .sed more than it could
have.done from Caroline expressing a wish
to learn to model flowers, ae becoming
pupil of Madame Girona Such were
te of affairs when the Rondon season
r, and we once more returned to the

 

ce C
without-fami

by. giving
DY Qivils l

 

 
 
 

oe tr y.
Ve time flew away rapidly. Madame
hurst treated me with kindness and re-
oak Caroline with affection, and I was
again quite happy and contented. I was
earnest in my endeav ee to improve Caro-
line, and moreover had the satisfaction to
as and hear it ase vicdeet that my at-
tempts were not thrown away. I looked
forward to remaining at least till Caroline’s
education was complete, whichit could not be
under two or three years; a and feeling security
for such a period, I gave my self little thought
of the future, when a circumstance occurred
which put an end to all my calculations.
I have stated that Caroline was the niece
of Madame Bathurst; she was the daughter92 VALERIE.

of a younger sister who had contracted an
unfortunate marriage, having eloped with a
young man who had not a shilling that:he
could call his own, and whose whole depen-
dence was upon an uncle without a family.
This imprudent match had, however, raised
the indignation of his relative, who from
that moment told him he was to expect
nothing from him either before or after his
death. The consequence was, that Madame
Bathurst’s sister and husband were in a state
of great distress, until Madame Bathurst, by
exerting herself in his behalf, procured for
him a situation of £300 per annum in the
Excise. Upon this sum, and the occasional
presents of Madame Bathurst, they contrived
to live, but having two boys and a girl to
educate, Madame Bathurst took charge of
the latter, who was Caroline, promising that
she would either establish her in life, or
leave her a sufficiency at herdeath. Madame
Bathurst had a very large jointure, and
could well afford to save up every year for
Caroline, which she had done ever since she
had taken charge of her, at seven years old.
At the time that I have been speaking of, it
appeared that the uncle of the father of
Caroline died, and notwithstanding his
threat bequeathed to his nephew the whole
of his large property, by which he became
even more wealthy than Madame Bathurst.
‘The consequence was, that Madame Bat-
hurst received a. letter announcing this in-
telligence, and winding up with a notifica-
tion that Caroline was to be immediately
taken back to her father’s house. In the
letter—which I read, for Madame Bathurst,
who was in great distress, handed it to me,
observing at the time, ‘This concerns you
as well as me and Caroline ’—there were not
any expressions of gratitude for the great
kindness which they had received from her
hands ; it was an unkind, unfeeling letter,
and I was disgusted when I had gone
through it.

‘Is this all the return that you receive for
what you have done for your sister and
her husband 2?’ observed I; ‘the more I see
of this world, the more I hate it.’

‘It is indeed most selfish and unfeeling,
replied Madame Bathurst: ‘Caroline has
been so long with me, that I have looked
upon her as my own child, and now she is
to be torn from me, without the least con-
sideration of my feelings. It is very cruel
and very ungrateful.’

Madame Bathurst, after this remark, rose
and left the room. As I afterwards dis-

covered, she replied to the letter, pointing
out how long she had had charge of Caro-

line, and now considered her as her daugh-
ter, and requesting her parents to allow her
to return to her after she paid them a visit ;
pointing out how unkind and ungrateful it
was of them to take her away, now that their
circumstances were altered, and how very
painful it would be for her if they did so.

‘To this appeal on her part she received a
most insulting answer, in which she was re-
quested to make out an account of the ex-
penses incurred for the education and main-
tenance of her niece, that they might be re-
imbursed forthwith. On this occasion, for
the first time, I saw Madame Bathurst really
angry, and certainly not without good cause.
She sent for Caroline, who as yet had only
been informed that her father and mother
had succeeded to a large inheritance, and put
the letter into her hands with a copy of her
own, requesting that she would read them,
watching her countenance with the severest
scrutiny as she complied with the injunction,
as if to discover if she inherited the ingrati-
tude of her parents. Such was not the case,
for poor Caroline sunk, covered her face
with her hands, and then rushing to Madame
Bathurst, fell on her knees before her, and
burying her face in her aunt’s lap, cried as
if her heart would break. After a-few
minutes, Madame Bathurst raised up her
niece, and kissed her, saying,

‘I am satisfied, my dear Caroline at least
is not ungrateful. Now, my child, you
must do your duty, and obey your parents
-—as we must part, the sooner we part the
better. Valerie, will you see that everything
is ready for Caroline’s going away to-morrow
morning ?’

Saying this, Madame Bathurst disengaged
herself from Caroline, and quitted the room.
It was a long while before I could reason
the poor girl into anything like composure.
I could not help agreeing with her, that the
conduct of her parents was most ungracious
towards Madame Bathurst; but at the same
time I pointed out to her how natural it was,
that having but one daughter, her parents
should wish for her return to their own care;
that the resigning her to Madame Bathurst
must have been a severe trial to them, and
that it could only be from consulting her ad-
vantage that they could have consented ‘to it ;
but, notwithstanding all that I could urge,
Caroline’s indignation against her parents, of
whom she knew but little, was very great,
and her dislike to return home as strong.
However, there was no help for it, as
Madame Bathurst had decided that she was
to go, and I persuaded her to come with me
and prepare her clothes ready for packing °up. We did not meet at dinner that day,
Madame Bathurst sending an excuse that
she was too much out of spirits to leave her
room ; Caroline and I were equally so, and
we remained where we were. In the evening,
Madame Bathurst sent for me; I found her
in bed, and looking very ill.

‘Valerie,’ said-she, ‘I wish Caroline to
start early to-morrow morning, that, as
you accompany her, you may be able to
return here before night. I shall not beable
to see her to-morrow morning. I must,
therefore, bid her farewell this night ; bring
her here, and the sooner it is over the
better.’

I went for Caroline, and a bitter parting it
was. I hardly know which of the three cried
the most, but after half an hour Madame
Bathurst signed to me to take Caroline
away, which I did, and afterwards put her
into bed as soon as I could. Having re-
mained with her till she had sobbed herself
to sleep, I went down to the servants, and
gave Madame Bathurst's directions for the
next morning, and then retired myself.
Worn out as I was with such a day of
anxiety and distress, I could not close my
eyes for some time, reflecting upon what
might be the issue of this breaking up of the
connection to myself. I had been engaged
as governess to Caroline, and I could not
well expect that Madame Bathurst would
wish to retain me now that Caroline was re-
moved from her care ; neither, indeed, would
my pride permit me to accept such an offer
if made, as I should become a mere depen-
dent on her bounty, with no services to
offer in return. ‘That I must leave Madame
Bathurst, was certain, and that I must look
ut for some other situation. I took it for
granted that Madame Bathurst would not
permit me to leave immediately, but allow
me « short time to look out fora suitable
situation ; but whether I should decide upon
taking the situation of a governess after what
Madame Bathurst had told me, or what
situation I should seek, was the cause of
much thought and indecision. At last 1
could make no mind up, and decided that I
would trust to Providence, and having so far
come toa conclusion, I fell asleep.

After an early breakfast, I set off in the
carriage with Caroline in charge, and before
noon, we arrived at her father’s house. The
servants, dressed in very gaudy liveries,
ushered us into the library, where we
found her father and mother waiting to
receive her. A first glance satisfied me that
they were swelled with pride at the change
in their fortunes, Caroline was not received

   

 
   
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
   

VALERIE, 33

with great cordiality. There was a stiffness
on the part of her parents which would have
checked any feelings of affection on her part,
had she been inclined to show them, which
I was sorry to perceive she did not; indeed,
her feelings appeared rather those of resent-
ment for the conduct they had shown to her
aunt. After the salutation of meeting, Caro-
line sat down on a sofa, opposite to her
father and mother. I remained standing,
and when the pause took place, I said,

‘T was deputed by Madame Bathurst to
convey your daughter safe to you, and as
soon as the horses are baited, 1am to return
home.’

‘Who may this person be, Caroline 2’ de-
manded her mother.

‘I must apologize to Mademoiselle de
Chatenceuf for not having introduced her,’
replied Caroline, blushing with annoyance
‘She is a very dear friend of mine and m
aunt's.’

‘Latterly I have been the governess of
your daughter, madam,’ said I.

‘Oh!’ said thelady. ‘ Willsomebody ring
the bell?’

I presumed by this somebody, it was in-
tended to convey to me that I was to per-
form that office ; but as they had not had the
common civility to ask me to take a chair, 1
took no notice.

‘Will you ring the bell, my dear ?” said the
lady to her husband.

The gentleman complied ; and when the
servant entered, the lady said, ‘Show the
governess into the small breakfast-room,
and tell the coachman to put up his horses
and bait them. He must be round again in
an hour.’

The man stood with the door in his hand,
waiting for me to follow him. Not a little
indignant, I turned to Caroline, and said
to her, ‘I had better wish you good-bye
now.’

‘Yes, indeed, Valerie, you had,’ replied
Caroline, rising from the sofa, ‘for t am
ashamed to look you in the face, after such
treatment as you have received. Will you,’
continued she, with great spirit, “accept my
apology for the behaviour of my parents to-
wards one who is of a much higher family,
and much higher breeding than they can
boast of.’ j

‘Hush ! Caroline,’ said I ; ‘recollect—

‘] do recollect, and shall continue to re-
collect, the insults to my dear aunt in the
first place, and now the insult to you, my
dear Valerie,’ retorted Caroline, who then
put her arms round my neck, and kissed me
several times; having so done, she darted

>
J

2
a3d VALERIE.

from me, threw herself on the sofa, and burst
into tears, while I hastened to follow the
servant, to esape from such an unpleasant
scene.

I was shown into asmall room, where I
remained some little time, thinking how true
were Madame Bathurst’s observations as to
what I might expect in the position of a go-
verness, when a servant came in, and ina
condescending manner, asked if I did not
wish to have some lunch. I replied in the
negative.

“You can have a glass of wine if you
choose.’ continued he.

‘You may leave the’ room,’ I replied,
calmly; ‘1 wish for nothing.’

The man went out, slamming the door,
and I was again alone. I reflected upon the
scene I had just been witness to, and I own
that I was surprised at Caroline’s conduct,
who had always appeared so mild and am1-
able; but the fact appeared to me to be,
that when parents give up their children to
the care of another, they surrender at the
same time all those feelings which should
exist between parent and child to the party
who undertakes the charge of them. The
respect and love which by nature belonged
to them were now transferred to her aunt, to
whom Caroline was always obedient and at-
tached. ‘The insult to me was resented by
Caroline as if it had been offered by perfect
strangers to her ; Caroline not feeling herself
at all checked by filalduty. here appeared
to be little prospect of any addition to the
happiness of either of the parties by the re-
turn of Caroline to her fathers house ; and
how it would end [ could not surmise.

At last my reverie was interrupted by the
servant coming in and telling me that the
carriage was at the door. I immediately
followed him, and set off on my return,
during which I resolved that I would not
leave my own expectations any longer in
doubt, but come immediately to an under-
standing with Madame Bathurst.

As it was late when I arrived, l did not
see Madame Bathurst that evening} but she
came down to breakfast the next morning
when I informed her ofall that had occurred
at her sister's, and the unceremonious man-
ner in which [had been treated ; and having
done so, I then observed, that of course I
did not expect to remain with her now that
Caroline was gone, and begged she would
give me her advice and assistance in procur-
ing another situation.

‘At all events, do not be-in a hurry, Va-
lerie,’ rep'ied Madame Bathurst ; ‘1 trust
you will not refuse to be my Visitoruntil you

   

 

 

 

 

are suited to your liking. I willnot ask you
to stay with me, as I know you will refuse,
and I do not pay unnecessary compliments.
And yet, why should you not? I know you
well, and am attached to you. I shall feel
the loss of Caroline severely. Why not re-
main ?’

‘Many thanks, my dear madain,’ replied
I, ‘for your kind wishes and expressions,
but you know my resolution has been made
to earn my own livelihood.’

‘IT know that; but a resolution may be
altered when circumstances demand it.
Madame d’Albret was no more related to
you than I am, and yet you accepted her
offer.’

‘IT did, madam,’ replied I, bitterly, ‘and
you know the result. I would have staked
my life upon her sincerity and affection, and
yet how was I cast away?. With every
feeling of gratitude, my dear madam,
I cannot accept your offer, for- 1 never will
put myself in a similar position a second
time.’

‘You do not pay me a very great compl-
ment by that remark, Valerie,’ said Madame
Bathurst, somewhat harshly.

“Indeed, my dear madam, I should be
sorry if anything I have said should annoy
one who has been so kind and considerate to
meas you have been; but I know that I
should be miserable and unhappy if not in-
dependent, and | never can risk a second
shock, like that I received from the conduct
of Madame d’Albret. I entreat as a favour
that vou will not continue the subject.’

‘Well, Valerie, I will not; perhaps had
I been treated as you have been, I might
feel the same. . What then do you pro-
pose to seek ? Is it the situation of a gover-
ness ?

‘ Anything in preference, my dear madam ;
I was sufficiently humiliated yesterday. I
should prefer that of alady’s-maid, although
I hope not to descend quite so low.’

“There are so few situations for a person
educated as you have been. There-is a
companion for a lady, which I believe is
anything but pleasant: there is that of
amanuensis, but itis seldom required. You
might certainly go out and give lessons in
music, and-singing, and in the French lan-
guage; but there are so many French mas-
ters and mistresses, and for music and sing-
ing a master is always preferred, why, I do
not exactly know. However, I think some-
thing may be done when we goto town, but
till then all that we can do is to talk the
matter over, Perhaps something may turn

up when we least expect it, I will, how-VALERTE. 8s

ever, now that I know your decision, make
every inquiry, and give you all the assistance
in my power.’ t

I expressed my thanks and gratitude, and
the conversation ended.

I did not, however, trust altogether to
Madame Bathurst. I wrote a letter to my
acquaintance Madame Gironac, in Leicester-
square, stating what had occurred, and
what my ideas and intentions were, request-
ing to give me her advice and opinion as to
the best plan I could follow. In a few
days I received from her the following
reply, which I insert as characteristic of
the party.

‘My DEAR MADEMOISELLE,—

‘Your letter gave great pain tome; andas
for my husband, he was quite furious, and
declared that he would not-live a minute
longer in such an abominable world. How-
ever, to oblige me, he has not yet made
away with himself. It really is dreadful to
sce a young lady like you in such an awk-
ward position from the weakness and follies
of others ; but we must submit to what the
bon Dieu disposes, and when things come to
the worst, hope that a change will take
place, as any change must then be for the
better. {have consulted my husband about
what you propose, but he negatives every-
thing. He says you are too good for a go-
verness ; would be thrown away as a Com-
panion to a lady ; that you must not be seen
in a cab, going about giving lessons—in fact,
he will listen to nothing except that you must
come and live with us. I can only say, my
dear mademoiselle, that I join in the latter
request, and that it would make me pet-
fectly happy, and that the honour and plea-
sure of your company would be more than
a compensation. Still, itis but a poor home

to offer to you, but at all events one that ~

 

you might conaes vend to take advantage of
rather than remain to be mortified by those
who think, as they do in this country, that
money is everything. Do, pray, then come
to us, if you fee} inctined, and then we can
talk over things quietly, and wait upon Pro-
vidence. My husband has now hardly time
to eat his dinner, he has so many pupils of
one kind and the other ; and I am happy to
say that I have also most of my time occu-
pied ; and if it pleases God to continue us 1n
good health, we hope to be able to put by a
Iittle money for a rainy day, as they say 1n
this country, where it is always raining.
Assure yourself, my dear mademoiselle, of
our love, respect, consideration.
‘ ANNELTE GIRONAC.’

 

We went to town earlier than usual, Ma-
dame Bathurst feeling lonely in the country
after the departure of Caroline, from whom
she had not receiveda line since her quitting
her. ‘This of course was to be ascribed to
her parents, who thus returned all Madame
Bathurst's kindness as soon as they no longer
required her assistance. I know not how it
was, but gradually a sort of coolness had
arisen between Madame Bathurst and me.
Whether it was that she was displeased at
my refusing her offer to remain with her, or
thought proper to wean herself from one who
was so soon to guit her, I knownot. - I did

1 fence: I was more quiet

 

er

4 ct

nothing to give ole?
and subdued, perhaps, than before, be-
cause I had become more reflective ; but
could not accuse myself of any fault or error,
that I was aware of.

We had been about a week in London,
when an old acquaintance of Madame Ba-
thursi’s, who had just returned from Italy,
where she had resided for two years, called
upon her. Hername was Lady R—— :she
vas the widow of a baronet, not in very Opu-
lent circumstances, although with a suffi-
ciency to hire, if not keep a carriage. She
was, moreover, an author, having written
two or three novels, not very good I was
told, but still, emanating from the pen of a
lady, they were well paid. She was very
eccentric, and rather amusing.

 
 
 

When 2

woman says everything that comes into her

head, out of a great deal of chaff there will

drop some few grains of wheat; and so

sometimes, more by accident than otherwise,

she said what is called a good thing. Now,
3

 

a good thing is rep sated, while all the non-
sense is forgotten ; and Lady R—— was con-
sidered a wit as well as an author. She
was a tall woman ; I should think very near,
if not past fifty years of age, with the re-
mains of beauty in her countenance ; appa-
rently, she was strong and healthy, as she

walked with a spring, and was lively and
quick in all her motions.

“Cara mia,’ exclaimed she, as she was
announced, running up to Madame Ba-
thurst, ‘and how have you been all this

]
while—my biennial absence in the land of
poetry—in which I have laid up such stores
of beauteous images and ideas in my mind,
that I shall make them last me during my
life. Have you read my last 2) lis site
prising, every one says, and proves the effect
of climate upon composition—quite new—
an Italian story of thrilling interest. And
you have something new here, I perceive,’
continued she, turning to me; ‘not only
new, but beautitul—introduce me : Tamanmarae

st

 

 

 

 

26

Y

 

enthusiast in the sublime and beautiful. Is
she any relation? No relation !—Made-
moiselle de Chatenceuf !—what a pretty
name foranovel. I sbould like to borrow
it, and paint the orginal from nature. Will
you sit for your lil ceness ?”

That Lady R—— allowed no one to talk
but herself was evident. Madame Bathurst,
who knew her well, allowed her to run on ;
and I, not much valuing the dose of flattery
so unceremoniously bestowed upon me, took
an opportunity, when Lady R—— turned
round to whisper something to Madam Ba-
thurst, to make my escape from the room.
The fol lowing morning, Madame Bathurst
said to me,

‘Valerie, Lady R—— was very much
pleased with your appearance when she
made her visit yesterday; and as she told
me, after you had left rite room, that she
wanted just such a person as yourself asa
companion and amanuensis, I thought it
ight to say that you were looking out for
something of the kind, and that you were
remaining under my ee until you
could procure it. We had more conversa-
tion on the subject, and she said, before she
left, that she would write to me on th e sub-
ject. Her note has cae been put into my
hands ; you can read it. She offers youa
salary of one hundred pounds - annum ;
all your expenses paid exc ; dress.
As far as salary goes, I think her terms libe-

And now, as to Lady R——. My
nion of her is in a few S. You sany
sr yesterday, and I never 7 her other-
wise ; never more or less rational. J
an oddity ; but she is goodnatured Frage
am told, more liberal and charitable
many others who can afford it b ie
you know all I can tell you about

 

  
 

 

    

  
 

you must decide for yc
note ; you need not giv
to-morrow morning.’

I made one or two observations and then
left the room. ‘The note was very kind, cer-
tainly, but it was as flighty as her manners.
I hastened to my own bedchamber, and sat
down to reflect. I felt that I was not ex-
actly comfortable with i

 

answer fill

<
ao
si
Bc
Mee
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3

Madame Bathurst,
and cert aunty was anxious to be ind eps ende Ds
but still, I could not exactly make up my
mind to accept the offer of Uaey Rea
She was so different from those I had been
accustomed to live with. I was still delibe-
rating, when Madame Bathurst’s maid came
into my room, telling me it was time to
change my dress for dinner. As she was
assisting me, she said,

‘And so, Miss Chatenceuf, you are about

VALERTE.

 

  

to quit us, I find. I amsosorry—first, Miss
Caroline—now you. I hoped you would
stay with us, and I should soon have be-
come an expert milliner under your direc-
tions.’

‘Who told you,*Mason, that I was going
to leave you ?’

‘Mrs. Bathurst told me so, and not a
quarter of an hour ago,’ replied the woman.

‘Well, replied 1, ‘she told you truly,
Mason ; such is the case ;’ for this informa-
tion of Mason's decided me upon accepting
the offer of Lady R—— +; for Madame Ba-
turst, it appeared to me, had certainly de-
cided it for me by making such a premature
communication: to her servant.

The reader may suppose, that when I
mage this discovery, I felt little pain at the
idea of parting with Madame Bathurst ; and
the following morning I coolly announced
my intention of acce pting the offer of Lady
R——. Madame Bathurst looked at me
very hard, as if surprised at not hearing from
me any regrets at leaving her, and expres-
sions of gratitude for all favours; but I could
not express what I really did not feel at the
time. Afterwards, I thought that I had
been wrong, as, to a certain degree, I was
under obligations to her ; not that I think,
had she been ever so inclined to get rid of
me, she could have well turned me out of the
house, although I had been foisted upon her
in such a way by Madame de Albret. Still
I was under obligations to her, and should
have expressed myself so, if it had not been
for the communication made to me by the
maid, which proved that her expressions to
me were not sincere,

‘Well, then,’ replied Madame Bathurst,
at last, ©T will write to Lady R inyme-
} [ presume I may say that you are
at her commands as soon a3 she can receive

 

   

  

‘Yes, madam, at an hour’s notice,’ re-
plied I.

‘You really appear as if you were anxious
to quit me, mademoiselle,’ said Madame
Bathurst, biting her lip.

»l certainly am, rephed I). ‘You ine
formed Mason that I was to go, previous to
having my decision; and therefore I g] ea.
withdraw myself from the cor npany of those
who have made up their minds to get rid
of me.’

‘I certainly did tell Mason that there was
a prospect of your quitting me,’ replied
Madame 3athurst, colouring up; ‘but-—
however, it’s no use entering into an investi-
gation of what I rea lly said, or catechizing
my maid ; one thing is clear, we have beenmutually disappointed with each other, and
therefore it perhaps is better that we should
part. I believe that I am in your debt,
Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf. Have you
reckoned how long you have been with me ?’

‘T have reckoned the time that I instructed
Caroline.’

‘ diss Caroline, if you please, Mademoi-
selle de Chatenceuf.’

‘Well, then, madam, Miss Caroline, since
you wish it; it is five months and two
weeks,’ replied I, rising from my chair.

‘You may sit down, mademoiselle, while
I make the calculation, said Madame
Bathurst.

‘Tt is too great an honour fora Chatenceuf
to sitin your presence,’ replied I, quietly, re-
maining on my feet.

Madame Bathurst made no reply, but
calculating the sum of money due to me on
a sheet of note-paper, handed it to me and
begged me to See if it was correct.

©T have no doubt of it, madam,’ replied I,
looking at it and then laying it down on the
desk before her.

Madame Bathurst put the sum in bank
notes and sovereigns down before me, and
said, ‘Do me the favour to count it, and'see
if it is correct ;' and then rising, said, ‘ Your
wishes will be complied with by my servants
as usual, mademoiselle, as*long as you re-
main under my roof. I wish you farewell.’

The last words were accompanied with
a low courtesy, and she then quitted the
room,

I replied with a salute as formal as her
own, and mortified at the treatment I had
received, I sat down, and a few tears es-
caped, but my pride came to my assistance,
and I soon recovered myself.

This scene was, however, another proof to
me of what.I must in future expect ; and it
had the effect of hardening me, and blunting
my feelings. ‘d@éss Caroline!’ said I to
myself, ‘when the gvotéeée of Madame ad Al-
bret, and the visitor of Madame Bathurst, it
was Caroline, and dear Valerie. She might
have allowed me to quit her without point-
ing out to me, in so marked a manner, how
our relative positions have been changed.
However, I thank you, Madame Bathurst ;
what obligations I may have been under to
you are now cancelled, and I need not regret
the weight of them as I might have done.
Ah! Madame d’Albret, you took me from
my home that I might not be buffeted by my
mother, and now you have abandoned me
to be buffeted by the whole worid. Well,
be it so, I will fight my way, nevertheless ;’
and as I left the room to pack up my trunks,

VALERIE.

37
I felt my courage rise from this very attempt
on the part of Madame Bathurst to humili-
ate me.

The letter of Madame Bathurst to Lady
R—— brought the latter to the house that
afternoon. I was up in my room when I
was informed by the servants that she waited
below to see me. When I entered she was
alone, Madame Bathurst having gone out in
her carriage, and assoon asshesaw me, she
rushed into my arms almost, taking me by
both hands, and saying how happy she was
that she had acquired such a treasure asa
friend and companion; wished to know
whether I could not come with her immedi-
ately, as her carriage was at the door, and
went on for nearly ten minutes without a
check, asking fifty questions, and not per-
mitting me to answer one. At last I was
able to reply to the most important, which
was that I would be happy to come to her
on the following morning, if she would send
forme. She insisted that £[ should come to
breakfast, and I acceded to her request, as
Madame Bathurst, who was not an early
riser, would not be down at the hour men-
tioned, and I wished to leave the house
without seeing her again, after our formal
adieu. Having arranged this, she appeared
to be in a.great hurry to be off, and skipped
out of the room before I could ring the bell
to order the carriage.

Icompleted my preparations for depar-
ture, and had some dinner brought into my
own room, sending down an excuse for not
joining Madame Bathurst, stating that [had
a bad headache, which was true enough.
The next morning, long before Madame
3athurst was up, I was driven to Baker-
street, Portman-square, where Lady R——
resided. I found her ladyship in her vode de
chambre.

‘Well,’ said she, ‘this is delightful. My
wishes are crowned at last. I.have passed
a night of uncertainty, rolling about between
hopes and fears, as people always do when
they have so much at stake. Let me show
you your room.’

I found a very well-furnished apartment
prepared for me, looking out upon the
street. |

“See, you have a front view, she said,
‘not extensive, but still you can rise early
and moralize. You can see London wake
up. First, the drowsy policeman ; the tired
cabman, and more tired horse, after a night
of motion, seeking the stable and repose ;
the housemaid, half-awake, dragging on her
clothes ; the kitchen-wench washing from
the steps the dirt of yesterday ; the milk-38 VALERIE.

maid’s falsetto, and the dustman’s bass ; the
bakers’ boys, the early post delivery, and
thus from units to tens, and from tens to
tens of thousands, and London stirs again.
‘There'is poetry in that, and now let us down
to breakfast. JIalways breakfast in my vode
de chambre, you must do the same, that
is, if you like the fashion. Where's the
page?’

Lady R—— rang the bell of the sitting-
room, which she called a boudoir, and a‘lad
of fourteen, in a blue blouse and leather belt,
made his appearance.

‘Lionel, breakfast ina moment. Vanish,
before the leviathan can swim a league—
bring up hot rolls and butter.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ replied the lad, pertly,
‘T'll be up again before the chap can swima
hundred yards ;’ and he shot out of the room
in a second.

‘There's virtue in that boy ; he has wit
enough for a prime minister, or a clown at
Astley’s. I picked him up by a mere chance ;
he is one of my models.’

What her ladyship meant by models I
could not imagine, but I soon found out.
The return of the lad with breakfast put an
end to her talking for the time being. When
we had finished, the page was again sum-
moned.

“Now then, Lionel, do your spiriting
gently.’

“| know, said the boy; ‘lim not to
smash the cups and saucers as I did yes-
terday.’

The lad collected the breakfast things on
a tray, with great rapidity, and disappeared
with such a sudden turn round, that I fully
anticipated he would add to yesterday's
damage before he was down the stairs.

As soon as he was gone, Lady R-
ing up to me, said,

‘And now let me have a good look at you,
and then I shall be content for some time.
Yes, I was not mistaken, you are a perfect
model, and must be my future heroine.
Yours is just the beauty that I required.
There, that will do, now sit down and let us
converse. I often have wanted a companion.
As for an amanuensis, that is only a nominal
task ; I write as fast as most people, and I
cannot follow my ideas, let me scribble for
life, as I may say; and as for my writing
being illegible, that’s the compositor’s, con-
cern, not mine. It’s his business to make it
out, and therefore I never have mine copied.
But I wanted a beautiful companion and
friend —I wouldn’t have an ugly one for the
world, she would do me as much harm as
you will do me service,’

 

com-

‘T am sure I hardly know how I am tode
you service, Lady R——, if I do not write
for you.’

‘I dare say not; but when I tell you that
Iam more than repaid by looking at you
when I feel inclined, you will acknowledge
that you do me Service; but we will not
enter into metaphysics, or psychological
questions just now, it shall all be explained
by-and-by. And now the first service I ask of
you is, at once toleap over the dull fortnight
of gradual approaching, which at last ends
in intimacy ; I have ever held it to be a proof
of the suspiciousness of our natures, and un-
worthy. You.must allow me to call you
Valerie at once, and I must entreat of you
to call me Sempronia. Your name is de-
lightful, fit for a first-class heroine. My real
baptismal name is one that I have abjured,
andif my godfathersand godmothers did give
it to me, I throw it back to them with con-
tempt. What do you think it was ?>— Barbara.
Barbara, indeed !| “‘‘ My mother hada mazd
called Barbara,’’ Shakespeare says, and such
a name should be associated with brooms
and yellow soap. Call me Sempronia from
this time forward, and you confer a favour
onme. And nowI must write a little, so
take a book and a seat on the sofa, for, at
the opening of this chapter my heroine is
exactly in that position, ‘‘ in maiden medita-
tion, fancy free.”’

CHAP LER Vil.

Lapy R—- sat down before her writing
materials, and I took my seat on the sofa, as
she had requested, and was soon occupied
with my reading. I perceived that, as she
wrote, her ladyship continually took her
eyes off the paper, and fixed them upon me.
I presumed that she was describing me, and
I was correct in my idea, for, in about half
an hour, she threw down her pen, and cried,

‘There, I am indebted to you for the best
picture of a heroine that I ever drew!
Listen.’

And her ladyship read to me a most flat-
tering description of my sweet person,
couched in very high-flown language.

‘I think, Lady R——,’ said I, when she
had finished, ‘that you are more indebted
to your own imagination than to reality in
drawing my portrait.’

‘Not so, not so, my dear Valerie. 1 may
have done you justice, but certainly not
more. There is nothing like having the
living subject to write from, It is the sameas painting or drawing, it only can be true
when drawn from nature; in fact, what is
writing but painting with the pen?’

As she concluded her sentence, the page,
Lionel, came in with a letter on a waiter,
and hearing her observation, as he handed
the letter, he impudently observed—

‘Here’s somebody been painting your
name on the outside of this paper ; and as
there’s sevenpence to pay, I think it’s rather
dear for such a smudge.’

‘You must not judge from outside appear-
ance, Lionel,’ replied Lady R——; ‘the
contents may be worth pounds. It is not
prepossessing, I grant, in its superscription,
but may, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
wear a precious jewel in its head. ‘That
was a vulgar error of former days, Lionel,
which Shakspeare has taken advantage of.’

‘Yes, that chap painted with a pen at a
fine rate,’ replied the boy, as Lady R——
opened the letter and read it.

‘You may go, Lionel,’ said she, putting
the letter down.

‘J just wanted to know, now that you've
opened your toad, if you have found the
jewel, or whether it’s a vulgar error ?”

‘Tt’s a vulgar letter, at all events, Lionel,’
replied her ladyship, ‘and concerns you ; it
is from the shoemaker at Brighton, who re-
quests me to pay him eighteen shillings for
a pair of boots ordered by you, and not paid
for.’

‘Well, my lady, I do owe for the boots,
true enough, but it’s ible for me
always to recollect my own af I
busy with looking after yours.’

‘Well, but now you are reminded of them,
Lionel, you had better give me the money,
and I will send it to him.’

At this moment Lady R—— stooped from
her chair to pick up her handkerchief. ‘There
were some sovereigns lying on the desk, and
the lad, winking his eye at me, took one up,
and, as Lady R—— rose up, held it out to
her in silence.

‘That’s right, Lionel,’ said Lady R——;
‘T like honesty.’

‘Yes, madam,’ replied the impudent
rogue, very demurely; ‘like most people
who tell their own stories, I was born of
honest, but poor parents.’

‘I believe your parents were honest ; and
now, Lionel, to reward you, I shall pay for
your boots, and you may keep your sove-
reign.’

‘Thank your ladyship,’ replied the lad.
‘I forgot to say that the cook is outside for
orders.’

Lady R—— rose, and went out of the

 
 

   

VALERIE.

39
room ; and Mr. Lionel, laughing at me, put
the sovereign down with the others.

“Now, I call that real honesty. You saw
me borrow it, and now you see me pay it.’

‘Yes; but suppose her ladyship had not
given you the sovereign, how would it have
been ‘then ?’ said I.

‘I should have paid her very honestly,’
replied he. ‘If I wished to cheat her, or
rob her, I might do so all day long. She
leaves her money about everywhere, and
never knows what she has; besides, if I
wanted to steal, I should not do so with
those bright eyes of yours looking-at me all
the time.’

‘You are a very saucy boy,
amused than angry.

‘It's all from reading, and it’s not my
fault ; for her ladyship makes me read, and
I never yet read any book about old times in
which the pages were not saucy ; but I've no
time to talk just now—my spoons are not
clean yet ;’ so saying, he quitted the room.

I did not know whether I ought to inform
her ladyship of this freak of her page’s ; but
as the money was returned, I thought I had
better say nothing for the present. I soon
found out that the lad was correct in assert-
ing that she was careless of her money, and
that, if he chose, he might pilfer without
chance of discovery ; and moreover, that he
really was a good and honest lad, only full of
mischief and very impudent ; owing, how-
ever, to Lady R— —'s treatment of him; for
she rather encouraged his impudence than
otherwise. He was certainly a very clever,
witty boy, and a very quick servant; so
quick, indeed, at his work, that it almost
appeared as if he never had anything to do,
and he had plenty of time for reading, which
he was very fond of.

Lady R—— returned, and resumed her
writing.

‘You sing, do you not? I think Mrs.
Bathurst told me you were very harmonious.
Now, Valerie, do me a favour: tT want to
hear a voice carolling some melodious ditty.
I shall describe it so much better, if I really
heard you sing. I do like reality ; of course
you must sing without music, for my country
girl cannot be crossing the mead witha piano
in one hand, and a pail of water in the
other.’

‘JT should think not,’ replied I, laughing ;
‘but am not I too near ?”

-Yes, rather; I should prefer it on the
stairs, or on the first floor landing ; but I
could not be so rude as to send you out of
the room.’

‘But I will go without sending,’ replied

’

replied I, more‘I; and I did so, and having arrived at my
station, I sang a little French refrain, which
I thought would answer her ladyship’s pur-
pose, On my return her ladyship was writ-
ing furiously, and did not appear to notice
my entrance. I took my scat quietly, and
in about ten minutes she again threw down
the pen, exclaiming—

‘I never wrote so effective a chapter!
Valerie, you are more precious to me than
fine gold ; and as Shylock said of his ring,
‘‘I would not change thee fora wilderness of
monkeys.” I make the quotation as expres-
sive of your value. It was so kind-hearted
of you to comply with my wish. You don't
know an author's feelings. You have no idea
how our self-love is flattered by success, and
that we value a good passage in our works
more than anything else in existence. Now,
you have so kindly administered to my ruling
passion twice in one morning, that I love
you exceedingly. I dare say you think me
very. odd, and people say that I am so; I
may ask you to do many odd things for me,
but I shall never ask you to do what a lady
may not do, or what would be incorrect for
you to do or for me to propose ; that you may
depend upon, Valerie : and now I close my
manuscript for the present, being well satis-
fied with the day’s work.’

Lady R—— rang the bell, and on Lionel
making his appearance, she desired him to
take away her writing materials, put her
money into her purse—if he knew where her
purse was—and then asked him what were
her engagements for the evening.

“I know we have an engagement,’ replied
the boy; ‘I can’t recollect it, but I shall
find it in the drawing-room.’

He went out, and in a minute returned.

‘I have found it, my lady,’ -said he.
‘Here's the ticket, ‘‘ Mrs. Allwood at home,
MMe Orclock.

“Mrs. Allwood, my dear Valerie, is a
literary lady, and her parties are very agree-
able.’

The page looked at me from behind Lady

——’s chair, and shook his head in dissent.

‘Shall we go?’ continued Lady R——.

‘If you please, madam,’ replied I.

‘Well, then, we will take a drive before
dinner, and the evening after dinner shall be
dedicated to the feast of reason and the flow
of soul. Dear me, how I have inked my
fingers ; I must go upstairs and wash them,’

As soon as Lady R--— left the room,
Master Lionel began.

‘Feast of reason and flow of soul ; I don’t
like such entertainment. Give me a good
supper and plenty of champagne.’

 

40 VALERIE.

‘Why, what matter can it make to you?’
said IJ, laughing.

‘It matters a good deal. I object-to
literary parties,’ replied he. ‘In the first
place, for one respectable carriage driving
up to the door, there are twenty cabs and
jarveys, so that the company isn’t so good ;
and then at parties, when there is a good
supper, I get my share of it in the kitchen.
You don’t think we are idle down below. I
have been to Mrs. Allwood’s twice, and
there’s no supper, nothing but feast of
reason, which remains upstairs, and they're
welcome to my share of it. As for the
drink, it’s negus and cherry-water ; nothing
else, and if the flow of soul is not better than
such stuff, they may have my share of that
also. No music, no dancing, nothing but
buzz, buzz, buzz. Won't you feel it
stupid ?’

‘Why, one would think you had been up-
stairs instead of down, Lionel.’

‘Of course I am. They press all who
have liveries into the service, and I hand the
cakes about rather than kick for hours at
the legs of the kitchen-table. I hear all
that’s said just as well as the company,
and I’ve often thought I could have given
a better answer than I’ve heard some of
your great literaries. When I hand the
cakes to-night, take them I point out to
you: they'll be the best.’

‘Why, how can you tell ?’

‘Because I try them all before I come in
the room.’

‘You ought to be ashamed to acknow-
ledge it.”

‘All comes of reading, miss,’ replied he.
‘I read that in former times great people,
kings and princes and so on, always had
their victuals tasted first, lest there should
be poison in them: so I taste upon that
principle, and I have been_half-poisoned
sometimes at these cheap parties; but I’m
getting cunning, and when I meet a sus-
picious-looking piece of pastry, I leave it
for the company ; but I can’t wait to talk
any longer, miss, I must give coachman
his orders.’

‘I never asked you to talk, Mr. Lionel,’
Sard ae

‘No, you didn’t; but still I know you
like to hear me: you can’t deny that.
Now, to use my lady’s style, I am to tell
the coachman to put a girdle round the
park in forty minutes;’ so saying, the lad

ranished, as he usually did, in a second.

The lad was certainly right when he said
that I did like to hear him talk, for he
amused me so much, that I forgave his im-pudence and familiarity. Shortly afterwards,
we went out in the carriage, and having
driven two or three times round the park,
returned home to dinner. At ten o'clock,
we went to Mrs. Allwood’s party. I was in-
troduced to a great many literary stars,
whom I had never before heard of ; but the
person who attracted the most attention was
a Russian count, who had had his ears and
nose cut off by the Turks. It certainly dia
not add to his beauty, however it might
have to his interest. However, Lionel was
right. - It was a very stupid party to me,
all talking at once and constantly on the
move to find fresh listeners ; it was all buzz,
buzz, buzz, and 1 was glad when the car-
riage was announced. Such were the events
of the first day which I passed under the
FOOn or wady Ro.

Indeed, this first day may be taken as a
sample of most others, and a month passed
rapidly away. Each day, however, was
marked with some peculiar eccentricity on
her part; but these diverted me. I was
often requested to do strange things in my
position as a model ; but with all her oddi-
les Ibachy == Nes & gentlewoman in
manner and in feeling ; and what I should
certainly have refused to any one else, I did
for her without reluctance. I now called
her Sempronia, as she requested, and,
moreover, I became vety intimate with
Master Lionel, who would be intimate,
whether or no, and who, like bady R=,
was a source of great amusement. At times,
when I was alone and communed with my-
self, I could not help surveying my peculiar
position. I was engaged at a large salary—
for what ? to look handsome, to put myself
in attitudes, and to do nothing. This was
not flattering to my talents (such as I had),
but still I was treated with kindness and
confidence ; was the companion of her lady-
ship ; was introduced and taken to al! the
parties to which she was asked, and never
made to feel my dependence. I had already
imbibed a strong friendship for Lady R——,
and I was therefore content to remain. One
morning she said to me,

‘My dear Valerie, do me the favour to
tighten the laces of my stays.’ |

She was, as usual, writing in her dress-
ing-gown. :

‘Oh, tighter yet; as tight as you can
draw them. ‘That will do nicely.’

‘Why you can hardly breathe, Sem-
pronia.’

‘But I can write, MY dear child, and, as I
before observed, the mind and the body in-
fluence each other. I am about to write a

VALERIE.

4I

strictly moral dialogue, and I never could do
it unless I am strait-laced. Now’! feel fit
for the wife of Cato and of Romeo.’

A few days afterwards she amused me
still more. After writing about half an hour,
she threw down her pen—

‘T never can do it; come upstairs, my
dear Valerie, and help me off with my stays.
I must be @ Z’abandon.’

T followed her, and having removed these
impediments, we returned to the boudoir.

‘There,’ said she, sitting down, * I think I
shall manage it now: I feel as if I could.’

‘Manage what?’ inquired I.

‘My dear, I am about to write a love-
scene, very warm and impassioned, and I
could not do it, confined as 1 was. Now
that I am loose, I can give loose to the reins
of my imagination, and delineate with the
arrow of Cupid’s self. My heroine is reclin-
ing, with her hand on her cheek ; put your-
self in that ‘attitude, my dear, dear Valerie,
as if you were meditating upon the prolonged
absence of one dear to you. Exactly —
beautiful—true to nature—but I forgot, a
page enters—don’t move, I'll ring the bell.’

Lionel answered quickly, as usual.

‘Here, Lionel, I want you to play the
page.

‘l’ye no time for play, my lady; lm
page in earnest. There’s all the knives to
clean.’

‘Never mind the knives just now. Ob-
serve, Lionel, you are supposed to be sent
a message to that lovely girl, who is sitting
absorbed in a soft reverie. You enter her
presence unperceived, and are struck with
her beauty ; you lean against a tree, in a
careless but graceful attitude, with your
eyes fixed upon her lovely features. Now
lean against the doer, as I have described,
and then I shall be able to write.’

T could not help smiling at the absurdity
of this scene, the more So as Lionel, just
passing his fingers through his hair, and
then pulling up his shirt collar, took his
position saying,

‘Now, Miss Valerie, well see who per-
forms best : I think you will be sooner tired
of sitting than I shall be of looking at you.’

‘Excellent, Lionel !—exactly the position
that I wished,’ said Lady R——, scribbling
as fast as she could ; ‘that stare of yours is
true to nature--Cymon and Iphigenia —a
perfect tableau !—-don't move, Ibeg ; I only
require ten minutes.’

L.looked up at Master Lionel, and. he
made such a grimace, that I could hardly
keep my countenance, and [ did not exactly
feel satisfied at thus performing, as it were,ae

 

42 VALERIE.

with a servant; but still, that servant was
Lionel, who was very unlike other servants.
In ten minutes, as promised, we were re-
leased, much to my Satisfaction. Lionel
went off to clean his knives, and I took up
my book, and really when I perceived the
delight of Lady R——, at what she called
her success, I no longer felt anything like
annoyance at having complied with her
wishes.

One morning, when Lady R had
walked out, and the page, Lionel, was
in the room, I entered into conversation
with him, and asked how it was that he had
been so much better educated than were
jiads in his position in general.

‘’Fhat’s a question that I often ask my-
self, Miss Valerie,’ replied he, ‘as they say in
some autobiographies. The first recollection
I have of myself was finding myself, walking
two-and-two, in a suit of pepper-and-salt,
along with about twenty other very little
boys, at a cheap preparatory school, kept
by the Misses Wiggins. There I remained
—nobody came to see me; other boys
talked of their papas and mammas—lI! had
none to talk about : they went home at the
holidays, and brought back toys and plum-
cakes ; I enjoyed my holidays alone, scrap-
ing holes in the gravel, for want of better
employment, between my meals, and per-
haps not opening my mouth, or hearing the
sound of my own voice, more than three
or four times in the twenty-four hours. As
I had plenty of time for reflection during the
vacations, as I grew bigger, I began to
imagine that somehow or another I must
have had a father and mother, like the
other boys, and began to make very im-
pertinent (as I was told) inquiries about
them. , The Misses Wiggins gave me a
good wigging, as they cail it, for my un-
warranted curiosity, pointing out the in-
delicacy of entering upon such subjects ;
and thus was my mouth stopped.

‘ At last I grew up too big for the school,
and was not to be managed by two old
maids, and I presume it was through their
representations that I was at last honoured
by a visit from an old housekeeper, a woman
above fifty, whom I never saw before. I
ventured to put the forbidden questions to
her, arid she replied that I had neither father
nor mother ; that they were both dead, and
that I was educated by the kindness of a
great lady, whose dependants they had been,
and that the great lady would call and. see
me, perhaps, or if she did not, would send
for me and do something for me. Well,
about four years ago (I was then twelve

 

 

years old, I was told, but my idea is that I
am older than they say), I was sent for by
Lady R——, and at first I was dressed in a
turban and red jacket and sat on the floor.
I was told that I was to be her page, and I
liked it very much, as I did nothing but run
messages and read books, which I was very
fond of ; and Lady R—— took some pains
with me; but as I grew bigger, so did I fall
off from my high estate, and, by degrees,
descenced from the drawing-room to the
kitchen.

‘My finery was not renewed ; at first I
had a plain suit and did my work under the
footman ; and two years ago. when the foot-
man was sent away, rather than be under
the orders of another, I volunteered to do
the work, which I have done ever since, and
now receive high wages, and wear sugar-loaf
buttons, as you perceive. Now, Miss Va-
lerie, that’s all I know of myself; but I sus-
pect that Lady R—— knows more ; still it
may be, that what the old woman told me
was correct, and that I was the child of one
of her favourite dependants, and was edu-
cated by her in the manner that I was, for
you. know how many odcd- things she
does.’

‘What is your other name, Lionel ?’

‘Bedingfield, I am told, is my name,’ re-
plied he.

‘Have you ever spoken to Lady R =
inquired I, ‘relative to your parents ?”

‘I once did ; but she said they were Sir
Richard’s people, not hers (that is, her
father's, the late baronet’s), and that she
knew nothing about them, except that my
father was a steward or bailiff to him in the
country, and that he had left directions that
she should do something forme. Her lady-
ship did not appear to be inclined to talk
about them much, and sent me away as soon
as she had told me what I now repeat to
you ; however, I have found out something
since that—but there’s her ladyship’s knock ;’
so saying, Lionel vanished.

Soon after her ladyship’s return, Madame
Gironac, who had called upon me two or
three times, was announced. I weni out of
the room, and when I met her in the dining-
parlour, she told me that she had brought
some'of her imitations of flowers on wax,
to show them to herladyship. I immediately
went up, and asked Lady R if she would
like to see them ; to which proposal she as-
sented. When Madame Gironac displayed
her performances, which were very natural
and beautiful, her ladyship was delighted,
and purchased several of them, after which

I again went down stairs, and had a longVALERTE. 42

conversation with my warm-hearted little
friend.

‘][ don’t like this situation of yours, ma-
demoiselle,’ said she, ‘nor does my husband.
Now I was thinking, Mademoiselle de Cha-
tenceuf, that it would not be abad plan ifyou
were to learn how to make these flowers.
will teach you for nothing; and I will teach
you what I never teach my pupils, which is,
how to prepare the wax, and a great many
other little secrets which are worth knowin ee

‘TI shall be very glad to learn, my dear

madam,’ replied 1; ‘but I can afford to pay
you for your time and trouble, and must in-
sist upon doing so; if not, I will not be your
pupil.’
‘Well, well, we must not quarrel about
that. 1 know that no one likes to be under
an obligation, especially one like you-——but
learn you must—so let us arrange for the
lessons.’

I did so; and from that day until I quitted
Lady R——, I applied myself so assiduously
to the art, that, with the unreserved com-
munications of Madame Gironac, I became

a proficient, and could equal her own per--

formances—Madame Gironac declared that
I excelled her, because I had more taste, —
But to return.

After I had parted with Madame Gironac,
I went upstairs, and found Lady R—— sit-
ting at the table, looking at the purchases
she had made.

‘My dear Valerie,’ cried she, ‘you don't
know how you've obliged me by introducing
that little woman and her flowers. What a
delightful and elegant employment for a
heroine to undertake—so ladylike ! I have
determined that mine shall support herself
by imitating flowers in wax. I am just at
the point of placing her in embarrassed cir-
cumstances, ana did not well know how she
was to gain her livelihood, but, thanks to
you, that is selected, and in a most charm-
ing and satisfactory manner. It is so hard
to associate poverty with clean hands.’

About a fortnight afterwards, after some
other conversation, UC said,

‘My dear Valerie, I have a surprise for
you. The season is nearly over, and, what
is more important, my third volume will be
complete in a fortnight. Last night, as I
was wooing Somnus in vain, an idea came
into my head. I proposed going to pass the
autumn at Brighton, as you know, but last
night I made up my mind that we would go
over the water; but whether it is to be
Havre, or Dieppe, of Paris, or anywhere
else, I’ cannot say; but certainly La Belle
France, How do you like the idea? I

 

think of making a sort of sentimental jour-
ney. We will seck adventures. Shall we
go like Rosamond and Celia? I with ‘‘ gal-
lant curtal axe,” dressed as a youth? Shall
we be mad, Valerie? What say you?’

I hardly knew what to say. Kady R————
appeared to have a most unusual freak in
her head, and to be a little more odd than
usual. Now Lhad no wish to go to France,
as I might fall in with people whom I did
not wish to see; and, moreover, from what
L had heard of her ladyship’s adventures in
Italy, I was convinced that she was one of
many, I may say, who fancy that they may
do as they please out of their own country,
and I certainly did not wish to figure in her
train ; I therefore replied,

‘Tl know my own country well, Lady
R——, and there cannot be a less eligible
one for a masquerade. We should meet
with too many désagréntens, if unprotected
by male society, and our journey would be
anything but sentimental. But if you do go
to France, does Lionel accompany you i.

‘Well, I do not know, but I should like
him to learn the language. 1 think I shall
take him. He is a clever boy.’

‘Very,’ replied 1; ‘where did you pick
him up?’

‘He isa son of my late father's—(‘a son
of,’ exclaimed J)—tenant, or something, 1
vas going to say,’ continued Lady R——,
colouring ; ‘ but I could not recollect exacily
what the man was. Bailiff, I think. IEknow
nothing about his father, but he was recom-
mended to me by Sir Richard before he
died.’

‘Recommended as a servant ?’ replied I ;
‘he appears to me to be too good for so
menial a position.’

‘T have made him above his position,
Valerie ; not that he was recommended as a
servant, but recommended to my care. Per-
haps some day I may be able to do more for
him. You know that we are to go to Lady
G——’s ball to-night. It will be a very
brilliant affair. She gives but one during
the season, and she always does the thing in
good style. Bless me, how late itis! The
carriage will be round in two minutes ; I've
a round of visits to pay.’

‘Will you excuse me? 1 have promised
to take a lesson of Madame Gironac.’

‘Very true; then I must enter upon my
melancholy task alone. What can be so
absurd as a rational and immortal soul going
about distributing pasteboard ?

Wiewentito LACy Gato ball, which was
very splendid. I had been dancing, for al-
though I was not considered, probably, good~ on nei cee ENED

 

 

 

 

 

44 VALERIE.

enough among the young aristocrats to be
made a partner for life, as a partner in a
waltz or quadrille I was rather in request ;
for the odium of governess had not yet been
attached to my name, having never figured
in that capacity in the metropolis, where I
was unknown. I had but a short time
taken my seat by Lady R——, when the
latter sprang off in a great hurry, after what
I could not tell, and her place was immedi-
ately occupied by a lady, who [ immedi-
ately recognized as a Lady M——, who had,
with her daughters composed a portion of the
company at Madame Bathurst's country seat.

‘Have you forgotten me, Mademoiselle
de Chatenceuf?’ said Lady M——, extend-
ing her hand.

‘No, my lady, I am glad to see you look-
ing so well. I hope your daughters are also
quite well?’

‘Thank you; they look very well in the
evening, but rather pale inthe morning. It
is a terrible thing, a London season, very
trying to the constitution ; but what can we
do? We must be out, and be seen every-
where, or we lose caste—so many balls and
parties every night. The fact is, thatif girls
are not married during the three first seasons
after they come out, their chance is almost
hopeless, for all the freshness and charm of
youth, which are so appetizing to the other
sex, are almost gone. No constitution can
withstand the fatigue. I’ve often compared
our young ladies to the carriage-horses—
they are both worked to death during the
season, and then turned out to grass in the
country to recover themselves, and come up
fresh for the next winter. It really is a hor-
rible life ; but girls must be got off. I wish
mine were, for what with fatigue and
anxiety, I’m worn to a shadow. Come,
Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, let us go into
the next room. It is cooler, and we shall
be more quiet ; take my arm; perhaps we
shall meet the girls.’

I accepted her ladyship’s invitation, and
we went into the next room, and took a seat
upon a sofa in a recess.

“Here we can talk without being over-
heard,’ said Lady M——; ‘and now, my
dear young lady, I know that you have left
Madame Bathurst, but why I did not know.
Is it a secret ?’

‘No, my lady; when Caroline went away
I was of no further use, and therefore I did
not wish to remain. You may, perhaps,
know that I went to Madame Bathurst’s on
a visit, and that an unforeseen change of cir-
cumstances induced me to remain for some
time as instructress to her niece.’

‘I heard something of that sort, a kind of
friendly arrangement, at which Madame
Bathurst had good cause to be content. I’m
sure I should have been, had I been so for-
tunate; and now you are residing with
Lady R——: may I inquire, without pre-
suming too much, in what capacity you are
with Lady R 2.

‘I went there as an amanuensis, but I
have never written a line. Lady R-—— is
pleased to consider me as a companion, and
I must say that she has behaved to me with
great kindness and consideration.’

‘IT have no doubt of it,’ replied Lady
M ‘but still it appears to me (excuse
the liberty I take, or ascribe it to a feeling of
good-will), that your position with Lady
R—— is not quite what those who have an
interest in you would wish. Every one
knows how odd sheis, to say the least of it,
and you may not be perhaps aware, that
occasionally her tongue outruns her discre-
tion. In your presence she of course is on
her guard, for she is really gocd-natured,
and would not willingly offend any one or
hurt their feelings; but when led away by
her desire to shine in company, she is very
indiscreet. I have been told that at Mrs.
W——'s dinner-party the other day, to
which you were not invited, on your name
being brought up, she called you her charm-
ing model, [I think was the phrase ; and on
an explanation being demanded of the term,
she said you stood for her heroines, putting
yourself in postures and positions, while she
drew from nature, as she termed it; and
that, moreover, on being complimented on
the idea, and some of the young men oOffer-
ing, or rather intimating, that they would be
delighted. to stand or kneel at your feet, as
the hero of the tale, she replied that she had
no occasion for their services, as she had a
page or footman, I forget which, who did
that portion of the work. Surely this can-
not be true, my dear Mademoiselle de Cha-
tenceuf ?’

Oh! how my blood boiled when I heard
this.

How far it was true, the reader already
knows; but the manner in which it was

 

 

conveyed by Lady M—— quite horrified
tae. I coloured up to the temples, and
replied,

‘Lady M——., that Lady R—— has very
often, when I have been sitting, and she has
been writing, told me that she was taking
me as a model for her heroine, is very true ;
but I have considered it as a mere whim of
hers, knowing how very eccentric she is. I
little thought from my haying good naturedlyyielded to her caprice, that I should have
been so mortified as I have been by what
you have communicated tome. ‘That she
must have been indiscreet is certain, for it
was known only to herself and me.’

‘And the footman.’

‘Footman, my lady? There is a boy—a
sort of page, there.’

‘Exactly; a lad of fifteen or sixteen, a
precocious, pert boy, who is much indulged
by Lady R——, and if report says true, is
nore nearly related to her than she is willing
to'acknowledge. Did you never observe that
there is a strong likeness?’

‘Good heavens, my lady, you surprise
me.

‘And, I fear, have also annoyed you;
but,’ continued Lady M——, laying her
hand on mine, ‘I thought it kinder to let
you know your peculiar position than to
sheer and ridicule, as others do, behind
your back. © This is a sad world in one rTe-
spect; if there is any scandal or false report
spread against us, it is known to everyone
but ourselves. We cannot find, but rarely,
a friend who is so really our friend as to tell
us of it. ‘The poison is allowed to circulate
without the power being given us of apply-
ing an antidote—so hollow is friendship in
this world. My dear mademoiselle, I have
done otherwise ; whether you thank me for
it or not, I cannot tell; perhaps not, for
those who communicate unpleasant intelli-
gence, are seldom looked kindly upon.’

‘Lady M——,’ replied I, ‘I do thank you
most heartily. I do consider that you have
acted a friendly part. That I have been
dreadfully shocked and mortified, I admit,’
continued I, wiping away the tears that
forced their passage ; ‘but I shall not give
an opportunity for future unjust insinuations
or remarks, as I have made up my mind
that I shall leave Lady R—— as soon as
possible.’

‘My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture
to make you acquainted with what I knew
would, to a person of your sensitive mind,
be the cause of your quitting the protection
OL bady Ry without having considered
whether an equivalent could not be offered
to you; and I am happy to say that I can
offer you a home, and I trust comfort and
consideration, if you will accept of them.
The fact is, that had I known that you had
any idea of quitting Madame Bathurst, I
should have made the offer then—now I do
so with all sincerity ; but at present you are
agitated and annoyed, and I will say no
more. If I send the carriage for you to-
morrow at two o'clock, will you do me the

 
  

as
favour to come and see me? I would cail
upon you, but of course the presence of
Lady R—— would be a check to our free
converse. Say, my dear, will you come?’

I replied in the affirmative, and Lady

M—— then rose, and giving me her arm,
we walked back to the bench which I had
left, where 1 found Lady R—— ina hot

dispute with a member of parliament. I
sat down by her unnoticed, and Lady M——
having smiled an adieu, I was left to my
own reflections, which were anything but
agreeable. My head ached dreadfully, and
I looked so ill, that Lady R——’s warm an-
tagonist perceived it, and pointed it out to
her, saying,

‘Your proféeée is not well, I fear, Lady

I replied to Lady R- ‘That I had a
violent headache, and wished to get home, if
it were possible. ’

She immediately consented, and showed
great concern. As soon as we were home,
I need hardly say, that I hastened to my
room.

I sat down, and pressed my forehead with
my hands: my knowledge of the world was
increasing too fast. I began to hate it—
hate men, and women even more than men.
What lessons had I learnt within the last
year. First Madame d’Albret, then Madame
Bathurst, and now Lady R——. Was there
no such thing as friendship in the world—
no such thing as generosity? Inmy excited
state it appeared to me that there was not.
All was false and hollow. Self was the idol
of mankind, and all worshipped at its altar.
After a time I became more composed ; L
thought of little Madame Gironac, and the
recollection of her disinterested kindness put
me in a better frame of mind. Mortified as I
wvas, I could not help feeling that it was only
the vanity of Lady R——, and her desire to
shine, to which I had been made asacrifice,
and that she had no intention of wounding
my feelings. Still, to remain with her after
what had been told to me by Lady M——
was impossible. And then I reflected upon
what steps I should take. I did not like to
tell Lady R—— the real erounds of my leav-
ing her. I thought it would be prudent to
make some excuse and part good friends.
At last it occurred to me that her intention
of going to France would be a good excuse.
I could tell her that I was afraid of meeting
my relatives.

Having decided upon this point, I then
canvassed the words of Lady M——. What
could she offer me in her house? She had
three daughters, but they were all out, asRETO

 

 

 

 

46

the phrase is, and their education sup-
posed to be completed. This was a
mystery I could not solve, and I was
obliged to give up thinking about it, and at
last I fellasleep. The next morning I woke
up, jeded in mind, and witha bad.headache,
but I dressed and went down to breakfast.
Lady R—— asked after my health, and then
said,

‘I observed you talking very confidentially
with Lady } I was not aware that
you knew her. Between ourselves, Valerie,
she is one of my models.’

‘Indeed,’ replied I, ‘I do not think that
her;ladys hip i is aware of the honour confer-
red upon ber.’

‘Very likely not; but in the last work she
was portrayed to the life. Lady M—— isa
schemer, always plotting; her great object
now is to get her three daughters well
married.

‘I believe that most mothers wish that,
Ie ady R——

T grant it, and perhaps manoeuvre as
much, but with more skill than she does, for
every one sees the game that she is playing,
and the consequence is, that the young men
shy off, which they probably would not if she
were quiet, for they are really clever, unaf-
fected, and natural girls, very obliging, and
without any pride ; but how came you to be
so intimate with Lady M-—— ?’

‘Lady M—— and her eldest daughter
were staying for some time with Madame
Bathurst in the country when I was there.’

‘Oh, I understand, that accounts for it.’

‘Tam going tocall on Lady M—-= afshe
sends her. carriage fur me,’ replied I. ‘She
told me that she would, if she could. at two
o'clock. She has proposed my paying hera
visit ; I presume it will be after she leaves
town.’

‘But that you will not be able to do, Va-
lerie; you forget our trip to France.’

“I did not think that you were ee
replied I ; ‘you mentioned it as the resolu-
tion of a night, and I did not know that you
might not think differently upon further con-
sideration,’

‘Oh no, my resolutions are hastily formed,
but not often given up. Goto Paris we cer-
tainly shall.’

‘If you are determined upon going, Lady
Ra, I'm afraid that I cannot accompany
you.’

‘Indeed !” exclaimed her ladyship, in sur-
prise. ‘May I ask why not ?’

‘Simply because I might meet those I am
most anxious to avoid ; there is a portion of

feo

my history that you are not acquainted with,

 

  

  
 
 
   
   
     
 
  
     
  
  
  
   
  

Lady Ro which I will now make known
to oe

I then told her as much as I thought
necessary relative to my parents, and stated
my determination not to run the risk of
meeting them. Lady R—-— argued, per-
suaded, coaxed, and scolded, but it was all
in vain ; at last she became seriously angry,
and left the room. Lionel soon afterwards
made his appearance, and said to me, in his
usual familiar way,

“What's the matter, Miss Valerie?. The
governess is in a rage about something ; she
gave me a box on the ear.’

“I suppose you’ deserved it,
plied I.

‘Well, there may be differences in opi-
nion about that,’ replied the boy. ‘She went
on scolding me at such a rate that I was
quite astonished, and all about nothing.
She blew up cook—didn’t she—blew her
half up the chimney—and then she was
at me again. At last I could bear it no
longer, and I said, ‘‘Don't flare up, my
lady. a

““ Dont my lady me;
box your ears,”

‘Well, then, as she is always angry, if you
call her my ay, I thought she was angry
with me for the same reason, so I said,
““Sempronia, keep your temper,’’-—and
didn't [ get a box on the ear.’

I could not help laughing at this recital
of his cool impudence, the more so as he
narrated it with such an air of injured inno-
cence.

‘Indeed, Lionel,’ said I at last, ‘ you well
deserved the box on the ear. If you ever
quit the service of Lady R——, you will find
that you must behave with r proper respect to
those above you; if not, you wili not re-
main an hour in any other house. Lady
R—-— is very odd and very good-tempered,
and permits more liberties than any other
person would. I will, however, tell you why
Lady R—-— is displeased. Itis because she
wishes me to go to France with her, and I
have refused.’

‘Then you are going to leave us ?’ inquired
Lionel, mournfully.

‘I suppose so,’ replied I,

‘Then I shall gostoo,’
tired of it.’

‘But why should you go,
may not find another
fortable?

‘I shall not seek one. _ I have only stayed
here with the hope that I may find out from
her Jadyship w ho and what ae parents were,
and she will not tell me. I shall live by my

Lionel,’

; cried.she, ‘(or Tell

said the boy: ‘I’m

Lionel? You
situation half so com-~

wits, never fear; ‘‘the world’s my oyster,’
as Shakspeare says, and I think I’ve wit
enough to open it.’

Thad not forgotten the observations of
Lady M—— relative to Lionel, and what
the lad now said made me surmise that there
was some mystery, and, on examination of
his countenance, there was a family likeness
to Lady R—=—.. also called to mind her
unwillineness to enter upon the subject w hen
T brought it up.

‘But, Lionel,’ said I, after a pause, ‘what
js it that makes you suppose that. Lady
R—— conceals who were your parents?
When we last talked on the subject, you
said you had found out something—she told
me that your father was a bailiff, or steward
to Sir Richard.’

‘Which I have proved to be false. She
told me that my father was Sir Richard's
butler; that I have also discovered to be
false : for one day the old housekeeper, w ho
called upon me at school, came here. and
was closeted with Lady R—— for half an
hour. When she went away, I called a
hackney-coach for her, and getting behind
it, went bome. with her to her lodgings.
When I found out where she lived, 1 has-
tened back immediately, that I might not be
missed, intending to have made a call upon
herr Jhhe next day. Lady: R-— gave me a
Jetter to put into the twopenny-post ; it was
directed to a Mrs. Green, to the very house

where the hackney-coach had stopped, so I
knew it was for the old housekeeper. In-
stead of putting the letter in the post, ] kept
it till the evening, and then took it myself.

««« Mrs. Green,’ said I, for I found her at
home with another old woman, sitting over

their tea, ‘‘I have brought you a letter from
Lady R——.” “This is about a year ago,
Miss Valerie.

“«“ Mercy on me,’ said she, “how strange
that Lady R—— should send you here.”

‘«* Not strange that she should send a let-
; ‘only strange that

  

 

ter by a servant, said I,
I should be a servant.”

‘T said this, Miss Valerie, as a random
throw, just to see what answer she would
make.

¢« Why, who has been telling you any-
thing?” said she, looking at me through her
spectacles.

«« Ah,” replied I, ‘that's what I must
keep to myself, for I’m under a promise of
secrecy.

««« Mercy on me, it couldn’t be—no, that’s
impossible, ” muttered the old woman, as
she opened the letter and took out a bank-
note, which she crumpled up in her hand,

“ALERIE. Aq

She then commenced reading the letter 1
walked a little way from her, and stood be-
tween her and the window. Every now and
then she held the letter up to the candle, and
when the light was strong upon it, 1 could
read a line from where I stood, for I have
been used to her ladyship’s writing, as you
know. One line I read was, “ remains still
at Culverwood Hall ;” another was, ‘‘ the
only person now left in Essex.” I also saw
the words ‘‘secrecy” and ‘ignorant’ at the
bottom of the page. The old woman finished.
the letter at last, but it took her a good
while to get through it.

© Well,” says she, ‘have you anything
more to say?”

‘ct No,” says I; ‘‘ you are well paid for
your’secrecy, Mrs. Green.

«« What do you mean ?” said she,
1, I’m not quite so ignorant as you
” replied I.
” said she, confused; “ igno-

 

 

impudent boy 2”

‘ «Nay, then [ll put another question to
you. How long is it since you were at Cul-
verwood Hall?

©« Cylyverwood Hall! What do you
know about Culverwood Hall? the boy's
mad, I believe; go away, you've done your
message; if you dont, I'll tell her lady-
ship.”

«Certainly, Mr
wish you a good night.”

‘left the room, slamming the door, but
not allowing the catch to fall in, so that I
held it a little ajar, and then I heard Mrs.
Green say to the other woman,

©«Somebody’s been with that boy 5.
wonder who it can be? He's put me in such
a flurry. Well, these things will out.”

«Ves, yes, it’s like murder,” replied the
other ; ‘not that I know whatit’s all about,
only I see there's a secret—perhaps youll
tell me, Mrs. Green ?”

© Al] T dare tell youis that there is a
secret,” replied Mrs. Green, ©“ and the boy
has got an inkling of it somehow or another.
I must see my lady—no, I had better not,”
added she ; ‘‘for she is So queer that she ll
swear that I’ve told him. Now there’s only
one besides myself and her ladyship who
knows anything, and Tl swear that he
could not have been with the boy, for he’s
bedridden. I’m all of a puzzle, and that’s
the truth. What a wind there is ; why the
boy has left the door open, Boys never shut
doors,”

<< Green,” Said Te. ot‘Mrs. Green got up and slammed the
door to, and I walked off ;. but why I
should be sent to a good sc hool and wear
pepper-and-salt, and to be taken away to be
made first a page, and now a footman, I
can't tell; but you must acknowledge that
there i is some mystery, after what I have told
you.’

“It certainly is strange, Lionel,’ replied T,

‘but my advice is, that. you remain patiently
till you can find it out, which by leaving
Lady R—— you are not likely to do

‘T don’t know that, Miss Valerie ; “let me
get down to Culverwood Hall, and I think
T would find out something, or my wits were
given me to no purpose. But I hear her
ladyship coming up-stairs ; so good-bye,
Miss Val eile. .

And Lionel made a hasty retreat.

adv = slowly ascended the stairs,
and came into the room. Her yapicnce had
been exhausted, but she looked sul len and
moody, and I could hardly recognise her ;
for I must do her the justice to say, “that I
had never before seen her out of temper.
She sat down in her chair, and I asked her
Whether I should bring her, her writing
materials.

‘A pretty state Iam in to write,’ replied
she, leaning her elbows on the table, and
pressing her hands tohereyes. ‘ You don't
know what a rage I have been in, and how
I have been venting it upon innocent people.
I struck that poor boy—shame on me!
Alas! Iwas born with violent passions, and
they have been my curse through life. I had
hoped that years had somewhat subdued
wet but they will occasionally master me.

What would I not give to haye had
ON placid temper, Valerie! How much
unhappiness I should have been spared!
How much error should I have avoided!. I
was going to say, how much crime.’

Lady | \—— was evidently more talkin
f than to me when she said the
‘ds, and I therefore made no repl Wes
ence of more than a quarter of an hour
flo ned. which was broken by Lione!
coming in, and announcing the € carriage of
Lady Ne

: ie woman is the cause of all this,’ said
Lady R——; ‘I amsure that she is. Pi ray

le not wait, Valerie. Go ee see vem

shall be better company when you come
Back

I made no reply, but left the room, and
putting on my bonnet, was driven to Lad ly
M——'s. She received me with great cor-
diality, and so did her daughters, who were
in as room; but they. were dismissed by

  

 

 

 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
   
  
    
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
     
  
 
     
 
  
 
   
 
    
  
 
 
   
  
  
 
   
  
 
    
   
     
    
   
 
  
   
    
    
 
 
 
 
     
 
  
  

48 VALERIE.

their mother, who then said, ‘I told you last
night, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf,
that I wished you to reside with me. You
may say in what capacity, and I acknow-
ledge that I hardly know what answer to
give. Not as governess, certainly, for I con-
sider it an odious position, and one that I
could not offer you ; indeed, my girls do not
require teaching, as they have finished their
studies ; in only one thing you could be of;
advantage to them in that respect, which is’
in music and singing. But I wish you to
come as theirfcompanion, as Iam convinced
that they will gain much by your so doing.

I wish you, therefore, to be considered by
others as °a visitor at the house, but at the,
same time I must insist, that from the ad-=

vantages my girls will derive from your as-
sisting them in music and singing, you will.
accept the same salary per annum which
you have from Lady R Do you under-
stand me? I wish you to remain with me,
not as a niodel after the idea of Lady :
but as a model for my girls to takes pattern
by. I shall leave it fo yourself to act as you
please. I amsure my girls like you already
and will like you better. I do not think
that I can say more, except that I trust you
will not refuse my offer.’

There was a delicacy and kindness in this
proposal on the part of Lady M—— which
I felt gratefully ; but it appeared to me, that
after all it was only an excuse to offer me an
ee without any remuneration on my:
part, and I stated my feeling on that point. -

‘Do not think so,’ replied Lady M——.
‘T avoided saying so, because I would not
have you styled a music-mistress ; but om
that one point alone you will more than earn
your salary, as I will prove to you, by show-
ing you the annual payments to professors
for lessons ; but you will be of great value
to me in other points, I have no doubt.
May I, there efore, consider it as an afaz7e
arrangee ? :

After a little more conversation, I acqui-
esced, and having agreed that I would come
as soon as Lady ae went to the con-
tinent, or at all events, in three weeks, when
Lady M—— quitted London, I took my:
leave, and was conveyed back to Lady
R—— in the carriage which -had been sent
for me,

On my return, I found Lady R—— seated
where I had left her.

‘Well,’ said she, ‘so you have had your
audience ; and I have no doubt but that you
were most graciously received. Oh! I know
the woman; and I have been reflecting
upon it during your absence, and I have dis-

 

Resscovered what she wants you for; but this
she has not mentioned, not even hinted at.
She knows better; but when once in her
house, you will submit to it, rather than be
again in search of a home.’

‘TI really do not know what you mean,
Lady R-——,’ said I.

‘Has not Lady M—— asked you to come
as a visitor, without specifying any particular
employment ?

‘No, she has not. She has proposed my
staying in the house-to give lessons to her
daughters in music, and to be their com-
panion ; but there is nothing stated as to a
fixed residence with her.’

‘Well, Valerie, I know that I am odd;
but you will soon find out whether you have
gained by the change.’

‘Lady R——, I really do not consider
you should be so sarcastic or unkind towards
me. I do notlike to goto France with you,
for reasons which I have fully explained, at
the expense of disclosing family affairs,
which I had much rather not have men-
tioned. You leave me by myself, and I
must seek protection somewhere. It is
kindly offered by Lady M—--, and in my
unfortunate position I have not to choose.
3e just and be generous.’

‘Well, well, I will,’ said Lady. R——,
the tears starting in her eyes; ‘but you do
not know how much I am annoyed at your
leaving me. I had hoped, with all my
faults, that I had created in you a feeling of
attachment to me—God knows, that I have
tried. If you knew all my history, Valerie,
you would not be surprised at my being
strange. ‘That occurred when I was of your
age, which would have driven some people
to despair or suicide. As itis, ie Was
alienated me from all my relations,-—not
that Ihave many. My brother, I never see
or hear from, and have not for years. i
have refused all his invitations to go down
to see him, and he is now offended with me;
but there are causes for it, and years cannot
wipe away the memory of what did occur.’

‘I assure you, aici ee I have been
very sensible of your kindness to me, re-
plied I, ‘and shall always remember it with
gratitude ; and if you think [ have no regard
for you, you are mistaken; but the subject
has become painful—pray let us say no
more.’

‘Well, Valerie, be it so ; perhaps it is the
wisest plan.’ :

To change the conversation, I said—‘ Is
not your brother the present baronet ?’

«Yes,’ replied Lady R——.

«And where does he reside ips

VALERIE.

49

‘In Essex, at Culverwood Hall, the seat
of all my misfortunes.’

I started a little at the mention of the
place, as it was the one which the reader
may remember was spoken of by Lionel.
I then turned the conversation to other
matters, and by dinner-time Lady R——
had recovered herself, and was as amiable
as ever.

From that day until Lady R—— set off
for Paris, there was not a word said relative
to Lady M——. She was kind and polite,
but not so warm and friendly as she had
been before, and in her subdued, bearing to-
wards me, was more agreeable. Her time
was now employed in making preparations
for her tour. Lionel was the only one who
was to accompany her except her own maid.
At last she fixed the day of her departure,
and I wrote to Lady M——, who returned
an answer that it suited her exactly, as she
would go to the country the dayafter. The
evening before Lady R—— was to start,
was passed very ‘gloomily. I felt great sor-
row at our separation, more than I could
have imagined ; but when you have been
associated with a person who is good-tem-
pered and kind, you soon feel more for
them than you would suppose, until you are
about to quit them.

Lady R-—— was very much dispirited, and
said to me, ‘ Valerie, | have a presentiment
that we never shall meet again, and yet I
am anything but superstitious. I can truly
say that you-are the only person to whom I
have felt real attachment since my youth,
and I feel more than I can describe. Some-
thing whispers to me, ‘‘ Do not go to France,
and yet something impels me to go. Va-
lerie, if I do come back, I trust that you will
consider my house your home, if at any time
you cannot place yourself more to your satis-
faction ; I will not say more, as I know that
I am not exactly a lovable person, and my
ways are odd ; but do pray look upon meas
your sincere friend, who will always be ready
to serve you. I have tothank you fora few
happy months, and that is saying much.
God bless you, my dear Valerie.’

I was moved to tears by what Lady R-—
said, and I thanked her with a faltering
voice,

“Come now,’ said she, ‘I shall be off too
early in the morning to see you: let us take
our farewell.’

Lady R—— put a small packet into my
hand, kissed me on the forehead, and then
hastened up to her own room.

That people love change is certain ; but
still there is a mournfulness connected with50

it, even in a change of residence; the pack-
ing up, the litter attending it, the corded
trunks and packages, give a forlorn appear-
ance to the house itself. To me it was pe-
culiarly distressing ; I had changed so often
within the last year, and had such a precari-
ous footing wherever I went; I felt myself
to be the sport of fortune, and a football to
the whims and caprices of others. I was
sitting in my bed-room, my trunks packed
but not yet closed down, thinking of Lady
R——'s last conversation, and very 7réste.
The packet was lying on the table before
me, unopened, when I was roused by a
knock at the door. I thought it was Lady
R——'s maid, and I said, ‘Come in.’

The door opened, and Lionel made his
appearance.

“Is it you, Lionel? What do you want ?’

‘I knew that you were up and I recol-
lected, as we leave before you do to-morrow,
that you would have no one to cord your
luggage, so I thought I would come up and
do it for you to-night, Miss Valerie, if it is
ready.’

‘Thank you, Lionel, it was very conside-
rate of you. I will lock the trunks up, and
you can cord them outside.’

Lionel took out the trunks and corded
them in the passage. When he had finished
he said to me,

‘Good-bye, Miss Valerie, you will see me
again very soon.’

‘See you very soon, Lionel! I[ am afraid
there is no chance of that, for Lady R
intends to stay abroad for six months.’

‘I do not,’ replied he.

‘Why, Lionel, it would be very foolish for
you to give up such a good situation. You
have such unusual wages : twenty pounds a
year, is it not?’

“Yes, Miss Valerie. I should not get half
that in another situation, but that is one rea-
son why I am going to leave. Why should
she give me twenty pounds ayear? I must
find out why, and find out I will, as I said
to you before. She don’t give me twenty
pounds for my beauty, although she might
give you a great deal more, and yet not pay
you half enough.’

‘Well, Lionel, I think you have been here
long enough. It is too late to sit up to pay
compliments. Fare you well.’

I shut my door upon him gently, and then
went to bed. As usual after excitement, I
sleptlong andsoundly. When I awoke the
next morning, I found it was broad day,
and nearly ten o'clock. I rang the bell. and
it was answered by the cook, who told me
that she and I were the only people in the

 

VALERIE.

 

 

  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
    
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
  

house. I rose, and as I passed by my table,
I perceived another package lying by the
side of the one which Lady R—— had given
me. Itwas addressed to me, and I opened
it. It contained a miniature of Lady R——
when she was about my age, and very beau-
tiful she must have been. It was labelled
‘Sempronia at eighteen. Keep it for my
sake, dear Valerie, and do not open the paper
accompanying it until you have my permis-
sion, or you hear of my being no more.’

I laid the miniature down and opened the
first packet given me by Lady R——. It
contained bank notes to the amount of one
hundred pounds, nearly double the salary
due to me.* The contents of both these
packets only made me feel more melancholy,
and I sighed heavily as I put them in my
dressing-case ; but time ran on, and I had
agreed to be at Lady M——'s at one o'clock,
when the carriage would be sent for me. I
therefore hastened my toilet, closed the re-
mainder of my luggage, and went down to
the breakfast which the cook had prepared
for me. While I was at breakfast, a letter
was brought by the post. It had been di-
rected to Madame Bathurst, and was re-
directed to Lady R——’s address. It was
from Madame Paon, and as follows .—
‘My DEAR MADLLE: DE CHATENGUF,—

‘As I take it for granted that you do not
see the French’ papers, I write to tell you
that your predictions relative to Monsieur
G—~ have all proved correct. A month
after the marriage, he neglected Madame,
and spent his whole time at the gaming-
table, only returning home to obtain fresh
supplies from her. These were at last re-
fused, and in his rage he struck her. A suit
for separation of person and property was
brought into court last week, and termin-
ated in favour of Madame d’Albret, who re-
tains all her fortune, and is rid of a monster.
She came to me yesterday morning, and
showed me the letter which you had written to
her, asking me whether I did not cerrespond
with you, and whether I thought, that after
her conduct, you could be prevailed upon to
return to her. Ofcourse I could not give my
opinion ; but I am convinced that if you only
say that you forgive her, that she will write
to you and make the request. I really do
not well see how you can do othetwise, after
the letter which you wrote to her, but of
course you will decide for yourself. I trust,
Mademoiselle, you will favour me with a
speedy answer, as Madame d’Albret is here
every day, and is evidently very impatient.

‘Iam, my dear Mademoiselle, yours, *
KMILE PAON, xée MERCE,’VALERIE. St

To this letter, 1 sent the following reply
by that day’s post :—

‘My DEAR MADAME PAON,—

‘That I sincerely forgive Madame d’Al-
bret is true; Ido so trom my heart; but
although I forgive her, | cannot listen to
any proposal to resume the position [I once
held, Recollect that she has driven all over
Paris, and accused me among ali her friends
of ingratitude and slander. How then, after
having been discarded for such conduct,
could [again make my appearance in her
company? Either I] have done as she has
stated, and if so, am unworthy of her pa-
_tronage, or I have not done so, and there-
fore have been cruelly used : made to feel

my dependence in the bitterest way, having -

been dismissed and thrown upon the world
with loss of character. Could IJ ever feel
secure or comfortable with her after such
injustice ? or could she feel at her ease on
again presenting one as her protégée whom
she had so ill treated? Would she not have
to blush every time that she met with any of
our former mutual friends and acquaint-
ances? It would be a series of humiliations
to us both. «Assure her of my forgiveness
and goodwill, and my wishes for her happi-
ness; but to return to her is impossible.

would rather starve. If she knew what I
have suffered.in consequence of: her hasty
conduct towards me, she would pity me
more than she may do now, but what is
done is done. There is no remedy for it.
Adieu, Madame Paon. Many thanks for
your kindness to one so fallen as I am.

‘Yours truly and sincerely,
‘VALERIE.’

{ wrote the above under great depression
of spirits, and it was with a heavy heart that
I afterwards alighted at Lady M——’s resi-
dence in St. James's Square. If smiles,
however, and cordial congratulations, and
shakes of the hand, could have consoled me,
they were not wanting on the part of Lady
M_——— and her daughters. Iwas shown all
the rooms below, then Lady M-——'s room,
the young ladies’ rooms, and lastly my own,
and was truly glad when I was at last left
alone to unpack and arrange my things.

The room allotted to me was vely com-
fortable, and better furnished than those in
which the young ladies slept, and, as far as
appearances went, I was, in all respects
treated as a visitor, and not as a governess.
The maid who attended me was very civil,
and as she assisted and laid my dresses in
the wardrobe, made no attempt to be fa-

miliar. I ought to have informed the reader
that Lady M—— wasa widow, Lord M——
having died about two years before. Her
eldest son, the present Lord M , was on
the continent. Dinner was announced ;
there were only two visitors, and I was
treated as one of the company. In fact,
nothing could be more gratifying than the
manner in which I was treated. In the
evening, I played. and sang. The young
ladies did the same; their voices were
good, but they wanted expression in their
singing, and I perceived that I could be
useiul.

Lady M asked me, when we were not
overheard, ‘ what I thought of her daughters’
singing ?

I told her frankly.

‘It is impossible to doubt the truth of
what you say, my dear Mademoiselle de
Chatenceuf, after having heard your per-
formance. I knew that you were considered
a good performer, but | had no idea of the
perfection which you haye arrived at.’

‘If your daughters are really fond of
music, they would soon do as well, my
lady,’ replied I.

“Tmpossible,’ exclaimed her ladyship ;
‘put still they must gain something from
listening to you. You look fatigued. Do
you wish to go to bed? Augusta will go up
with you.’

‘T have a nervous headache,’ teplied I,
‘and I will accept your ladyship’s consider-
ate proposal.

Augusta, the eldest daughter, lighted a
chamber-candle, aud went up with me into
my room. After a-little conversation, she
wished me good night, and thus passed the
first day in St. James's Square.

 

 

<a

CHAPTER VIII.

As arranged by Lady M——, the next day
we went to Harking Castle, the family seat,
in Dorsetshire, and I was not Sorry to be
again quiet, after the noise and bustle of a
London season. As Lady M—— had ob-
served, the young ladies were sadly jaded
with continual late hours and hot rooms,
put they had not been a week in the coun-
try before they were improved in appearance
and complexion. ‘They certainly were aml-
able, nice girls; clever, and without pride,
and I soon became attached to them. I at-
tended to their music, and they made. great
progress. I also taught them the art of
making flowers in wax, which I had so52

VALERSE,

lately learnt myself. This was all I could
do, except mildly remonstrating with them

 

 

my lady,’ replied 1, ‘I think you éan have
them as well made at home as by Madame

when I saw what did not appear to me tobe Desbelli. . I think I can be useful.’

quite correct in their conduct and deport-
ment. Lady M—— appeared quite satisfied,
and treated me with great consideration,
and I was in a short time very happy in -my

new position. |

For the first month, there.were no visitors
in the house; after that, invitations were
sent out. Lady M—W— had said that she
would have a month’s quiet to recover her-
self from the fatigues of the season, and I
had no doubt but that she also thought
her daughters would be much benefited, as
they really were, by a similar retirement.
It was on the Monday that company was
expected, and on Friday Lady M—— de-
sired Augusta, the eldest daughter, to put
on a new dress which had just been made
by the two lady’s-maids, and come down in
it that she might see it on. When Augusta
made her appearanee, and her mother had

Surveyed the dress, she said,

‘I do not quite like it, Augusta, and yet
I do not exactly know where it is wrong ;
but something requires to be Altered as wit

does not hang gracefully.’

As she said this, I was reading a book.
and I naturally looked up, and immediately
perceived the alteration which the dress re-

quired.
pins made the dress sit well.

‘Why this is a new talent, my dear
Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, one that I
had no idea that you possessed : although I
admit that no one dresses more elegant
‘How
much I am obliged to you for taking so

than you do,’said Eady a\ie—==

much trouble.’

‘I am most happy to be of any service,
Lady M——, and you may always command
me,’ replied I. ‘I have the credit of being a

very good milliner.’

‘I believe you can do anything,’ replied

Lady M——. ‘Aueusta, go up to Benson
and show her the alterations that are re-
quired, and tell her to make them directly,

After all,’ continued Lady M— —, to me,
‘it is bad economy making dresses at home;
but I really cannot afford to pay the extrava-
gant prices charged by Madame Desbelli,
My bills are monstrous, ‘and my poverty,
but not my will, consents. Still it does
make such a difference in the appearance,
being well dressed, that if I could, I never
would have a dress made at home ; but the
saving’ is astonishing—nearly two-thirds, I
assure you.’

‘If you will allow me to interfere a little,

I pointed it out, and with a few

“You are very kind, Madamoiselle de
Chatenceuf, but it will be taxing you too
much.’

‘Not at all, Lady M—— if I have your
sanction.’

‘You shall do just as you please, my
dear,’ replied Lady M——; ‘I give you
full authority over the whole household, if
you wish it ; but, indeed, I think Benson
will be much obliged to you for any slight
hint that you may give her, and I am sure
that I shall ; but the carriage is at the door
—do you drive to-day?’

‘Not to day, I thank you, Lady M——,
replied TI.

‘Well, then, I will take Hortense and
Amy with me, and leave Augusta with
you.’

After Lady M——’s departure, I went up
to the room where the maids were at work,
I altered the arrangement of Augusta's
dress so as to suit her figure, and cut out
the two others for Hortense and Amy.

Wishing to please Lady M——, I worked
myself at Augusta's dress, and had it com-
pleted before Lady M—— had returned

from her drive. It certainly was now a very
different affair, and Augusta looked remark-
ably well init. She was delighted herself,
and hastened down to her mother to show
it to her. When I came down to dinner,
Lady M—— was profuse in her acknow-
ledgments ; the two other dresses, when
finished, gave equal satisfaction, and from
that time till the period of my quitting Lady
M-——, all the dresses, not only of the
young ladies, but those of Lady M——,
were made at home, and my taste and
judgment invariably appealed to, and most
cheerfully given. I felt it my duty to be of
all the use that I could be, and perhaps was
not a little gratified by the compliments I
received upon my exquisite taste. Time
passed on; during the shooting season,
‘Augusta, the eldest daughter, received a
very good offer, which was accepted; and
at the Christmas festivities, Hortense, the
second girl, accepted another proposal,
which was also very favourable. Lady
M—— was delighted at such success.

‘Is it not strange, my dear Mademoiselle
de Chatenceuf, that I have been fagging
two seasons, night and day, to get husbands
for those girls, and now alone here, in soli-
tude and retirement almost, they have both
obtained excellent establishments. I do
really declare that I believe it is all owing toyou, and the delightful manner in which you
have dressed them.’

‘JT should rather think that it is owing, in
the first place, to their having so much im-
proved in personal appearance since they
have been down in the country,’ replied I ;
‘and, further, to the gentlemen having now
an opporiunity of discovering their truly esti-
mable qualities, which they were not likely
to do at Almack’s or other parties during a
London season.’

‘You may think so,’ replied Lady M ;
‘but it is my conviction that all is owing to
their being so tastefully dressed. Why,
every one admires the elegance of their cos-
tume, and requests patterns. Well, now I
have only Amy on my hands, and I think
that her sisters’ high connections will assist
in getting her off.’

‘She is a sweet girl, Amy,’ replied I, ‘and
were I you, Lady M , | should be in no
hurry to part with her.’

‘Indeed, but I am,’ replied Lady M——,
‘you don’t know the expense of girls, and
my jointure is not so very large ; however, I
must not complain. Don’t you think
Amy looks better in lilac than in any other
colour ?

‘She looks well in almost any colour,’ re-
plied I.

‘Yes, with your taste, I grant,’ replied
Lady M——. ‘Are you aware that we go
to town ina fortnight ? We must look after
the ¢rousseaux. \It was arranged last night
that both marriages shall take place in
February. Amy will of course be one of the
bridesmaids, and I trust to you, my dear
Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, to invent some-
thing very dzstingué for her on that occa-
sion. Who knows but that it may get her
off? but it’s late, so good night.’

I could not admire Lady M——’s appa-
rent hurry to get rid of her daughters; but
it certainly was the one thing needful which
had occupied all her thoughts and attention
during the time that I had been with her.
That it was natural she should wish that her
children were well established, | granted ;
put all that she appeared to consider was
good connection, and the means of living in
good style; every other point as to the cha-
tacter of the husbands being totally over-
looked.

A fortnight after Christmas we all went to
London, and were, as Lady M—— had ob-
served, very busy with the zrousseaux, when
one day the butler came to say that a young
gentleman wished to see me, and was wait-
ing-in the breakfast parlour below. I went
down, wondering who it could be, when to

 

 

VALERIE.

53

my surprise, I found Lionel, the page of
Lady R——, dressed in plain clothes, and
certainly looking very much like a gentle-
man. He bowed very respectfully to me
when he entered, much more so than he had
ever done when he was a page with Lady
R——, and said,

‘Miss Valerie, I have ventured to call
upon you, as I thought when we parted,
that you did me the honour to feel some
little interest about me, and I thought you
would like to know what has taken place.
I have been in England now four months,
and have not been idle during that time.’

‘T am certainly glad to see you, Lionel,
although I am sorry you have left Lady
R——, and I hope you have been satisfied
with the result of your inquiries.’

‘It is rather a long story, Miss Valerie,
and if you wish to hear it, you will oblige
me by sitting down while I narrate it to
you.’

‘I hope it will not be too long, Lionel, as
I shall be wanted in an hour or so, to go out

with Lady M——; but I am ready to hear
you,’ continued I, sitting down as he re-
quested.

Lionel stood~ by me, and then com-
menced :—‘ We arrived at Dover the even-
ing of the day that we left, Miss Valerie ;
and Lady R——, who had been in a state
of great agitation during the journey, was
so unwell, that she remained there four or
five days. As soon as she was better, I
thought it was advisable that she should
settle my book, and pay me my wages before

we left England, and I brought it to her, -

stating my wish, as the sum was then very
large.

© «¢ Ands what do you want money for?”
said she, rather angrily.

“«T want to place it in safety, my lady,”
replied I.

“« That’s as much as to say that it is not
safe with me.”

«« No, my lady,” replied I. © But sup-
pose any accident were to happen to you
abroad, would your executors ever believe
that you owed more than we, besides a
year’s wages, to a page like me? ‘They
would say that it could not be, and would
not pay me my money ; neither would they
believe that you gave me such wages. |

© Well,” she replied, ‘‘ there is some
truth in that, and it will, perhaps, be better
that I do pay you at once ; but where will
you put the money, Lionel ?”

«J will keep the cheque, my lady, ifyou
please.’

«Then I will write it to order, and not

”.

’

to bearer,” replied she, ‘‘and then if you
lose it, it will not be paid, for it will require
your own signature.’’

‘“* Thank you, my lady,” replied I.

‘Having examined my accounts and my
wages due, she gave mea cheque for the full
amount. ‘he next morning, the packet was
to sail at nine o'clock. ‘We were in good
time, and as soon as Lady R—— was on
board, she went down into the cabin. Her
maid asked me for the bottle of salts which
I had purposely left under the sofa-pillow at
the Ship Hotel. I told her that I had left
it, and as there was plenty of time would
run and fetch it. I did so, but contrived not
to be back until the steamer had moved
away from the pier, and her paddles were in
motion. I called out, ‘‘ Stop, stop,” know-
ing, of course, that they would not, although
they were not twenty yards away. I saw
Lady R—-—’s maid run to the captain and
speak to him, but it was of nouse, and thus
I was left behind, without Lady R—— hay-
ing any suspicion that it was intentional on
my part.

‘I waited at the pier till the packet was
about two miles off, and then walked away
from the crowd of people who were bother-
ing me with advice how to proceed, so that
I might join my mistress at Calais. I re-

urned to the hotel for a portion of my
clothes whick I had not sent on board of the
packet; but had left in charge of the boots,
and then sat down in the tap to reflect upon
what I should do. My first object was to
get rid of my sugar-loaf buttons, for I hated
livery, Miss Valerie ; perhaps it was pride
but I could not help it. I walked out till I
came to a slop-seller’s, as they cal! them at
seaports, and went in; there was nothing
hanging up but seamen’s clothes, and, on
reflection, I thought I could not do better
than dress as a sailor : so I told the man that
I wanted a suit of sailor’s clothes.

“ “You want to go tosea, Isuppose,” said
the man, not guessing exactly right, con-
sidering that I just refused to embark.

‘However, I bargained first for a com-
plete suit, and then sold him my liveries,
exchanging my dress in the back parlour.
1 then refurned to the tap, obtained my
other clothes, and as soon as the coach
started, got outside and arrived in London.
I called upon you at this house, and found
that you were in the country, and then I re-
solved that I would go downto Culverwood
Fall.’

‘And now you must leave offi, Lionel, for
the present,’ said I, ‘for I must go out with
Lady M——, Come to-morrow, early, and

 

 

 

  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
   
  
 
  
   

s4 VALERIE.

I shall have leisure to hear the rest of your
story.’

The following morning Lionel returned,
and resumed his history.

‘Miss Valerie, little things often give you
more trouble than greater; and I had more
difficulty to find out where Culverwood Hall’
was than you may imagine. I asked many
at the inn where I put up, but no one could
tell me, and at such places I was not likely
to find any book which I could refer to. I
went to the coach-offices, and asked what
coaches started for Essex, and the reply was
‘“Where did I want to go?” and, when I
said Culverwood Hall, no one could tell me
by which coach I was to go, or which town.
it wasnear. At last I did find out from the
porter of the -Saracen’s Head, who had
taken in parcels with that address, and who
went to the coachman, who said that his
coach passed within a mile of Sir Alexander
Mostyn’s, who lived there. I never knew
her ladyship’s maiden name before. I took
my place by the coach, for I had gone tothe
banker's in Fleet-street, and received the
money, for my cheque, and started the next
morning at three o'clock.

‘I was put down at a village called West-
gate, at an inn called the Mostyn Arms. I
kept to the dress of a sailor, and when the
people spoke to me on the coach, kept up
the character as well as I could, which is
very easy to do when you have to do with
people who know nothing about it. I shi-
vered my timbers, and all that sort of thing,
and hitched up my trousers, as they do at,
the theatres. The coachman told me that
the inn was the nearest place I could stop at,
if I wanted to go to the hall, and taking my
bundle, I got down and he drove off. A
sailor-boy is a sort of curiosity in a country
village, Miss Valerie, and I had many ques-
tions put to me; but I answered them: by
putting others. I said that my friends were
formerly living at the hall in the old baronet’s
time, but that I knew little about them, as it
was a long while ago; and I asked if there
were any of the old servants still living at
the place, The woman who kept the inn
told me that there was one, old Roberts, who
still lived in the village, and had been Jded-
ridden for some years. This, of course, was
the person I wanted, and I inquired what
had become of his family. The reply was
that his daughter, who had married Green,
was somewhere in London, and his son, who
had married Kitty Wilson, of the village,
had gone to reside as gamekeeper somewhere
near Portsmouth, and had a large family of
childrea,(VALERIE. 3s

he You're right enough,” replied I, laugh- so perfect in all his mental faculties, and
ing, ‘‘ we area large family.” after having listened to, rather than replied

; ‘What, are you old Roberts’s grand- to, observations about his son and my sup-
son? exclaimed the women. ‘‘ Well, we posed brothers and. sisters, by which I ob-
did hear that one of them, Harry, I think, tained a pretty accurate knowledge of them,

did go to sea. ae I wished him good-bye, and promised to
Well, now, perhaps you ll tell me where call and have a long talk in the morning.
I am to find the old gentleman?” replied I. ‘On my return to the inn, I was able to

«<< Come with me,” said she, ‘‘he lives reply to all the interrogatories which were
hard by, and glad enough he'll be, poor put to me relative to my supposed relations,
man, to have any one to talk with him abit, thanks to the garrulity of old Roberts, and
for it's a lonesome life he leads in bed put many questions relative to the family re-
there, siding at the hall, which were freely an-
‘T followed the woman, and when about swered. As the evening advanced, many
a hundred yards from the inn, she stopped people came in, and the noise and smoking
at the door of a small house, and called to was So disagreeable to me, that I asked for
Mrs. Meshin, to ‘‘ go up and tellold Roberts a bed, and retired. ‘The next morning I re-
that one of his grandsons is here.” Asnuffy paired to old Roberts, who appeared ce-
old woman made her appearance, peered at lighted to see me.
me through her spectacles, and then stumped ©“ You are a good boy,” said he, ‘to
up a pair of stairs which faced the door. come and see a poor bedridden old man,
Shortly afterwards I was desired to come up, who has not a soul that comes near him
and did so. I found an old man with silver perhaps in a week. And now tell me what
hair lying in bed, and the said Mrs. Meshin, took place during your last voyage.”
with her spectacles, smoothing down. the ©The last vessel I was on board ole

,

bedclothes, and making the place tidy. replied I, ‘‘was a packet from Dover to
© «What cheer, old boy?” said I, after Calais.”

T. P. Cooke's style. « « Well, that must be pleasant ; so many
© «What do you say? I'm hard of hear- passengers.”

ing, rather,” replied the old man. «« Yes, sir ; and who do you think I saw
‘« Fow do you find yourself, sir 2’ said I. on board of the packet the other day—some-
‘ «Oh, pretty well for an old man; and body that you know.”
so you're my grandson Harry; glad to © Ay, who ?”
see you. You may go, Mrs. Meshin, and  ‘‘‘ Why Lady R——,” replied I, ‘and
shut the door ; and, do you hear, don'tlisten that young gentleman who, I heard say,
at the keyhole.” lived with her as her servant.”
‘The stately lady, Mrs. Meshin, growled, «« Ay!’ said the old man, ‘‘indeed ! then
and then left the room, slamming the door. she has done justice atlast. I'm gladonit,
« «She is very Cross, grandson," said the Harry, glad on it, for it’s a relief to my
old man, ‘‘and I see nobody but her. It’s mind. I was bound to the secret, and have
a sad thing to be bedridden inthis way, and kept it; and when a man is on the brink of
not to get out in the fresh air, and sadder the grave, he does not like to have a secret
still to be tended by across old woman, who like that upon his mind, and I've more than
won't talk when I want her, and won't hold once talked to my daughter about—”"
her tongue when I want her. _ I'm glad to «« What, Aunt Green?”
see you, boy. I hope you wont go away «« Yes, your Aunt Green ; but she would
directly, as your brother Tom did. I want never listen to me. We both took our oath,
somebody to talk to me, sadly ; and how do and she said it was binding ; besides we
ou like being at sea at were paid for it. Well, well, I thank God,
©] like the shore better, sir.” for it’s a great load off my mind.”
ot Ay, so all sailors say, I believe ; and «Yes, sir,’ replied fe you need not
yet I would rather go to sea than he here all keep the secret any longer now.”

day long. It’s all owing to my being outas «« And how has he grown up?” said the
I used to do, night after night, watching for old man; ‘‘is he good-looking ?

replied: bares and

dee

poachers. I had too little bed then, and ««Very much So, sir,
now I’ve too much of it. But the sea must looks very much like a gentleman.
be grand. As the Bible says, ‘They who I could not help laughing at this part of
yo upon the great water, they see the won- Lionel’s story, although I could not but
ders of the deep.’ ”’ admit the truth, Lionel observed it, and

p
‘1 was glad to find that the old man was said,6 VALERIE,

“You cannot be surprised at my giving ‘nothing could save her; but the child
myself a good character, Miss Valerie, will do well, I have no doubt.’
for, as they say in the kitchen, it’s all that a ‘ ““* What's to be done, sir ?’
poor servant has to depend upon.’ ““**QOh,’ replied the doctor, ‘the lady

‘Go on,’ replied J, above-stairs told me that she was her sister,

‘ ““ He was avery fine child while he lived so of course we must look to her for all
with us ; but he was taken away at sixyears future arrangements.’
old, and I have never seen him since.” ‘“ After giving a few directions about the

‘ “Some people say that he is very like infant, the doctor left the house, and soon
IbpiChy IR after that Miss Barbara came down stairs.

‘““Well, why should he not be? ay, “***T'm quite worn out, Martha,’ said she,
she was once a very beautiful young ‘let us go to the hotel as fast as we can.
person.” You sent away the carriage, of course. I

‘ “Well, grandfather, I have never heard would it had remained, for I shall hardly be
the rights of that story,” said I, ‘‘and now able to wall so far.’
that you are at liberty to tell it, perhaps you‘ “‘ She took her arm, and as the landlady
will let me have the whole history.’’ opened the door, she said,

‘“ Well,” said the old man, ‘‘as there is *““T will call to-morrow, and give direc-
no longer a secret, Ido not know but that I tions about the infant, and everything which
may. Your Aunt Green, you know, was is necessary. Inever went through sucha
nurse to Lady R——, and remained in the trying scene,’ said Miss Barbara; ‘she was
family for years afterwards; for old Sir an old schoolfellow of mine, who entreated
Alexander Moystyn was confined to his me to come to her in her distress. She died
room for years with gout and other com- in giving birth to her infant, and it was, I
plaints, and your Aunt Green attended him. presume, with that presentiment, that she
It was just as Sir Alexander had recovered sent for me, and entreated me, on her death-
from a very bad fit, that Miss Ellen, who bed, to protect the unfortunate child, for she
was Lady R——’s sister, and years younger has been cast away by her relations in con-
than she was, made a runaway match with sequence of her misconduct. You have
Colonel Dempster, a very fashionable, gay never had the small-pox, Martha, have
young man, who had come down here to you?’
shoot with the present baronet. Every  ‘‘'*No, miss,’ she replied, ‘you know I
one was much surprised at this, for all the never have.’
talk was that the match would be with the ‘“*Well, it was having the small-pox at
eldest sister, Lady R——, and not the the same time that she was confined, that
youngest. They went offsomewhere abroad. has caused her death, and that was the rea-
Old Sir Alexander was in a terrible huff son why I did not send for you to come up
about it, and was taken ill again; and Lady and assist.’

R——, who was then Miss Barbara, ap- ““ My daughter made no answer, for Miss
peared also much distressed at her sister's Barbara was of a haughty temper, and she
conduct. Well, a year or more passedaway, was afraid of her; but she did not forget
when, one day, Miss Barbara told your Aunt that the doctor had told the landlady that
Green that she wished her to go with her on Miss Barbara had stated the lady to be her
a journey, and she set offin the evening with sister. My daughter had thought it very
four post-horses, and travelled all night till odd that Miss Barbara had not told her,
she arrived at Southampton. There she during their journey, where she was going,
Stopped at a lodging, and got out, spoke to and whom she was going to see, for Miss
the landlady, and calling my daughter out Barbara had wrapped herself up in her
of the chaise, desired her to remain below cloak, and pretended to be asleep during the
while she went upstairs. My daughter was whole time, only waking up to pay the post-
tired of staying so long, for she remained boys ; but Miss Barbara was of a very vio-
there for five hours, and Miss Barbara did lent temper, and had, since her sister's
not make her appearance ; but they ap- marriage, been much worse than before;
peared to be very busy in the house, running indeed, some said that she was a little mad,
up and down stairs. At last a grave person, and used to walk at moonlights.
who appeared to be a doctor, came into ‘““ When they arrived at the hotel, Miss
the parlour, followed by the landlady—in Barbara went to bed, and insisted upon her
the parlour in which my daughter was sleeping in the same room, as she was afraid
sitting. of being alone in an hotel. My daughter
‘It's all over, Mrs, Wilson,’ said he, thought over the business as she lay in bed,and at last resolved to ascertain the truth;
so she got up early the next morning, and
walked to the lodging-house, and when the
door was opened by the landlady, pretended
to come from her mistress to inquire how the
infant was. ‘The reply was, that it was
doing well; and then a conversation took
place, in which my daughter found out that
the lady did not die of the small-pox, as
Miss Barbara had stated. The landlady
asked my daughter if she would not like to
come up and look atthe corpse. My daugh-
ter consented, as it was what she was about
to request, and when she went up, sure
enough it was poor Mrs. Dempster, Miss
Ellen that was, who had run away with the
colonel.

‘«¢ An’t it a pity, ma’am,’ said the land-
lady, ‘her husband died only two months
ago, and they say he was so handsome a
man; indeed he must have been, for here’s
his picture, which the poor lady wore round
her neck.’

««* When your aunt had satisfied herself,
and cried a little over the body, for she was
very fond of Miss Ellen, she went back to
the hotel as fast as she could, and getting a
jug of warm water from the kitchen, she
went into Miss Barbara’s room, and had
just time to throw off her bonnet and shawl,
when Miss Barbara woke up, and asked
who was there.

«*«<Tt’s me, miss,’ replied my daughter,
‘I’ve just gone down for some warm water
for you, for it’s past nine o'clock, and I
thought you would like to be up early.”

« © ¢Ves, I must get up, Martha, for I in-
tend to return home to-day. It’s no use
waiting here. I will have breakfast, and
then walk to the lodgings, and give direc-
tions. You may pack up in the mean time,
for I suppose you do not wish to go with mé.”

«« ¢Oh no, miss,’ replied your aunt, ‘Iam
frightened out of my wits at having been in
the house already, now that I know that
the lady died of the small-pox.’

«« Well, Miss Barbara went away after
breakfast, and remained for two or three
hours, when she returned, a servant bring-
ing the baby with her. My daughter had
packed up everything, and in half an hour
they were on the road back, the baby with
them, in my daughter's arms. Now, you
see, if it had not been for the accidental re-
mark of the doctor in your aunt’s presence,
she would have been completely deceived by
Miss Barbara, and never would have known
whose child it was; but your aunt kept her
own counsel ; indeed, she was airaid to do
otherwise.

   

  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  

VALERTE. eA

‘«As they went home, Miss Barbara
talked a great deal to your aunt, telling her
that this Mrs. Bedingfield was a great friend
of hers, with whom she had corresponded for
years after they had left school; that her
husband had been killed in a duel a short
time before, that he was a gambler, and a
man of very bad character, nevertheless she
had promised Mrs. Bedingfield before she
died, that she would take care of the child,
and that she would do so. She then said,
‘Martha, I should like your mother to take
charge of it; do you think that she would ?
but it must be a secret, for my father would
be very angry with me, and besides, there
might be unpleasant reports.’ Your aunt
replied, ‘that she thought that her mother
would,’ and then Miss Barbara’s proposal
that your aunt should get out of the chaise
when they stopped to change horses at the
last stage, when it was dark, and no one
could perceive it, and walk with the infant
until she could find some conveyance to my
house.

««* This was done, the child was brought
to your grandmother, who is now in heaven,
and then your aunt made known to us what
she had discovered, and whose child it was.
I was very angry, and if I had not heen laid
up at the time with the rheumatism, would
have gone right into Sir Alexander's room,
and told him who the infant was: but I
was overruled by your grandmother and
your aunt, who then went away and walked
to the hall. So we agreed that we would say
exactly what Miss Barbara said to us when
she came over to us on the next day.” ’

‘Well, then, Lionel, J have to congratu-
late you on being the son of a gentleman,
and the nephew of Lady R——. I wish
you joy with all my heart,’ said I, extending
my hand.

‘Thank you, Miss Valerie. It is true that
I am so, but proofs are still to be given ;
but of that hereafter.’

‘Lionel, you have been standing all this
while. I think it would be most uncourte-
ous if I did not request you to take a chair.’
Lionel did so, and then proceeded with the
old man’s narrative.

«<¢ About a month after this, Sir Richard
R came down, and after three weeks
was accepted by Miss Barbara. It wasa
hasty match every one thought, especially
as the news of Mrs. Dempster's death had,
as it was reported, been received by letter,
and all the family had gone into mourning.
Poor old Sir Alexander never held up his
head afterwards, and intwo months more he
was carried to the family vault. Your auntthen came home to us, and as you have
heard, married poor Green, who was killed
in a poaching business about three months
after his marriage. Then came your poor
grandmother's death of a quinsy, and so I
was left alone with your aunt Green, who
then took charge of the child, who had been
christened by the name of Lionel Beding-
field, There was some talk about the child,
and some wonders whose it could be; but
after the death of Sir Alexander, and Miss
Barbara had gone away with her husband,
nothing more was thought or said about it.
And now, boy, I've talked enough for to-
day, to-morrow [’ll tell you the rest of the
history.”

“Perhaps, Miss Valerie, you think the
same of me, and am tired with listening,’
observed Lionel.

‘Not at all; and I have leisure now,
which I may not have another. time; be-
sides, your visits, if so frequent, may cause
inquiries, and I shall not know what to say.’

‘Well, then, I'll finish my story this morn-
ing, Miss Valerie. ‘The next day, old
Roberts continued: ‘‘It was about three
months after Sir Alexander’s death, when
her brother, the new baronet, came down to
Culverwood Hall, that Miss Barbara made
her ajspearance again as Lady R——,
Your grandmother was just buried, and poor
Green had not been dead more than a
month. Your aunt, who was much afflicted
at the loss of her husband, and was of
course very grave and serious, began to
agree with me that it would be very wicked
of us, knowing whose child it was, to keep
the secret. Moreover, your aunt had be-
come very fond of the infant, for it in a
manner consoled her for the loss of her hus-
band. Lady R—— came to the cottage to
see us, and we then both told her that we
did not like to keep secret the child's parent-
age, as it was doing a great injustice, if in-
justice had not been done already. Lady
R—— was very much frightened at what we
said, and begged very hard that we would
not expose her. She would be ruined, she
said, in the opinion of her husband, and also
of her own relations. She begged and
prayed so hard, and made. a solemn promise
to us that she would do justice to the child
as soon as she could with prudence, that she
Overcame our scruples, and we agreed to
Say nothing at present. She also put a
bank-note for £50 intofmy daughter's hands
to defray expenses and pay for trouble, and
told her that the same amount would be
paid every year until the child was taken
away.

 

 

<8 VALERIE.

  

‘‘*T believe this did more to satisfy ou?
scruples than anything else. It ought not
to have done so, but we were poor, and
money is a great temptation. At all events,
we were satisfied with Lady R——’s promise,
and with her liberality ; and from that time
till the child was seven years old we received
the money, and had charge ofthe boy. He
was then taken away and sent to school,
but where we did not know for some time.
Lady R—— was still very liberal to us,
always stating her intention of acknowledg-
ing the child to be her nephew. At last my
daughter was summoned to London, and
sent to the school for the boy ; Lady R——
Stating it tobe her intention of keeping him
at her own house, now that her husband
vas dead. This rejoiced us very much ;
but we had no idea that it was as a servant
that he was to be employed, as your aunt
afterwards found out, when she went up
to London and called unexpectedly upon
Lady R—-——. However, Lady R—— said
that what she was doing was for the best,
and was more liberal than usual; and that
stopped our tongues.

‘««Three years back your aunt Jeft this
place to find employment in London, and
has resided there ever since as 2 clear-
starcher and getter-up of lace; but she
often sends me down money, quite sufficient
to pay for all the few comforts and expenses
required by a bedridden old man. ‘There,
Harry, now I've told you the whole story ;
and I am glad that I am able to do so, and
that at last she has done justice to the lad,
and there is no further a load upon my con-
science, which often caused me to lay down
my Bible, when I was reading, and sigh.”

‘But,’ said I, ‘‘ are you sure that she
has acknowledged him as her nephew ?”

‘““Am I sure! Why, did not you say
So?”

***No; I only said that he was with her,
travelling in her company.”

‘Well, but—I understood you that it
was all right.”’

“““Tt may be all right,” replied I, ‘but
how can I tell? I only saw them together.
lady R—— may still keep her secret, forall
I can say to the contrary. I don’t wonder
at its being a load on your mind. Ishouldn’t
be able to sleep at nights; and as for read-
ing my Bible, 1 should think it wicked to do
So, with the recollection always before me,
that I had been a party in defrauding a poor
boy of his name, and perhaps fortune.”’

‘“Dear .me! dear me! | I've often
thought as much, Harry.”

‘Yes, grandiather, and, as you say, onthe brink of the grave Who knows but
you may be called away this very night 2

« «Ves, yes, who knows, boy,’’ replied the
old man, looking rather terrified; ‘but
what shall I do ?”

‘ “T know what I would do,” replied 1.
‘‘T’q make a clean breast of itat once. I'd
send for the minister and a magistrate, and
state the whole story upon affidavit. Then
you will feel happy again, and ease your
mind, and not before.”

«« Well, boy, I believe you are right ; Tl
think about it. Leave me now.”

« «Think about your own soul, sir—think
of your own danger, and do not mind Lady
R--—. ‘There can be but a bad reason for
doing such an act of injustice. 1 will come
again in an hour, sir, and then you will let
me know your decision. Think about what
the Bible says about those who defraud the
widow and ovphan. Good-bye for the pre-
sent.”

«No, stop, boy, I’ve made up my mind.
You may go to Mr. Sewell, the clergyman,
—he often calls to see me, and I can speak
to him. Iii tell him.”

‘T did not wait for the old man to alter
his mind, but hastened as fast as I could to
the parsonage-house, which was not four
hundred yards distant. 1 went to the door,
and asked for Mr. Sewell, who came out to
me. I told him that old Roberts wanted to
see him immediately, as he had an important
confession to make.

¢ Ts the old mangoing, then? Ididnot
hear that he was any way dangerously
TLE

“ “No, sir, he is in his usual health, but
he has something very heavy on his con-
science, and he begs your presence imme-
diately, that he may reveal an important
secret.”

« «Well, my lad, go back to him and say
that I will be there in two hours. You are
his grandson, I believe ?”

«J will go and tell him, sir,” replied I,
evading the last question.

‘I returned to old Roberts, and informed
him that the clergyman would be with him
in an hour or two; but I found the old man
already hesitating and doubting again.

“«“ You didn’t tell him what it was for,
did you? for perhaps . :

‘Yes, I did. I told him you had an
important secret to communicate that lay
heavy on your conscience.”

© «Dm sadly puzzled,” said the old man,
musing.

©“ Well,” replied I, ‘‘ I’m not puzzled ;
and if you don't confess I must. I won't

 

VALERIE.

59

have my conscience loaded, poor fellow that
I am; and if you choose to die with the sin
upon you of depriving the orphan, I will
not.”

«© T'l] tell—tell it all—it’s the best way,’
replied old Roberts, after a pause.

“« There now,” said I, ‘‘the best thing
to be done is for me to get paper and pen,
and write it all down for Mr. Sewell to read
when he comes; then you need not have te
repeat it all again.”

“« Ves, that will be best, for I couldn't
face the clergyman.’

«« Then how can you expect to face the
Almighty ?” replied I.

«True, very true; get the paper,’ said he.

‘T went to the inn and procured writing-
materials, and then returned and took down
his confession of what I kave now told you,
Miss Valerie. When Mr. Sewell came, I
had just finished it, and then I told him
that I had written it down, and handed it to
him to read. Mr. Sewell was much sur-
prised and shocked, and said to Roberts,
“You have done right to make this confes-
sion, Roberts, for it may be most important;
but you must now swear to it in the presence
of a magistrate and me, Of course you
have no objection ?”

‘No, sir; I'm ready to swear to the
truth of every word.”

«© Well, then, let me see. Why, there is
no magistrate near us just now but Sir
Thomas Mostyn ; and as it concerns his own
nephew, there cannot be a more proper per-
son. I will go up to the hall immediately,
and-ask him to come with me to-morrow
morning.”

“Mr. Sewell did so; and the next day he
and Sir Thomas Mostyn came down in a
phaeton and went up to old Roberta ah
rather turned away, that my uncle, as he
now proves to be, might not, when I was
regularly introduced to him, as I hope to be,
as his nephew, recognize meas the sailor lad
who passed off.as the grandson of old
Roberts.’

‘Then you admit that you have been play-
ing a very deceitful game Pe

‘Yes, Miss Valerie. Ihavea conscience,
and I admit that I have been playing what
may be called an unworthy game ; but when
it is considered how much I have at stake,
and how long I have been defrauded of my
rights by the duplicity of others, I think I
may be excused if I have beat them at their
own weapons.’

‘J admit that there is great truth in your
observations, Lionel; and that is all the
answer I shall give.’60

 

‘IT remained outside the door while old
Roberts signed the paper, and the oath was
administered. Sir Thomas put many ques-
tions afterwards. He inquired the residence
of his daughter, Mrs. Green, and then they
both went*away. As soon as they were
gone, I went in to old Roberts, and said,

« «Well, now, sir, do you not feel happier
that you have made the confession ?”’

“«*Ves, replied he, ‘I do, boy; but still
I am scared when I think of Lady R——
and your aunt Green; they'll be so angry.”

‘“ Pve been thinking that I had better go
up to Mrs. Green,’ I said, ‘‘and prepare
her for it. I can pacify her, I’m sure, when
I explain matters. I must have gone away
the day after to-morrow, and I’ll go up to
London to-morrow.”

‘‘Well, perhaps it will be as well,” re-
plied old Roberts; ‘‘and yet I wish you
could stay and talk to me—I've no one to
talk to me now.”

‘Thinks I, I have made you talk to some
purpose, and have no inclination to sit by
your bedside any longer; however, I kept
up the appearance to the last, and the next
morning set off for London. I arrived three
days before I saw you first, which gave me
time to change my sailor’s dress for the suit
I now wear. I have not yet been to Mrs.
Green, for I thought I would just see you,
and ask your advice. And now, Miss Va-
lerie, you have my whole history.’

‘IT once more congratulate you, with all
my heart,’ replied its offering my hand to
iionclk ie jaeeed it respectful lly, and as he
was in the act, one of the maids opened the
door, and told me that Lady M—— had
been some time waiting to seeme. I believe
I coloured up, although I had no cause for
blushing; and wishing Lionel good-bye, I
desired him to call on Sunday afternoon,
and I would remain at home to see him.

It was on Thursday that this interview
took place with Lionel, and on the Sat ur-
day I received a letter from Lady R——’'s
solicitor, by which I was shocked by the in-
formation of her ladyship having died at
Caudebec, a small town on the river Seine ;
and begging to know whether I could re-
ceive him that afternoon, as he was anxious
to communicate with me. I answered by
the person who brought the letter, that I
would receive him at three o'clock ; and he
made his appearance at the hour appointed.
He informed me that Lady R—— had left
Havre in a fishing-boat, with the resolution
of going up to Paris by that strange convey-
ance; that having no protection from the
weather, she had been wet for a whole day,

VALERIE.

 

  

without changing her clothes; and on her
arrival at Caudebec, had been taken with a
fever, which, from the ignorance of the
faculty in that sequestered place, had proved
fatal. Her maid had just written the intel-
ligence, inclosing the documents from the
authorities substantiating the fact.

‘You are not, perhaps, aware, miss, that
you are left her executrix ?

‘T her executrix !’ exclaimed I, with as-
tonishment.

‘Ves, replied Mr. Selwin- ‘ Before She
left town she made an alteration in her will;
and stated to me that you would be able to
find the party most intexested in it, and that
you had a document in your hands which
would explain everything.’

‘T have a sealed paper which she inclosed
to me, desiring I would not open it, un less I
heard of her death, or had her permission.’

‘It must be that to which she refers, I
presume,’ replied he. ‘I have the will in
my pocket ; it will be as well to read it to
you, as you are her executrix.’

Mr. Selwin then produced the will, by
which Lionel Dempster, her nephew, was
left her sole heir ; and by a codicil, she had,
for the love she bore me, as she stated in
her own handwriting, left me £500 as her
executrix, and all her jewcls and wearing
apparel.

‘T congratulate you on your legacy, Miss
de Chatenceuf,’ said he; ‘and now, per-
haps, you can tell me where I can find this
nephew ; for I must say it is the first that I
ever heard of him.’

‘J believe that I can point him out, sir,’
replied I ; ‘but the most important proofs,
I sus spect, are to be found in the paper which
I fee not yet read.’

‘T will then, if you please, no longer tres-
pass on you,’ said Mr. Selwin, ‘when you
wish me to call again, you will oblige me by
sending word, or writing by post.’

‘The departure of Mr. Selwin was quite a
telief to me. I longed to be alone, that I
might be left to my own reflections, and also
that I might peruse the document which had
been confided to me by Boor Lady R——. I
could not help feeling much shocked at her
death —more so when I considered her liber-
ality towards me, and.the confidence she re-
eposed in one with whom she had but a short
acquaintance. It was like her nevertheless;
who but Lady R-—— would ever have
thought of making a young person so un-
protected and so unacquainted as I was with
business—a foreigner to boot—the executrix
of her will ; and her death occasioned by such
a mad freak—-and Lionel now restored to hisposition and his fortune—altogether it was
overwhelming, and after a time I relieved
myself with tears. I was still with my
handkerchief to my eyes, when Lady M——
came into the room.

‘Crying, Miss Chatenceuf,’ said her lady-
ship, ‘it is‘at the departure of a very dear
friend.’

There was a sort of sneer on her face as
she said this ; and I replied—

‘Yes, my lady, it is for the departure of a
dear friend, for Lady R—— is dead.’

‘Mercy, you don’t say so; and what are
these gentlemen who have been calling upon
you?’

‘One is her solicitor, madam,’ replied I,
‘and the other is a relative of hers.’

‘A relation; but what has the solicitor
called upon you for? if it is not an intrusive
question.’

‘No, my lady ; Lady R—— has appointed
me her executrix.’

‘TFexecutrix ! well I now do. believe that
Lady R--— was mad!’ exclaimed Lady
M——. ‘I wanted you to come up to my
boudoir to consult you about the pink satin
dress, but I fear your important avocation
will not allow you at present, so.I will leave
you till you area little recovered.’

‘I thank you, my lady,’ said I, ‘I will be
more myself to-morrow, and will then be at
your disposal.’

Her ladyship then left the room. I was
not pleased at her manner, which was very
different from her usual courtesy towards
me; but I was not in a state of mind to
weigh well all that she said, or how she saidit.
I hastened to my room to look for the paper
which Lady R—— had inclosed to me pre-
vious to her departure. I will give the whole
contents to my readers.

‘My DEAR VALERIE,—

‘T will not attempt to account for the ex-
treme predilection which I, an old woman
in comparison, immediately imbibed for you
before we had been an hour in company.
Some feelings are unaccountable and inex-
plicable, but I felt a sympathy, a mesmeric
attraction, if I may use the term, which was
uncontrollable at our first meeting, and
which increased every day during our resi-
dence together. It was not the feeling ofa
mother towards a child—at least I think not,
for it was mingled with a certain degree of
awe and presentiment of evil if ever we
parted again. I felt as if you were my /a/e,
and never has this feeling departed from
me. On the contrary, now that we sepa-
rate, it has become stronger than ever.

   

VALERIE.

6r

How little do we know. of the mysteries of
the mind, as wellas of the body! We know
that we are fearfully and wonderfully made,
and that is all. That there are influences
and attractions uncontrollable and unex-
plained, I feel certain. Often have I re-
flected and wondered on this as I have lain
in bed and meditated ‘‘even to madness,”
but have been unable to remove the- veil.
[Alas, poor Lady R——, thought I, T doubt
it not, you were madder than I thought you
were.] Imagine, then, my grief and
horror when I found that you had deter-
mined to leave me, dear Valerie. It was to
me as the sentence of death ; but I felt that
I could not resist ; it was my fate, and who
can oppose its decrees? It would indeed
have pained your young and generous heart
if you knew how I suffered, and still suffer
from your desertion ; but I considered it as
a judgment on me—a visitation upon me for
the crimes of my early years, and which I
am now about to confide to you, as the only
person in whom I feel confidence, and that
justice may be done to one whom I have
greatly injured. I would not die without
reparation, and that reparation I intrust to
you, as from my own pen I can explain that
without which, with all my good intentions
towards the party, reparation might be
difficult. But I must first make you ac-
quainted with the cause of crime ; and to do
this you must hear the events of my early
life.

‘My father, Sir Alexander Mostyn, had
four children, two sons and two daughters.
I was the first-born, then my two brothers,
and afterwards, at an interval, my sister ; So
that there was a difference of eight years be-
tween me and my sister Ellen. Our mother
died in giving birth to Ellen; we grew up;
my brothers went to Eton and college. I
remained tise sole mistress of my father’s
establishment. Haughty by nature, and my
position, the power it gave me, the respect I
received—and if you will look at the minia-
ture I enclose with this, I may, without
vanity, add, my beauty, made me imperious
and tyrannical, I had many advantageous
offers, which I rejected, before I was twenty
years ofage. My power with my father was
unbounded ; his infirmities kept him for a
long time a prisoner in his room, and my
word was law to him, as well as to the whole
household. My sister Eilen, still a child, f
treated with harshness—first, I believe, be-
cause she promised to rival me in good
looks; and secondly, because my father
showed greater affection towards her than I
liked. She was meek in temper, and neyer62 VALERIE.

complained. Time passed—I refused many
offers of marriage. I did not like to resign
my position for the authority of a husband,
and I had reached my twenty-fifth year, and
my sister Ellen was a lovely girl of seven-
teen, when it was fated that all should be
changed.

‘A Colonel Dempster came down with
my eldest brother, who was a captain in the
same regiment of guards—a more preposses-
sing person I never beheld, and for the first
time I felt that I would with pleasure give
up being at the head of my father’s esta-
blishment to follow the fortunes of another
man. If my predilection was so strong, I
had no reason to complain of want of atten-
tion on his part. He courted me in the
most obsequious manner, the style more
suited to my haughty disposition, and I at
once gave way to the feelings with which he
hadinspired me. I became fervently in love
with him, and valued one of his smiles more
than an earthly crown. ‘Iwo months passed,
his original invitation had been for one
week, and he still remained. ‘The affair
was considered as arranged, not only by
myself, but by everybody else. My father,
satished that he was a gentleman by birth,
and being able to support himself by his own
means in so expensive a regiment, made no
inquiries, leaving the matter to take its own
course. But although two months had
passed away, and his attentions to me were
unremitting, Colonel Dempster had made no
proposal, which I ascribed to his awe of me,
and his diffidence as to his success. ‘This
rather pleased me than otherwise; but my
own feelings now made me wish for the
affair to be decided, and I gave him every
Opportunity that modesty and discretion
would permit. I saw little of him during
the mornings, as he went out with his gun
with the other gentlemen ; but in the even-
ings he was my constant and devoted atten-
dant. lreceived many congratulations from
female acquaintances (friends I had none)
upon my having conquered one who was
supposed to be invulnerable to the charms
of our sex, and made no disclaimer when
spoken to on the subject. Every hour I ex-
pected the declaration to be made, when,
imagine my indignation and astonishment,
at being informed one morning when I
arose, that Colonel Dempster and my sister
Ellen had disappeared, and it was reported
that they had been seen ina carriage driving
at furious speed.

‘It was but too true. It appeared that
Colonel Dempster, who had been informed
hy my brother of my temper and disposition,

 

 

and who was aware that without paying
court to me, his visit would not be extended,
and who had fallen in love with Ellen al-
most as soon as he saw her, had practised
this dissimulation towards me to enable him,
without my knowledge, to gain my sister's
affections ; that his mornings were not spent
in shooting with my brother, as was sup-
posed, but in my sister Ellen’s company ;
my brother, to whom he had acknowledged
his attachment, conniving with him to de-
ceive me. A letter from the colonel to my
father, excusing himself for the step he had
aken, and requesting him to pardon his
daughter, was brought in the same morning
and read by me. ‘‘ Very foolish of him,”
said my father ; “‘ what is the use of stealing
what you may have for asking. He might
have had Ellen if he had spoken to me ; but
I always thought that he was courting you,
Barbara.”

‘This letter, proving the truth of the re-
port, was too much for me. I fell down at
my father’s feet in a violent fit, and was car-
ried to my bed. The next day I was seized
with a brain fever, and it was doubtful if
ever my reason would return. But it did
gradually, and, after aconfinement to my
room of three months, I recovered both
health and reason, partially, I may say, for I
doubt not but that the shock I then received
has had a lasting effect upon me, and thatit
has caused me to be the unsettled, restless,
wandering thing -that Inow am, only con-
tent when in motion, and using my pen to
create an artificial excitement. . I believe
most people are a little cracked before they
begin to write. I will not assert that it isa
proof of madness, but it is a proof thata
very little more would make them mad.
Shakspeare says, ‘‘the lover, the lunatic,
and the poet, are of an imagination all com-
pact.’’ It matters little whether it is prose
or poetry ; there is often more imagination
and more poetry in prose than in rhyme.
But to proceed—

‘T arose with but one feeling—that of re-
venge; I say but one feeling, alas! I had
forgotten to mention hatred, the parent of
that revenge. I felt myself mortified and
humiliated, cruelly deceived and mocked.
My love for him was now turned to abhor-
rence, and my sister was an aversion. I felt
that I never could forgive her. My father
had not replied to the colonel’s letter ; in-
deed, the gout in his hand prevented him,
or he would probably have done so long be-
fore I left my room. Now that I was once
more at his side, he said to me,

‘** Barbara, I think it is high time to for-

ooVALERIE. 63

eive and forget. I would have answered the
colonel’s letter before, but I could not. Now
we must write and ask them to come and
pay us a visit.”

<T sat down, and wrote the letter, not ac-
cording to his dictation, which was all kind-
ness, but stating that my father would never
forgive him or my sister, and requested all
correspondence might cease, as it would be
useless.

““« Read what you have said, Barbara.”

‘I ead the letter as if it was written ac-
cording to his wishes.

“Phat will do, dearest—they'll come
back fast enough. I long to have Ellen in
my arms again—she was very precious to
me, that child, for she cost the life of your
dear mother. I want to ask her why she
ran away. I really believe that it was more
from fear of your anger than of mine, Bar-
bara.”

‘] made no reply, but folded the letter
and sealed it. .As I always opened the post-
bag, I prevented my father from: ever re-
ceiving the many letters written by my poor
sister, imploring his forgiveness, and did all
I could to excite his anger against her. At
last I found out from her letters, that they
had gone to the continent. Months passed.
My poor father fretted sadly at the silence of
Ellen, and the supposed rejection of his
kind overtures. His unhappy state of mind
had evidently an effect upon his body ; he
erew weaker and more querulous every day.
At last a letter arrived from Ellen, which I
now blush to say gave me inexpressible joy.
It announced the death of her husband—a
trifling wound on the thumb having termi-
nated in lock-jaw and death.

© « Efe js dead, then,” thought I; “if I
lost him, she has no longer possession of
him.”

‘Alas! what a demon had taken posses-
sion of me! ‘The letter further said, that
she was coming over directly, and that she
expected to be shortly confined. ‘This letter
was addressed to me, and not to my father.
The death of her husband did not diminish
my hatred against my sister ; on the con-
trary. I felt as if I had her now in my power,
and that my revenge upon her was about to
be accomplished. After meditating upon
what course I should pursue, determined
to write to her. I did so, stating that my
father’s anger was not to be appeased ; that
1 had tried all I could to soften his wrath,
but in vain; that he was growing weaker
every day, and I thought her rash conduct
had been the cause of it; that I did not
think that he could last much longer, and I

would make another appeal to him in her
favour, which the death of her husband
would probably occasion to be more suc-
cessful.

‘In a fortnight I had a reply, in which
my poor sister invoked blessings on my head
for my supposed kindness, and told me that
she was in England, and expected every
hour to be confined; that she was ill in
body and in spirits, and did not think that
she could get over it. She begged me, by
the remembrance of our mother, who died
giving her birth, that I would come to her.
Surely I might have forgotten my enmity
after all that the poor girl had sufferec ; but
my heart was steeled.

‘On consideration, I now thought proper
to tell my father that Colonel Dempster was
dead, and my sister returned to England,
adding her request that I would attend her
in her confinement, and my willingness so to
do.” My poor father was much shocked,
and begged me in a tremulous voice to set
off immediately. I promised so to do, but
requested that he would not say a word to
any one as to the cause of my absence until
he heard from me, as it would occasion
much talk among the servants, and perhaps
ill-natured remarks might be made. He
promised, and I departed, with a maid who
had been my nurse, and upon whose secrecy
I thought I could rely. What my intentions
were, I can hardly say ; all I knew was,
that my revenge was not satiated, and I
would leave no opportunity of wreaking it
that offered.

‘I found my sister in the very pangs of
labour, heart-broken at the supposed re-
sentment of my father, and his refusal of his
forgiveness. I did not alleviate her misery
by telling her the truth, which I might have
done. I was indeed a demon, or possessed
by one.

‘She died giving birth to a boy. I then
felt sorrow, until I looked at the child, and
saw that it was the image of the colonel—
the man who had caused me such misery.
Again my passions were roused, and I vowed
that the child should never know his father.
I made my maid believe that the lady I
visited was an old schoolfellow, and never

mentioned my sister's name, at least I
thought so at the time, but I afterwards
found that I had not deceived her. I per-
suaded her to take the child to her father’s,
saying that I had promised my friend on
her deathbed that I would take care of it,
but that it must be a secret, or invidious re-
marks would be made. I then returned to
Culverwood Hall, dropping my nurse andthe child on my way, and reported to my
father my sister's death, of course conceai-
ing that the child was living. Sir Alexander
was much affected, and wept bitterly; in-
deed, from that day he rapidly declined.

‘I had now satiated my revenge, and was
sorry when I had done so. Until then I
had been kept up by excitement, now all ex-
citement was over, and I had time for re-
flection. I was miserable, and in a state of
constant warfare with my conscience, but in
vain ; the more I reflected, the more I was
dissatisfied with myself, and would have
given worlds that I could recall what I had
done.

‘At this time Sir Richard R—-— came
down on avisit. He admired me, proposed,
and was accepted, chiefly that I might re-
move from the hall, than for any other
cause. I thought that new scenes and
change of place would make me forget, but
I was sadly mistaken. I went away with
my husband, and as soon as I was away, I
was in a constant fright lest my nurse should
betray me to my father, and begged Sir
Richard to shorten his intended tour and
allow me to return to the hall, as the ac-
counts of my father’s health were alarming.
My husband consented) and I had not been
at the hall more than a fortnight when my
father's death relieved me from further
anxiety on that score.

‘Another fear now possessed me; I saw
by my father’s will that he had left £5,000
to me and also to my sister ; in case of one
dying, the survivor to have both sums; but
the same cause of alarm was in my great
aunt’s will. My great aunt had left f, 10,000
to me and £10,000 to my sister Ellen, to be
settled upon us at our marriage, and in case
of either dying without issue, the survivor to
be legatee. ‘Thus in two instances, by con-
cealing the birth of the child, I was depriy-
ing it of its property, and obtaining it for
myself. ‘That I was ignorant of these points
is certain, and unfortunate it was that it was
so, for had I known it, I would not have
dared to conceal the birth of the child, lest
I should have been accused of having done
so for pecuniary considerations, and I well
knew, that if betrayed by my nurse, such
would be the accusation made against me. I
would willingly, even now, have acknow-
ledged the child as my nephew, but knew
not how to do so, as my husband had pos-
session? of the money, and I dared not con-
fess the crime that I had been guilty of. If
ever retribution fell upon any one, it fell up-
on me. My life was one of perfect misery,
and when I found that my nurse and her

 

64 VALERID.

father objected to keeping the secret any
longer, I thought I should have gone dis-
tracted. I pointed out to them the ruin they
would entail upon me, and gave my solemn
promise that I would see justice done to the
child. This satisfied them. For several years
I lived an unhappy life with my husband,
until I was at last relieved by his death.
You may ask how it was that I did not ac-
knowledge the child at his death; the fact
was, that I was afraid. I had put him -to
school, and he was then twelve or thirteen
years old. I removed him to my own house,
with the intention of so doing, and because
my nurse and her father reminded me of inv
promise ; but when he was in my house, I
could not see my way, or how I could tell
the story without acknowledging my guilt;
and this pride prevented.

‘I remained thus irresolute, every day
putting off the confession, till the boy, from
first being allowed to remain in the drawing-
room, sank down into the kitchen. Yes,
Valerie, Lionel, the page, the lacquey, is
Lionel Dempster, my nephew. I said that
I could not bear to make the avowal, and
such is the case. At last I satisfied myself
that what I did was for the boy’s good.
Alas ! how easily we satisfy ourselves when it
suits our views. I had left him my property,
I had educated him, and I said, by being
brought up in an humble position, he will
be cured of pride, and will make a better
man. Bad reasoning, I acknowledge,

‘Valerie, I have left you my executrix, for
even after my death, I would as much as
possible avoid exposure. I would not be
the talk of the town, even fora fortnight,
and it certainly will not help Lionel, when
if is known to all the world that he has
served as a footman. My solicitor knows
not who my nephew is, but is referred to
you to produce him. Ina small tin box in
the closet of my bed-room, you will find all
the papers necessary for his identification,
and also the names and residence of the
parties who have been my accomplices in
this deed ; also all the intercepted letters of
my poor sister’s. You must be aware that
Lionel is not only entitled to the property I
have left him, but also to his father's pro-
perty, which, in default of heirs, passed away
to others. Consult with my solicitor to take
such steps as are requisite, without incul-
pating me more than is necessary; but if
required, let all be known to my shame,
rather than the lad should not be put in
possession of his rights.

‘You will, Iam afraid, hate my memory
after this sad disclosure ; but in my extenu-VALERIE.

ation recall to mind how madly I loved,
how cruelly I was deceived. Remember,
also, that if not insane, I was litile better at
the time I was so criminal; and may it
prove to you a lesson how difficult it is,
when once you have stepped aside into
the path of error, ever to recover the right
track.

“You now know all my sufferings, all my
crimes. You now know why I have been,
not without truth, considered as a person
eccentric to folly, and occasionally on the
verge of madness. Forgive me and pity
me, for I have indeed been sufficiently
punished by an ever-torturing conscience !

‘BARBARA R O°

 

CHAPTER IX.

I put the papers down on the table as soon
as I had finished them, and for a long while
was absorbed in meditation.

‘Is it possible,’ thought I, ‘ that love dis-
appointed can turn to such fury—can so
harden the heart to all better feelings—in-
duce a woman to shorten the days of her
parent—to allow a sister to remain in painful
error on her death-bed, and wreak vengeance
upon an innocent being, regardless of all
i Grant, then, that I may never yield
to such a passion! Who would have ever
imagined, that the careless, eccentric Lady
R—— had such a load of crime weighing her
down, and daily and hourly reminded of it
by the presence of the injured party ? How
callous she must have become by habit, to
still delay doing an act of justice—how
strange that the fear of the world and its
opinion should be greater than the fear of
God!

This last remark proved how little I yet
knew of the world, and then my thoughts
went into another direction. As Ihave al-
ready said, I had been brought up as a
Catholic ; but, aftermy grandmother's death,
T had little encouragement or example shown
me in religious duties. Now, having been
more than two years in England, and con-
tinually with Protestants, I had gone to the
established Protestant church with those I
resided with at first ; because I considered
it better to go to that church, although I
knew it to be somewhat at variance with my
own, tather than go to no church atall, and
by habit I was gradually inclining to Pro-
testantism ; but now the idea came across
my mind, if Lady R—— had confessed as
we Catholics do, this secret could not have

justice ?

 

65
been kept solong; and, if she withheld her-
self from the confessional, had her agents
been Catholics, the secret would have
been divulged to the priest by them, and
justice would have been done to Lionel ;
and, having made this reflection, I felt
as it were, that I was again a sincere
Catholic.

After a little more reflection I put away
the papers, wrote a letter to Mr. Selwyn, the
solicitor, requesting that he would call upon
me the following morning, and then went
down to Lady M é

‘T suppose that we shall not have much
of the pleasure of your company, Miss de
Chatenceuf,’ said her ladyship, ‘now that
you have such a novel occupation ?

‘It is a very distressing one,’ replied I,
‘and I wish Lady R—— had not paid me
such a compliment. Might I trespass upon
your ladyship’s kindness to request the loan
of the carriage for half an hour to obtain
some papers from Lady R——'s house in
Baker-street ?’

‘Oh, certainly,’ replied her ladyship.
‘Pray, have you seen Lady R——’s will?”

‘Yes, madam.’

‘ And how has she disposed of her pro-

erty >

‘She has left it all to her nephew, Lady

 

‘Nephew! I never heard her speak of a
nephew before. Sir Richard had no nephews
or nieces, for he was an only son, and the
title has now gone into the Vivian branch,
and I never heard of her having a nephew.
And what has she left you, mademoiselle, if
it is not asking too much?’ ~

‘Lady R—— has left me £500, my lady.’

‘Indeed, well then, she pays you for your
trouble. But really, Miss de Chatenceuf, I
do wish you could put off this business until
after the marriages. I amso hurried and wor-
ried that I really do not know which way to
turn, and really I have felt your loss these
last two days more than you can imagine.
You are so clever, and have so much taste,
that we cannot get on without you. It's all
your own fault,’ continued her ladyship,
playfully, ‘you are so goodnatured, and
have made us so dependent upon you, and
we cannot let you off now. Nothing 1n the
trousseaux is approved of unless stamped
by the taste of Mademoiselle Valerie de
Chatenceuf. Now, a week cannot make a
ereat difference, and lawyers love delay ;
Will you oblige me, therefore, by leaving
Lady R——’s affairs for the present ?

‘Certainly, Lady M——,' replied I. ° I
will stop a letter I was about to send to her
3ncaa

 

 

 

 

   

66 VALERIE.

solicitor, and write another to the effect you
wish, and I will not repeat my request for
the carriage until after the marriages have
taken place.’

‘Many thanks,’ replied her ladyship, and
I went out, took my letter from the hall
table, and wrote another to Mr. Selwyn,
stating that I-could not enter into any busi-
ness until the following week, when I should
be prepared to receive him.

I wrote another to the same effect to
Lionel, requesting him not to call again, but
that I would write and let him know where
to meet me as soon as I was more at leisure.
Indeed, I was glad that Lady M—— had
made the request, as the trouble, and chat-
tering, and happy faces, which were sur-
rounding the ¢vousseaux, and the constant
employment and appeals made to me, drove
away the melancholy which Lady R——'s
affairs had occasioned me. I succeeded to
a great degree in recovering my spirits, and
exerted myself to my utmost, so that every-
thing was complete and satisfactory to all
parties two days before the wedding was to
take place.

At last the morning came, The brides
were dressed, and went down into the draw-
ing-room, frightened and perplexed, but
their tears had been shed above. ‘The pro-
cession of carriages moved on to Hanover-
square ; there was a bishop of course, and
the church was filled with gay and tastefully-
dressed women. ‘The ceremony was per-
formed, and the brides were led into the
vestry-room to recover, and receive kisses
and congratulations. Then came the ban-
quet, which nobody hardly tasted except the
bishop, who had joined too many couples in
his lifetime to have his appetite at all af-
fected by the ceremony, and some two or
three others who were old stagers on the
road of life, and who cared little whether it
was a wedding-breakfast, or refreshments
after a funeral.

At last, after a most silent entertainment,
the brides retired to change their dresses,
and, when they reappeared, they were
handed into the carriages of their respective
bridegrooms as soon as they could be torn
away from the kisses and tears of Lady
M——, who played the part of a bereaved
mother to perfection. No one to have seen
her then, raving like another Niobe, would
have imagined that all her thoughts, and
endeavours, and manceuvres,’ for the last
three years, had been devoted to the sole
view of getting them off; but Lady M——
was a perfect actress, and this last scene was
well got up,

As her daughters were led down to the
carriages, | thought that she was going to
faint ; but it appeared, on second thoughts,
that she wished first to see the girls depart
in their gay equipages ; she therefore tot-
tered to the window, saw them get in, looked
at Newman's grays and gay postillions—at
the white and silver favours—the dandy
valet and smart lady’s-maid in each rumble.
She saw them start at a rattling pace.
watched them till they turned the corner of
the square, and then—and not till then—fell
senseless in my arms, and was carried by the
attendants into her own room.

After all, the poor woman must have
been very much worn out, for she had been
for the last six weeks in a continual worry
lest any conire-temps should happen, which
might have stopped or delayed the happy
consummation.

The next morning her ladyship did not
leave her room, but sent word down that the
carriage was at my service; but I was
fatigued and worn out, and declined it for
that day. I wrote to Lionel and to Mr.
Selwyn, desiring them to meet me in Baker
Street at two o'clock the next day ; and then
passed the day quietly, in company with
Amy, the third daughter of Lady M j
whom I have before mentioned. She was a
very sweet, unaffected girl ; and I was more
partial to her than to her sisters, who had
been just married, J had paid great atten-
tion to her, for she had a fine voice, and did
credit to my teaching, and there was a great
intimacy between us, arising on my part from
my admiration of her ingenuous and amiable
disposition, which even her mother's exam-
ple to'the contrary could not spoil.

After some conversation relative to her
sisters and their husbands, she said,

‘I hardly know what to do, Valerie. I
love you too well to be a party to your being
ill-treated, and yet I fear that you will be
pained if I tell you what I have heard about
you. -I know also that you will not stay, if
I do tell you, and that will give me great
pain; but zhaz is a selfish feeling which 1
could overcome. What I do not like is
hurting your feelings. Now, tell me can-
didiy, ought I to tell you, or not?’

«{ will give you my opinion candidly,’ re-
plied I. ‘You have said too little or too
much. You speak of my being ill-treated ;
certainly, I should wish to guard against
that, although I cannot imagine who is my
enemy.’

“Had I not heard it, I could not have be-
lieved it either,’ replied she. ‘I thought
that you had come here on a visitas a friend ;but what makes me think that I ought to
tell you is, that there will be something said
against your character, which I am sure
must be false.’

‘Now, indeed, I must request that you
will tell me everything, and soften nothing
down, but tell me the whole truth. Whois
it that intends to attack my character?’

«T am very sorry—very sorry to say, it is
mamma, replied she, wiping away a tear.

‘Lady M——!' exclaimed I,

‘Yes,’ replied she; ‘but now you must
listen to all I have to say. Iam sure that I
am doing right in telling you, and therefore
nothing shall prevent me. I love my mother
—what a sad thing it is that I cannot respect
her! I was in the dressing-room, when my
mother was lying on the sofa in her bed-
room this morning, when her great friend,
Mrs. Germane, came up. She sat talking

_ with my mother for some time, and they ap-
peared either to forget or not to care if I
heard them, for at last your name was men-
tioned.

«Well, she does dress you and your
girls beautifully, I must say,” said Mrs.
Germane. ‘‘Who is she? They say that
she is of a good family ; and how came she
to live with you as a milliner ?”

« “(My dear Mrs. Germane, that she does
live with me as a milliner is true, and it was
for that reason only I invited her to the
house; but she is not aware that I retain
her in that capacity. She is, I understand
from Mrs. Bathurst,-of a noble family in
France, thrown upon the world by circum-
stances, very talented, and very proud. Her
extreme taste in dress I discovered when she
was living with Mrs, Bathurst; and when I
found that she was about, through my
management, to leave Lady R——, I in-
vited her here as a sort of friend, and to
stay with my daughters—not a word did I
mention about millinery ; I had too much

tact for that. Even when her services were

required, I made it appear as her own offer,
and expressed my thanks for her condescen-
sion, and since that, by flattery and manage-
nent, she has continued to dress my daugh-
ters for me; and, I must say, that I do be-
lieve it has been owing to her exquisite taste
that my daughters have gone off so well.”
«« Well, you have managed admirably,”

Germane; ‘‘but, my dear

what will you do with her

-

 

> replied Lady M——, ‘‘as Amy
will now come out, I shall retain her in
my employ until she is disposed of; and
then——"’

  

    

VALERIE.

 

67

*«'Yes, then will be the difficulty,” re-
plied: Mrs. Germane ; ‘‘ after having al-
lowed her to live so long with you as a
visitor, I may say, how will you get rid of
hen

““Why, I was puzzling myself about
that, and partly decided that it should be
done by mortifying her, and wounding her
feelings, for she is very proud; but, for-
tunately, I have found out something which
I shall keep to myself, until the time comes,
and then I can dismiss her at a moment's
warning.”

*««Tndeed !” said Mrs. Germane, ‘‘ what
could you have found out ?”

«« Well, E will tell you; but you must
not mention it again. My maid entered the
room the other day, when mademoiselle was
receiving a young man who called upon her,
and she found them kissing.”

«Vou don’t say so ?’

‘«rVes, a kiss was given, and my maid
saw it. ‘‘ Now, I can easily make it appear
that my maid never mentioned it to me till
the time that it may be convenient to make
use of it, and then I can send her away; and
if any questions are asked, hint at a little
impropriety of conduct.”

««* And very properly too,” replied Mrs.
Germane. ‘‘ Had I not better hint a little
beforehand to prepare people ?”

‘<* Why, it may be as well, perhaps; but
be cautious, very cautious, my dear Mrs.
Germane.”’

‘ Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, I am sorry
that I am obliged, in doing my duty to you,
to expose mamma,’ said Amy, rising up from
her chair; ‘but Iam sure that you could not
be guilty of any impropriety, and I will not
allow you to be accused of it, if it is to be
prevented.’

‘Many thanks,’ replied I. ‘My dear Amy,
you have behaved like a kind friend. I have
only, in duty to myself, to clear up the
charge against me, of impropriety. You
must not imagine me guilty of that. It is
irue that your mother’s maid did come in
when a young lad of seventeen, who was
grateful to me for the interest I took in his
welfare, and who was taking leave of me at
the time, did raise my hand to his lips and
kiss it, and had he done so before your mo-~
ther, I should not have prevented it. This
was the kiss which, as your mother asserts,
passed between us, and this is the only im-
propriety that took place. Oh, what a sad,
treacherous, selfish, wicked world this is !’
cried I, throwing myself on the sofa, and
bursting into tears.

Amy was making every attempt to console68 VALERIE.

me, and blaming herself for having made the meeting a young man, and kissing going
communication, when Lady M—— came on: but you have already explained all
down siairs into the room. that.’

“What is all this? what a scene!’ ex- ‘Amy,’ replied I, ‘after I am gone, take
claimed she. ‘Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, an opportunity of saying to Lady M 3
have you had any bad news?’ that you mentioned this to me, and tell her

“Yes, my lady,’ replied I, ‘so bad that I that my reply was, if Lady M—— knew who
am under the necessity of leaving you that young man was, how he is connected,

 

directly.’ and how large a fortune he will inherit, she
‘Indeed! may I inquire what has hap- would be very glad to see him kiss one of
pened ?’ her daughters’ hands with a different feeling

‘No, my lady, it is not in my power from that which induced him to kiss mine.’
to tell you. I have oniy to repeat, that I ‘I will, depend upon it,’ said Amy 5. and
must, with your permission, leave this house then mamma will think that she has lost a
to-morrow morning,’ good husband for me.’

“Well, mademoiselle,’ replied her lady- ‘She will meet him some of these days,’
ship, ‘I do not want to pry into your secrets, replied I; ‘and what is more, he will de-
but this I must say, that where there is con- fend me from any attack made on that
cealment, there must be wrong ; but I have score.’
lately discovered so much, that I do not ‘I will tell her that, also,’ said Amy; ‘it
wonder at concealment—nor am I, indeed will make her careful of what she says.’
Surprised at your wish to leave me.’ One of the servants then knocked at the

‘Lady M——,’ replied I haughtily, ‘I door, and said, that Lady M—— wished to
have never done anything during the time see Miss Amy.

that I have been under your roof which I ‘Wish me good-bye now,’ said I, ‘for
have to blush for—nor indeed anything that you may not be permitted to see me again.’
requires concealment. This I can proudly The dear girl embraced me cordially, and

say. If I conceal now, it is to Spare others, with tears in her eyes, left the toon. I re-
and, I may add, to spare you. Do not mained till I had finished packing, and then
oblige me to say more in presence of your sat down. Shortly afterwards her ladyship’s
daughter. It will be sufficient for me to maid came in, and delivered mean envelo

pe
hint to you, that I am now aware why Iwas from her ladyship, enclosing the salary due
invited to your house, and what are your to me, with Lady M——’s compliments

plans for dismissing me when it suits you.’ written outside.
‘Eaves-dropping, then, is a portion of | I saw no more of Lady M—— or her
your character, mademeoiselle,’ cried Lady daughter that evening. I went to bed, and, as
1-——, colouring up to the temples, in my former changes, I reflected what steps
‘No, madam, such is not the case, and I should take. As for the treatment I had
that is ali the answer I shall Sive ; it is suf received, I was now to a certain degree har-
ficient for you that you are exposed, and I dened to it, and my feelings certainly were
do not envy your present feelings. I have not so acute as when, the first time, I had
only to repeat, that I shall leave this house received a lesson of what I might expect
to-morrow morning, and I will not further through life from the heartlessness and self-
trouble your ladyship with my company.’ ishness of the world ; but in the present case
I then walked out of the room, and as T there was a difficulty which did not exist in
passed Lady M——, and observed her con- the former—I was going away without
fusion and vexation, I felt that it was she knowing where'I was to go. After a little
who was humiliated, and not me. I went up thought, I’determined that I would seelx
to my room and commenced my prepara- Madame Gironac, and ascertain whether she
tions for immediate departure, and had been could not receive me until I had decided
more than a hour busy in packing-up, when upon my future plans.
Amy came into my room, My thoughts then recurred to other points,
‘Oh, Valerie, how sorry I am—but you I recollected that I had to meet Mr. Selwyn
have behaved just as I think that you ought and Lionel, in Baker Street, and I resolved
to have done; and how very kind of you that I would go there with my effects early
not to say that I told vou. My mother was the next morning, and leave them in charge
So angry after you lett ; said that the maids of the cook, who was taking care of the
must have been listening, and declares she house. JI calculated also the money that I
will give them all warning ; but I know that had in possession and in prospect. I had
she will not do that. She spoke about your sucha good stock of clothes when I came toVALERIE. a

England with Madame Bathurst, that I had
7 occasion, during the two years and more

hat I had now been in England, to make
ae purchases of conse quence —indeed, I
h. id not expended more than the twenty
pounds I had brought with me. I had re-
ceived some few presents from Lady M——
and Madame Bathurst, and a great many
from Lady R——. Altogether, I calculated
hat I had about two hundred and sixty
pounds in my desk, for Lady R—— had
given me one hundred pounds for only a
portion of the year ; then there was the five
hundred pounds ea she had left me, be-
sides her wearing apparel and trinkets, which
last I knew to be of value. It was a little
fortune to one in my position, and I resolved
to consult Mr. Selwyn as to the best way of
disposing of it. Having wound up my
meditations with the most agreeable portion
of thera I fell asleep, and in the morning
woke up refreshed.

Lady M——’s maid, who had always bee
partial to me, for I had taught her Gane
things valuable to a lady’s maid, came in
early, and said that she knew that I was go-
ing away, which she regretted very much. I
replied that I should leave as soon as possi-
ble, but I wanted some Trea fast. This she
brought up to my room.

I had not finished when Amy came in the
room and said, ‘I have permission to come
and wish you good-bye, Valerie. I told
mamma what you said about the person
who was seen to kiss your hand. She ac-
knowledges now that it was your hand that
was kissed, and she was so astonished, for
she knows that you never tell stories ; and,
what do you think, she.desired me to find
out what was the young gentleman’s name
that had so large a fortune. I said I would
if I could, and so I will, by asking you out-
right, not by any other means. I don't want
to > know his name,’ continued A e, laughing,
‘but I’m sure mamma has in her mind fixed
upon him for a busband for me, and would
now give the world that you were not going
away, that through you he might be intro-
duced to her.’

‘LT cannot tell you, my dear,’ 1

‘J am not at liberty to mention it at pre
- otherwise I would with pleasure. “Ean
going now. May God bless you, my dear-
est, and may you always continue to be th
same frank and amiable creature that you
are now! I leave you with regret, and I
pray earnestly for your happiness. You
have made me very happy by telling me th rat
your mamma acknowledges that it was my
hand that was kissed ; after that, she will

 

 

hardly attempt to injure me, as she -pro-
posed.’

‘Oh no, Valerie, I think she is afraid to
do so now. ‘This young man of fortune has
made her think differently, He would, of
course, protect you from slander, and expose
her if she attempted it. Then, good-bye.’

We embraced, and then I ordered a
hackney coach to be called, and drove with
my luggage to Baker-street. The cook
welcomed me, saying that she expected my
coming, as Mr. Selwyn had called to tell
her of Lady R——’s death, and that when
she ce to whom she was to look for her
wages, he had told her that Iwas the person
who was to settle all her ladyship’s affairs,
as everything was left on my hands. She
showed me a letter from Martha, Lady
R ’s maid, by which I found that they
would probably arrive in Baker-street that
very day, with all’ her eee effects.

oI suppose you will sleep here, miss?
said the cook. ‘I have aired your bed, and
your room is all ready.’

I replied that I wished to do so fora night
or two, at all events, as I had a good deal
to attend to, but that Mr. Selwyn would call
at one o'clock, and that F would speak to
him on the subjec

I had requested ‘Lionel to call at twelve,
an hour Den to Mr. Selwyn, that I
might make him acquainted with the con-
tents of Lady R——’s papers addressed to
me. He was punctual to the time, and I
shook hands with him, saying, ‘ Lionel, I
congratulate you at now having proofs of
your being the nephew of Lady Res and
also at her havi ing left you considerable pro-
perty. You will be surprised to hear that
she has appointed me her executrix.’

‘I am not at allsurprised,’ replied Lionel,
‘IT am sure she has done a wise thing at
last,’

‘That is more ihan Iam,’ replied I; ‘ but
But, Lionel,

 

I appreciate the compliment.
there is no time to be lost, as.Mr. Selwyn,
the law , is coming here at one o'cloc ck,

 

and before he comes, I wish you to read
over Lady R ’s confession, if I may sc
call it, which will explain the motives of her
conduct towards you. I am afraid that it
will not extenuate, her conduct ; but recollect
that she has now made all the reparation in
her power, and that we must forgive as we
hope to be forgiven. Sit down and read
these papers, W hile I unpack one or two of
my boxes pease

‘The last time that we were here, I corded
them up for you, Miss Valerie; I hope that
you will allow me to assist you again.76

 

‘Thank you, but vou will have no time to
read what Lady R—— has said, and the
cook and I can manage without you.’

I then left the room and went upstairs. I
was still busy in my room when a knock at
the street door announced the atrival of Mr.
Selwyn, and I went down into the drawing-
room to meet him. I asked Lionel, who
was walking up and down the room, whether
he had finished the papers, and he replied
by a nod of the head. ‘The poor lad ap-
peared very miserable, but Mr. Selwyn en-
tered, and I could not say more to him.

“I hope I have not kept you waiting,
Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf,’ said he.

“No, indeed. I came here at ten o'clock,
for I have left Lady M——, and I may as
well ask at once whether there is any objec-
tion to my taking a bed in this house for a
few nights ?’

‘Objection! Why, mademoiselle, you
are sole executrix, and everything is at pre-
sent yours, in fact, for the time. You have,
therefore, a right to take possession until he
appears, and the will is proved.’

‘The hero is before you, Mr. Selwyn.
Allow ime to introduce you to Mr. Lionel
Dempster, the nephew of Lady R——.’

Mr. Selwyn bowed to Lionel, and con-
gratulated him upon his accession to the
property.

Lionel returned the salute, and then said,
‘Mademoiselle Chatenceuf, I am convinced
that in this case Mr. Selwyn must be made
a party to all that has occurred. ‘The read-
ing of these papers has rather disturbed me,
and it would be painful to me to hear every-
thing repeated in my presence. - With your
permission I will walk out for an hour, and
leave you to explain everything to Mr. Sel-
wyn; for | am sure that [-shall need his ad-
vice. Here is the confession of old Roberts,
which I shall leave for his perusal. Good
morning, then, for the present.’

So saying, Lionel took up his hat and
quitted the room.

‘ He is a very prepossessing young man,’
observed Mr, Selwyn. ‘What a fine eye he
has !’ :

“Yes,’ replied I; ‘and now that he h:
so large a property, others will find out tha
he is a prepossessing yoyng man with fin
eyes; but sit down Mr. Selwyn, for you have
to listen to a very strange narrative.’

When he had finished it, he laid it down
on the table, saying, ‘This is perhaps the
Strangest history that has ever come to my
knowledge during thirty years of practice.
And so she brought him up as a footman.
I now recognize him again as the lad who

 

a

crm

oO

VALERIE.

      
   
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
    
   
  
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
  
   
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 

has so often opened the door for me; but f
confess I never should have done so if I had
not heard what you have now communi-
cated.’

‘He was always much above his position,’
replied I. ‘ He is very clever and very amus-
ing ; at least I found him so when he served
me in his menial capacity, and certainly was
much more intimate with him than 1 ever
thought I could be with aservant. At all
events, his education has not been neg-
lected.’

‘Strange! very strange!’ observed Mr.
Selwyn, ‘this is a curious world ; but I fear
that his history cannot be kept altogether a
secret ; for you must recollect, mademoiselle,
that his father’s property must be claimed,
and no doubt it will be disputed. I must
go to Doctors’ Commons, and search out
the will, at once, of Colonel Dempster ; he
intends, as I presume he does by what he
said just now, toemploy me. After all, it
will, if known, be but a nine days’ wonder,
and do him no harm; for he proves his
birth by his appearance, and his breeding is
so innate as to have conquered all his dis-
advantages.’

‘When I knew him asa servant, I thought
him an intelligent and witty lad, but I never
could have believed that he would have be-
come so'improved in such a short time; not
only his manners, but his language is so
different.’

‘It was zz him,’ replied Mr. Selwyn; ‘as
a domestic, the manners and language of a
gentleman would have been out of place,
and he did not attempt them ; now that he
knows his position, he has called them forth.
We must find out this Mrs. Green, and have
her testimony as soon possible. Of course,
after the deposition of old Roberts, Sir
Thomas Moystyn will not be surprised when
I communicate to him the confession -of
Lady R——, and the disposition of her

r. In fact, the only difficulty willbe
in recovery of the property of his father,
Colonel Dempster, and—’

A knock at the street door announced the
return of Lionel. When he entered the
room, Mr, Selwyn said,

‘Mr. Dempster, that you are the nephew
of Lady R——, to whom she has bequeathed
her property, and what was your own, is
sufficiently established in my opinion. I
will, therefore, with your permission, read
her ladyship’s will.’

Lionel took a seat, and the will was read.
When it was finished, Mr, Selwyn said,

‘Having been Lady R——'s legal adviser
for many years, I am able to tell you, within

 

  

 

seal

 

rope
+} >
L ,

7}

 

Lica trifle, what property you will receive.
There are £57,000 three per cents; this
house and furniture, which I purchased the
lease of for her, and which is only saddled
vith a ground-rent for the next forty years ;
and [I find a balance of £1,200 at the
banker's. . Your father's property, Mr.
Dempster, of course, I know nothing about,
but will ascertain this to-morrow by ne
to Doctors’ Commons. I think I may ven-
ture to assure the executrix that she will run
no risk in allowing you to take any sum of
money you may require from the balance in
the bank, as soon as the will is proved,
which had better be done to-morrow, if it
suits Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf.’

‘Certainly,’ replied I; ‘I am
get rid of my trust as soon as possil
give Mr. Dempster possession. ‘There is a
tin box of papers, Mr. Selwyn, which I can-
not get at till the return of Lady R——'s
maid, as the keys are with Lady. R——’s
effects, which she is bringing home with
her
‘Yes, they will no doubt be important,’
plied Mr. Selwyn ; “ and now, Mr. Demp-
er, if you are in want of any ready cash, I
hall be your banker with pleasure till you
can have possession of your own.’

‘I thank you, sir, I am not in want of
any,’ replied Lionel, ‘for the present
as soon as I may be permitied t
money from the bank, I shall be gla
is not my intention to remain in En

‘Indeed!’ exclaimed I.

‘No, Mademoiselle Valerie,’ said Lionel.
‘IT am but too well aware of many de-
ficiencies which must arise from the position
I have been so long in, not to wish to re-
medy them as soon as possible ; and, before
I appear as the heir of Lady R——,, it is my
intention, as soon as I can, to go to Panis,
and remain there for two years, or perhaps
until Iam of age; and I think in that time
to improve myself, and make myself more
what the son of Colonel Dem - should
be. I am young yet, and capable of in-
struction.’

‘You propose a vety proper step, Mr.

empster,’ said Mr. Selwyn ; ‘and during
your absence all legal pr edings will be
over, and, if the whole affair is made public,
it will be forgotten again by the time that
you propose to return. Iam sure that the
executrix will be most happy to forward such
very judicious arrangements. I will now
take my leave, and beg Mademoiselle de
Chatenceuf to meet me at Doctors’ Com-
mons at three o'clock to-morrow ; that will
give me time to look for Colonel Dempster’s

 

 

 
 
     

>

  

di, asiait
rland.

        
 

  
 

VALERIE.

7.

will. Good morning, mademoiselle; good
morning, Mr. Dempster.

Mr. Selwyn went out, and left us alone.

‘May I ask, Miss Valerie, whether you
have left Lady M—--?’

‘Yes,’ replied I ; and I told him what had
passed, adding, ‘I stay here for a night or
two, and shall go then to Madame Gi-
ronac’s.

‘Why not stay here altogether? I hope
1 will. I shall go abroad as soon as pos-
] 3 Z
1

Nha

TAI
VOU
a
}

LI

C

‘Yes, and you are right in so doing ;: but,
Lionel, you. forget that my duty as execu-
trix will be to make the best of the estate
for you until you are of age, and this house
must be let furnished ; Mr. Selwyn told me
so while you were away ; besides, I am not
a young lady of fortune, but one most un-
fortunately dependent on the caprices of
others, and I must submit to ny fate,’

Lionel made no reply for some little while,
and then-he said,

‘I am very glad that Lady R—— has
shown the high opinion she had of you;
but I cannot forgive her treatment -of my
mother. It was too cruel; but I had better
not talk any more about it ; and [I am sure,
Miss Valerie, you must be anxious to be
alone. Good afternoon, Miss Valerie.’

‘Good-bye, Lionel, for the present,’ re-
plied I.‘ By the bye, did the cook recog=-
nize you ?’

‘Yes ; and I told her that I had given up
going out to service.’

‘J think that you had better not come
here, Lionel, till I have dismissed Lady
R——’s maid, which I shall do the day
after her < é I will meet you at Mr.
Selwyn’s office—it will be better.’

To this Lionel agreed, and we parted.

The next day the will was proved, and
Mr. Selwyn then informed us that he had
found the will of the late Colonel Dempster,
which had left his property to his child un-
born, as might be supposed, with a jointure
on the estate, which was entailed. The will,
in consequence of the supposed non-existence
of Lionel, had been proved by the next of
kin, a gentleman of large property, and of
whom report spoke highly. It was the in-
tention of Mr. Selwyn to communicate with
him directly. The probate duty, &e., had
required a large portion of the £1,200 left
in the bank, but there was still enough to
meet all Lionel’s wants for a year, if he
wished to go abroad immediately ; and an-
other dividend would be due ina month, so
that there could be no difficulty. Mr. Sel-
wyn explained all this as we drove to his

 

> ~

ek

    

il.a2 VALERIE.

chambers, where I signed some papers at
his request, and Lionel received a cheque
on the bank, and I sent by Mr. Selwyn, in-
structions to meet his drafts for the future.

This affair being arranged, Lionel stated
his intention of “quitting immediately for
Paris. He said that he would go for his pass-
port that afternoon, as there was time enough
left for him to give in hisname at the office ;
and that he would call to-morrow afternoon
to bid me farewell. He then took his leave,
and left me with Mr. Selwyn, with whom I
had a long conversation, during which I
stated to him that I had some money of my
own, as well as what had been left me by
Lady R——, which I wished to put in
safety. He recommended that I should
lodge what I then had at a banker’s, and,
as soon as I had received the rest, he would
look out for a good mortgage for me. Ee
then handed me into a coach, and bade me
farewell, stating that he would call on the
day after the morrow, at three o'clock, as by
that time Lady R——’s maid must have ar-
rived, and I should have obtained possession
of the key of the tin box, the papers in which
he was anxious to examine.

On my return to Baker-street, I found that
Lady R——’s maid had arrived, and I of
course immediately took possession of every-
thing. I then paid her her wages, and
dismissed 1 her, giving her permission to re-
main and sleep in the house, and promising
her a character. It appeared very sum-
mary to dismiss her so soon, but I was
anxious she should not see Lionel, and I
told her that, as executrix, I was not war-
ranted in keeping her a day longer than was
necessary, aS I was answerable for all ex-
penses. Having now the keys, I was able
to examine everything. 1 t found the
tin box, with various pap it; among
others, a packet, on wh was written,
‘Papers relative to my sister E len and her
child.’ I thought I would not open them
till Mr. Selwyn was present, as it might ap-
pear as if I was curious; so I laid them
aside. Ithen despatched the cook with a
note to Madame Gironac, requesting that
she would come and spend the evening with
me, as | had much to communicate to her
Indeed, I felt ‘dull alone in Suen a large
house, and I also felt the want of a sincere
friend to talk with.

 

 

  

Having nothing better to do, I opened the
various drawers oo cupboards which con-
tained the apparel, &c., of Lady R——. an
found such a mass of things t that I was as-
tonished. In her whimsical -w ay, she had
at times purchased silks and various jewels,

  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
    
 
   
  
   
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
    
 
 
  
  
  
 
    
   
  
 
 
    
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
  
   
      
 
 
  
   
   

which she had never made use of, but thrown
on one side. There were more stuffs for
making up dresses than dresses made up,—
I should say neatly double. I found one
large bundle of point-lace, some of it of
great beauty, which I presume had be-
longed to her mother, and of other laces
there was a great quantity. The jewels
which she had taken abroad with her were
very few, and such as she wore in common ;
her diamonds, and all that was of value, I
knew she had sent to her bankers a day or
two previous to her departure, and thought I
would wait till I had seen Mr. Selwyn again
before I claimed them. _

Madame Gironac came as requested, and I
then communicated to her all that had taken
place. She was delighted at my good for-
tune, and said she hoped that I would now
come and live with them, as I had the means
of living, without being subject to the ca-

rices of others ; but I could give no answer
till I knew what my property might amount
to; Wit could Pais was, to go to heras
soon as I had finished my business in Baker-
street, and tlien I would afterwards decide
what steps it would be advisable for me to
take.

After a long conversation, during which
Madame Gironazc was as lively as ever, we
separated, Madame Gironac promising to
come and pass the next day with me, and

assist me in looking over Lady R——'s
wardrobe. During the afternoon, I had
selected a good many of Lady R——'s

 

s, and some which did not please my
taste, or had been much worn, I gave to her
maid, o1 et 1e nOOwaS morning, “before her
departure 11S pleased her very much, as
she knew eae er mistress’s wardrobe had
been neaneinel to me, and did not expect
to obtain any portion of it; but the drawers
and closets were so loaded, that I could well

ufford to be generous. Madame Gironac
came to breakfast the next morning, accom-
panied by her husband, who was delighted
ie see me, and having as usual quarrelled,
after their fashion, he bounced out of the
room, declaring that he never would see
that odious little woman any more.

‘Oh, Monsieur Gironac, you forget you
promised to conie and dine here.’

“Well, well, so I did; but Mademoiselle
Valerie, that promise has prevented a
separation.’

‘It is very unlucky that you asked him,
Mademoiselle Valerie, ’ replied his wife, ‘all
my hopes are destroyed. Good-bye, Mon-
sieur Gironac, and be grateful that you have
been prevented from committing a folly ;now go, we are to be very busy, and don’t
want you.’

‘T will go, madam; and hear me,’ said
Monsieur Gironac, with mock solemnity ; ‘as
Tlive, I will not return—till dinner-time.’

He then bounced out of the room. “We
then proceeded to sort and arrange. M
dame Gironac, who wasa good judge,
the laces to be worth at least £200, an
other articles, such as silks, &c., with the

about £100 more. The
ma Os

OQ, oe
pt Ga
=
oO

 

son she knew, who ga
remaking up such things.

  
 
  

  

We were thus employed, when Lionel
called. He had obtained his passport, and
had come to wish me good-bye. When he
rose to say fi > said,

‘ Miss hardly say what my

   

feelings are towards you. Your kindness
me when I was asupposed footman, and the
_ interest you always took in anything concen
ing me, have deeply impressed me
gratitude; but I feel more. You are mucl
too young for my mother, but I fee: the re-
verence of a son, and if I c

 

 

  
  

 

 

expression, I feel towards you, think
are the feelings that a brother Id have

towards a sister.’
<T am flattered by your saying so, Lionel,’
replied I. ‘ You are now ina mucl i
1} | ll

position, or rather soon will be, than Isha
ever obtain in this world, and that you have
such feelings towards me for any little kind-
ness I have shown te you, is highly credit

able to your heart. Have youa s of
introduction to any one in Paris? butnow I!
think of it, you cannot well have.’

‘No,’ replied he ; ‘ Imay have by-and-by,
but how could I possibly obtain one at
present ?”

A thought struck me.

‘Well, Lionel, you do not know my his-
tory ; but I was once very infimate witl
lady at Paris, and although we partec
friends, she has since written kindly to me,
and I believe her to have been sincere in so
doing. I will give you a letter of introduc-
tion to her; but do not blame me if I have
been deceived in her a second time.’

I went to the table and wrote the following
short note :—

  
 
 

 

  

 

  

   
 
 

 

‘My DEAR MADAME D’'ALBRET, —

“This letter will be presented to you by a
Mr. Lionel Dempster, a young Englishman
of fortune, and agreat friend of mine. Heis

VALERIE.

73
going to reside at Paris, to improve himself,
until he comes of age; and I give him this
introduction to you for two reasons ; the first,
because I want to prove to you that, al-
though my feelings would not permit me to
accept your last kind offer, I have long for-
gotten and forgiven any little injustice you
did me: and the second, because I feel con-
vinced that in your society, and that which
you keep, he will gain more advantage than
perhaps in any other in Paris.

‘Yours, with esteem,

‘VALERIE DE CHATENGUEF.’

‘There, Lionel, this may be of use to
ou; ifnot, write aud let me know. You
rill, of course, let me hear from you occa-

 

 

‘ May heaven preserve you, Miss Valerie !
jonel. ‘I only hope the time may
arrive when I may be able to prove my

1 kissed my hand, and the tears
rolled down his cheeks as he quitted the
room.

‘He is a charming young man,’ said
adame Gironac, as soon as the door was

 

ing man, in my
1 I; ‘and lam most anxious
that he should do well. I did not think it
possible that I ever could have written again
to Madame d’Albret, but my good-will to-
wards him induced me. There is Monsieur
ironac’s knock ; so now fora quarrel, or a
reconciliation, which is it to be?’

‘Oh, we must reconcile first, and then
have a quarrel afterwards : that is the esta-
blished rule.’

Monsieur Gironac soon joined us. We
ssed a very lively evening, and it was ar-
.ged that I should in three days take up
my quarters at their house.

The next day Mr. Selwyn called at the
ime appointed, and I made over to him the
box and papers. He told me that he had

eel s, Green, and had had her full con-
fession of what took place, in corroboration
of all that was stated by Lady R—— and

 

 

 

 

old Roberts, and that he had written to Mr.
Armiger Dempster, who had succeeded to
the property of Lionel’s father.

I then told him that I wished to go with
him to the bank, to lodge the money I then
had, and to obtain Lady R——’s jewel-case
which was deposited there.

‘ Nothing like the time present,’ said Mr.
Selwyn; ‘my carriage is at the door.
will have the pleasure of taking you there
and then returning with you. But I have7 VALERIB,

another appointment, and must be so im-
polite as to request that you will hurry your
toilet as much as possible.’
This was done, and in an hour I had
J

case.

Mr. Selwyn took me back again,
having put the tin box into the carriage
wished me farewell.

Ttold him that I was about to take up my
residence with the Gironacs, gave him their
address, and then we parted.

That evening I opened the jewel-case, and
found it well stocked. ©The value of its con-
tents I could not possibly be acquainted
with.; but that so many diamonds and other
stones were of value I knewwell. I placed
the other caskets of Lady R—— in the case,
and then proceeded to make up my pack-
ages ready for transportation to Madame
Gironac’s, for there were a great many
trunks full. I occupied myself with this for
the remainder of the time that I was in
Baker-street, and when Monsieur Gironac
and his wife called, according to promise,
to take me to their home, it required tw
coaches, and well loaded, to take all the
luggage ; a third conveyed Monsieur and
Madame Gironac, myself, -and the jewel-
case. I found a very cheerful room prepared
for me, and I had the pleasant feeling, as we
sat down to our small dinner, that I had a
home,

Madame Gironac was in Gefatigable in her
exertions, and soon disposed of all the laces
and wardrobe that I had decided upon part-
ing with, and I paid the sum that they real-
ized, viz. £310, into the banker's, The dis-
posal of the jewels was a more difficult
affair, but they were valued by a friend of
Monsieur Gironac’s, who had once been in
the trade, at £630. After many attempts to
dispose of them more favourably, I suc-
ceeded in obtaining for them the sum of

  

570.
Mr. Selwyn had called upon me ence or
twice, and I had received my legacy with in-
terest ; deducting the legacy-duty of £x0, it
came to £458. Ihad, therefore, the follow-
ing sums in all : £230 of my savings ; £310
for the wardrobe and laces, 4570 for the
jewels, and £458 for the legacy ; amounting
in all to £1,568. Who would have ima-
gined, three months before, that I should
ever have possessed such asum? I did not,
certainly.

Mr. Selwyn, as soon as heknew whatsum
I had to dispose of, viz. £1,500, for I re-
tained the £68 for mly expenses, procured
me a mortgage at five per cent. on excellent

   

  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
    
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
 
    
   
  
 
  

 

landed security y and thus did the poor fora
lorn Valerie possess an income of £75 per
annum.

As soon as this was all arranged, I felta
tranquillity I had not known before, I was
now independent. I could work, it is true,
if I felt inclined, and had an Opportunity.
I could, however, do without work. The
Gironacs, finding that I insisted upon paying
for my board, and knowing that I could now
afford it, agreed to receive forty pounds per
annum—more they would not listen to.

hat a balm to the feelings is the con-
iousness of independence, especially to
1e who had been treated as I had been.
there were two situations to which I had
taken a violent abhorrence—thai of a gover-
ness, and now that of a milliner; and I
thanked Heaven that I was no longer under
any fear o g driven into either of those
infortun mployments. For the first
month that I remained with the Gironacs,
I absolutely did nothing but enjoy my
emancipation ; after that, I began to tall
over matters with Monsieur Gironac, who
pointed out to me, that now that I could live
upon my own means, I should endeavour to
increase them, so as to be still more at my
ease.

; WI

 

  

 

©

 

 

3C
I

JOM

 

 
 
 
  
 

 

 
 
 
   

 

 

 

1at do you propose that I should do,

then, monsieur ?’ replied TI.

“I should propose that you establish
otf

Vourseé

\ { aS a music-mistress, and give les-
sons on the pianoforte and singing. By
degrees you will geta connection, and you
will still be your own mistress.’

‘And when you have nothing else to do,
mademoiselle, you must make flowers in
wax,’ said Madame Gironac. ‘You make
them so well, that I can always sell yours
when I cannot my own.’

‘I must not interfere with you, Elise,’
said I; ‘ that would be very ungrateful on
my part.’

“Pooh—nonsense—there are customers

enouch for us both.’
I thought this advice to be very good,
and made up my mind to follow it. Thad not
money sufficient to purchase a piano just
then, as it would be five months before the
half-year’s interest of the mortgage would be
due; so I hired one from 4 dealer with
whom Monsieur Gironac was intimate, and
practised several hours every day. Fortune
appeared inclined to favour me, for I
obtained employment from four different
channels.

The first and most important was this: I
went every Sunday to the Catholic Chapel
with Madame Gironac, and of course Ijoined in thesinging, On the third Sunday,
as I was going out, I was touched on the
arm by one of the priests, who requested to
speak with mein the vestry. Madame
Gironac and I followed him, and he re-
quested us to sit down.

‘Who have I the pleasure of addressing
said he to me.

‘Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, sir,’ re-
plied i

‘T am not aware of your circumstances,
ma demoiselle,’ s: said he, ‘ but thenameis one
well known in France. Still those who hold
our best names are very often not in affluent
circumstances in this country. I trust, let
it be as it may, that you will not be offended,
but the fact is, your singing has been much

admired, and we would wish for your service
gratuitous, if you are in good circun (
but well paid TOL, 1f you are
Chole =

‘Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf is not, Tam
sorry to say, in good circumstances, mon-
sieur,’ replied Madame Gironac.

‘Then I will ue that she shall be
well rewarded for her exertions, if she will
consent to sing in fie: chapel —but do you
consent 2’

‘J have no objection, sir,’ replied I.

‘Atlow me, then, to call the gentleman
who presides over the choir,” said the priest,
going out.

* Accept by all means, By
lerie. Itwili bea
a music-mistress, anc

‘T agree with you
singing sacred mu: c. ?

The priest bey wi
who told me that he had listen oe W
pleasure to my singi ing, and be
favour, that I w ould s sing himas solo, cane ok
he had brought with him.

As I could sing At sight, So.
was Satisfied, and it was agreed that I shoulc
come on Saturday, at twelve, to
with the rest of the choir. ‘The 1 wing
sunday oe with them, and alsosang the
solos. After the service was over, I received
three guineas for my performance, and was
informed that a similar sum would be g given
to me every Sunda ry on which Isang. My
voice was much admired ; ; and w hen it was
known that I gave lessons, I very soon had
engagements Eom many Catholic families.

My charges to them were moderate,—five
Sailings a lesson of one hour,

The. next channel was through ]
and Madame Gironac. He recommended
me to a eens pee he taught ras)

ters and daughters,

  

  
 

 

 

 

 

 
  
 
  
 

 

 

 

 
 
   

 

 

 

 

jeur

 

 

  

   

VALERIE,

 

   
 
    
  
  
    
  
   
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
   

75

and she to all her various customers and
employers. I soon obtained several pupils
by her exertions. The third was from an
intimacy I had formed with an acquaintance
of Madame Gironac, with a Mademoiselle
Adele Chabot, who was of a good French
family, but earning her livelihood as a
French teacher in one of the most fashion-
able schools at Kensington.

Through her recommendation; I obtained
the teaching of the young ladies at the
school,—but of her more hereafter. The
fourth channel was through the kindness of
Mr. Selwyn, the lawyer, to whom f shall
now again revert. I had several visits
from Mr. Selwyn after IT had left Baker-
street, and one of these he informed me,
hat upon the proofs of Lionel Dempster’s
identity being examined by the legal ad-
f - r. Dempster, of Yorkshire, they
red so positive, that the afore-
aREWie immediately came to
; recing to give up the property to
Lionel, provided, in consequence of the
great im] provements he had made, he was
not come upon for arrears of income arising
fromit. That Mr. Selwyn advised this offer
to be accepted as it would prevent any ex-
posure of Lady R——, and the circum-
stances under which Lionel had _ been
cht up, from being made public.
had written to say that he was
ious that any sacrifice should be made
rather than the affair should be exposed ;
and the terms were consented to, and Lionel
came into possession of further property to
the amount of {goo per annum. As webe-
came more intimate, ne Selwyn asked me
many particulars relative to myself, and, by
his habit of cross examining, soon gained
i best portion of my history; only one
point I did not mention to him,—that my
family supposed that I was dead,

  

 

 

terms
tel

 

   

 

  

eae

CHAPTER X.

Onr day he came, accompanied by Mrs.
Selwyn, who joined him very earnestly in
requesting me to pass a day or two with
ihem at their country house at Kew, I ac-
cepted the invitation, and they called for me
in their carriage on their way down. Itwas
summer-time, and I was very glad to be out
of London for a day or two. I found a
charming family of two sons and three
cdaugliters, crown up, and who appeared
very accomplis Mr. Selwyn then, for

 

otthe first time, asked me whether I was settled
or not.

I told him no,—that I was giving lessons
in music—that I sang at the chapel, and that
I was laying by money.

He said I was ri ight, and that h e hoped to
be able to procure me pupils. But now,
said he, ‘as I did not know that you had a
voice, I must be permitted to hear it, as
otherwise I shall not be able to make my
report.’

I sat down immediately and sang, and he
and Mrs. Selwyn, as well as the daughters,
were highly pleased with my per formance.
During my stay, Mr. Selwyn treated me in,
I may say, almost a pa rental manner, and
extracted something more from me relative
fo my previous life, and he told me that he
thought I had done wisely in remaining in-
dependent, and not again trusting to Lady
M—— or Madame d’Albret. I went after-
vards several times to their town house,
being invited to evening parties, and the
people who were there and heard my sing-
ing, sent for me to dpeeh sit daughters.

In six monte after I had taken up my re-
sidence with tl Poe cS, Fe in flourish-
ing circums tances. I had twenty-eight
pi upils, ten at five shillings per lesson, and
elgehtat seven shillings, and th rey tool sons
twice a. week. I had: also a school, for
which I received about five guineas per
week, and the singing at the chapel,
which I received three. In fact, I was re-
ceiving about eighteen pounds a week duri 12
the winter season ; but it must be confessed
that I worked hard for it, and expended two
or three pounds a week in coach-hire,
Nevertheless, although I now spent more
money on my ap Reetenes and had pur-
chased a piano, before the year was over; I
had paid £250 into Mr. Selwyn’s hands to
take care of for me. When I thought of
what might have aut been my position, had
it not been for the kindness of poor Lady
R——-; when I reflected how I had been cast
upon the world, young and friendless, by
Madame d’Albret, and that I was now
making money rapidly by my Own exertions,
and that at such 1an early age (for I was but
little past twenty years 5 old), had I not rea-
son to be grateful? I was so, and most
truly so, and, moreover, I was happy, truly
happy. All my former mirth and vivacity,
which had been checked during my sojourn
in England, returned. I improved every
day in good looks, at least, so everyb ogy
told me ‘but Mr. Selwyn ; ; and I gained tha
which to a certain degree my figure require a

 
 

more roundness and expansion. And this

   
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
   
  
 
   
 
    
 
  
    
 
   
  
  
 
  
   
   
     
        
 
  
   
    
  
  
  
 
   
  
 
    
  
  
   
  
     
   
   
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
 
     
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
   

76 VALERIE.

was the poor Valerie, supposed to have been
drow aaa in the river Seine !

I forgot to say, that about three weeks
after Lionel went to Paris, I received a letter
from Madame d'Albret, in ‘which she thanked
me warmly for having introduced the young
Englishman to her, as ae aos it as a proof
of my really having = iven her what she
never should forgive herself She still in-
dulged the hope. that she might one day
embrace me. With respect to Lionel, she
said that he appeared a modest, unassuming
young lad, and that it should not be her fault
if he did not turn out an accomplished gen-
tleman ; that he had already the best fencing
and music-masters, and was working very
hard at the language. As soon as he could
speak French tolerably, he was to commence
German and Italian. She had procured him
a pension in an excellent French family, and
he appeared to be very happy.

I a Id not help re eae. as I read the
contents of this letter, upon the change
which had taken place in Lionel Dempster,
as soon as he found himself established in
his rights. From an impudent, talkative
page, he at once became a medest, respect-
ful and sil lent young man. What could have
caused this change? Was it because, when
a page; he felt himself above his condition ;
and now that he had gained a name and
fort tune, that he felt himself beneath it? I
decided, when I remembered how anxious
he was to improve himself, that such was the
case ¢ and I further inferred that it showed
a noble, generous, and sensitive mind. And
ay now felt very glad that [ had written to
Madame d’Albret, and all my objections to
seeing her again were removed. Why-so?
because I was independent. It was my de-
eeeene ce that made me so proud and un-
forgiving. In fact, I was on better terms
with nes en now that I bad somewhat
raised myself init. Iwas one day talking
over my ce with Mr. Selwyn, and after
pointing out how I had been taken in by my
ignorance and confidence ; how much wiser
I had become already from experience, and
my hopes that 1 should one day cease to be
a dup e, he replied,

‘My dear Miss Valerie, do not say so. To
have been a dupe is to have lived; we are
dupes when we are full of the hope and
antl of youth. T am an old man:
my profession has given me great knowledge
of the world; knowledge of the world has
made me cautious and indifferent ; but this
has not added to my happiness, although it
may have saved my pocket. No, no; when

ve arrive at that point, when we warm be

 

 

N-fore no affection, doubting its truth ; when
* we have gained this age-bought experience,
which has left our hearts as dry as the re-
mainder biscuits after a long voyage there
is no happiness in this, Valerie. Better to
be deceived and trust again. I almost wish
that I could now be the dupe of a woman or
a false friend, for | should then feel as if I
were young again.’

‘But, sir,’ replied I, ‘ your conduct is at
variance with your language ; why else such
kindness shown to me, a perrect stranger,
and one without claims upon you ?’

‘You over-rate my little attention, my dear
Valerie ; but that proves that you have a
grateful heart.. I speak of myself as when
in contact with the world. You forget that
I have domestic ties to which the heart is
ever fresh. Were it not for home and the
natural affeciions, we men would be brutes
indeed. The heart, when in conflict with
the world, may be compared to a plant
scorched by the heat of the sun ; but, in the
shade of domestic repose, it again recovers
its freshness for the time.’

I have stated that, through the recom-
mendation and influence of a Mademoiselle
Adéle Chabot, I taught music at an estab-
lishment for young ladies at Kensington. It
was what is called a finishing-school. The
terms were very high, and the young ladies
did not always sit down to boiled mutton ;
but, from what I learned from Adele, in
other points it was not better than schools
in general; but it hada reputation, and that
was sufficient.

One day, I was informed by Mrs. Brad-
shaw, the proprietress of the establishment,
that I was to have a new pupil the next quar-
ter, which was very near ; and when it did ar-
rive, and the young lady was brought in,
who should it be but Caroline, my former
companion and pupil at Madame Bathurst's.’

‘Valerie!’ exclaimed she, rushing into my
arms.

‘My dear Caroline, this is an unexpected
pleasure,’ said I; ‘but how came you here 2’

‘J will tell you some day,’ replied Caro-
line, not wishing to talk about her family
while the teacher, who came in with her,
was present.

‘T hope Madame Bathurst is well ?’ in-
quired I.

‘Quite well, when I saw her last,’ said
Caroline.

‘Well, my dear, we must work, and not
talk, for my time is valuable,’ said I; ‘so
sit down, and let me hear whether you have
_improved since I last gave you a lesson.’
The teacher then teft the room, and Caro-

 

   

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
  
  
   
 
 
  

VALERTE. "7

line, having run over a few bars, stopped,
and said. ‘I never can play till I have talked
to you, Valerie. You asked me how I came
here. At my own request ; or, if a girl may
use such language, because I insisted upon
it. I was so uncomfortable at home, that I
could bear it no longer. I must speak
against my father and mother—I cannot
help it; for it is impossible to be blind ;
they are so strange, so conceited, so spoiled
by prosperity, so haughty and imperious,
and so rude and uncouth to any whom they
consider beneath them, that it is painful to
be in their company. Servants will not re-
main a month in the house-—there is nothing
but exchange, and everything is uncomfort-
able. After having lived with my aunt Ba-
ihurst, who you will acknowledge to bea
lady in every respect, I really thought I was
in a Hépital de Fous. Such assumption,
such pretension, such absurdities, to all
which they wished to make me a party. I
have had a wilderness of governesses, but
not one would or could submit to the humili-
ations which they were loaded with. At
last, by rebelling in every way, I gained my
point, and have escaped to school. I feel
that I ought not to speak disparagingly of
my parents; but still I must speak the truth
to you, although I would say nothing to
others ; so do not be angry with me, Valerie.’

‘T am more sorry that it is so, than that
you should tell me of it, Caroline ; but from
what I saw during my short visit, I can fully
give credit to all you have said.’

‘But is it not a hard case, Valerie, when
you cannot respect your parents ? replied
Caroline, putting her handkerchief to her
eyes.

‘It is, my dear; but still, on the whole, it
is perhaps for the best. You were taken from
your parents, and were well brought up ;
you return to them, and find them many
degrees below you in the scale of refine-
ment, and therefore you cannot respect them.
Now, if you had never left them, you would
of course have remained down at their level,
and would have respected them, having im-
bibed the same opinions, and perceiving no-
thing wrong in their conduct. Now, which
of the two would you prefer, if you had the
power to choose ?’

‘Most certainly to be as I am,’ replied
Caroline; ‘but I cannot but grieve that my
parents should not have been like my aunt
Bathurst.’

‘T agree with you in that feeling ; but what
is—is, and we must make the best of it. You
must excuse your parents’ faults as much as
you can, since your education will not per-7e VALERIE.

mit you to be blind to them, and you must
treat them with respect from a sense of
duty.’

“That I have always done,’ replied Caro-
line ; ‘ but it too often happens that I have
to decide between the respect I would show
to my parents, and a sense of justice, ora
love of truth opposed to it—that is the
greatest difficulty.’

‘Very true,’ replied I, ‘and in such cases
you must act according to the dictates of
your own conscience.’

‘Well,’ replied Caroline, ‘I think I have
done wisely in getting away altogether. I
have seen little of my aunt Bathurst since
you took me to my father’s house ; for, al-
though some advances were made towards
a reconciliation, as soon as my aunt was told
that my father and mother had stated that I
had been most improperly brought up by
her, she was so angry at the false accusation,
that all intercourse is broken off, I fear, for
ever. Oh, how I have longed to be with my
aunt! But, Valerie, I never heard why you
left her. Some one did say that you had
gone, but why was not known.’

‘I went away, Caroline, because I was no
longer of any use in the house after you had
been removed, and I did not choose to be an
incumbrance to your aunt. I preferred
gaining my livelihood by my own exertions,
as Iam now doing, and to which resolution
on my part, I am indebted for the pleasure
of our again meeting.’

‘Ah, Valerie, I never loved you so much
as I did after I had lost you,’ said Caroline.

‘ That is generally the case, my dear,’ re-
plied I; ‘but now if you please, we will try
this sonata. We shall. have plenty of time
for talking, as we shall meet twice a
week.’

Caroline played the sonata, and then
dropping her fingers on the keys, said, ‘Now,
Valerie, do you know what was one of my
wild dreams which assisted in inducing me
to come here? I'll tell you. I know that I
shall never find a husband at my father’s
house. All well-bred people, if they once
go there, do not goasecond time, and what-
ever may be the merits of the daughter, they
have no time to find them out, and leave the
house, with the supposition that she, having
been educated in so bad a school, must be
unworthy of notice. Now I mean, if I can, to
elope from school, that is if I can find a
gentleman to my fancy—not to Gretna
Green, but as soon as I am married, to go
to my aunt Bathurst direct, and you know
that once under a husband's protection, my
father and mother haye no control over me,

Will you assist my views, Valerie? It’s the .
only chance I have of happiness.’

‘A very pretty confession for a young
lady, not yet eighteen, replied I; ‘anda
very pretty question to put to me, who have
been your governess, Caroline. J am afraid
that you must not look to me for assistance,
but consider it, as you term it at first, a wild
dream.’

‘Nevertheless, dreams come true some-
times,’ replied Caroline, laughing ; ‘and all
I require is birth and character: you know
that I must have plenty of money.’

‘ But, my dear Caroline, it is not people of
birth and character who prowl round board-
ing-schools in seareh of heiresses.’

“T know that ; and that was why I asked
you to help me. At all events, I’ll not leave
this place till I am married, or going to be
married, that’s certain, if I stay here till I’m
twenty-five.’

‘Well, do not make rash resolutions;
but surely, Caroline, you have not reason to
complain of your parents’ treatment; they
are kind and affectionate towards you.’

‘Indeed they are not, nor were they from
the time that I returned to them with you.
‘They try. by force to make me espouse their
Own incorrect notions of right and wrong,
and it is one scene of daily altercation. They
abuse and laugh at aunt Bathurst, I believe,
on purpose to vex me; and, having never
lived with them from my infancy, of course,
when I met them, J had to learn to love them.
I was willing so to do, notwithstanding their
unkindness to my aunt, whom I love so
dearly, but they would not let me ; and now
I really believe that they care little about
me; and would care nothing, if I were not
their only daughter, for you know, perhaps,
that both my brothers are now dead ?”

‘I knew that one was,’ replied I.

“The* other, William, died last year,’ re-
plied Caroline ; ‘his death was a release,
poor fellow, as he had a complaint in the
spine for many years. Do you know what I
mean to do? I shall write to aunt Bathurst
to come and see me.’

‘Well, I think you will be right in so do-
ing; but will not your father and mother
come to you?’

‘No, for they are very angry, and say,
that until I come to my senses, and learn the
difference between people who are some-
bodies, and people who are nobodies, they
will take no notice of me; and that I may
remain here till I am tired ; which they think
I shall soon be, and wtite to come back
again. The last words of my father, when
he brought me here and left me, were,—‘' IVALERIE.

79

leave you hére to come to your senses.’ He to support her ; that is not my case, for I

was white with anger: but I do not wish to
talk any more about them.’

‘And your time is up, Caroline; so you
must go and make room for another pupil.
Miss Greave is the next.’

Shortly after my meeting with Caroline,
I received a letter from Lionel, stating that
it was his intention to come over to England
for a fortnight, and asking whether he
could execute any commissions for me in
Paris, previous to his departure. He also
informed me that he had received a very
kind letter from his uncle, the baronet, who
had had several interviews with Mr. Selwyn,
and who was fully satisfied with his identity,
and acknowledged him as his nephew.
This gave me great pleasure. I replied to
his letter, stating that I should be most
happy to see him, but that as for commis-
sions, I was too poor to give him any.
Madame d'Albret had sent her kind sou-
venirs to me in Lionel’s letter, and I re-
turned them in my reply. Indeed, now
that I was earning a livelihood, and by my
own exertions, I felt that I was every day
adding tomy means and future independence,
a great change, I may safely say for the
better, took place inme. My pridewas les-
sened, that is, my worst pride was superseded
by a more honest one. I had a strange re-
vulsion in feeling towards Madame d Albret,
Madame Bathurst, and Lady M——, and I
felt that I could forgive them all. I wasno
longer brooding over my dependent position,
fancying, perhaps, insults never intended, or
irritated by real slights. Everything was
couleur de vose With me, and that couleur Was
reflected upon everything.

‘Ah, Mademoiselle Valerie,’ said Madame
Gironac to me one day, ‘I had no idea
when I first made your acquaintance that
you were so witty. My husband and all
the gentlemen say that you have plus
desprit than any woman they ever con-
versed with.’

‘When I first knew you, Annette, I was
not happy ; now I am happy, almost too
happy, and that is the reason Iam so gay.’

‘ Ard I don’t think you hate the men so
much as you did,’ continued she.

‘Tamina humour to hate nobody,’ re-
plied I. :

‘That is true; and, Mademoiselle Va-
lerie, you will marry one of these days ;
mind,’ continued she, putting up her finger,
‘T tell you so.’

‘ And I tell you, no,’ replied fe think
there is only one excuse for a woman mar-
rying, which is, when she requires some one

thank Heaven I can support myself.’

‘ Nous verrons,’ replied Madame Gironac.

Caroline did, however, find the restraint
of a school rather irksome, and wished very
much to go out with me. When the holi-
days arrived, and the other young ladies
had gone home, I spoke to Mrs. Bradshaw,
and as she was very partial to me, and knew
my former relations with Caroline, she gave
her consent. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Brad-
shaw accepted an invitation to pass three
weeks with some friends, and I then pro-
posed that Caroline should pass ther ne=
mainder of the holidays with me, to which
Mrs. Bradshaw also consented, much to
Caroline’s delight. Madame Gironac had
made up a bed for her in my room, and we
were a very metry party.

A few days after Caroline came to the
house, Lionel. made his appearance. I
should hardly have believed it possible that
he could have so improved in appearance
inso short atime. He brought mea very
kind letter from Madame d’Albret, in which
she begged, asa proof of my having for-
given her, that T would not refuse a few pre-
sents she had sent by Lionel. They were
very beautiful and expensive, and, when I
had had some conversation with Lionel, I
made up my mind that I would not return
them, which certainly I at first felt more in-
clined to do than to keep them. When
Lionel took leave, promising to come to
dinner, Caroline asked me who that gentle-
manly young man was. I replied, that it
was a Mr. Lionel Dempster, the nephew of
Lady R—— ; but further conversation was
interrupted by the arrival of young Mr.
Selwyn, who came with a message from his
father inviting me to Kew. I declined the
invitation, on the plea of Caroline being
with me. Mr. Selwyn remained some time
conversing with me, and at last inquired if
I should like to go to the next meeting at
the Horticultural Gardens, at the same time
offering me two tickets. As Iwas anxious
to see the gardens, I accepted them. He
told me that his father would call for us, and
his mother aud sisters were to be there, and,
then he took leave.

‘Who is Mr. Selwyn?’ inquired Caro-
line.

I told her.

‘Well,’ said she, ‘I have seen two nice
young men this morning; I don’t know
which I like best, but I think Mr. Selwyn is
the more manly of the two.’

‘T should think so, too, Caroline,’ replied
I; ‘Mr, Selwyn is twenty-four years old, Ibelieve, and Mr. Dempster is younger, I
think, than you are,’

‘I did not think he was so young ; but,
Valerie, are we not to go to the National
Gallery ?’

“Yes, when Monsieur Gironac comes
home to escort us » WE may as well put on
our bonnets, for he will be here in a few
minutes.

‘Oh, Valerie, how fortunate it was that I
came to Mrs. Bradshaw’s,’ said Caroline,
‘and that I met you! I should have been
mopped, that is certain, if I had not; but now
I'm so happy—that’s Monsieur Gironac’s
knock, I’m sure.’

But Caroline was wrong, for it was Made-
moiselle Chabot, of whom I have before
spoken, who made her appearance. Made-
moiselle Chabot was an acquaintance of
Madame Gironac, and it was through my
having become intimate with Ingie, Wore If
obtained the teaching at Mrs. Bradshaw's.
Adéle Chabot was a very pretty person,
thoroughly French, and dressed with great
taste. She was the resident French teacher
in Mrs. Bradshaw's establishment ; and,
although twenty-five years old, did not look
more than eighteen ; she was very amusing
and rather wild, although she looked very
demure. I never thought that there was
anything wrong in Adéle, but, at the same
time, I did not consider that Caroline would
derive any good from her company, as Caro-
line required to be held in check as it was.
But, as is usually the case, the more [ at-
tempted to check any intimacy between
them, the more intimate they became.
Adéle was of a good family ; her father hac
fallen at Montmartre, when the allies entered
Paris after the battle of Waterloo: but the
preperty left was very small to be divided
among a large family, and consequently
Adele had first gone out as a governess at
Paris, and ultimately accepted the situation
she now held. She spoke English remark-
ably well, indeed, better than I ever heard it
spoken by a Frenchwoman ; and everybody
said so as well as me.

‘Well, Adéle, I thought you were at
Brighton,’ said Caroline.

“I was yesterday, and I am here to-day ;
1 am come to dine with you,’ replied Adéle,
taking off her bonnet and shawl, and smooth-
ing her hair before the glass. ‘Wheres
Madame Gironac?’

“Gone out to give a lesson in flower-
making,’ replied I.

‘Yes, she is like the little busy bees,
always on the wing, and, as the hymn says

pony

 

  

Yo VALERIF,

‘“how neat she spreads her wax!’ and
Monsieur, where is he 2”

“Gone out to give a lesson, also,’ replied TI.

‘Yes, he’s like the wind, always blowing,
one hour the flute, another the French horn,
then the bassoon or the bugle, always blow-
ing and always shifting from one point to
the other ; never a calm with him, for when
he comes home there's a breeze with his
wife, 2 Zaimable, to be sure.’

Yes,’ replied Caroline, ‘always blowing,
but never coming to blows.’

‘You are witty, Mademoiselle Caroline.’
said Adéle, ‘with your paradox. Do you
know that I had an adventure at Brighton,
and Iam taken for you, by a very fashion-
able voung man ?’

‘How can you have been taken for me?’
said Caroline.

‘The gentleman.wished to find out who I
was, and I would not tell him. | He in-
quired of the chambermaid of the lodging-
house, and bribed her, I presume, for the
next day she came up to my room and asked
me for my card, that her mistress might
write my name down correctly in the book.
I knew that the mistress had not sent her,
as I had, by her request, entered my own
name in the book three days before, and I
was therefore certain that it was to find out
who I was. for the gentleman who followed
me everywhere. I recollected that I hada
card of yours in my case, and I gave it to
her very quietly, and she walked off with it.
The next day, when I was at the library,
the gentleman addressed me by your name ;
I told him that it was not my name, and re-
quested that he would not address me again.
When I left Brighton yesterday, I discovered
the chambermaid copying the addresses ]
had put on my trunks, which was your
name, at Mrs. Bradshaw's ; so now I think
we shall have some fun.’

‘But, my dear Adele, you have not been
prudent; you may compromise Caroline
very much,’ said I ; ‘ recollect that men talk,
and something unpleasant may occur from
this want of discretion on your part.’

‘Be not afraid, Valerie ; I conducted my-
self with such prudery that an angel’s cha-
racter could not suffer.’

‘TI do not mean to hint otherwise, Adéle -
but still you must acknowledge that you have
done an imprudent thing,’

‘Well, I do confess it ; but, Valerie,
every one has not your discretion and good
sense. At all events, if I see or hear any
more of the gentleman, I can undo it again,
~—but that is not very likely,’‘We have had two gentlemen here to-
day, Adele,’ said Caroline, ‘and one dines
with us.

“Indeed ; well, I'm in demz-tozlette, and
must remain so, for I cannot go all the way
back to Mrs. Bradshaw’s to dress.’ :

Sie IS: yer, handsome young man, is he
mot, V aleri en

‘Ye s, replied I, ‘and of large fortune,

‘Well, I shall not have a fair chance,
then,’ said Adele, ‘for go back, I cannot.’

‘Now, Adele, you know how mt ch more
becoming the demi-tt yelette is to you than the
evening ‘dress,’ replied Caroline, ‘so don't
pretend to deny it.’

‘I deny nothing, and I admit nothing,’
replied Adéle, laughing, ‘except that I am
a woman, and now See UO own inferences
and conclusions—ce 72’ est éoa

We had a very pleasant dinner-party.
Adeéle tried to flirt with Lionel, but it wasin
vain. He had no attentions to throw away,
except upon me; once he whispered, “1
should not feel strange at being seated with
others, but to be by your side does make me
awkward. Old habits arestrong, and every
now and then I find myself jumping up to
change your plate.’

‘It's a great pleasure to me, Lionel, to
find you in the position you are entitled to
from your birth. You will soon sit down
with people of more consequence than Va-
lerie de Chatenceuf.’

‘But never with any one that I shall
esteem or respect so much, be they who they
may, replied Lionel.

During dinner, I mentioned that aie
Selwyn had called and engaged Caroline
and me to go to the horticultural féte.

‘I wish Madame Gironac was going,’
continued I, ‘ she is so fond of flowers.’

‘Never mind, my dear Valerie; I will
stay at home and earn some money.’

‘Madam,’ cried Monsieur Gironac, pre-
tending to be very angry, and striking with
his fist on the table, so as to make all the
wine-glasses ring, ‘you shall do no such
thing, You shall not always oppose my
wishes. You shall not stay at home and
earn some money. You shall go out and
spend money, 7es, madam, I will be obeyed
you shall go to the horticultural féte, and I
invite Monsieur Lionel and Mademoiselle
Adele to come with us, that they may witness
that] am the master. Yes, madam, resis-
tance is useless. You shall go in a vemzse
de ver, or glass-coach, as round as a pump-
kin ; but you shall not go in glass slipp eS
like Cinderella, because the y are not pleasant

 

   

VALERIE.

    
   
  
   
  
   
  
    
  
 
  
  
  
  
     
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
    
    
 
  
 
   
    
  
   

Sf

to walk in. How Cinderelia danced in them
has always been a puzzle to me, ever since I
vas a child, and of what kind of glass they
were made

‘Perhaps isinglass,’ said Lionel.

‘No, Sir, not isinglass ; it must have been
fairy glass; but never mind. I ask you,
Madame Gironac, whether you intend to be
an obedient wife, or intend to resist my com-
mands ?

‘ Barbare,’ replied Madame Gironac, ‘am
{ then to be forced to go toa féte! Ah,
cruel man, youl break my heart ; but I sub-
mit to my unhappy destiny. Yes, I will go

in the vemzse de ver ; pity me, my goo oc
friends, but you don’t know that man.’

‘T am satisfied with your obedience, ma-
dam, and now f permit you to embrace
me.

Madame Gironac, who was delighted at
the idea of going to the féte, ran to her hus-
band, and kissed him over and over again.
Adele and Lionel accepted Monsieur Gi-
ronac’s invitation, and thus was the affair
settled in Monsieur Gironac’s queer way.

The day of the horticultural féte arrived.
It was a lovely morning. We were all
dressed and the glass-coach was at the door,
when Mr. Selwyn arrived in his carriage,
and Caroline and I stepped in. I intro-
duced Caroline, who was remarkably well
dressed, and very pretty. Mr. Selwyn had
before told me that he was acquainted with
Madame Bathurst, having met two or three
times, and sat by her atadinner-party. He
appeared much pleased with Caroline, but
could not make out how she was in my
company. Of course, he asked no ques.
tions before her.

On our atrival at the gardens, we found
young Mr. Selwyn waiting at the entrance
to take us to Mrs. Selwyn and his sisters,
who had come from their house at Kew.
About half an hour afterwards, we fell in
with Monsieur Gironac, madame, Adele,

and Lionel. Mr. Selwyn greeted Lionel
warmly, introducing him to his family ; and
on my presenting the Gironacs and Adele,
was very polite and friendly, for he knew
from me non kind Bey had been. <Adéle
Chabot never looked so well; her costume
was most becoming ; mi had put on her
air mutiné,

 

and was admired by all that
passe -dus, We were all crouped together close
to the band, when, who should appear right
in front of us, but Madame Bathurst. PAt
that time Caroline was on the one arm of
Mr. Selwyn, and I on the other.
‘ Caroline!’ exclaimed Madame Bathurst,

‘and you here ! turning to me,82 VAL

While she remained in astonishment,
Caroline ran up and kissed her,

“You recollect Mr, Selwyn, aunt, do you
not?’

‘Yes,’ said Madame Bathurst, returning
the salute of Mr, See ‘but still 1 am
surprised. ’

“Come w ith me, aunt, and I will tell you
all about it.’

Caroline then walked to a seat at a little
distance, sat down, and entered into conver-

sation with Madame Bathurst. In a few
minutes, Madame Bathurst rose, and came
up to our party, with Car oline on her-arm.

She first thanked Mr. Selw yn a his kind-
ness in bringing her niece to the féte, and
then turning to me, said, with some en notion,
as she offered her hand, Valerie. 1 hope
we are friends. We have mistaken each
other.’

I felt all.my resentment gone, and took
her offered hand.

She then led me aside, and said, ‘ I must
beg your pardon, Valerie, I did not——’

‘ Nay,’ repl ied I, interrupting her, ‘I was
too hasty and too proud.’

‘You are a good, kind-hearted girl, Va-
lerie—but let us say no more about. it, Now
introduce me to your friends.’

I did so. Madame Bathurst was ne
gracious, and appeared very much stru
with a Adéle Chabot, and entered into conver-
sation with her, and certainly Adéle would
not have been taken for a French teacher by
her appearance. There was something very
aristocratic about her. While they were in
converse, a very gentlemanlike man raised
his hat to Madame Bathurst, as I thought,
and passed on. Adéle coloured up, I “ob-

  
   

   

 

served, as if she knew him, but did not re-
turn the salute, which Madame Bathurst did,
“Do you know that gentleman, Made-

moiselle Chabot?’ inquired Caroline. ‘

thought he bowed to you, and not to aunt.
‘T have seen him before,’ re pli ied Adele,

carelessly ; ‘but I forget his n ame.

‘Then I can tell you,’ added .Madame
Bathurst; ‘it is Colonel Jervis, a. very
fashionable man, but not a very great fa-
vourite of mine ; not that I have anything
to accuse him of particularly, except that he
is said to be a very wordly man.

‘Is he of good family ?’ inquired Adeéle.

‘Oh, yes, unexceptionable on that point;
but it is time for me to go. There is oy
party coming down the “wall, » Caroli

ear ol will call upon you to-merrow at
three o'clock, and then we will make our
arrangements.’

Madame Bathurst ther

~ ee

  

1 bade adieu to Mz

 

  

   
    
 
   
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
    
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
     
  
  
 
 
 
     
  
 
  
    
  
 
   
    
      
   
 
  
  
 
   
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
   

4
‘Aw

elwyn and the rest,
votr, Valerie.’
Shortly afterwards we agreed to leave.
As Mr. Selwyn was returning to Kew, I
would not accept the offer of his catriage to
take Caroline and me to London; suthve glass
coach, round as a pumpkin, w ould hold SIX,
and we al! went away together
I was very much pleased at “thus meeting
with Madame Bathurst, and our reconcilia~
tion, and quite as much so for Caroline's
sake ; for although she had at first said that
she would w rite to her aunt, she had put it
off continually, for reasons which she had
never expressed tome. I rather think that
she feared her aunt might prove a check on
her, and I was, therefore, very glad that
they had Bch as now Madame Bathurst
would look ar her,
I > evening, T observed that Adéle
> had a long conversation sotto

ER
Se saying to ime,
Fe

   

  

ace. cted that the gentleman, at
whose appearance she had coloured up, was
the subject oe it, The next day Madame
Bathurst called, and heard a detailed account
of all that hi sed from Caroline and

weshad parted. - She said,
that as Carol e Was put to the school by
ee father, of course she could not remove
her, but that ae a ould call and see her as
often as she could She congratulated me
upon my little independence, and trusted
that we should ever be on friendly terms,
and that I would come and visit her when-
ever my avocat ions would permit me. As
there were still three weeks of the holidays
remaining, she proposed that we should
come and pass a portion of the time with
her at a villa which she had upon the banks
of the T han 1S

She we

a
Oe?
D

ed

rand mother
givin ig very gay
the e-time that the
on the following
ctionately, and

 
   

 

went away.
L he next day we were at Richmond, in a
delightful cottage orzée; and there we re-

maine d for more than a fortnight. To me
it was a time of much happiness, for it was
like the renewal of old times, and I was
sorry when the visit was over.

On my return, I found a pressing invita-
tion for Caroline and me to go to Kew, and
remain two or three days; and as we had
still time to pay the visit, it was accepted ;
but, before we went, Adéle came ‘to see us,
and, after a little o- eneral conversation, re-
quested that she might speak to me in my
own room,VALERIE. 3

'Valerie,’ said Adéle, as soon as we were
seated, ‘1 know that you think me a 2 wild
girl, and perhaps I am so; but Tam not
quite so wild as I thought myself f; for now
that £ am in a critic cal position, T come to
you for advice, and fc advil agal
own feelings, for I tell you f frank]
am very much in love—and more
which you may we/Z suppose, most anxious
to be relieved from the detestable position
of a French teacher in sue school,
I now have the opportunity, and ye I dread
to avail myself of it, and T the Soi come
o you, who are so prudent and so sage, to

request, after you have heard what I have a
impart, you will give me your real opi inion a
to what I ought to do. You recollect Ltold
you that a gentle man had followed me-at

advice against my

yt
]
|

  

 

 

B ighton, and how for mere frolic I had led
him to Sg that I was Caroline Stat
hope, I certainly did not expe sct to see :

 

again, but I did three days after I cam¢
from Brighton. The girl had siden
copied the address on my trunk for him, and

  
 

    

 

  

  
 
 
 

 

he followed me up, and h« sted me as I
was walking home. He told me he
had never slept since he hi ad first seen me,
and that he was honourabl; sve with me
I replied that he was pie ed 2 supposing
that . was Caroline Ste h

name Adéle Chabot,

had aes tthe truth to ae

his sentiment He declat

not, pressed m me to allow him to cé
I refused, and such was our first a

+

‘J did not seé him aga in unti il at
eas ral fete, when I was
Bathurst. fe had told me tl
officer in the army, but he di
his name. You recollect
Bathurst said about him, and W
Since you have teen at Richmon
contrived to see me every day, ant I we
confess that latterly I have not been unwi
ling to meet him, for every day T have ye
more pleased with hin On our first mee
ing after the féte, I told him that he sti

supposed me to be Caroline Stanho] pe, and
that seeing me walking with Caroline's aunt
had confirmed 1 hin oe sidea ; but I gous
him that I was 4 e Chabot, a § i
fortune, and Fait as he sup posed, a. great
heiress. His answer was, that any at
ance of Madame Bairse s must be a a
and that he had never inquired or “thous oht
about my fortune. That my having none,
would prove the disintet -estedness Of his af-
fection for me, and that he required me and
nothing more. I have seen him every day
almost since then;-he has given me his

  

   
 

 

 

H

name, and made proparale to me, notwiths
standing my reiterated assertions vine Tam
Adéle Chabot, and ne Caroline Stanhope.
One thing is certain, that 1 am very much
a a ched to him, and if I do not marry him,

shall be very miserable for a long time ;’
sa here Adéle burst into tears.

‘But why do you grieve, Adele? said I;

 

 

 

 

‘you 7 ay and he offers to marry you.
My advice is m| pl e = DRBLEK him.’
* Yes,’ replied Ade dle, ‘if all was as -it

seems. I agree with you that my coutse is
ore but, notwithstanding his repeated as-

srtions that he loves me as Adéle Chabot, I
am convinced in my own mind that he still
believes me to be Caroline Stanhope. Per-
haps he thinks that I am a romantic young
lady who is determined to. be married pour
ses beaux yeux alone, and conceals her being
é 5 on that account, and he therefore
humours me by pretending to believe that I
am a poor girl without a shilling. Now,
Valerie, here is my difficulty. H I were to
marry him, as he proposes, when he comes
to a out th hat | 1e has been deceiving him-
e heiress, will he

 

 

 

self, and that Iam not th

not be angry, and Becta: disgusted with
me—will he a blame me instead of him-
self, as people always do, and will he not
ill-treat me? “de he did, it would break my
heart, for I love him—love him dearly.

Then, on the other hand, I may be wrong
and he may be, ee he says, in love with
Adéle Chabot ; so that I shall have thrown
away my chance of happiness from an er-
roneous idea. What shall. I do, Valerie?
advi seme.

Much will-depend on the character of
man, Adéle. You have some insight
( le’s characters, what idea have you
formed of his?’

‘T hardly can-say ; for when men profess
to be in love, they are such deceivers. Their
faults- are sconce aled, and they assume virtues
which they do not possess. On my first
meeting with him, I thought that he was a
proud: man—perhaps I might say a vain
man—but, since I have seen more of him, I
think I was wrong.’

‘No, aS depend upon it you were
jeht; at that time you were not blinded as
you are now. Do you think him a good-
tempered man ?”

‘Yes, I firmly believe that he T made

a remark at Brighton ; a child ie at had its
fingers very dirty ran out to him, and, as it
stumbled, pri inted the marks of its fingers
upon Te white trousers, so that he was
obliged to return home and change them.
Instead of pushing the child away, “he savedit from falling, saying, ‘ Well, my little
man, it’s better that I should change my
dress than that you should have broken your
head on the pavement.” ”

‘Well, Adele, I agree with you that it is
a proof of great good temper.’

‘Well, then, Valerie, what do you think ?’

‘1 think that it is a lottery ; but all mar-
riages are lotteries, with more blanks than
prizes. You have done all you can to un-
deceive him, if he still deceives himself.
You can dono more. Iwillassume that he
does deceive himself, and that disappoint-
ment and irritation will be the consequence
of his discovery, that you have been telling
the truth. If he is a vain man, he will not
like to acknowledge to the world that he has
been his own dupe. If he isa good-hearted
man, he will not long continue angry ; but,
Adele, much depends upon yourself. You
must forbear all recrimination—you must
exert all your talents of pleasing to reconcile
him to his disappointment ; and, if you act
wisely, you’ will probably succeed; indeed,
unless the man is a bad-hearted man, you
must eventually succeed. You best know
your own powers, and must decide for your-
self.’

‘It is that feeling—that almost certain
feeling that I shall be able to console him
for his disappointment, that impels me on.
Valerie, I will make him love me, I am de-
termined.’

‘And when a woman is. determined on
that point, she invariably succeeds in the
end, Adéle. This is supposing that he is
deceiving himself, which may not be the case,
Adele ; for I do think you have sufficient at-
tractions to make a man love you for your-
self alone ; and recollect that such may be
the case in the present instance. It may be
that at first he followed you as an heiress,
and has since found out that if not an heir-
ess, you are a very charming woman, and
has in consequence been unable to resist
your influence. However, there is only one
to whom the secrets of the heart are known.
I consider that you have acted honourably,
and if you choose to risk the hazard of the
die, no one can attach blame to you.’

‘Thank you, Valerie ; you have taken a
great load off my heart. If you think I
am not doing wrong, I will risk everything.’

‘Well, Adele, let you decide how you
may, I hope you will prosper. For my part,
I would not cross the street for the best man
that ever was created. As friends they are
all very well: as advisers, in some cases,
they are useful; but when you talk of
Marrying one, and becoming his slave, that

84 VALERIE.

is quite another affair. What were you and
Caroline talking about so earnestly in the
corner ?’

“I will confess the truth; it was of love
and marriage, with an episode about Mr.
Charles Selwyn, of whom Caroline appears
to have a very good opinion.’

‘Well, Adele, I must go down again now.
If you wish any advice at any future time,
such as it is, itis at your service. You are
making ‘‘A Bold Stroke for a Husband,”
that’s certain. However, the title of another
play is, ‘‘ All's Well that Ends Well.” ’

‘Well, I will follow out your playing upon
plays, Valerie, by saying that with you
“Love's Labour's Lost.” ’

‘Exactly,’ replied I, ‘because I consider
it ‘Much Ado about Nothing.” ’

The next day, Lionel came to bid me
farewell, as he was returning to Paris.
During our sojourn at Madame Bathurtst’s,
he had been down to see his uncle, and had
been very kindly received. I wrote to
Madame d’Albret, thanking her for her
presents, which, valuable as they were, I
would not return after what she had said,
and confided to Lionel a box of the flowers
in wax that I was so successful in imitating,
and which I requested her to put on her
side-table in remembrance of me. Mr.
Selwyn sent the carriage at the time ap-
pointed, and we went down to Kew, where
I was as kindly received as before.

What Adele told me of the conversation
between Caroline and her made me watch-
ful, and before our visit was out, I had made
up my mind that there was a mutual feeling
between her and young Mr. Selwyn. When
we were going away this was confirmed, but
I took no notice. But although I made no
remark, this commencement of an attach-
ment between Caroline and him occupied
my mind during the whole of our journey
to town.

In Caroline’s position, I was not decided
if I would encourage it and assistit. Charles
Selwyn was a gentleman by birth and pro-
fession, a very good-looking and very
talented young man. All his family were
amiable, and he himself remarkably kind-
hearted and well-disposed. That Caroline
was not likely to return to her father’s house,
where I felt assured that she was very miser-
able, was very evident, and that she would
soon weary of the monotony of a school at
her age was also to be expected. ‘There
was, therefore, every probability that she
would, if she found an opportunity, run
away, as she stated to me she would, and it
was ten chances to one that in so doing sheVALERIE. 85

would make an unfortunate match, either
becoming the prey of some fortune-hunter,
or connecting herself with some thoughtless
young man.

Could she do better than marry Mr. Sel-
wyn? Certainly not. That her father and
mother, who thought only of dukes and
earls, would give their consent, was not very
likely. Should I acquaint Madame Ba-
thurst 2? That would be of little use, as she
would not interfere. Should I tell Mr.
ae. father? No. Ifa matchat all, it

st be a runaway match ,and Mr. Selw yn,
enior, would never sanction anything of the
ki nd. I resolved, therefore, to let the affair
ripel as it might. It wo suld occupy Caro-
*ine, and prevent aes doi ng a more foolish
thing, even if it W to be ultimately broken
off by unforeseen circu paren e Caroline
yas as much absorbed by her own
th roughts as I was during the ride, and not
a syllable was exchange d between us till
we were roused by the rattling over the
stones.

‘My dear Caroline, what a rev
have been in,’ said I.

‘And you, Valerie.’

‘Why, I have been thinking ; certainly,
when I cannot have a agreeable
companion, I amuse myself with my own
thoughts. :

eW ill you tell me wha
thinking about : fe

‘Yes, Caroline, provided you will
equally confiding.’

‘J will, I assure you.

‘WwW ell, then, I was thinking of a gen-
tleman.’

«And so was I,’ replied Caroline.

‘ Mine was a very Fee some, clever young
man.’

« And so was mine,’ replied she.

‘But 1 am not smitten with him,’ con-
tinued I.

<I cannot answer that que sstion,’ replied
Caroline, ‘because I do not know who you
were thinking about.’

‘You must answer the question as to the
gentleman you were thinking of, Caroline.
I repeat that 1 am not smitten with
him, and that his name is Mr. Charles
Selwyn.’

‘Tw as also thinking of Mr. Charles Sel-
wyn, ’ replied Caroline.
‘And you are not smitten with him any
more than I am, or he is with you? con-
tinued I, smiling and looking her full in
the face.

Caroline coloured, and said,

‘T like him very much from what I have

erie you

+}

more

at you have been

}
L

DE

seen of him, Valerie ; but, recollect, our ac-
quaintance has been very short.’

‘A very proper answer, my dear Caroline,
and given with due maidenly decorum—but
here we are ; and there is Madame Gironac
nodding to us from the window.’

an next day Caroline went back to Mrs.
Bradshaw’s, and I did not see her till the
music-lesson of Wednesday afterwards.
Caroline, who had been watching for me,
met me at the door.

“Oh! Valerie, I have a great deal to tell.
In the first place, the establishment is in an
uproar at the disappearance of Adeéle
Che rbot, who has removed her clothes, and
gone off without beat of drum. One of the
maids states that she has several times seen
her walking and talking with a tall gentle-
man, and Mrs. Bradshaw thinks that the
rep ee on of her school is ruined by Adele's
flight. She has drunk at least two bottles of
au- ec Cologne and water to keep off the
hysterics, and is now ‘lying on the sofa, talk-
ing in a very incoherent way. Miss Phipps
says she thinks her head is affected.’

‘T should think it was,’ replied I.
is that all ?’

All! why,
nothing of an elopement.
hol Ol ‘rible 2”

‘J do not thinkit very horrible, Caroline;

but I am glad to find ne you have such

 

‘Well,

Valerie, you appear to think
All! why, is it-not

correct ideas on that point, as it satisfies me
that nothing would inc a Ice J you to take such
a step.

‘Well,’ replied Caroline, quickly, “what I
had also to communicate is, that [ have seen
my father, who informed me that on their
return from Brighton in October, they ex-
pect that I will come home. He said that
it was high time that I was settled in life,

and that 1 could not expect to be married if
I remained at a boarding-school.”

‘Well, and what did you say ?”

a said that I did not expect to be mar-
ried, and I did not wish it; that I thought
my education was far from col nplete, and
that I wished to improve myself,’

‘Well ?

“Then he said that he should submit to
my caprices no longer, and that I sl hould go
back in October, as he had dec cided,’

‘Well 2?

: ee
awa

Having received all this intelligence, I
went upstairs. I found Mrs. Bradshaw
crying bitterly, and she threw herself into
my arms.

sO! ne Mademoiselle C

I said no more, and he went

Chatenceuf !—the dis-Qe
oO

 

 

grace !—the ruin !—I shall never get over
it,’ exclaimed she.

‘T see no disgrace or ruin, Mrs. Brad-
shaw, Adele has told me that a gentleman
had proposed marriage to her, and aske
my advice.’

‘Indeed !’ exclaimed Mrs. Bradshaw.

EIST

‘Well, that alters the cas ; buts still) why
did she leave in this canes. way ?

‘J presume the gentleman did not think
it right that she should marry out of a young
ladies’ establish Mer madam.

“Very true: I did not think of that.’

pAiter alll, Bhat is ite Your #rench
teacher is married—surely that will not injure
your establishment ?’

“No, certainly—why should it ?—but the
news came upon me so abruptly, that it
quite.upset me. I will lie down a little
and my head will soon be better.’

‘Time went on; so did the school. Hess
Adele, that was, sent no wedding-cake,
much to the astonishment ct the young
ladies ; and it was not till nearly three weeks
afterwards that I had a letter from Acele
Chabot, now Mrs. Jervis. But, before I
give the letter to my readers, 1 must: state,
that Mr. Selwyn, junior, had called upon
me the day before Caroline went to school,
and had had a long conversation with her,
while I went out to speak with Madame
Gironac on business: further, that Mr.
Selwyn, junior, called upon me a few days
afterwards, and after a little common-place
conversation, @ l’anelazse, about the wea-
ther, he asked after Miss Caroline Stanhope,
and then asked many questions. As I knew
what he wished, I made to him a full state-
ment of her position, and the unpleasant
predicament in which she was placed. I
also stated my conviction that she was not
likely to make-a happy match, if her hus-
band were selected by her father and
mother; and how much I regretted it, as
she was a very amiable, kind-hearted girl,
who would make an excellent wife to any
one deserving of her. He thought so too,
and professed great admiration of her ; and
having, as he thought, pumped me suffi-
ciently, he took his leave

A few days afterwards, he came upon
some pretended message from his father,
and then I told him that she was to be re-
moved in October. This appeared to dis-
tress him; but he did not forget to pull out
of his pocket a piece of music, Sealed up,
telling me that, by mistake, Caroline had left
two pieces of music at Kew, and had taken
away one belonging to his sister Mary ; that

 

 

  

VALERTE.

he returned one, but the other was mislaid,
and would be returned as soon as it was
found : and would I oblige him so far as to
request Miss Stanhope to ‘send him the piece
a music belonging to his sister, if she could
lay her hand upon it?

Ww ell, I will do your bidding, Mr. Sel-
wyn, ’ replied I ; ‘itis a very proper mes-
sage for a music-mistress to take ; ; and IJ will
also bring back your sister’s music, when
Caroline gives it me, and you can call here
forit, Iflam out, you can ask Madame
Gironac to give it to you... Upon which,
with many thanks a much gratitude for
my kindness, Mr. Selwyn withdrew.

‘Having made a dtl ,is known to the reader,
he shall now have the contents of Adele's
letter,

CHAPTER
We must now read Adeéle’s letter.

‘My DEAR VALERIE, —

“The die is cast, and I have now a most
difficult game to play. I have risked: all
upon it, and the happiness of my future life

 
 

L
}

is at stake. But let me narrate what has
passed since I made you my confidante.
Of course, you must know the day on which
I was missing. On that day I walked out
with him, and we were in a few minutes
since by a friend of his, whom he intro-
duced as Major Argat. After proceeding
about one hundred yards farther we arrived
at a chapel, the doors of which were open,
and the verger looking out, evidently expect-
ing some ebody.

“«« My dear angel,” said the colonel, ‘I
have the licence in my pocket; I have re-
quested the clergyman to atte nd, he is now
in the chapel, and all is ready. My friend
will be a witness, and there are others in at-
tendance. You have said that you love me,
trust yourself to me. Prove now that you
are sincere, and consent at once that our
hands as well as our hearts be united.”

‘Oh ! how I-trembled. I could not speak.
The words died away upon my lips. I
looked at him imploringly. He led me
gently, for my resistance was more in man-
ner than in effect, and [found myself within
the.chapel, the verger bowing as he pre-
ceded us, and the clergyman waiting at the
altar. ‘To retreat appeared impossible ; in-
deed I hardly felt as if I wished it, but my
feelings were so excited that I burst into
tears, What the clergyman may haveiA

Viz

eins

thought o my conduct, and my
dressed so little like a bride, I know not ;
but the colonel handed the license to his
friend, who tookit to the clergyman while I
Was recovering myself. At last we went up
to the altar, my head swam, and I hardly
knew what was said, but I repeated the re-
sponses, and I was—a ae When the
ceremony was over, and I x attempting to
rise from my knees, 1 fell, and was cartied
by the colonel into the vestry, wl
mained on a chair trembling
After a time, the colonel asked me if I was
well enough to sign my name to the mar-
riage register, and he put the pen in my
hand, a could not see where ie melee my
eyes were swimming with tears. ‘Th¢
clergyman guided my hand ee oe lace, and

 
 

1ere I re-

with. fear.

I wrote Adéle Chabot.
wh at. the effect of this s eee

  

sibly have upon my husband quite o\
me, and I sank my head down
hands upon the table

‘«cT will send for a glass of
said the clergyman, leaving
call the verger, or- clerk ;
fainting.”

' After he went out, T heard the coloneland
his friend speaking in low tones apart. Pro-
bably they thought that I was'not ina Sor
dition to pay <

upon

my

 
    

 

 

ittention to them,—but I ha
too much at stake.
“Wes,” replied
signed, as you Say,
what she is about.
I told you.”
<f did not

 

 

the colonel, ‘‘she has
but she hardly know iS
Depend upon it, it isas

hear the major’s reply, but I

did what the colonel said.
“Tt's all the better ; the marriage will
not be legal, and I can bring the e parents to

my own terms.’
All:doubt was now atanend. He had
married me convinced, and still convinced
that L was Caroline pee not
Adele Chee? and he had married me sup-
posing that I was an heiress. “My blood
ran ae and in a few seconds I wa Ss sense-
less, and should have fallen under the table,
had they not perceived that I was sanine:
and ran to my support. ‘The arrival of the
clergyman with the water recovered me.
My ‘husband whispered to me that it was
time to 5°, and teat a carriage was at the
door. -I do not recollect how I left the
church ; the motion of the carriage first
roused me up, and a flood of tears came to
my relief. How strange it is, Valerie, that
we should be so courageous and such
cowards at the same time. Would you be-
lieve, when I had collected myself, with a

1
iad

    

BERTIE.

°7
certain knowledge that my husband had de-
ceived himself—a full conviction of the
danger of my position when he found out
his mistake, and that my future happiness
was at stake—I felt glad that the deed was
done, and would not have been unmarried
again for the universe. As I became more
composed, I felt that it was time toact. I
wiped away my tears and said, as I smiled
upon my husband, who held my hand in
his, ‘I know that I have behaved very ill,
and very foolishly, but Iwas so taken by
surpris

‘Do you think that I love you the less
showing so much feeling, my dearest ?

replied ; ‘no, no, it only makes you
till more dear to me, as it convinces me
nat a sacrifice you have made for my
kes

‘Now, Valerie, could re be a prettier
speech, or one so apparenly sincere, from a
newly-matrried man to his bride, and yet re-
collect what he said to his friend not a
quarter of an hour before, about having my
parents in his power by the marriage not
being legal? I really am inclined to believe

hat we have two souls, a good and an evil
one, ooneaaally striving for the mastery ;
one for this world, and the other for the
next, and that the evil one will oe the
good one to have its influence, provided that
at the same time it has its own or an equal
share in the direction of us. For instance, I
believe the color iS was sincere in what he
said, and really does love me, supposing me
to be Caroline aha with the mundane
advantages to be gained by the marriage,
and that these better feelings of humanity
are allowed to be exe1 sed, and not inter-
fered with by the adverse party, who is satis-
fied with its own Mammon share. But the
struggle is to come when the evil spirit finds
itself defrauded of its p ortion, and then at-
tempts to desiroy the influence of the good.
He does love me now, and will continue to
love me, if disappointment shall not tear up
his still slightly-rooted affections. Now
comes my task to cherish and protect it, till
it has taken firm root, and all that woman
can do shall be done, I felt that all that I
required was time.

‘« Where are we going ?” said I.

«* About twenty miles from London,” re-
plied my husband, ‘‘after which, that is
to-morrow, you shall decide upon our future
plans, ”’

‘«‘T care not where,

for

!

1€

=
sa.

   

 

   
 

> replied 1; ‘with

you, place is indifferent, only do not re-
fuse me the first favour that I request of
you,’‘“«“Depend upon it I- will not,” replied
ies
““Ttis this, dearest, take me where you
will, but let it be three months before we
return or come near London. You must
feel my reason for making this request.”’

‘TJ grant it with pleasure,” replied he ;
‘for three months I am yours, and yours
only. We will live for one another.”

“« Ves, and never let us mention anyth io 1s
about future prospects, but devote the three
months to each other.”

««‘T understand you,” replied the colonel,
‘cand I promise you it shall be so. I will
have no correspondence even—there shall
be nothing to annoy you or vex you in any
way.”

“« Wor three months,” said I, extending
my hand.

*«* Acreed,” said he; ‘‘and totell you the
truth, if would have been my own feeling x
had it not been yours. When you strike
iron, you should do it when it is bot, but
when you have to handle it, you had bette or
wait till it is cool ; you um lerstand me, and
now the subject is dropped.”

‘My husband ha Seaneved most religiously
to his word up to the present time, as you
will see by the date of this letter. We are
now visiting the lakes of Cumberland.
Never could a spot be better situated for the
furtherance of my wishes. “The calm repose
and silent beauty of these waters must be
reflected upon the mind of any one of feel-
ing, which he colonel certainly does not
want ; and when you consider that I am
exerting all the art which poor woman has
to please, Ido hope and pray to heaven that
I may succeed in entwining myself round his
heart before his worldly views are destroved
by disappointment. Pray for me, dear Va-
lerie—pray for one who loves you dearly,
and who feels that the whole happiness of
her life is at stake. mG ours,

ADELE,

 

‘So far all goes well, my dear Adele,’
thought I ; ‘but we have yet to see the end.
J] wili pray for you with all my heart, for you
deserve to be happy, and none can be more
fascinating than you, when you exert your-
self. What is it in women that Ido not
feel which makes them so mad after the
other sex? Instinct, certainly ; for reason
is against it. Well, I have no objection to
help others to commit the folly, provided
that I am not led into it myself.’ Such
were my reflections as I closed the letter
from Adele.

A few days afterwards I received a ncte

 

UAE BIKA Bp

from Mr. Selwyn, junior, informing me that
his father had been made a puisne judge.
What that was I did not know, except that
he was a judge on the bench of some kind.
He also stated his intention of calling upon
me on the next day.

‘Yes,’ thaught I, ‘to receive the music
from Caroline. Of course she will return it
to me when I give her a lesson to-day.’

I was right in my supposition. Caroline

brought me a piece of music with a note,
saying, ‘Here is the music belonging to
Miss Selwyn, Valerie; will you take an
opportunity of returning it to her? Any
time will do ; f presume she is in no hurry :’
and Caroline coloured up when her eyes met
mine.

To punish her, I replied, ‘Oh, no, there
ean be no hurry; I shall be down at Kew
in a fortnight or three weeks, I will take it
with me then.’

‘ Butt my note, thank ing Mr. Selwyn, will
be of very long date,’ replied Caroline, ‘and
I want the other pieces of music belonging
to me which I left at Kew.’

“WwW. ell, Caroline, you cannot expect me to
be Cal ing Ss your Messages, and going to the
chambers of a handsome young Chancery
barrister. -By the bye, I had a note from
him this morning, telling me that his father
is eM Se to the bench. What does that

mean ?

f Tha t his fatl ler is madea judge. Is that

all he said ?’ replied C ois carelessly.

oW hy, n now I think of it, he said that he
would call upon me to-morrow, so I can give
him this music when he calls.’

At this intelligence, Caroline’s face bright-
ened up, and she went away. Mr. Selwyn
called the next day, and I delivered the
music and the note. He informed me that
he had now all his father’s private as well as

  

Chancery business, and wished to know
whether he was to consider himself my legal
ad

viser. E replied,

CI y; but that he could not expect
ihe ss of a teacher of music to be
very profitable.’

‘No, nor do I intend that it shall be, but
it will be a great pleasure.’ replied he, very
gallantly. ‘I hope you have some money
to put by.’

*“Yes, replied 1, “I have some, but not
quite enough; by the end of the year I hope
to have £500.’

‘Iam glad that you have told me, as a
profitable investment may occur before that
time, and I will secure it for you.’

He asked permission to read Caroline’s
note, and then said that he would find theVALERIE. 89

other piece of music, and leave it at Mon-
sieur Gironac’s, in the course of a day or
two-—after which he took his leave. I re-
ceived that evening a letter from Lionel,
which had a great effect upon me. In it he
stated, that at the fencing-school he had
made acquaintance with a young-officer, a
Monsieur Auguste de Chatenceuf,—that he
had mentioned to him that he knew a lady
of his name in England; that the officer
had asked him what the age of the lady
might be, and he had replied.

‘Strange,’ said the officer ; ‘I had a.very
dear sister, who was supposed to be drowned,
although the body was never found. Can
you tell me the baptismal name of the lady
you mention ?

‘Tt then occurred to me,’ continued Lionel,
‘that I might be imprudent if I answered,
and I therefore said that I did not know, but
I thought you had been’ called by your friends
Annette.’

‘“ Then it cannot be she,” replied he,
‘for my sisier’s name was Valerie. But
she may have changed her name—describe
to me her face and figure.”

‘As lat once felt certain that you were
the party, and was aware that the early por-
tion of your life was never referred to by
you, I thought it advisable to put him off
the scent, until I had made this communi-
cation. I therefore replied, ‘‘ That (excuse
me) you-were very plain, with a pug nose,
and very short and fat.”

«Then it must be somebody else,” re-
plied the officer.
beat when you first spoke about her, for I
loved my sister dearly, and have never ceased
to lament her loss.”

‘He then talked a great deal of you, and
gave me some history of your former life.
I took the opportunity to ask whether your
unnatural mother was alive, and he said,
“Yes, and thut your father was also alive
and well.”

‘I did not dare to ask more. Have I
done right or wrong, mj dear Mademoiselle
Chatenceuf? If wrong, I can easily repair
the error. Your brother, for such I presume
he is, I admire very much. He is very dif
ferent from the officers of the French army
in general, quite subdued and very cour-
teous, and there is a kind spirit in all he
says; which makes me like him more. You
have no idea of the feeling he showed, when
he talked about you—that is, if it is you—
which I cannot but feel almost certain that
it is. One observation of bis, | think it
right to make known to you, which is, that
he told me that since your supposed death,

“You made my heart.

 

your father had never held up his head ; in-
deed, he said that he had never seen him
smile since.’ 4

The above extract from Lionel’s letter
created such a revulsion, that I was obliged
to retire to my chamber to conceal my agi-
tated feelings from Madame Gironac. I
wept bitterly for some time. I thought of
what my poorfather must have suffered, and
the regrets of poor Auguste at my supposed
death ; and I doubted whether I was justi-
fied in the act I had committed, by the treat-
ment I had received from my mother. If
she had caused me so much pain, was 1
right in having given so much to others who
loved me? My poor father, he had never
smiled since! Should I permit him to wear
out his days in sorrowing for my loss?—oh,
no! Ino longer felt any animosity against
others who had ill-treated me. Surely, I
could forgive even my mother, if not for love
of her, at all events, for love of my father
and my brother. Yes, I would do so; I
was now independent of my mother and all
the family. I had nothing to fear from her ;
I could assist my family if they required it.

Such were my first feelings—but then
came doubts and fears. Could not my
mother claim me? insist upon my living
with her? prevent my earning my liveli-
hood ? or if I did employ myself, could she
not take from me all my earnings? Yes, by
the law of France, I thought she could.
Then, again, would she forgive me the three
years of remorse? the three years during
which she had been under the stigma of
having, by her barbarity, caused her child
to commit self-destruction ; the three years
of reproach which she must have expeti-
enced from my father’s clouded brow?
Would she ever forgive me for having ob-
tained my independence by the very talents
which she would not allow me to cultivate ?
No, never, unless her heart was changed.

After many hours of reflection, I resolved
that I would make known my existence to
Auguste, and permit him to acquaint my
father, under a promise of secrecy, but that
f would not trust myself in France, or allow
my mother to be aware of my existence,
until I could ascertain what her power might
be over me. But before I decided upon
anything, I made up my mind that I would
make a confidant, and obtain the opinion of
Judge Selwyn. By the evening’s post
wrote a note to him, requesting that he
would let me know when I might have an
interview.

An answer atrived the next day, stating
that Judge Selwyn would call and take me

oYCo VA ZL £

~~

down with him to Kew, where I should
sleep, and return to town with him on the
following morning. ‘This suited me very
well, and as soon as the carriage was off the
stones, I said that 1 was now about to con-
fide to him that portion of my life with
which he was unacquainted, and ask his
advice how I ought to proceed, in conse-
quence of some intelligence lately communi-
cated by Lionel. Ithen went into the whole
detail, until I arrived at my being taken
away from the barracks by Madame d’Al-
bret; the remainder of my life he knew
sufficient of, and I then gave him Lionel’s
letter to read, and when he had done so, I
stated to him what my wishes and what my
fears were, and begged him to decide for
me what was best to be done.

‘This is an eventful history, Valerie,’ said
the old gentleman. ‘I agree with you on
the propriety of making your. existence
known to your brother, and also to your
father, who has been sufficiently punished
for his cowardice. Whether your father will
be able to contain his secret, I doubt very
much : and from what you have told me of
your mother, I should certainly not trust
myself in France. I am not very well in-
formed of the laws of the country, but it is
my impression that children are there under
the control of their parents until they are
married. Go to France I therefore would
not, unless it were as a married woman ;
then you will be safe. When does Lionel
come over ?

‘He will comeat any time, if Isay I wish it.’

“Then let him come over, and invite your
brother to come with him, then you can ar-
range with him. I really wish you were
married, Valerie, and I-wish also that my
son was married; I should like to be a
grandfather before I die.’

“With respect to ae matrying, sir, I see
little chance of that ; I dislike the idea, and,
in fact, it would be better. to be with my
mother at once ; for I prefer an old tyranny
to a new one.’

t does not follow, my dear Valerie ; de-
pend upon it, there are many. happy marri-
ages. Am I a tyrant in my own house?
Does my wife appear to be a-slave ?’

‘There are many happy exceptions, my
dear sir,’ replied J. _‘ With respect to your
son's marrying, I think you need not despair
of that ; for it is my opinion that he will
very soon be—but this isa secret, and. 1
must say no more.

‘Indeed,’ replied the judge. ‘I know of
no one, and he would hardly marry without
consulting me,’

RIE.

‘Yes, sir, I think that he will, and I shall
advise him so to do—as it is necessary that
nothing should be known till it is over.
Trust to me, sir, that if it does take place,
you will be quite satisfied with the choice
which he makes; but I must have your
pledge not to say one wor ‘d about it. You
might spoil all.’

The old judge fell back in his carriage in

a reverie, which lasted some little while, and
then said,

Valerie, I believe that I understand you
now. Ifit is as I guess, I certainly agree
with you that I will ask no more questions,
as I should for many reasons not wish it
to appear that I know anything about it.’

Soon afterwards we arrived at Kew, and,
after a pleasant visit, on the following morn-
ing early, I returned to town with the judge.
I then wrote to Lionel, making known to
him as much as was necessary, under pledge
of secrecy, and stating my wish that he
should follow up my brother’s acquaint-
ance, and the next time that he came
over, persuade him to accompany him ;
but th at he was not to say anything to him
relative to my being his sister, on any ac-
count whatever,

Young Selwyn called the same day that I
came from Kew, with the piece of music
which was missing. I made no. remarks
upon the fact, that the music might have
been delivered to me by his sister, because I
felt assured that it contained a note more
musical than any in the score ; I gave it to
Caroline, and a few days afterwards, ob-
serving that she was pale and restless, I ob-
taine xd permission for her to go out with me
for the day. Mr. Selwyn happened to call
a few minutes after our arrival at Madame
Gironac’s, and that frequently occurred for
nearly two months, when the time arrived
that she was to be removed from the school.

The reader will, of course, perceive that I
was assisting this affair as much as I could.
T admit it ; ‘and I did so out of gratitude to
Mr. Selwyn’s father, for his kindness to me.
I knew Caroline to be a good girl, and well
suited to Mr. Selwyn ;.I knew that she must
eventually have a very large fortune ; and,
provided that her father and mother would
not be reconciled to their daughter after the
marriage, that Mr. ees had the means,
by his practice, of supporting her cor mfort-

abe without their assistance. I considered

hat I did akindness to Caroline and to Mr.
Selw yn, and therefore did not hesitate ;-be-

sides, I had other ideas on the subject, which
éventually turned. out as I expected, and
proved that I was right,On the last day of September, Caroline
slipped out, and followed me to Madame
Gironac’s; Mr. Selwyn was ready with the
license. We-walked to church, the cere-
mony was performed, and Mr. Selwyn took
his bride down to his father’s house at Kew.
The old judge was somewhat prepared for
the event, and received her very graciously.
Mrs. Selwyn and his sisters were partial to
Caroline, and followed the example of the
judge. Nothing could pass off more quietly
or more pleasantly. For reasons which I
did not explain, I requested Mr. Selwyn, for
the present, not tomake known his marriage
to Caroline’s parents, as I considered it
would be attended with great and certain
advantages and he promised me that he
would not only be silent upon the sub-
ject, but that all his family should be
equally so.

If Mrs. Bradshaw required two bottles of
Eau-de-Cologne and water to support her
when she heard of the elopement of Adele
Chabot, I leave the reader to imagine how
many she required when an heiress in-
trusted to her charge had been guilty ofa
similar act.

As Caroline had not left me, fT was not
implicated, and the affair was most inscrut-
able, She had never been seen walking, or
known to correspond with any young man,
I suggested to Mrs, Bradshaw that it was
the fear of her father removing her from her
protection which had induced her to run
away, and that most probably she had gone
to her aunt Bathurst's. Upon this hint, she
wrote to Mr. Stanhope, acquainting him
with his daughter's disappearance, and
giving it as her opinion that she had gone
to her aunt's, being very unwilling to return
home. Mr. Stanhope was furious ; he im-
mediately drove to Madame Bathurst's,
whom he had not seen for a long time, and
demanded his daughter. Madame Bathurst
declared that she knew nothing about her.
Mr. Stanhope expressed his disbelief, and
they parted in high words.

A few days afterwards, the colonel and
Adéle came to town, the three months
acceded to her wishes having expired ;
and now I must relate what I did not know
till some days afterwards, when I saw
Adéle, and who had the narrative from her
husband.

It appeared, that as soon as the colonel
arrived in London, still persuaded that he
had married Caroline Stanhope, and not
Adéle Chabot, without stating his intention
to her, he went to Grosvenor-square, and
requested to see Mr, Stanhope. This was

   

VALERIE,

  
  
  
    
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
   
 
 
  
   
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

oi
about a fortnight after Caroline’s elopement
with Mr. Selwyn. He was admitted, and
found Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope in the draw-
ing-room. He had sent up his card
and Mr, Stanhope received him with great
hauteur. ;

‘What may your pleasure be with me,
sir? [Looking at the card.] Colonel Jervis,
I think you call yourself 2

Now, Colonel Jervis was a man well
known about town, and, in his own opinion,
not to know him argued yourself unknown ;
he was therefore not a little angry at this
reception, and being a really well-bred man,
was also much startled with the vulgarity of
both parties.

‘My name, Mr. Stanhope, as you are
pleased to observe,’ said the colonel, with
hauteur, ‘is Jervis, and my business with
you is relative to your daughter.’

‘My daughter, sir >?’

“Our daughter! Why, you don’t mean
to tell us that you have run away with our
daughter ?’ screamed Mrs. Stanhope.

‘Yes, madam, such is the fact; she is now
my wife; and I trust that she is not married
beneath herself.’

‘A colonel-! a paltry colonel !—a match
for my daughter !. Why, with her fortune
she might have married a duke,’ screamed
Mrs. Stanhope. ‘Ill never speak to the
wretch again. A colonel, indeed! I sup-
pose a militia-colonel. I dare say you are
only a captain, after all. Well, take her to
barracks, and to barracks yourself. You
may leave the house. Not a penny—
no, not a penny do you get. Does he,
Stanhope?’

‘Not one half a farthing,’ replied Mr.

tanhope, pompously. ‘Go, sir; Mrs. Stan-
hope’s sentiments are mine.’

The colonel, who was in a towering pas-
sion at the treatment -he received, now
started up, and said, ‘Sir and madam, you
appear to me not to understand the usages
of good society, and I positively declare,
that had I been aware of the insufferable
vulgarity of her parents, nothing would have
induced me to marry the-daughter. I tell
you this, because I care nothing for you.
You are on the stilts at present, but I shall
soon bring you to your senses ; for know,
sir and madam, although I did elope with
and married your daughter, the marriage is
not legal, as she was married under a false
name, and that was her own act—not mine.
You may therefore prepare to receive your
daughter back, when I think fit to send her
—disgraced and dishonoured ; and then try
if you can match her witha duke, I leave7

you to digest this piece of information, and
now wish you good morning. You have
my address, when you feel inclined to
apologize, and do me the justice which I
shall expect before a legal marriage takes
place.’

So saying, the colonel left the house : and
it would be difficult to say which of the three
parties was in the greatest rage.

The colonel, who had become sincerely
attached to Adéle, who had weli profited by
the time which she had gained, returned
home in no very pleasant humour. Throw-
ing himself down on the sofa, he said to her
in a moody way,

11 be candid with you, my dear; if I
had seen vour father and mother before 1
married you, nothing would Dae Pe rsuaded
me.to have made you my wife. Whena
man marries, I consider comraeanien and for-
tune to be the two greatest points to be ob-
tained ; but such animals as your father and
mother I never beheld. Good Heaven ! that
I should be allied to such people !’

‘May I ask you, dearest, to whom you re-
fer, and what is the meaning of all this?
My father and mother! Why, colonel,
my father was killed at the attack of
Montmartre, and my mother died before
him.’

‘Then who and what are you?’ cried the
colonel, jumping up; ‘are you not Caroline
Stanhope ?’

‘I thank Heaven, Iam not. I have al-
ways told you that I was Adele Chabot, and
no other person, You must admit that.
My father and mother were no vulgar
people, dearest husband, and my family is
as good as most in France: Come over
with me to Paris, and you will then see who
my relatives and connections are. I am
poor, I grant ; but recollect that the revo-
lution exiled many wealthy families, and
mine among the rest, alt hough we were per-
mitted eventually to return to France.
What can have induced you to fall into this
error, and still persist (notwithstanding my
assertions to the contrary), that Iam the
daughter of those vulgar upstarts, who are
proverbial for their want of manners, and
who are not admitted into hardly any
society, rich as they are supposed to be?’

The colonel looked all amazement.

‘I’m sorry you are disappointed, dearest,’
continued Adele, ‘if you areso. I am sorry
that I am not Caroline Stanhope with a
large fortune ; but if I do not bring youa
fortune, by economy I will save you one.
Let me only see that you are not deprived of
your usual pleasures and luxuries, and I care

64 VALERTE.

  
    
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
   
     
 
   
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
   
       
  
   
  
 
  
   
 
  
    
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
    
    
  
 
  

not what I do, or how I live. You willfind
no exacting wife in me, dearest, troubling
you for expenses you cannot afford. J will
live but to please you, and if I do not suc-
ceed, I will die—if you wish to be rid of
me.

Adele resumed her caresses with the tears
running down her cheeks, for she loved her
husband dearly, and felt what she said.

The colonel could not resist her; he put
his arms round her and said: ‘Do not cry,
Adele; I believe you, and moreover, I feel
that I love you. Iam thankful that I have
not married Caroline Stanhope, for I pre-
sume she cannot be very different from her
parents. I admit that I have been deceiving
myself, and that I have deceived myself into
a better little wife than I deserve, perhaps.
I realy am glad of my escape. I would not
have been connected with those people for
the universe. We will do as you Say: we
will go to France for a short time, and you
shall j introduce me to your relations.’

Before the next morning, Adéle had gained
the victory. The colonel felt that he had
deceived himself, that he might be langhed
at, and that the best that could be done. was
to go to Paris and announce from thence his
marriage in the papers. Hel iad a sufficiency
to live upon, to command luxury as well as
comforts, and on the whole he was now satis-
fied that a handsome and strongly-attached
wife, who brought him no fortune, was pre-
ferable to a marriage of mere interest. I
may as well here observe, that Adele played
her cards so well, that the colonel was a
happy and contented man. She kept her
promise, and he found with her management
that he hi ad more money thana married man
required, and he blessed the day in which he
had married by mistake. And now to return
to the Ste anhopes.

Although they were too angry at the time
to pay much heed to the colonel’s parting
threats, yet when they had cooled, and had
time for reflection, Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope
were much distressed at the intelligence that
their daughter was not legally married. For
some days they remained quiet ; at last they
thought it advisable to come to terms, to
save their daughter's honour. But during
this delay on their part, Adéle had called
upon me, and introduced her husband and
made me acc yeted with all that had passed.
‘They stated their intention of proceeding to
Paris immediately, and although I knew
that Adéle’s relations were of good family,
yet I thought an introduction “to Madame
d’Albret would be of service toher. I there-
fore gave her one, and it proved most ser-VALERIE.
viceable ; for the colonel found himselfin the to carry her off,
first society in Paris, and his wife was well very rich prize ; but, madam, he made a
received and much admired. When, there- slight mistake—instead of your daughter, he
fore, Mr. Stanhope made up his mind to call has. run away and married the French
upon the colonel at the address of the hotel teacher, who has not a sixpence. He has
where they had put up, he found they had now found out his mistake, and is off to
left, and nobody knew where they had gone. Paris to hide himself from the laughter of
This was a severe blow, and Mr. and Mrs. the town.” ’
Stanhope were in a State of the utmost un- ‘This intelligence was the cause of much
certainty and suspense. Now was the time mirth and glee to Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope ;
for Mr. Selwyn to come forward, and I the latter actually cried with delight, and I
despatched a note to him, requesting him to took care to join heartily in the merriment.
come to town. I put him in possession of As soon as it had subsided, Mrs. Stanhope
Adéle’s history, her marriage with the said,— 4
colonel, and all the particulars with which *““But, Mr. Selwyn, you said that my
the reader is acquainted ; and I pointed out daughter was married. How is that?”
to him how he should act when he called “““Why, madam, the fact is, that your
upon Mr. Stanhope, which I advised him to daughter's affections were engaged at the
do immediately. He followed my advice, time of this elopement of the colonel’s, and
and thus described what passed on his it was her intention to make known to you
return ; that such was the case, presuming that you
‘I sent up my card to Mr. and Mrs. Stan- would not refuse to sanction her marriage ;
hope, and was received almost as politely as but when the elopement took place, and it
the colonel. I made no remark, but taking was even reported that she had run away,
a chair, which was not offered to me, I said, her position became very awkward, and the
‘““You have my card, Mr. Stanhope; I must, more so, as some people declared (as the
in addition to my name, inform you that I colonel asserted), that she was not legally
am a barrister, and that my father is Judge married. On consulting with the gentleman
Selwyn, who now sits on the King’s Bench. of her choice, it was argued thus: If Miss
You probably have met him in the circles in Stanhope goes back to her father's house
which you visit, although you are not ac- after this report that she is not legally mar-
quainted with him. Your sister, Madame ried, it will be supposed that the colonel,
Bathurst, we have the pleasure of knowing.” finding that he was disappointed in his views,
_‘ This introduction made them-look more had returned her dishonoured upon her
Civil > for 4 judge was with them somebody. parents hands, and no subsequent matriage
‘*“My object in coming here isto speak would remove the impression. It was,
to you relative to your daughter.”’ therefore, considered advisable, both on her
‘‘* Do you come from the colonel, then?” parents’ account and on her own, that she

53

supposing that she was a

eal

 

said Mrs. Stanhope, sharply. also should elope, and then it would be
‘““No, madam. Ihave no acquaintance easily explained that it was somebody else
with the colonel. who had eloped with the colonel, and that

‘*“Then how do you know my daughter, Miss Stanhope had married ina secret way.
Siln Miss Stanhope, therefore, was properly mar-

‘“T had the pleasure of meeting her at my tied in church before respectable witnesses,
father's. She stayed a short time with my and conducted immediately afterwards by
family at our country seat at Kew.” her husband to his father’s house, who ap-

“““ Indeed !” exclaimed Mrs. Stanhope; proved of what was done, as now no teflec-
“well, I had no idea of that. I’m sure the tion can be made, either upon Miss Stanhope
judge was very kind; but, sir, you know or her respectable parents.”

that my daughter has married very unfortu- “© Well, let us all know the person to
nately 2” whom she is married.”
“That she has married, madam, I am “««’"To myself, madam ; and your daughter

oe)

aware, but I trust_not unfortunately. is now at Judge Selwyn’s, where she has been

‘Why, sir, she married a colonel-—a fel- ever since her marriage, with my mother and
low who came here and told us it was no sisters. My father would have accompanied
marriage at all !” me to explain all this; but the fact is, that

*«*Tt is to rectify that mistake, madam, his lordship is now so much occupied that he
which has induced metocall. The colonel, could not. He will, however, be happy to
madam, did hear that your daughter was at see Mr. Stanhope, who is an idle man, either
Mrs. Bradshaw’s establishment, and wished at his town house, or at his country seat, ISRE NE

 

 

94.
trust, madam, as I have the honour to be
your son-in-law, you will permit me to kiss
your hand?”

‘« Caroline may have done worse, my
dear,” said the lady to her husband, who was
still wavering. ‘‘ Mr. Selwyn may bea judge
himself, or he may be a Lord Chancellor,
recollect that. Mr. Selwyn, you are wel-
come, and I shall be most happy to see his
lordship, and my husband shall call upon
him when we know when he will be at leisure.
Oh! that colonel; but he’s rightly served—
a French teacher. Ha, ha, ha!’ and Mrs.
Stanhope’s mirth was communicated to her
husband, who now held out his hand to me
in a most patronising manner.

‘« Well, sir, I give you joy. I believe
you have saved my daughter's character; and
my dear,’ added he, very pompously, “we
must do something for the young people.”

«<7 trust, sir, 1 bear your forgiveness to
Caroline ?”’

«« Ves, you do, Mr, Selwyn,’ said the
lady. ‘‘ Bring her here as soon as you please.
Oh, that colonel! ha, ha, ha! and ie TES
capital A French teacher. Ha, ha, ha!”

Such was the winding up of this second
marriage. Had not Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope
been much subdued by the intelligence re-

eived from the colonel of the marriage being
illegal, and had they not also been much
gratified at the mistake of the colonel, things
might not have gone off so pleasantly. I
have only to add, that. Mr. Stanhope, who
appeared to obey his wife in everything,
called upon the judge, and their interview
was very amicable. Mr. Stanhope, upon
the judge stating that his son had sufficient
income, immediately became profuse, and
settled £2,000 per annum upon his daughter,
during his life, with a promise of much more
eventually. Caroline was graciously received
by her mother, and presented with some
splendid diamonds. The judge told me that
he knew the part I had taken in the affair,
and shook his finger at me.

Thus ended this affair, and Madame
Gironac, when she heard how busy | had
been in the two elopements, said,

‘Ah, Valerie, you begin by marrying
people. You will end in finding a hus
for yourself.’

 
 

‘That is quite another thing, madam,’ I

 

replied ; ‘I have no objection in assisting
other people to their wishes, but it does not
follow that therefore I am to seek for myself
what I do not wish,’

‘Valerie, 1am a prophetess. You willbe
married some time next year. Mark my
words,’

 

VALERIE.

  
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  

 

‘7 will not forget them, and at the end of
the year we shall see who is right and whe
is wrong.’

After all this bustle and turmoil, there was —
a calm, which lasted the whole winter. I
followed up my usual avocations. I had as
many pupils as J could attend to, and saved
money fast. The winter passed away, and
in the spring I expected Lionel with my bro-
ther Auguste. I looked forward to seeing
my brother with great impatience ; not a day
that he was out of my thoughts. I was
most anxious to hear of my father, my bro-
thers, and sisters, and. every particular con-
nected with the family ; even my mother was
an object of interest, although not of regard,
but I had forgiven all others who had ill-
treated me, and I felt that I forgave and for-
got, if she would behave as a mother towards
me. I had received kind letters from Ma-
dame d’Albret and Adeéle; the letters of the
latter were most amusing. Madame Bathurst
had called upon me several times. Iwas at
peace with all the world and with myself.
At last, I received a letter from Lionel, stat-
ing that he was coming over in a few days ;
that he had great difficulty in persuading
my brother to come with him, as he could
not afford the expense out of his own means,
and did not like to lie under such an obliga-
tion. At last he had been overruled, and
was coming with him.

‘Then I shall see you again, dear Au-
guste !? thought 1; ‘you who always loved
me, always protected me and took my part,
and whe so lamented my supposed death ;’
and my thoughts turned to the time when
he and I were with my grandmother in the
palace, and our early days were passed over
in review. ‘My poor grandmother, how I

loved you! and how you deserved to be
loved }’ And thenI caleulated what I might
have been, had I been left with my grand-
mother, and had inherited her small pro-
perty ; and, on reflection, I decided that I
was better off now than I probably should
have been, and that all was for the best. I

 

thought of the future, and whether it was
likely I ever should. marry, and I decided
that I never would, but that if I ever re-
turned to my family, I would assist my

.
sisters, and try to make them happy.
‘Yes,’ thought I, ‘marry I never will—
that is decided —nothing shall ever induce
ME 3
My reverie was interrupted by the entrance
of a stranger, who, apologizing to me,
stated that he had come to seek Monsieur
Gironac.
I replied that he was. not at home, andALE

probably it would be half an hour before he
returned to dinner.

“With your leay
gracefully bowing, ‘1 will \
turns. I will not, however,
yet, time, if it is disa; greeable ; “pera
servant w ill accommodate me with a che al
Sey her en

    

   

I requested that he would be seated, as
there was no fire in any other room ‘ an dhe
took a chair. He was a Frenchman, speak

 

ing good English; but he soon dis eee
that I was his countrywoman, and the con-
versation was carried on in French. He
informed me that he was the Comte de Cha-
vannes.. But I must describe him. He was
1er small in stature, but elegant tly made ; :
his featurés were, if any thi effeminate,
but very handsome; they would have beet
handsome im a woman. effeminacy
was, however, relieved by air of mous-
taches, soft, silky, and curling. His manners
were peculiarly fascinati ng, an d his conver-
sation lively and full of point. Iwas much
pleased with him during the hal th
we were together, during which we h d ke pt
up the conversation with much sp init The
arrival of Monsieur Gironac put an end to
our ¢éfe-d-téte, and having arrang ed his
business with him, which was relative to
some flute-music, which the comte wished
to be published, after a few minutes’ more
conversation, he took his leave

‘Now, there’s a man that I would select
for your fisband: Valerie,’ said Monsieut
Gironac, after the comte had left. ‘Is 1!
nota vay agreeable fellow ?’

‘Yes, he is,’ I replied; ‘ he is very enter-
ta ining and very well bred. Who is-he

‘ His history is told in few words,’ vr
doa Gironac. ‘His father emigratec
with the Bourbons; but, unlike most of
those who emipiated, he neither turned
music-master, da ] aster, hair-dresser,
nor teacher of the ee nee language. He
had a little money, and he embarked in come
merce. He went as supercargo, and then
as travelling partner in a house to America,
the Havannah ; ciate the West Indies ; and
after having crossed the Atiantic about
twenty times in the course of the late war,
he amassed a fortune of about £40,000. At
the restoration, he went to Paris, resumed
his title, which he had laid aside during his
commercial course, was well received
Louis XVIII., and made a colonel of th
Legion of Honour. He returned to this
country to settle his affairs, previous to going
down to Brittany, and died suddenly, leav-
ing the young man you haye just seen, who

 

 
    

 

oO

  

 

 

    

 

  

DALE. 95

is his only son and heir, alone on the wide
world, and with a good fortune as soon as
he came of age. At the time of his father's
death, he was still at.school. Now he is
twenty-four years old, and has been for
three years in possession of the property,
which is still in the English funds. He ap-
pears to like ie better. than France,
for most of his time is passed in London.
He is very talented, very musical, composes
well, and is altogether a most agreeable
young man, and fit for-the husband of
Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenceuf. Now
you a Ns the whole history ; the marriage is
yet to take place.’

Your last observation is correct ; or rather
it is not, for the marriage will never take
place.’

‘Mais, gue voulez-vous, mademoiselle?’
cried Monsieur Gironac ; ‘must we send for
the angel Gabriel for you?

‘No,’ ‘eplied I, ‘he is not a marrying
man, any more than lam a marrying woman,
Isit not sufficient that I admit your count to
be very agreeable ?—that won’t content you.
want me to marry a man whom I have
onehalf-hour. Are you reasonable,
ir Gironac ?’

“He has rank, wealth, good looks, talent,
and polished manners; and you admit that
you do not dislike him ; what would you
have more ?

‘He is not in love with me, and I am not
in love with him.’

‘ Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenceuf, you

I will no longer trouble
myself with look ing out for a husband for
you. You shall die a sour old maid ; and
Monsieur Gironac left the room, pretending
to be in a passion.

A few days after the meeting with
Count de Chavannes, Lionel made his ap-
pearance. My heart beat quick as I wel-
coméd him.

‘He is here,’ said he, anticipating my
sees ; ‘but I called just to know when

should come, and whether I was to say
anything to him before he came.’

‘No, no, tell him nothing—bring him
here directly -—how long will it “be before you
return ?’

‘Not halfan-hour. I am at my old
lodgings in Suffolk-street, so good-bye for
the present;’ and Lionel walked away
again.

Monsieur and Madame Gironac were both
out, and would not return for an hour or
two, I thought the half-hour would never

faa

 

  
 

 

 

pass ; but it did at last, and they knocked.

at the door, Lionel entered, followed by©6

my brother Auguste. I was surprised at his
having grown so tall and handsome.

‘ Madame Gironac is not at home, made-
moiselle,’ said Lionel.

‘No, Monsieur Lionel.’

‘Allow me to present to you Monsieur
Auguste de Chatenceuf, a lieutenant in the
service of his majesty, the king of the
French.’

Auguste bowed, and, as I returned the
salute, looked earnestly at me and started.

‘Excuse me, mademoiselle,’ said he, com-
ing up to me, and speaking in a tremulous
voice ; ‘but—yes, you must be Valerie.’

‘Yes, dear Auguste,’ cried I, opening my
arms.

He rushed to me, and covered me with
kisses, and then staggering to a chair, sat
down and wept. So did I, aud so did
Lionel, for sympathy and company.

‘Why did you conceal this from me,
Lionel?’ said he, after a time; ‘see how
you have unmanned me.’

‘I only obeyed orders, Auguste,’ replied
Lionel ; ‘ but, now that I have executed my
commission, I will leave you together; for
you must have much to say to eachother. I
will join you at dinner-time.’

Lionel went out and left us together ; we
renewed our embraces, and after we were
more composed, entered into explanations.
I told him my history in as few words as
possible, promising to enter into details after-
wards, and then I inquired about the family.
Auguste replied :

‘I will begin from the time of your disap-
pearance. No one certainly had any suspi-
cion of Madame d’Albret having spirited you
away ; indeed, she was, as you know, con-
stantly at the barracks till my father left,
and expressed her conviction that you had
destroyed yourself. ‘The outcry against your
mother was universal; sbe dared not show
herself, and your father was ina state to
excite compassion. Four or five times a
day did he take his melancholy walk down
to the Morgue to ascertain if your body was
found. He became so melancholy, morose,
and irritable, that people were afraid lest he
would destroy himself. He never went
home to your mother but there was a scene
of reproaches on his part, and defence on
hers, that was a scandal to the barracks.
All her power over him ceased from that
time, and has ceased for ever since, and per-
haps you know that he has retired ?

‘How should I know, Auguste ?’

‘Ves; he could not bear to look the other
officers in the face ; he told me that he con-
sidered himself, from his weakness and folly,

  

 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
   
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
 
 
 

VALERIE.

to have been the murderer of his child ; that
he felt himself despicable, and could not
longer remain with the regiment. As soon
as the regiment arrived at Lyons, he sent in
his retirement, and has ever since been living
at Pau, in the south of France, upon his
half-pay and the other property which he
possesses. *

‘My poor father ! exclaimed I, bursting
into tears.

‘As for me, you know that I obtained
leave to quit the regiment, and have ever
since been inthe 51st of the line. I have
obtained my grade of lieutenant. I have
seen my father but once since I parted with
him at Paris. He is much altered, and his
hair is gray.’

‘Is he comfortable where he is, Auguste ?

‘Yes, Valerie; I think that he did wisely ;
for it was ruinous fravelling about with so
many children. He is comfortable, and, I
believe, as happy as he can be. Oh, if he
did but know that you were alive, it would
add ten years to his life.’

‘He shall know it, my dear Auguste,” ex-
claimed I, as the tears coursed down my
cheeks. ‘I feel now that I was very
selfish in consenting to Madame d’Albret’s
proposal, but I was hardly in my senses at the
time.’

‘T cannot wonder at your taking the step,
nor can I blame you. Your life was one of
torture, and it was torture to others to see
what you underwent.’

‘I pity my father, for weak as he was, the
punishment has been too severe.’

‘But you will make him happy now, and
he will rejoice in his old days.’

‘ And now, Auguste, tell me about Nicolas
—he never liked me, but I forgive him—-how
is he?’

‘He is, I believe, well ; but he has left
his home.’

‘Left home?’

‘You know how kind your mother was to
him—I may say, how she doated upon him.
Well, one day, he announced his intention
of going to Italy, with a friend he had
picked up, who belonged to Naples. His
mother was frantic at the idea, but he actu-
ally laughed at her, and behaved ina very
unfeeling manner. Your mother was cut
to the heart, and has never got over it;
but, Valerie, the children who are spoiled
by indulgence, always turn out the most un-
grateful.’

‘Have you heard of him since ?’

‘Yes; he wrote to me, telling me that he
was leading an orchestra in some small
town, and adyancing rapidly—you know histalent for music—but not one line has he
ever written to his mother.’

‘Ah me!’ sighed I, ‘And that is all the
return she has for her indulgence to him.
Now tell me about Clara.’

‘She is well married, and lives at Tours:
her husband is an employée, but I don’t ex-
actly know what.’

‘And Sophie and Elisée ?’

‘Are both well, and promise to grow up
fine girls, but not so handsome as you are,
Valerie. ft was the wonderful improve-
ment in your person that made me doubt for
a moment when I first saw you.’

“And dear little Pierre, that I used to
pinch that I might get out of the house, poor
fellow ?’

‘Is a fine boy, and makes his father very
melancholy, and his mother very angry, by
talking about you.’

‘And now, Auguste, one more question.
On what terms are my father and mother,
and how does she conduct herself ?’

‘My father treats her with ceremony and
politeness, but not with affection. She has
tried every means to resume her empire over
him, but finds it impossible, and she has
now turned dévote. ‘They sleep in separate
rooms, and he is very harsh and severe to
her at times, when the fit comes on him.
Indeed, Valerie, if you sought revenge,
which I know you do not do, you have had
sufficient ; for her brow is wrinkled with care
and mortification.’

‘But do you think she is sorry for what
she has done ?’

‘I regret to say I do not. I think she is
sorry for the consequences, but that her ani-
mosity against you would be greater than
ever if she knew that you were alive, and if
you were again in her power, she would
wreak double vengeance. Many things
have occurred, to confirm me in this belief.
You have overthrown her power, which she
never will forgive ; and as for her religion, I
have no faith in that.’

‘It is then as I feared, Auguste ; and if I
make known my existence to my father, it
must be concealed from my mother.’

‘T agree with you that it will be best ; for
there is no saying to what point the ven-
geance of an unnatural mother may be car-
ried. But let us quit this subject, for the
present at least ; and now tell me more about
yourself.’

‘I will—but there is Lionel’s knock : sol
must defer it till another opportunity. Dear
Auguste, give me one more kiss, while we
are alone,’

VALERIE.

CHAPTER AIT

IN a few minutes after Lionel’s return, which
he had considerably postponed, until Mon-
sieur Gironac’s dinner-hour had all but ar-
rived, my good host first, and then kind,
merry little madame, made their appear-
ance, and a little while was consumed in in-
troductions, exclamations, admirations, and
congratulations, all tinctured not a little by
that national vivacity, which other folks are
in the habit of calling extravagance, and
which, as my readers well know already, the
good Gironacs had by no means got rid of,
even in the course of a long séouv in the
matter-of-fact metropolis of England.

Fortunately, my friends were for the most
part az faztto the leading circumstances
of my life, so that little explanation was
needed.

And more fortunately yet, like tide and
time, dinner waits for no man; nor have
ever observed, in all my adventurous life,
that the sympathy of themost sentimental, the
grief of the most woe-begone, or the joy of
the happiest, ever induces them to neglect
the summons of the dinner-bell, and the
calls of the responsive appetite.

In the midst of the delight of madame, at
having at last to receive ihe brother of ceéze
chere Valerie, and that my brother, too, sz deZ
homme et brave officier, et d'une resemblance
st parfaite a la charmante seur, dinner was
luckily announced ; and the torrent-tide of
madame’s hospitality was cut short, by her
husband’s declaration that we were all, like
himself, dying of hunger ; and that nota
word more must be spoken, touching sym-
pathies or sentiments, until we had partaken
of something nutritious, de quot soutenir
Ll’ épuisement des émotions st déchirantes.

Madame laughed, declared that he was
an barbare, un malheureux sans grandeur
de l’éme, and taking possession of Auguste,
led him away into the dining-room : where
though she told me afterwards that she was
au comble de desespoir at having set us down
to so every-day a meal, we found an excel-
lent dinner, and spent a very pleasant hour
until coffee was served ; when, with it, nota
little to my surprise, nor very much to my
delight, Monsieur de Chavannes made his
appearance. :

There was a quizzical look on Monsieur
Gironac’s face, and a roguish twinkle in his
eye, which led me to believe that what was
really a matter of surprise to me, was none
to my worthy host ; for the Count de Cha-

4sme neet T

 

 

98

 

 

vannes had never visited the house before,
in the evening ; nor, from what I had under-
stood, was he on terms of particular inti-
macy with the Gironacs.

I was foolish enough to be, at first, a
little put out at this ; and having manifested
some slight embarrassment on his first en-
trance, which I learned afterwards did not
escape his eye, though he was far too well
bred to show it, 1 ‘made the matter worse by
calling my pride to my aid, incited thereto
by Madame Gironac’s glance and smile at
my blushing confusion, and certainly in no
respect contributed to the gaiety of the even-
ing. Nothing, however, I must admit,
could have been more gentlemanly, or in
better taste, than the whole demeanour of
Monsieur de Chavannes, and I could not
help feeling this, and comparing it men-
tally with the inferior bearing of others I
had. seen, even in the midst of my fit of
hauteur and frigidity.

He neither immediately withdrew him-
self on learning that my brother, whom I
had not seen for many years, had but just
arrived, as any half-bred person would have
done under the like circumstances, with an
awkward apology for his presence, tending
only to. make every one else more awkward
yet ; nor made set speeches, nor foolish com-
pliments, on a subject too important for such
trifling.

He did not trouble me with any at-
tentions, which he perceived would be at
that moment distasteful, but exhibited the
most marked desire to cultivate the acquaint-
ance of Auguste, to whom he showed a de-
gree Of deference, though himself somewhat
the senior, as to a military man, that flat-
tered his esprzt de corps, mingled with a sort
of frank cordiality, which except from coun-
tryman to countryman in a foreign land,
would perhaps have been a little overdone :
but, under the actual circumstances, it could
not have been improved.

For the short time he remained, he con-
versed well and wittily ; yet with a strain of
fancy and feeling, blended with his wit,
which rendered it singularly original and
attractive ; and perfectly succeeded, though
{ know not whether he intended it or not,
in directing the attention of the company
from my altered and somewhat unamiable
mood,

Among other things, I remember that, in
the course of conversation, while tendering
some civilities to Auguste, the use of his
riding-horses, his cabriolet, or his services
in showing him some of the lions of London,
he observed that Monsieur de Chatenceuf

 

VALERIE.

 

  

must not consider stich an offer impertinent
on his: part, since Ne peleved: it our
genealogy were properly traced, some sort
of cousinship could be established ; as more
than one of the De Chavannes had inter-
married in old times with the Chatenceufs
of Gascony, when both the families, like
their native provinces, had been acting in
alliance with the English Plantagenets
against the French kings of the house of
Valois.

A few words were said, in connection
vith this, touching the singularity of the
fact, that it would seem as if England had
something to do with the associations of the
two families; but I do not think the re-
mark was made by De Chavannes, and
whatever it was, it was not sufficiently
pointed to be in any way offensive or
annoying.

On the whole, hurt as I was in some sort
by the idea which had taken hold of me,
that the Gironacs, through a false and in-
delicate idea of advancing my welfare, were
endeavouring to promote a liking between
myself and the count, I cannot deny that
the evening, on the whole, was a pleasant
one, and that, if at first it had been my im-
pression that De Chavannes was agreeable,
entertaining, and well bred, I was now pre-
pared to admit he had excellent taste, and
delicate feelings into the bargain.

Still I felt that I did not like him, or per-
haps I should rather say. his attentions—
though in fact he had paid me none,—and
was rather relieved when he made his bow
and retired.

Shortly afterwards, Auguste observed that
I seemed dull and tired, and Madame
Gironac followed suit by saying. that it was
no wonder if the excitement and interest
created by the unexpected arrival of so
dear a brother had proved too much for my
nerves.

Thereupon, after promising to return
early in the morning, sothat we might have
a long talk about the past and a long
consultation about the future, Lionel and
Auguste bade us good night also ; but not
before Lionel had said to me as he was
taking leave,

‘TI think, Mademoiselle, that it will be no
more than proper that I should drive down
to Kew to-morrow morning, and wait upon
Judge Selwyn, who has always been so
kind to me—have you any message for him ?’

‘Oh! yes. I beg you-will tell him that
Auguste has come, and that 1 request
he will let me know when we may wait
on him?‘ And the answer will be, Mademoiselle,
his waiting upon you. Is that what you
desire?

‘I only desire what I state—to know
when and how we may see him, for I know
very little of Auguste’s heart, if he does not
wish to return thanks to one who, except our
dear friends here, has been poor Valerie’s
surest confidant and protector. But you
will find the judge’s family increased since
you saw him. His son has persuaded my
pretty little friend Caroline Stanhope to be-
come his wife, and she is living with the
judge’s family at present.’

Lionel expressed his surprise and pleasure
at the news; but I thought at the moment
that the pleasure was not real, though I
have since had reason to believe that the
gravity which came over his face as he
spoke, was the gravity of thought, rather
than that, as I fancied at the time, of disap-
pointment.

Nothing more passed worthy of record,
and, after shaking hands with Lionel, and
kissing my long-lost brother, I was left alone
with the Gironacs, half-expectant of a play-
ful scolding.

‘Well, Mademoiselle Valerie de Chate-
noeuf,’ began monsieur, as soon as the gen-
tlemen had left us, ‘is it because you have
found out that you have got a handsome
brother, that you are determined to drive all
other handsome young men au desespoir ?—
or is it that you wish to’ break the heart,
especially, of this pawure Monsieur de Cha-
vannes, that you have treated us all with an
air sz hautaine, si hautaine, that if you had
been the queen of France, it could not have
been colder ?’

‘I told you once before, Monsieur Giro-
nace i replied) == that your Count de
Chavannes does not care a staw how I treat
him, or with what air ; and if he did, I do
not. He issimply a civil, agreeable gentle-
man, who looks upon me as he would upon
any other young lady whom he is glad to
talk to when she is in the humour to talk;
and whom, when she is not, he. leaves to
herself, as all well-bred men do. But, I re-
peat, I do not care enough about him to
think'for one moment whether he is hautatne
or not. And he feels just the same about
me, fam certain.’

‘ What brings him here, then, eh ?—where
he never came before to-night ?—not for the
beaux yeux of madame, I believe,’ with a
quizzical bow to his wife, ‘or for the grand
esprit of myself. I have an eye, I tell you,
as well as other people, and I can see one
¢etit peu.

VALERIE.

99

‘I have no doubt you cah, monsieur,’ I
answered, rather pettishly; ‘for suppose
you asked him yourself ; and if you did so
on my account, I must beg you will omit
that proof of kindness in future, for I do not
wish to see him.’

“Oh! Monsieur Gironac, for shame; you
have made her very angry with your ridicu-
lous badinage—you have made her angry,
really, and I do not wonder. “Who ever
heard of*teasing a young lady about’a gen-
tleman she has never seen, only three
times, and who has never declared any pre-
ferences

‘Madame,’ replied fer husband, in great
wrath, either real or simulated, ‘vous éZes 272€
tnorate,—uie, 2ne—words fail me, to ex
press what I think of your enormous and
unkind ingratitude. Iam hove ZCONLPIeS,
and Mademoiselle here—Mademoiselle is
either zze enfant, or she does not know her
own mind. Shall I give the Comte Cha-
vannes his cozge. or shallI not? shall not,
—for if she be wze exfant, itis fit her friends
look after her ; ifshe does not know her own
mind, it is good she have some one who doi
—voila tout.’ Here is why I-shall not go
convédier monsieur le Comte. Why rather,
I shall request him to dine with me to-
morrow, the next day, the day after. If
he do not, I swear by my honour, /oz de
Gironac, I will dine at home again never
more.’

I could not help laughing at this ‘tirade
of the kind-hearted little man, on the
strength of which he patted me on the head,
and said I was donne enfant, if 1 were not
st disablement entétec. and bade me go to
bed, and sleep myself into better humour ;
a piece of advice which appeared to me so
judicious, that I proceeded at once to obey
it, and bidding them both a kind good
night, betook myself to my own room to
ponder rather than to sleep. And, in truth, I
felt that I had need of reflection ; for with
the return of Auguste, a tide of feelings,
which had long lain dormant rather than
dead within me, had almost overwhelmed
me; and the hardness which had its origin
in the bitterness of conscious dependence,
and which had gained strength from the
pride of self-acquired independence, began
to thaw in my heart, and to give way to
milder and gentler feelings.

The thoughts of home, the desire for my
country, the love for my father, who, ‘though
weak and almost imbecile, had ever been
kind to me in person, the craving affection for
my brothers and my sisters, nay, something
approaching to pity or regret for the mother500 VALERIE,

who had proved herself but a stepmother
towards me, all revived in increased and
reinvigorated force.

By-and-by, too, I began to feel that I
should be very wretched after the parting
with my beloved brother at the end of so
brief a renewal of love and intimacy ; to be
aware of what I had scarcely felt before, in
the self-confidence of the position Lhad won
—that it is asad and lonely thing to bea
sojourner in a foreign land, with no natural
friends, no kind kindred, on whom to rely
in case of sickness or misfortune ; and to
consider how dark and grave a thing must
be solitary old age, and perhaps a solitary
death-bed, far from the home of one’s youth,
the friends of one’s childhood.

Then there arose another thought con-
nected with the preceding, by that extra-
ordinary and inexplicable chain, which seems
to run through the whole mind of man,
linking together things apparently as far
asunder as the poles, which have, however,
in reality, a kindred origin. ‘hat thought
was, wherefore should my life be solitary ?
Why should I stand apart and alone from
‘iy trace, relying on myself only, and de-
priving myself, for the sake of a perhaps
imaginary independence, of all the endear-
ments of social life, all the sweet ties of
family ?

Perhaps the very presence of my brother
had opened my eyes to the truth, that there
is no such thing in the world as real inde-
pendence. ‘To realize that possession, most
coveted, and most unattainable, one must
be a Robinson Crusoe, alone on his desert
island—a sort of independence which no
one, I should think, would practically desire
to enjoy.

Before sleep came, I believe that I began
to muse about Monsieur de Chavannes ; but
it was only to think that I did not care in
the least about him, nor he about me sand
that, so far as he was concerned, I had seen
no cause to change my deczded resolution
that I would never marry. All this was,
perhaps, in reality, the best of proofs that I
did already care something about him, and
was very likely before long to care some-
thing. more; for some one has said, and
he, by the way, no ordinary judge of
human nature, that if he desired to win
a woman’s fancy or affection, his first
step would be to make her ¢hink about
him—even if it were to hate him! anything
before the absence of all thought, the blank
void of real absolute indifference.

Indeed, I believe it is nearly true, that a
woman rarely begins to think often of aman,

even if it be as she fancies in dislike, but
when, however she may deceive herself, she
is on the verge of loving him.

Was such the case with me?

At least if it were so, I was then so far
from knowing it, that I did not even ask
myself the question. But I remember that
when I tell asleep, I dreamed that I was
standing at the altar with the Count de
Chavannes, when a band ofall those who had
ever wronged me—my mother, Madame
d’Albret, Madame Bathurst, the Stanhopes,
Lady M——, —rushed between us, and tore
us forcibly asunder ; and I wept so loud that
my sorrow awoke me, and it was some time
before I was sure*it was a dream.

Early the next morning Auguste came
again to see me; and as Monsieur Gironac
was abroad, giving lessons on the flute and
guitar, while madame either was, or pre-
tended to be, excessively busy with her wax-
flowers, we had the whole day to ourselves
until luncheon-time, and we profited by it
So well, that before we were interrupted, we
had little to learn on either side concerning
the passages of our lives, and the adventures
which both we and all our family had gone
through. And if I had been alittle inclined
to be proud of myself before, and to give
their full value to my energy and decision of
character, I certainly now stood in no small
danger of being spoiled by Auguste’s
praises.

For now, half-crying at my trials and
troubles,—now laughing at Lady R——'s
absurdities, —now bursting into vehement
invective against my enemies,—he insisted
that J was a perfect heroine—the bravest and
most accomplished of women, as well as the
dearest of sisters.

But when I had finished my own story,
which I did not begin until I had extracted
from him every particle of information about
my family—

‘Well, my little Valerie,’ he said caress-
ingly, as he put his arm about my waist,
‘you have told me everything—all your
little sorrows, and trials, and troubles —
all your little pleasures and_ successes
—all your little schemings and man-
ceuvrings in the love affairs of other people
—and all about the great little fortune which
you have accumulated—quite a millionaire,
upon my word, with your twenty-five hundred
divres de rente—but not one word have you
told me about your own little ajatres deceur.
I am afraid, little sister mine, you are either
a very great hypocrite, or very cold-hearted ;
which is it, dearest Valerie ?’

“Very cold-hearted, I believe, brother.At least, I certainly have no afazres de ceur
to relate. I cannot pretend to say whether
it is my fault or that of other people ; but
certainly no one ever fell in love with me, if
it were not that odious Monsieur G——;
and most certainly 1 have never fallen in
love with any one at all.’

Auguste gazed earnestly in my face for a
moment, as if he would have read my heart;
but I met his eyes with mine quite steadily
and calmly, till at length I burst into a
merry laugh, which I could not restrain.

‘ Quite true, little sister ? he said, at last,
after my manner had in some sort convinced
him.

‘Quite true, Auguste, upon my honour,’ I
replied.

‘Well, Valerie, I suppose I must believe
that earnest face, and that honest little laugh
of yours.’

‘You may just as well do so, indeed,’ I
replied ; ‘for no one was ever in love with
me, I assure you. And I do not think,’ I
added, with a touch of the old pride, ‘that
a De Chatenceuf is likely to give away a
heart that is not desired.’

“It is all very strange,’ he added.
this Monsieur Lionel Dempster ?—'

‘Is a little older than poor Pierre, whom
I used to pinch when I wanted to get out of
my mother’s reach; and regards me very
much as he would a much elder sister—
almost, indeed, as a mother.’

‘A mother, indeed, Valerie!’

‘ He once told me something of the kind !
He is a very fine young man, certainly, full
of talent and spirit, and will make you a
very good and agreeable friend—but he is no
husband for me, I assure you. He would
do much better for Sophie, or Elisée, if he
ever should see and like either of them.’

‘Always busy for others, Valerie! And
for yourself—when will you think for your-
self 2’

‘I think I Zave thought, and done, too,
for myself, pretty well. You forget my
twenty-five hundred déures de vente.’

‘But twenty-five hundred dures de rente
are not a husband, Valerie.’ ;

‘I am not so sure about that. I dare say
they would buy one at a pinch,’ I replied,
laughing, ‘at least, in our poor country,
where everyone you meet in society is not a
millionaire, like these cold islanders.’

I think you have grown almost as cold
yourself, little sister, and as calculating.’
~ «To be sure Ihave,’ I mace answer, ‘and
to punish me, Monsieur Gironac swears I
shall die a sour old maid.’

‘And what do you say?

‘And

    
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
   
      

VALERIE. ror

‘An old maid vety likely, but not a sour
one, at all events. But, hark! there is a
carriage at the door—let me see who it is.’

And I jumped up, and running to the win-
dow, saw the Selwyn liveries, and Lionel,
en cavalier, beside the carriage window.

In a moment, the steps were let down;
and Caroline speedily made her appearance,
commissioned, as she said, by her mother-
in-law, to take immediate possession both of
myself and Auguste, and to bring us down
sraightway to Kew. Her husband, she said,
would certainly have called on Monsieur de
Chatenceuf, and the judge also, but that the
courts being all in session, they were both so
completely occupied, that, except after din-
ner, they had not an hour of the twenty-four
disengaged.

She was commanded, moreover, sheadded,

to invite Monsieur and Madame Gironac to
dine at Kew on the following day. Me,
moreover, and Auguste, she was to carry
down forthwith in the carriage.

‘So now,’ she said, ‘ get you gone, Valerie,
and pack up as quickly as possible all that
you require to make yourself beautiful fora
week, at least.’

‘And what do you say to all. this, mes-
sieurs 2? said I, laughingly, to my brother
and Lionel; ‘for there is much more neces-
sity to consult you lords of the creation, as
you call yourselves, who are in reality vainer
by half, and care five times as much about
your toilettes as we much-calumniated
women—what do you say about this sum-
mary packing up and taking flight? can it
be accomplished ?”

‘It zs accomplished,’ replied Lionel; ‘in
so far at least that I have promised, on my
own part, and for Monsieur Auguste de
Chatenceuf 1n the bargain, to overlook the
preparation of his kit as weil as my own, and
to bring them down ina eabriolet, while you
and your brother are rolling smoothly along
in the judge’s venerable coach.’

‘ All that is arranged, then,’ said I; ‘and
I wil! not detain you above ten minutes,
during which time I will send Madame
Gironac to amuse you, and you can deliver
your own message to her.’

And then, without waiting for any an-
swer, I hurried up-stairs to make my travel-
ling toilette, and to put up things for a
week’s visit to my good friends.

In the meantime Madame Gironac, who
had always been a great favourite of Caro-
line’s, had taken my place; and by the mer-
riment which I could hear going on, I could
not doubt that, on the whole, the party had
been a gainer by the exchange.102 VALERIE.

Before I was quite ready to make my re- to describe it; and, becoming aware that
appearance, there came a smart double everyone's eyes were upon Us, 1 rallied in-
knock at the door ; and then, aftera minute stinctively, replied by a few civil words of
or two, I could distinguish a gentleman’s thanks, and took a place at the table, which
footstep ascending the staircase to the had been left vacant for me, between my
dining-room. brother and Lionel Dempster. ‘This little

My own room looked towards the back of interruption at an end, the conversation re-=
the house, so that I had no means of seeing turned to the course it had taken before I
for myself who the new-comer was ; and I came in, and there was a good deal of very
did not choose to ask any questions of the agreeable talk, as is sure to be the case
servant girl, who was bustling in and out of whenever four or five pleasant and clever
the door with trunks and travelling-cases in- people are thrown together under circum-
numerable. stances which create a sudden and unex-

So.I finished my toilette with a heart that pected familiarity, each person desirous of
beat, I must confess, a little faster than usual, amusing and rendering himself pleasant to
though I should certainly have been puzzled his companions of an hour; but not so
to explain why; put on my hat and shawl, anxious to make an impression as to become
perhapsa little coquettishly, and went down- stiff, stilted, or affected.
stairs, half-impatient, half-embarrassea, yet Lionel, as I have said long ago, was re-
fully persuaded in my own mind that Thad markably witty and clever by nature, and
not the least expectation of secing anybody had profited greatly by his opportunities in
in particular. France ; so much so, that I have rarely seen

I found all the company assembled round a young man of his age at all comparable
the luncheon-table when I entered, and tohim. ‘The count was likewise a person of
busily engaged with the cdZe/etles dj Ja Main- superior talents and breeding, with a touch
Zenon and green peas. Among those present of English seriousness and soundness en-
was Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes, whom grafted on the stock of French vivacity; and
I certainly did not expect to see. my brother Auguste was a young, ardent

He rose immediately from the table as I soldier, full of gay youth, high hopes, and
entered, and advanced a step or two to meet brilliant aspirations, all kindled up by the
me, with a graceful inclination, and a few xcitement of thus visiting a foreign country,
well-chosen words, to the intent that he had and finding himself in the company of a
called in order to invite Monsieur de Chate- long-lost and much-beloved sister.
noeuf to go out and take a 7 nade @ Caroline Selwyn was quick, bright, and
cheval with him, in order to see the parks lively; Madame Gironac was a perfect mine
and the beauty of London. of life and vivacity; and I, desirous of aton-

All this was Said with the utmost frankness, ing for my folly of the past evening, did my
and in the most unaffected manner in the best to be agreeable,
world ; and assuredly there was nothing _ I suppose I was not wholly unsuccessful,
either in the words, or in the manner in for every time Iraised my eyes, I was sure to
which they were uttered, which should have find those of Monsieur de Chavannes riveted
thrown me into a confusion of blushes, and on my face witha deep, earnest gaze, which,
rendered me fora moment almost incapable though it was instantly averted, even before
of answering him. our glances met, showed that he was insome

It must be remembered, however, that I sort interested either in myself or in my
had been rallied very much concerning him words.
of late by Monsieur Gironac; and I could __ Before luncheon was finished, Monsieur
scarcely avoid perceiving that this exceeding Gironac made his evérée, and it was: finally
assiduity in doing the honours to Auguste arranged that he and madame should join
could not but be attributed to some more us at Kew on the following evening ; and
potent cause than mere civility to a fellow- before we set off, Caroline expressed a hope
countryman. to the Count de Chavannes that he would

My confusion produced, for a second or call upon his friend Monsieur de Chatenceuf
two, a slight similar embarrassment in the while he was staying at the judge's, explain-
count, and the blood mounted highly to his ing that it was impossible for Mr. Selwyn or
forehead. Our eyes met, too, at the same the judge to wait on. him for some days, until
instant; and though the encounter was but the courts had done sitting, when she assured
momentary, from that time a sort of secret him that they would do so withot fail.
consciousness was established between us. He promised immediately, without a mo-

This scene passed in less time than it takes ment’s hesitation, that he would do so ; andI believe a riding party wag made up on the
spot between himself, Lionel, and Auguste,
for the second or third day.

_ As soon as everything was settled, Caro-
line hurried us away, saying that her mother-
in-law would think she had run off; anda
short agreeable drive carried us down to the
Judge's pleasant villa, where I was received
almost as one of the family; and Auguste,
rather as an old friend than as a stranger
and a foreigner.

The time passed away pleasantly, for it
was the height of the loveliest spring weather;
the situation of the villa on the banks of the
Thames was in itself charming; and for
once the English month of May was what
its poets have described it—that is to say,
what it is once in every hundred years.

Everyone wished to please and to be
pleased, and the Selwyns were of that very
rare class of people whom you likethe more
the more you see of them—the very reverse
of the world, in general—nothing could be
more delightful than the week which we
passed there.

From the judge I had no concealments;
and regarding him almost in the light of a
second father, while Auguste was prepared
to love him for his love of me, we had many
long conversations and consultations con-
cerning my affairs, and the propriety of dis-
closing my existence to my father.

This I was resolved upon, and both the
judge and Auguste approving, it was de-
cided that it should be done.

The only question, then, which remained
to be disposed of was, how far my disclosure
should be carried, and whether it would be
practicable, and if practicable, safe, that I
should return to France at present, or indeed
at all while in my present condition.

Auguste gave me his opinion, as he had
done repeatedly, that my mother never had
laid aside, and never would lay aside, her
rancour. towards me; and that she would
grasp at the first opportunity of taking any
vengeance upon me which my presence
should afford her.

He did not believe, he said, that my father
would be able long to preserve from her the
Secret of my being alive, and of my having
raised myself to a position of comparative
affluence; nor did he feel by any means
assured that, while labouring under the re-
vulsion of feelings which the happy tidings
would work upon his mind, my mother
would not recover her ascendancy over him.

Beyond this, he could say nothing ; for as
a young Frenchman, and more especially a
young French soldier, he knew even less

 

VALERTE.

103

about the laws of France, and the rights of
parents over children, than did Judge Sel-
wyn ; only, like the judge, he was inclined to
the opinion that I had better not trust myself
within the limits of any jurisdiction which
might be called upon to hand me over to the
parental authority, until such time as I
should. be completely my. own mistress as
regarded them, which probably could only
be effected by ceasing to be my own mistress
as regarded some one else.

“For be assured, Valerie,’ he added, ‘that
the possession of your person for the pur-
pose of annoying you, and avenging herself
on you for all the sufferings she has under-
gone in consequence of your supposed
suicide, will become the darling object of her
life, so sure as she learns that you are in the
land of the living ; and the fact of your hay-
ing secured to yourself a little fortune will
not act as a check upon her inclinations,’

Isighed deeply ; for although I felt and
knew the truth of all he said, and expected
that he would say it, his words seemed to
extinguish the last spark of hope in my
heart ; and it is a bitter and painful thing in
any case for a daughter to feel that she shall
in all probability never again be permitted
to see the authors of her life, or the com-
panions and scenes of her childhood ; butit
is doubly so when she feels it to be the fault
of the wickedness or weakness of those
whom she would fain love and esteem, but
cannot.

The good judge marked my emotion,
and, laying his hand kindly on my shoulder,
said, ‘ You must not give way, my dear girl;
you have done all that is right and true and
honest ; and the course which you have
taken has been forced upon you. To yield
now, and return home to be tortured and
despoiled of the little all which your own
good sense and your own good conduct
have procured you—for, apart from good
sense and good conduct, there is no such
thing in the world as good fortune—would
not only be positive insanity, but positive
ingratitude to the Giver of all good. My
advice to you, therefore, is to remain alto-
gether passive, to pursue the career which
you have chosen, and, without yourself
taking any steps to disclose your present
situation, to authorize your brother fully to
reveal to your father so much of it as shall
appear necessary and desirable to him when
on the spot. I should not recommend that
your place of residence, or exact. circum-
stances, should be communicated even to
him, at least for the present ; and should he
desire to write to you, the letters should{04
pass through your brother's hands, and be
forwarded under cover to me, which will
prevent the gaining of intelligence through
the post-office. ‘The rest we must leave to
the effects of time, and of that Providence
which has been displayed so singularly in
your behalf already, and which never de-
serts those who believe humbly, and endea-
your sincerely to deserve Divine favour.
So this,’ he added with a smile, ‘is the end
and sum total of an old lawyer's counsel,

and an old man’s sermon. And now, think
over what I have said between you ; for I
believe you will find it the best course, al-
though it may now hardly suit your excited
feelings, and in the mean time, let us goon
the lawn and join the ladies, who seem
to have got some new metal of attraction.’

‘Indeed, judge,’ I replied, ‘I am quite
convinced of the wisdom of what you pro-
pose, and I thank you sincerely for your ad-
vice as for all your other goodness towards
me. No father could be kinder to an only
daughter than you have been to me; and
God will bless you for it; but, to say the
truth, I do feel very sad and downcast just
at this moment, and am not equal to the
joining that gay party. I will go up to my
own room,’ I added, ‘ for a little while, and
come down ag:.in so soon as I can conquer
this foolish weakness.’

‘Do not call :t foolish, Valerie,’ returned
the old man with a benignant smile. ‘ No-
thing that is natural can be foolish—least
ofall, anything of natural and kindly feeling.
But do not yield to it—do not yield to it.
The feelings are good slaves, but wretchedly
poor masters. Do as you will, my dear
child, but come to us again as soon as you
can. In the meantime, Monsieur de Chate-
nceuf, let us go aud see who are these new
comers.’

And with these words he turned away,
leaning familiarly upon my brother's arm,
and left me to coilect myself, and recover
from the perturbation of my feelings as well
and as soon as I could,—which was not per-
haps the more quickly that I had easily re-
cognized in the new arrival the person of the
Count de Chavannes.

I have entered perhaps more fully into the
detail of my sentiments at this period of my
life, for two reasons—one, because of an
eventful life, this was upon the whole the
most eventful moment—the other, that hav-
ing hitherto recorded facts and actions
rather than feelings or principles, I am con-
scious that I have represented myself as a
somewhat harder and more worldly person
than I feel myself in truth to be.

 

VALERIE.

   

But the hardness and the worldliness were
produced, if they existed at all, by the hard-
ness of the circumstances into which I was
thrown, and the worldliness of the persons
with whom I was brought into contact.

Adversity had hardened my character,
and perhaps in some sort my heart also. At
least, it had aroused my pride to the ut-
most, had set me as it were upon the defen-
sive, and led me to regard every stranger
with suspicion, and to look in him fora
future enemy.

Good fortune had, however, altered all
this. All who had been my enemies, who
had injured, or misrepresented me, were dis-
armed, or subdued, or repentant. I had
forgiven all the world—wasat peace with all
the world. Ihad achieved what to me was
a little competence ; I. was loved and es-
teemed by those whom I could in return love
and esteem, and of whose regard I could be
honestly proud. I had recovered my bro-
ther—I still hoped to be reconciled to my
parents—and—and—why should I conceal
it—I was beginning to think it by far less
improbable that I should one day marry—
in a word, I was beginning to like, if not yet
to love.

All these things had been by degrees
effecting a change in my thoughts and feel-
ings. I had been gradually thawing, and
was now completely melted, so that I felt the
necessity of being alone—of giving way—of
weeping.

I went to my own chamber, threw my-
self on my bed, and wept long and
freely.

But these were not tears of agony such as
I shed when I first learned Madame
d’Albret’s cruel conduct towards me—nor
tears of injured pride such as Madame Ba-
thurst had forced from me by her effort to
humiliate me in my own eyes—nor yet tears
of wrathful indignation such as burst from
me when I detected Lady M—— in her base
endeavour to destroy my character.

These were tears of affection, of softness,
almost of joy. They flowed noiselessly and
gently, and they relieved me, for my heart
was very full; and, when I was relieved, if
bathed my face, and arranged my hair,
and descended the staircase, almost mer-
rily, to join the merry company in the

garden.

I found on my joining them, that the
Count de Chavannes had already completely
gained the good graces, not only of Caro-
line and her young sisters-in-law, but of Mr.
Selwyn and the judge also.

He had come down to Kew with the par-VALERIE.

ticular purpose of engaging my brother and
Lionel to accompany him, on the next day
but one, to Wormwood Scrubs, where there
was to be a grand review, in honour of
some foreign prince or other, of two or three
regiments of light cavalry, with horse-artil-
lery and rockets. It was to conclude with
a sham fight, and which he thought would
interest Auguste as a military man, and
especially one who had commenced his ser-
vice in the hussars, though he had been
subsequently transferred into the line.

This plan had been discussed and talked
over, until the ladies, having expressed a
laughing desire to see the spectacle, it was
decided that Caroline, the two Miss Sel-
wyns, and myself, escorted by Lionel, inthe
rumble, should go down to the review in the
judge’s carriage, Auguste and the Count
accompanying us ¢é cavalier; and that
after the order of the day should be con-
cluded, the whole party, including the count,
should return to dinner at Kew.

On the day following, as I did not think it
either wise or correct to neglect my pupils,
my chapel, or Mrs. Bradshaw’s school, al-
though I had sent satisfactory reasons for
taking one week’s leave of absence, we
were all to return to town, I to good

Monsieur Gironac’s, Auguste and Lionel
to the lodgings of the latter in Suffolk-

street. :

Monsieur de Chavannes did not stay long
after I made my appearance, not wishing
either to be, or to appear, de ¢rop on a first
visit ; nor had he any opportunity of address-
ing more than a few common-place obser-
vations to me, had he desired to do so.
Still I observed the same peculiarity in his
manner towards me, as distinct as possible,
from the sort of proud humility, half-badi-
nage, half-earnest, which he put om in talk-
ing with other ladies.

‘To me he observed a tone of serious soft-
ness, with something of earnest deference to
everything that fell from my lips, however
light or casual, for which he seemed to watch
with the utmost eagerness.

He never joked with me, tHough he was
doing so continually with the others; not
that he was in the least degree grave or for-
mal, much less stiff or affected ; but rather
that he seemed desirous of proving to me
that he was not a mere butterfly of society,
but had deeper ideas, and higher aspirations
than the every-day world around us.

When he was going away, he for the first
time put out his hand tome @ l'anglaise, and
as 1 shook hands with him, our eyes met
once more, and | believe I again blushed 2,

 

108

little ; for though he dropped his gaze in-
stantly, and bowed low, taking off his hat,
he pressed my fingers very gently, ere he let
them fall, and then turning to take his leave
of the judge and Mr. Selwyn, who had just
joined us, mounted his horse—a very fine
hunter, by the way, which he sat admirably
—again bowed low, and cantered off, fol-
lowed by his groom, as well mounted as
himself.

He was not well out of sight before, as
usual, he became the topic of general dis-
cussion.

‘What a charming person,’ said Caro-
line: ‘so full of spirit and vivacity, and
yet so evidently a man of mind and good
feeling. Where did you pick him up,
Valerie 2?’

‘He is an old friend, I told you, of
Monsieur Gironac’s, and was calling there
by accident when he met Auguste, and since
that he has been exceedingly kind and civil
to him. That is the whole I know about him.) =

“Well, he is very handsome,’ said Caro-
line ; ‘don’t you think so, Valerie?’

‘Yes’ I answered, quite composedly,
‘very handsome, a little effeminate-looking,
perhaps”

‘Oh! no, not in the least,’ said Caro-
line; ‘or if he is, so quick and clever and
spirited-iooking that*it quite takes all that
away.’

‘Caroline,’ said Selwyn, laughing, ‘you
have no right to have eyes to see, or ears to
hear, or mind to comprehend beauty, or
wit, or any other good quality, in any one
save me, your lord and master.’

‘You ! you monster!’ she replied, laugh-
ing gaily, ‘I never thought you one bit
handsome, or witty, or dreamed that you
had one good quality. I only married you,
you know as well as I do, to get away from
school, and from the atrocious tyranny of
my music-mistress there. You need not look
fie! at me, Valerie, for I’m too big to be
put in the corner, now, and he won't let you
whip me.’

‘T think he ought to whip you himself,
baby,’ replied the judge, who had prown
very fond of her; and, in truth, she was a
very loveable little person in her way, and
made her husband a very happy man.

‘Now, Judge Selwyn,’ interposed I, ‘do
you remember a conversation we once had
together, in which you endeavoured to force
me to believe that men in general, and you
in particular, were not tyrants to your wives
and families, and now do I hear you giving
your son such advice as that? Alas! what

can make women so insane ?’NOY

 

 

 

 

 

106

 

‘Don't you know? Can't you guess,
Mademoiselle Valerie?’ asked the old judge,
smiling slily, and with the least possible wink
of his eye, when some of the others were
looking at us, and then he added in a lower
voice, ‘perhaps it will be your turn soon. I
think you will soon be able io go to France
without much fear of your mother’s persecu-
cution. Come,’ he continued, offering me
his arm, as the others had now moved a
little way. apart,

‘come and take a turn
with me in the cedar-walk till dinner’s
ready ; I want to talk to you, for who | knows
when one will get anot ther opportunity

I took his arm without reply, th ough my
heart beat very fast, and I felt uncomfort-
able, knowing as I did perfectly well before-
hand what he was going to say to me,

We turned into the cedar-walk, which
was a long shadowy aisle, or bower, over-
hung with magnificent cedars of Lebanon,
running parallel with the banks of the noble
river, and so still and secluded that no more
proper place could be found for a private
consultation.

‘Well,’ said the old man, speaking gently,
but not looking at me, pel hap s for fear of
embarrassing me by his eye, ‘you know I
am in some sort, not only your legal ad i
but your self - constituted guardi ani and
father confessor—so now, without farther
preamble, who is he, Valerie ?’

‘I will not affect to misunderstand you,
judge, though, upon my word, you are
entirely mistaken in your conjecture.

‘Upon your word ! entirely mistaken! I
think not—I am sure not.’

‘You are indeed. I have not seen him
above four times, nor spoken fifty words to
him.’

‘ Never. mind, never mind—who is he?’

‘An acquaintance of Monsieur Gironac’s
—Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes. His
father emigrated hither during the Revolu-
tion, engaged in commerce, and made a for-
tune of some £40,000. At the restoration,
the old count returned to France, and was
made ‘by Louis XVIII. a colonel of the
Legion of Honour, and died shortly after-
wards. There is an estate, I believe, in
Brittany, but Monsieur de Chavannes, who
was at school here, and has passed all his
younger days in this country, is more an
Englishman than a Frenchman, and only
visits France at rare intervals. ‘That is all I
know about him, and that only by accident,
Monsieur Gironac having told me, in his
lively way, w hat I should 1 not have dreamed
of inquiring.’

‘Very proper, indeed—and very ood so

 

 

  

 

VALERIE.

 

  

far, but one would like to know something
definite about a man before taking him for
one’s husband.’

‘I should think so, indeed, judge ; but as
I am not going to take him for my husband,
I am quite contented with knowing what f
do know of him.’

‘And Be at do you know ?—of yourself,—
I speak, of your own knowl ledge? No hear-
say evidence in the case.’

f Nothing more than that he is lively and
agreeable, that he has very good manners,
and seems very good- natured—I might say,
he has be en. very good-natured to Auguste,
poor fellow.’

‘Poor fellow! Yes,’ answered the judge.

‘But men are very apt to be good-natured
to poor fellows who have got. nice sisters
with whom they are in love.’

‘I dare say, judge. But to reply in your
own p hraseology—that i is no case in point ;
for granting that Auguste’s sister is 22ce,

vhich I will not be so modest as to gainsay,

Mors sicur.de Chavannes is not the least in
love with her,’
: oP erbaps not.’
Certainly not.’
‘ ‘ell, be itso? What else do you know
about hin ne 4

‘Notl ung, Judge e Selwyn.’

‘Nothing of his character, his principles,
his morals, “or his habits 2’

‘Really, judge, one would think, to hear
you, that I was going to hire a footman—
which I am much too poor to do—and that
Monsieur de Chavannes had appaed for the
place. What on earth have I to do with the
young gentleman’s character or principles ?
I know that he is very gentlemanlike, and is
neither a coxcomb nor 2 pedant, which iS
refreshing in these days.’

‘And, as Caroline says, very handsome,
Ghee
“Yes, I think he is handsome,’ I rep lied.
‘ But that h has nothing to do with it.’

een much, truly,’ said_the judge, drily.
‘And this is all you know De

(Okt desire to know. It seems to me quite
enough to know of an acquaintance of a
few days’ standing.’

‘ Weil—well,’ he answered, shaking his
head a little. ‘Well. He %%s all that you
say. A. very. fine. youns~ man, ; he
seems. I like him, Well, I will make in-
quiries, ;

Not on my account, I entreat, Judge

elwyn ’—~said I, interrupting him eagerly.

‘Mademoiselle Vz alerie de Chatenceuf, ' he
Said, drily, though half in jest, “my head is
an old one, yours a very young one. I knowVALERIE.

young folks are apt to think old heads good
for nothing.’

‘Y’ do not, I am sure,’ interrupted I,
agcaile | I do not, indeed.’

‘Nor I, Valerie,’—he answered, interrtupt-
ing me in his turn, with a good-natured
smile. ‘So you shall let me have my way
in this matter. But, to relieve you, my
dear, permit me to observe that I have two
daughters of my own, and one young son,
besides Charles, who is old enough to take

clad

care of himself ; and though I am very
to ask a young man to dine in my house

who has, as you observe, very good man-
ners, and is neither a fool nor a coxcomb, I
am not at all willing that he should become
what you call an Aaézéwé, until I know some-
thing of his character and principles. And
now, as the dressing-bell has rung these ten
minutes, and it will take you at least half an
hour to beautify your little person, I advise
you to make he most of your time.
by all means, Valerie, stick to your
tion—mever marry, my dear, never
for all men are tyrants.’

One might be very sure th
by this dismissal, and ran across the lawn
as fast as 1 could, glad to escape the far-
sighted experience of the shrewd old
lawyer.

‘ He has seen it, then,’ I thought to my-
self. ‘He has observed it even in this little
space: even in this one interview ; and he
has read it, even as I read it. I wonder if
he has read my heart, to No, 10,7 f con-
tinued, communing with myself, ‘that he
cannot have done, for I know not yet myself
how to interpret it.’

And

  

  

   

Little thought I then, that whenever our
feelings are deeply in ed, or when

strong passions are at work, even in embryo,
we are for the most part the last persons who
discover the secrets which are transparent
enough, Heaven knows, to all persons but
ourselves.

I do not know, nor did I inquire, whether
the judge pursued his inquiries concerning
the count as he had promised to do ; much
less did I learn what was their result. But
1 do know that the following morning
the young gentleman called again at the
gate with a led horse for my brother ; but
did not ask if we were at home, merely
sending his compliments to the ladies, and
requesting Monsieur de Chatenceuf to ac-
company him for a ride.

Lionel was absent in the city on business ;
so that Auguste and the count rode out
alone, and did not return until it was grow-
ing dark, when there was scarcely time to

 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
   
 
   
  
 
 
     

107
dress for dinner, the latter again sending in
an apology for detaining my brother so long,
and, retiring without getting off his horse.

This gave me, I confess, more pleasure
than it would have done to see him, though
that would have given me pleasure, too; for
I saw in it a proof of something more than
mere tact, of mental delicacy, I mean; and
an iety not to obtrude either upon the
hospitality of the Selwyns, or upon my feel-
ings

Auguste, on his return, was in amazing
spirits, and did nothing all dinner-time but
expatiate upon the companionable and
amiable qualities of De Chavannes, whom
he already liked, he said, more than any per-
on he had ever seen for so’short a time—so
clever, so high-spirited, so gallant. Every-
thing, in a word, thata man could desire for
a friend, or a lady for a lover.

‘Heyday!’ said the judge, laughing at
this tirade. ‘This fine count with his black
moustaches seems to have made one con-
quest mighty quickly. I-hope it will not run
in the company, or we shall have more elope-
ments’—with a sly glance at Caroline.
‘ Mademoiselle Valerie, here,’ he continued,
‘is a terrible person for promoting elope-
ments, too. But we must have none from
my house.’

We continued to be very gay all dinner-
time. After dinner we had some music, and
the judge was just pressing me to sing, when
Lionel’s servant came into the room, having
hurried down from London, in pursuit of his
master, in consequence of the sudcen arrival
of a large package of letters from Paris,
indorsed ‘Immediate, and to be delivered
vith all speed.’

This incident broke up the party for the
moment; and indeed threw a chill over us
all for the evening, when it appeared that
the principal letter was one to my brother
from the commandant of Paris, of which city
his regiment formed a part of the garrison,
reluctantly revoking his leave of absence, in
consequence of some expected émeute, and
intimating that his presence would be ex-
pected at head-quarters on OF before the
third day of June ; an order which it was, of
course, impossible to think of neglecting or
disobeying, while it would leave him at the
furthest but a single week to give to us in
London.

lt was a bitter disappointment to be sepa-
rated after so brief a communion; but we
consoled ourselves by the recollection that
the Straits of Dpdver are not the Pacific
Ocean, and that Paris and London are not a
thousand leagues asunder.CHAP PER XTiTs

THERE never was a finer morning in the
world than that appoinied for the review.
It was just the end of May, and all the
scenery, even in the very suburbs of the great
city, was brilliant with all the characteristic
beauty of an English landscape.

The fine horse-chestnut trees and the thick
hawthorn hedges were all in full bloom, and
the air was perfectly scented with perfumes
from the innumerable nursery-grounds which
hedge in that side of London with a belt of
flowers.

‘The parks and the suburban roads were
crowded with neatly-dressed, modest-looking
nurses and nursery-maids, leading whole
troops of rosy-cheeked, brown-curled, merry
boys and girls to enjoy the fresh morning
air; and Auguste was never tired, as we
drove along, of admiring everything that
met his eyes in quick succession.

The trees, the flowery hedges, the gay
parterres, the glimpses of the noble Thames
white with the sails of innumerable craft, the
beautiful villas with their small, highly-
cultivated pleasure-grounds, the pretty nur-
sery-maids, and happy English children, all
came in for a share of his rapturous admira-
tion ; and so vivacious and original were his
comments on all that he saw, that he insome
sort communicated the infection of his merry
humour to us also, and we were all as gay
and joyous as the season and the scene.

When we came to the ground destined for
the review, my brother was silent, and I saw
his cheek turn pale for a moment; but his
eye brightened and flashed as it ran over
the splendid lines of cavalry, which, at the
moment we came upon the ground, were
parading past the royal personage in honour
of whom the review was given, and who was
on horseback, by the side of a somewhat
slender elderly gentleman, dressed in the
uniform of a fel/d-marshal, whose eagle eye
and aquiline nose announced him, at a
glance, the vainqueur du vainqueur de la
terre.

‘Magnifique ; mais c'est vraiment mag-
nifique,’ muttered my brother to himself, as
the superb life-guards swept along, with
their polished steel helmets and breastplates
glittering like silver in the sunshine, and
their plumes and guidons flashing and
twinkling in the breeze. ‘Dieu de dieu !
quils sont géants les cavaliers, quils sont
collossaux les chevaux. Et les allures si

 

VALERIE.

  

lestes, Si gracieuses, comme s’ils n’étaient
que des juments. Mais c’est un spectacle
magnifique !’ 5

A moment afterwards, a regiment of lan-
cers passed at a trot, with their pennons flut-
tering in the breeze, and their lance-heads
glimmering like stars above the clouds of
dust which rose from under their horses’
hoofs ; and these were followed by several
squadrons of hussars, with their crimson
trousers and their gaily-furred pelisses; and
then troop after troop of horse-artillery
clattering along, tse high-bred horses whirl-
ing the heavy guns and caissions behind
them as if they had been mere playthings.

It certainly was a beautiful and brilliant
pageant, and the splendid military music of
the cavalry bands, the clash and clang of
the silver cymbals, the ringing roll of the
kettle-drums, and the symphonious cadences
of the cornets, horns, and trumpets at the
same time, delighted and excited me to the
utmost.

But I confess that to me the calm old
veteran, sitting unmoved amidst all that
pomp and clangour, and evidently marking
every smallest minutize of the men, the ac-
coutrements, the movements, was a more
interesting, a more moving sight, than all
the pageantry of uniform, than all the thrill
of music.

I thought how he had sat as cool and im-
passive under the iron hail of battle, with thou-
sands and thousands of the best and bravest
falling around him. the fate of nations hanging
on a balanced scale in those fights of giants—
I thought how he alone of men had faced,
undaunted and self-confident, that greater
than Hannibal or Alexander, that world-
conqueror, Napoleon—I thought how he
had quelled the might of my own gallant
land, and my blood seemed to thrill coldly
in my veins, as it will at the recital of great
deeds and noble daring—and I knew not
altogether whether it was the shudder of dis-
like or the thrill of admiration that so shook
me.

Had he looked proud, or Sself-elate, or
triumphant, I felt that I could have hated
him ; but so impassive, and withal now so
frail and feeble, yet with an eye so calmly
firm, an expression of rectitude so conscious,
I could not but perceive that, if an enemy of
my Lelle France was before me, it was an
enemy who had-been made such by duty, not
by choice—an enemy who had done nought
in hatred, all in honour.

I acknowledged to myself that I was in the
presence of the greatest living man; and
though I could neither love nor worship, Ifelt subdued and awed into a sort of breath-
less horror, as one might fancy humanity to
be in the presence of some superior intelli-
gence, some being of another world.

The girls observed my riveted and almost
fascinated eye, as it dwelt on that mighty
soldier, and began to whisper to one another
with a sort of very natural pride at the evi-
dent interest which we took in their favourite
hero.

Their tittering atiracted my brother’s atten-
tion, and following their eyes he was not Jong
in discovering what it was that had excited
their mirth, and he looked at me for a mo-
ment with something like a frown on his
forehead. But it cleared away ina moment,
and he smiled at his own vehemence, per-
haps injustice.

At that moment, the different regiments
began wheeling to and fro in long lines and
opepv columns of troops, and performing an
infinity of manoeuvres which, though I, of
course, did not in the least degree compre-
hend them, were very fine and beautiful to
look at, from the rapidity of the movements,
the high spirit of the horses, and the gleam
and glitter of the arms, half seen among the
dust-clouds. My brother, however, began,
as I could see, to be vehemently excited, and
his constant comments and exclamations of
surprise and admiration bore testimony to
the correctness with which every movement
was executed.

Then came the roar of the artillery, as the
guns retreated before the charging horse, and
even I could comprehend and appreciate the
marvellous celerity with which flash followed
flash, and roar echoed roar, from the same
piece, so speedily that it was scarcely pos-
sible to comprehend how the gun should
have been loaded and reloaded while the
horses were at full gallop.

By this time all the gentlemen had be-
come so much interested and excited by the
scene, that, Lionel having got upon his
horse, which had been led down to the
ground by his servant, they asked our per-
mission to leave us for a short time, and ride
nearer to the spot where the artillery were
manoeuyring.

As we had several servants about us, in
the first place, and as in the second there is
not the slightest danger of ladies being
treated with incivility by an English crowd,
unless through their own fault or indiscre-
tion, of course no objection was made,
and our cavaliers galloped away, pro-
mising to return within a quarter of an
hour.

    
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
   
 
    
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
    

VALERIE. 10g

Scarcely were they out of sight, before I
observed a tall, handsome, soldierly man,
though in plain clothes, ride past the car-
riage ona very fine horse, followed by a
groom in a plain dark frock, with a cockade
in his hat.

It seemed to me, on the instant, that I had
seen his face somewhere before, and that I
ought to know him; for the features all
seemed familiar, although, had it been to
save my life, I could net have said where I
had met him.

I as torturing my memory on this head
in vain—for he was evidently an English-
man, and I had no acquaintance with any
English officer—when he rode past a second
time, and seemed to be engaged in endea-
vouring to decipher the arms on our car-
riage, and his obiect‘appeared to be the dis-
covery of who / was; at least, I could not
but observe that he looked at me from time
to time with a furtive glance from under the
brim of his hat, as if he, too, fancied that he
knew or remembered me. ‘The same thing
happened yet a third time; and then he
called his servant to his side, and I saw the
man ride up a second afterwards to Judge
Selwyn’s footman, who was standing at a few
yards’ distance from the carriage, and
ask him some question, which he an-
swered by a word or two, when the groom
rode away.

The gentleman, on receiving the reply,
nodded his head quietly, as if he would have
said, ‘I thought so,’ and then he looked at
me steadily till he caught my eye, when he
raised his hat, made a half-military bow, and
trotted slowly away.

Caroline’s quick eye caught this action in
an instant, and turning to me suddenly, she
cried quickly —

‘Ah! Valerie, who is that? that hand-
some man who bowed to you >—Where have
I seen him before ?’

‘The very question which I was asking
myself, Caroline. I am quite sure that I
have seen his face, and yet I cannot remem-
ber where. It is very strange.’

‘Very !' replied a strange, sneering voice,
close to my ear, with a slightly foreign ac-
cent. ‘Can you say where you have seen
mine, /zgrate ?

I turned my head as quick as lightning ;
for in answering Caroline, who sat on the
side of the carriage next to the military spec-
tacle, I had leaned a little inward; and
there with his effeminate features actually
livid with rage, and writhing with impotent
malignity, stood Monsieur G——, the in-ae Ta

noel

 

IIo VALERIE.

famous, divorced husband of Madame d’Al-
bret, and the first cause of almost all my
misfortunes.

I looked at him:steadily, and replied with
bitter but calm contempt—

‘Perfectly well, Monsieur G——. And
very little did I suppose that I should ever
see it again. 1 imagined, sir, that you
were in your proper place, — the galleys !’

It was wrong, doubtless, in me so to an-
swer him—unfeminine, perhaps, and too pro-
vocative of insult ; but the blood of my race
is hot, and vehement to repel insult ; and
when I thought of the sufferings I had en-
dured, the trials I had encountered, and the
contumely which I had borne on account of
that man, my every vein seemed to overflow
with passion.

‘Ha! he replied, grinding his teeth with
rage, and becoming:crimson from. the rush
of blood to his head, while he grasped my
wrist hard with his hand, and shook it furi-
ously. ‘Ha! to the galleys yourself—
Chienne? Ingrate! Perfide! Trattresse!
cest aux galeres que 7 aicru te rencontrer—
ou plutot d la——.’

What further atrocity the ruffian was
about. to utter, I know not, for while his
odious voice was yet hissing in my ear these
atrocious epithets, before the footman, who
was standing, as I have said, a few yards
off at the other side of the carriage, had
time to interfere, I heard the sound of a
horse at full gallop, and, the next instant,
he was dragged forcibly away, and I saw
him quivering in the furious grasp of the
Count de Chavannes, who had, it seems,
been returning to join us, when the assault
was committed.

To gallop to my side, to spring to the
ground, to collar the ruffian, drag him from
the carriage, and lash him with his whole
strength with a rough jockey-whip till he
fairly screamed for mercy, were but the work
of a moment.

And I could not but marvel afterwards to
think how much power and nervous energy
his indignant spirit had lent to his slight
frame and slender limbs ; for in size, he was
by no means superior to G——, whom he,
nevertheless, handled almost as if he had
been a child of five years old.

Want of breath at last, rather than. want
of will, compelled him to pause in his exer-
cise ; and then turning towards us with an
air as composed and smiling as if he had
been merely dancing a quadrille, he took off
his hat, saying :—

‘I must implore your pardon, ladies,
yours more especially, Mademoiselle Va-

 

 

   

lerie, for enacting such a scene in your pre-
sence. Jats cétatt plus fort que moi !’ he
added, laughing, ‘I could not ccntain
myself at.seeing a lady so infamously in-
sulted.’

Caroline and the Misses Selwyn were so
much frightened by the whole fracas, that
they were really unable to answer, and I was
for the moment so much taken by surprise,
that I could not find words to reply. At this
moment, covered with dust and blood, for
the whip had cut his face in several places,
without his hat, and with all his gay attire
besmeared and rent, G—— again came up
towards the carriage.

He was very pale, nay white, even to
the lips; but it was evidently not with
terror but with rage, as his first words tes-
tified—

‘Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes,’ he
said slowly, ‘car je vous connais, et vous
me connaitrez aussi, je vous le jure; vous
m’avez frappé, vous me rendrez satisfaction,
cest-ce pas ?’

‘Oh! no, no,’ I exclaimed, before he
could answer, clasping my hands eagerly to-
gether ; ‘oh, no, no! not on my account,
I implore you, Monsieur le Comte—no
life on my account—above all, not yours !’

He thanked me by one expressive glance,
which spoke volumes to my heart, and per-
haps read volumes in return in my pale face
and trembling lips, then turned with a calm
smile to his late antagonist, and answered
him in English.

‘T do not know in the least, sir, who you
are, and I do not suppose that I ever sha!l
know. Ichastised you, five minutes since,
for insulting this lady most grossly

‘Lady! interrupted the ruffian, with a
sneer. ‘Lady. Lady of plea——

But the count went on without pausing or
seeming to hear him—‘ which I should have
done at all events, whether I had known
you or not, and which I shall most assuredly
do again, should you think fit to proceed
further with your infamies. As for satisfac-
tion, if I should be called upon in a proper
way, I shall not refuse it to any person
worthy to meet me.’

‘ Which this person is not, sir,’ interposed
yet a third voice ; and, looking up, I recog-
nized the officer who had bowed to me:
‘which this person is not, I assure you, and
my word is wont to be sufficient in such
cases — Lieutenant Colonel Jervis,’ —he
added, with a half-bow to me,—' late of his
majesty’s —— light dragoons. This person
is the notorious Monsieur G——, who was

detected cheating at écaréé at the ‘‘ Tra:vellers ;’ was a defaulter on the St. Legerin
the St. Patrick’s year; has been warned off
every race-course in England by the Jockey
Club, besides being horsewhipped by half
the Legs in England. Hecan get no gen-
tleman to bring you a message, sir; and if
he could, you must not meet him.’

Gnashing his teeth with impotent rage,
the detected impostor slunk away, while the
count, bowing to Colonel Jervis; replied
quietly, —

‘T thank you very much, colonel. I am
Monsieur de Chevannes; and I have no
doubt what you say is perfectly correct. No
one but a low ruffian could have behaved as
this fellow did. It was, 1 assure you, no
small offence which caused me to strike a
blow in the presence of ladies.’

‘LI saw it, Monsieur le Comte,’ answered
Jervis, ‘I saw it from a distance, and was
‘coming up as fast as I could make my horse
gallop, when you anticipated me, Athen,
seeing that I was not wanted, I stood look-
ing on with intense satisfaction ; for, upon
my word, I never saw a thing better done in
my life. No offence, count, but by the way
you use your hands, I think you ought to
have been an Englishman rather than a
Frenchman, which I suppose from your
name—for you have no French accent—you
are—

‘I was at school in England, Colonel,’
answered the count, laughing, ‘and so
learned the use of my hands.’

‘That accounts for it—that accounts for
it—for on my life I never saw a fellow more
handsomely horsewhipped-—and I have seen
a good many too. Did you, Mademoiselle
Valerie de Chatenceuf;—for I believe it is
you whom I have the honour of addressing ?’

‘I have been less fortunate than you,
Colonel Jervis, for I never saw any one
horse-whipped before, and sincerely hope I
shall never see another.”

‘Don't say that, my dear lady, don’t say
that. I am sure it is a very pretty sight,
when it is well and soundly done. Besides,
it seems ungrateful to the count.’

‘J would not be ungrateful for the world
I replied ; ‘and 1 am sure the count needs
no assurance of that fact. I am for ever
obliged by his prompt defence of me—but
it is nothing more than I should have ex-
pected from him.’

‘What, that he would fight for you,
Valerie?’ whispered Caroline, maliciously,
in a tone which, perhaps, she did not intend
to be overheard ; but if such was her mean-
ing, she missed it, for all present heard her
distinctly.

VALERIE.

“4g

1 replied, however, very coolly—

©Ves, Caroline, that he would fight for me,
or you, or any lady who was aggrieved or
insulted in his presence.’

‘Mille graces for your good opinions !”
said De Chavannes, with a bow, and a
glance that was far more eloquent than
words.

‘A trucé to compliments, if you will not
think me impertinent, count,’ said the
colonel ; ‘ but I wish to ask this fair lady, if
she will pardon me one question ; had you
ever a friend called ——'

‘ Adéle Chabot!’ I interrupted him ; ‘and
1 shall be most enchanted to hear of her, or
better still to see her, as Mrs. Jervis.’

‘You have anticipated me; that is what I
was about to say. We arrived in town last
night ; and she commissioned me at once to
make out your whereabouts for her. The
Gironacs told me that you were staying at
Keyw—"

“Yes, at Judge Selwyn’s. By the way, L
added, a little mischievously, I confess,
‘allow me to make known to one another,
Mrs. Charles Selwyn, ovce Caroline Stan-
hope, and Colonel Jervis.’

Jervis bowed low, but his cheek and brow
burned a little, and he looked sharply at me
out of the corner of his eye; but I pre-
served such a demure face, that he did
not quite know whether I was aw fact or
not.

Caroline, to do her justice, behaved ex-
ceedingly well. Her character, indeed,
which had been quite unformed before her
marriage, had gained solidity; and her mind
judgment, as well as tone, since her. intro-
duction to a family so superior as that of the
Selwyns. And she now neither blushed nor
tittered, nor, indeed, showed any signs of
consciousness, although she gave me a sly
pinch, while she was inquiring in her
sweetest voice and serenest manner after
Adéle, whom she said she had always loved
very much, and longed to see her sincerely
in her new station, which she was so admir-
ably qualified to fill. ‘I hear she was vastly
admired: in Paris, colonel ; and no wonder,
for I really think she was the very prettiest
creature I ever saw in my life. You are a
fortunate man, Colonel Jervis.’

‘I am, indeed,’ said he, laughing. ‘ Adele
is a very good little creature, and the people
were so good-natured as. to be very civil to
her in Paris, especially your friend Madame
d’ Albret, Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf,
Nothing could exceed her attentions to us.
We are very much indebted to you for her
acquaintance, By the way, Adele bas noa

 

Pe cen A ia far

   

YI2 VALERIE.

end of letters, and presents of all sorts, for
you from her. When can you come and see
Adeéle ?’

‘Where are you staying, Colonel Jervis?’

‘At Thomas’s Hotel, in Berkeley square,
at present, until we can find a furnished
house for the season. In August we are
going down to a little cottage of mine, in
the Highlands. And I believe Adéle has
some plan for inducing you to come down
and bear her company, while I am slaughter-
ing grouse and black cock.’

‘Thanks, colonel, both to you and Adéle.
But I do not know how that will be. August
is two whole months distant yet, and one
never knows what may happen in the course
of two months. Do you know I was half
thinking of paying a visit to France myself,
when my brother, who is ona visit to me now,
returns to join his regiment.’

‘Were you, indeed?’ asked De Cha-
vannes, more. earnestly than the subject
seemed to warrant. ‘I had not heard of
that scheme before. Is it likely to be car-
ried into effect, mademoiselle ?’

‘T hardly know. As yet it is little more
than a distant dream.’

‘But you have not yet answered my ques-
tion, Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf,’ said the
colonel. ‘You have not yet told me when
you will come and see Adele,’

‘Oh! pardon me, colonel. I return to
town to-morrow, and I will not lose a
moment. Suppose I say at one o'clock to-
morrow, or two will be better. Caroline,
the judge was so good as to say that he
would let his carriage take me home; I dare
say it can drop me at Thomas's, can it
not?’

“Certainly oz, Valerie] There, don't
Stare now, or look indignant or surprised.
It served you perfectly right; what. did you
expect me to say? Or why do you ask
such silly questions? Of course, it can take
you wherever you please, precisely as if it
were your own.’

‘Then, at two o'clock, I will be at
Thomas's to-morrow, colonel; in the mean
time, pray give Adéle my best love.’

‘I will, indeed. And now I will intrude
upon you no longer, ladies,’ he added, rais-
ing his hat. ‘In fact, I owe you many
apologies for the liberty I have taken in in-
troducing myself. I hope you will believe
that I would not have done so under any
other circumstances.’

We bowed, and without any further re-
marks, he put spurs to his horse, and can-
tered away.

‘A very gentlemanly person,’ said Caro-

 

Jjine; ‘I think Adéle has done very well for
herself.’

“You had better not let Mr. Charles
Selwyn hear you say so, under all circum-
stances, or I think that very likely the whip-
ping we were talking about in fun, yesterday,
will become real, cara mia!’

‘Nonsense! for shame, you mischievous
thing!” said Caroline, blushing a little, but
not painfully.

“Who is this Colonel Jervis?’ asked the
Count de Chavannes. ‘I was a little
puzzled, or rather zof a little: for at first
none of you seemed to know him ; and,
after a little while, you all appeared to know
him quite well. Pray explain the mystery.’

‘He is avery gentlemanly person, count;
as Mrs. Selwyn justly observes, and as you
can perceive, a very handsome man. Fur-
ther than that, he was colonel of one of his
majesty’s crack regiments, as they call them,
and is now on half-pay. He is, moreover, a
man of high fashion, and of the first stand-
ing in society. And, last of all, which is
the secret of the whole, he is the husband
of a very charming little Frenchwoman, a
particular friend of Caroline’s and mine, one
of the prettiest and nicest persons on earth,
with whom he ran away some six months
since, fancying her to be—’

‘Valerie !’ exclaimed Caroline, blushing
fiery red.

‘Caroline!’ replied I, quietly.

‘What were you going to say?’

‘Fancying her to be a very great heiress, ’
I continued ; ‘but finding her to be a far
better thing, a delightful, beautiful, and ex-
cellent wife.’

‘Happy man !’ said De Chavannes, with
a half-sigh.

‘Why do you say so, count?’

‘To have married one for whom you
vouch so strongly. Is that any common
fortune ?’

‘It is rather common, count, just of late
I mean,’ said Caroline, laughing. ‘You do
not know that among Valerie's: other ac-
complishments she is the greatest little
match-maker in existence. She marries off
all her friends as fast—oh! you cannot think
how fast.’

‘I hope,—I mean to say I ¢hink,’ he cor-
rected himself, not without some little con-
fusion, ‘that she is not quite so bad as you
make her out. She has not yet made any
match for herself, I believe. No, no.
don't believe she is quite so bad.’

‘I would not be too sure, count, were [
you,’ she answered, desirous of paying me
off a little for some of the badinage withwhich I had treated her. ‘These ladies,
with so many strings to their bbow—’

It was now my time to exclaim ‘ Caro-
line !’ and I did so not without giving
some little emphasis of severity to my
tone; for I really thought she was going
beyond the limits of propriety, if not of
persifiage ; and I will do her the justice to
say that she felt it herself, for she blushed
very much as I spoke, and was at once
silent.

The awkwardness of this pause was fortu-
nately broken by the return of Auguste and
Lionel, at a sharp canter; for the review
was now entirely at an end, and they had
now for the first moment remembered ‘that,
having promised to return in a quarter of
an hour, they had suffered two hours or
more to elapse, and that we were probably
all alone.

Caroline immediately began to rally
Lionel and Auguste; the former, with
whom she was very intimate, pretty severely,
for their want of gallantry in leaving
us all alone and unprotected in such a
crowd.

‘Not the least danger—not the least!’
replied Lionel hastily. ‘Had we _ not
known that, we should have returned long
ago.
‘In proof of which zo danger, we have
been all frightened nearly to death ; Made-
moiselle Valerie de Chatenceuf has been
grievously affronted, and I am not sure
but she would have been beaten by a
French Chevalier d' Industrie, had it not
been for the gallantry of the Count de Cha-
vannes. ’

And thereupon out came the whole
history of Monsieur G——, his horse-whip-
ping, the opportune appearance of Colonel
Jervis, and all the curious circumstances of
the scene.

I never in my life saw any one so fearfully
excited as Auguste. He turned white as
ashes, even to his very lips, while his eyes
literally flashed fire, and his frame shivered
as if he had been in an aguefit. ‘// me le
paiera/ he muttered between his hard-set
teeth. ‘Jl me le paieral, le scélerat!/ Ma

auure seur—ma pauvre petite Valerie!

And then heshook the hand of Chavannes
with the heartiest and warmest emotion.
‘{ shall never forget this,’ hesaid, ina thick,
Jow voice; ‘never, never! From this time
forth, De Chavannes, we are friends.for ever.
But I shall never, never, be able to repay
you.’

‘Nonsense, 7on cher, nonsense, replied
Chavannes. ‘I did nothing—positively no-

VALERIE.

113

thing atall. Ishould not have been a man,
had I done otherwise.’

This had, however, no effect at all in stop-
ping Auguste’s exclamations and professions
of eternal gratitude ; nor did he cease until
Monsieur de Chavannes said quietly, ‘ Well,
well, if you will have it so, say no more
about it; and one day or other I will ask a
favour of you, which, if granted, will leave
me your debtor.

‘7f granted!—it zs granted,’ exclaimed
Auguste. impetuously. ‘ What is it ?—name
it—I say it zs granted.’

‘Don't be rash, oz cher,’ replied the
count, laughing ; ‘it is no slight boon which
I shall ask.’

‘Do not be foolish, Auguste,’ I inter-
posed ; ‘you are letting your feelings get
the better of you, strangely ; and, Caroline,
if you do not tell the people to drive home,
you will keep the judge waiting dinner—a
proceeding to which you know he is by no
means partial.’

‘You are right, as usual, Valerie ; always
thoughtful for other people. So we will go
home.’

‘But just as we were on the point of
starting, the groom with the cockade, whom
we had seen following Colonel Jervis,
trotted up, and touching his hat, asked,

‘I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but is
any one of you the Count de Chavannes cs

‘Tam,’ replied the count ; ‘ what do you
want with me, sir?’

‘From Colonel Jervis, sir,’ replied the
man, handing him/a visiting card. ‘The
colonel’s compliments, count, and he begs
you willdo him the favour, in case you hear
anything more from that fellow, as you
horsewhipped, count, to let him know at
Thomas’s at once; for you must not treat
him as a gentleman, no how, the colonel
says ; and if so be he gives you any trouble,
the colonel can get his flint fixed—the colonel
can |

‘Thank you, my man,’ replied the count ;
‘give my compliments to your master, and I
am much obliged for his interest. I shall do
myself the honour of waiting on the colonel
to-morrow. Beso good as to tell him so.’

‘T will, sir,’ said the man ; and rode away
without another word.

‘You see, Monsieur de Chatenceuf, you
must not dream of noticing the fellow asa
gentleman,’ said the count.

‘Impossible !’ Lionel chimed in, almost in
the same breath ; and all the ladies followed
suit with their absolute ‘ Impossible !’

A rapid drive brought us to the judge's
house at Kew, where we found dinner nearlyX14. VALERIE,

ready, though not waiting: and the events
of the day were the topic, and the count the
hero, of the evening.

‘The next morning we returned to town—
Auguste and myself, I mean ; Monsieur de
Chavannes having driven up from Kew in
his own cabriolet after dinner,

I catled, according to my promise, and
found Adéle alone, and delighted to see me,
and in the highest possible spirits. She was
the happiest of women, she said ; and
Colonel Jervis was everything that she could
wish—the kindest, most affectionate of hus-
bands; and all that she now desired, as
she declared, was to see me established
suitably,

“You had better let matters take their
course, Adéle,’ I answered. ‘Though not
much of a fatalist, I believe that when 2
person’s time is to come, it comes. It avails
nothing to hurry—nothing to endeavour to
retard it. I shall fare, I doubt not, as my
friends before me, dear Adéle ; and if I can
consult as well for myself as I seem to have
Cone for my friends, I shall do very well.
Caroline, by the way, is quite as happy as
you declare yourself to be, and I doubt
not are; for I like your colonel amazingly.’

“Iam delighted to hear it. He also is
charmed with you. But who is the Count
de Chavannes, of whom he is so {ull just
now? He says he is the only Frenchman
he ever saw worthy to be an Englishman—
which, though we may not regard it exactly
as a compliment, he considers the greatest
thing he can say in any one's favour. Who
is this Count de Chavannes, Valerie >’

I told her, in reply, all that I knew, and
that you know, gentle reader, about the
Count de Chavannes.

“Et puis ?@—Et puis ? asked Adele,
laughing.

‘ &£¢ puts, nothing at all,’ I answered.

‘No secrets among friends, Valerie,’ said
Adele, looking me earnestly in the face ; ‘I
had none with you, and you helped me with
your advice, Be as frank at least, with me,
if you love me.’

*I do love you dearly, Adéle ; and I have
no secrets. ‘There is nothing concernin
which to have a secret,’

‘Nothing?—not this gay and gallant
count ?’

‘ Not even he.’

‘And you are not about to become Ma-
dame la Comtesse ?’

‘Jam not, indeed.’

‘ Indeed—in very deed ?’

‘In very—very deed.’

‘Well, 1 do not understand it,

oC
>

By what

 

Jervis told me, I presumed it was a settled
thing.’

‘The colonel was mistaken.
thing, settled or unsettled.’

‘And do you, really, not like him ?

‘Treally do like him, Adele, as a very
pleasant companion for an hour or two, and
as a very perfect gentleman.’

“Yes, he told me allthat. But ifyoulike
him so well, why not like him better ? Why
not love him ?’

‘ I will be plain and true with you, Adéle.
I do not choose to consider at all, whether I
could, or could zof, love him. He has
never asked mie, has never spoken of love to
me ; and putting it out of the question that
it is unmaidenly to love unasked, I am
sure it is unwise.’

‘I understand, I understand. But hew//
ask you, that is certain ; and when he does
ask, what shall you say?

“It will be time enough to consider when
that time shall come.’

“Another way of saying, ‘‘I shall say
yes!” But come, Valerie, you must pro-
mise me that if you need my assistance, you
will call upon me for it. “You Azow that
anything I can do for you will be done with-
out a thought, but how I best may serve
you ; and Jervis will do likewise, since he,
as I do, considers that under Heaven, we
Owe our happiness to you.’

‘I promise it,’

‘Enough ; I will ask no more. Now
come up to my room, and I will give you
Madame d’Albret’s letters, and some pretty
presents she has sent you. Do you know,
Valerie, nothing could exceed her kindness
tous. I believe she repents bitterly her un-
kindness to you. I cannot repeat the terms
of praise and admiration which she applied
to you.’

‘And do you know, Adéle, that it was her
infamous and miserable husband, Monsieur
G——, whom the count horsewhipped this
very day for insulting me?’

‘Indeed? was it indeed? That man’s
enmity to you will never cease so long as he
has life. No, Jervis did not tell me who it
was, thinking, I fancy, that neither you nor
I would have so much as known his name.
But never care about the wretch, Here is
madame’s letter,’

It was as kind a letter as could be written,
full of thanks for the favour I had shown her
in introducing my friends to her, and of
hopes that we should one day meet again,
when all the past should be forgotten,
and I should resume my own place and sta-
tion in the society of my own land. She

There is no-VALERIE. tI5

pegged my acceptance of the pretty dresses the guilty. I khow that your mother can
she sent, which she said she had selected, never forgive me for aiding you in your
not for their value, but because they were escape from her authority ; but for my part,
pretty; and, in her postscript, she added I am willing to bear her enmity rather than
what of course outweighed all the rest of her persist in further concealment, so that you
letter, both in interest and importance, that need not in any degree consider me in any
she had recently been informed through a steps which you may think it wise or right to
strange channel, and, as it were, by accident, take towards revelation and reconciliation.
that my mother’s health was failing seri- Indeed, I think, Valerie, that if it can be
ously, and that, although not attacked by done with due regard to your own safety and
any regular disorder, nor in any immediate happiness, you ought to discover yourself to
danger, it was not thought probable that she both your parents, and, if possible, even to
could live much longer. ‘In that case, visit the most unhappy, because the guiltier
Valerie,’ she continued, ‘for, aithough no of the two, before her dissolution, which I
one could be so unnatural as to wish for a really believe to be now very near at hand.
mother’s death, how cruel and unmotherly Every one knows so well what you have un-
she might be soever, it cannot be expected dergone, that no blame will attach to you in
that you should regard her decease with the least degree. Allow me to add, that
more than decent observation, and a proper should you return to France, as I hope you
seriousness, I shall look to see you dwelling will do, I shail never forgive you if you do
again among US, and spending the little for- not make my house your home.’
tune which I understand you have so bravely This postscript, as will readily be believed,
earned in the midst of your friends, and in gave me more cause for thought than all the
your own country.’ letter beside, and rendered me exceedingly
‘That I shall never do,’ I said, speaking uneasy. If I had felt ill-satisfied before with
aloud, though in answer partly to her letter, my condition and my concealment, much
partly to my own words; ‘that I shall never more was I now discontented with myself,
do. Visit France I may, once and again; and unhappy. I was almost: resolved to
but in England I shall dwell. France return at all hazards with Auguste ; and, in-
banished and repudiated me like a step- deed, when I consulted with Adele, she
mother—England received me, kinder than leaned very much toward the same opinion.
my own, like a mother. In England I shall I would not, however, do anything rashly,
dwell.’ put determined to consult not only with my
‘Wait till you see the lord of your desti- brother, but with the judge, in whose wisdom
nies, and learn where he shall dwell. You I had no less confidence than I had in his
will have to say, like the rest of us, ‘Your friendship and integrity.
country shall be my country, and your God Things, however, were destined to occur
my God,”’ observed Adéle, interrupting my which in some degree altered and hastened
musings. all my proceedings ; for that very evening
‘The first perhaps—the last never | never! when the Gironacs had retired, on my begin-
Catholic I was born, Catholic Iwill die. -I ning to consult Auguste, ‘Listen to me a
do zot say that I will never marry any but a moment, before you tell me about your letters
Catholic, but I do say that I will never marry from France, or anything about returning,
but one who will approve my adoring my and Tentreat you answer me truly, and let no
own God according to my own conscience.’ false modesty, or little missish delicacy, Rre-
‘Is the Count de Chavannes a Catholic? vent your doing so. Many a life has been
‘Indeed, I know not. But he is a Breton. rendered miserable by such foolishness, I
and the Bretoms are a loyal race, both to- have heard say; and being, as it were,
their king and their God.’ almost alone in the world, as if an only
I now turned to finish my reading, which brother with an only sister, to whom, if not
had been for the moment interrupted. - to one another, should we speak freely a:
‘Indeed, my dear Valerie,’ she concluded - ‘You need not have made so long a
her letter, ‘I have long felt that although preamble, dear Auguste,’ I replied, with a
we were certainly justified by the circum- smile; ‘of course I will answer you; and,
stances of your situation in taking the steps when I say that, of course I will answer
we did at that time, we have been hardly truly.’ :
pardonable in persisting so long in the main- ‘Well, then, Valerie, do you like this Count
tenance of a falsehood, which has certainly de Chavannes?’
been the cause of great pain andsufferingto ‘It is an odd question, but—Yes. I do
both your parents, the innocent no less than. like him.’ee

 

  
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
    
 
  
  
 
  
   
   
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
    
  
   
  
  
 

£16 -- VALERIE,

‘Do you love him, Valerie >’ matter-of-fact girl you are, Valerie; I never
‘Oh ! Auguste—that is not fair. Besides, knew any one in the least like you. Do you
he has never spoken to me of love. He has know I am afraid you are a little ——’ and
never—I do not know whether he loves me— he paused a moment, as if he hardly knew

I have no reason to believe that he does.’ how to proceed. es
“No reason !’ he exclaimed, half surprised, ‘A little hard and cold, is it not, dear
half indignant—‘ no Teason! I should Auguste?’ said I, throwing my arms about

think—but never mind—answer me this ; him. ‘No, no, indeed Iam not ; but I have
if he did love you, do you love him, or like been cast so long on my owa sole resources,
him enough to take him for your husband?’ and obliged to rely only on my own energy

‘ He has spoken to you, Auguste—he has and clear-sightedness, that I always try to
spoken to you!’ J exclaimed, blushing very look at both sides of the question, and not
deeply, but unable to conceal my gratifica- to let my feelings overpower me, until I have
tion. proved that it is good and wise to do so.

‘Iam answered, Valerie, by the sparkle of Consider, too, Auguste, that on this step de-
those bright eyes. Yes, he has spoken to pends the whole happiness or misery of a
me, dearest sister; and asked my influence girl's existence.’
with you and My permission to address you.’ ‘You are right, Valerie, and I am wrong.

‘And you replied —— ?’ But tell me, do you love him?’

‘And I replied, that my permission was a ‘Ido, Auguste. I like him better than
matter of no consequence, for that you were any man I have everseen. Heis the only man
entirely your own mistress, and that my in- of whom I could think asa husband—and
fluence would be exerted only to induce you Ihave for some time past been fearful of
to follow your own judgment and inclina- liking him—loving him, too much, not
tions, and to consult for your own happi- knowing, though I did believe and hope,
ness.’ that he reciprocated my feelings. And

‘Answered like a good and wise brother. now, if I knew but a little more of his prin-
And then he—— ?’ ciples and character, I would not hesitate.’

‘ Asked, whether I could form any opinion ‘Then you need not hesitate, dearest
of the state of your feelings. To which | Valerie ; for, as if to obviate this objection,
replied, that I could only say that I had he showed me, inthe most delicate manner,
Teason to suppose that your hand and heart private letters from his oldest and most inti-
were neither of them engaged, and that the mate friends, and especially from Mr, ;
field was open to him if he chose to make a a most respectable clergyman, who lives at
trial. But that I had no Opportunity of Hendon, by whom he was educated, and
judging how you felt toward him. I also with whom he has maintained constant in-
said that I thought you knew very little of tercourse and correspondence ever since.
€ach other, and that his attachment must This alone speaks very highly in his favour;
have grown up too rapidly to have taken a and the terms in which he writes to his
very Strong root. But there I found I was pupil, are such as prove them both to be
mistaken. For he assured me that it was men of the highest character for worth, in-
from esteem of your character and admiration tegrity, and virtue. He has proposed,
of your energy, courage, and constancy under Moreover, that I should ride down with him
adversity, not from the mere prettiness of to-morrow to Hendon, to visit Ve
your face, or niceness of your manners, that and to hear from his own lips yet more of
he first began to love you. And Isinceascer- his character and conduct, that is to say, if
tained that there is scarce an incident of I can give him any hopes of ultimate suc-

your life with which he has not made him-. cess,’
self acquainted, and that in the most delicate “Well, Auguste,’ I replied, ‘I think with
and guarded manner, [| confess, Valerie, you, that all this Speaks very highly in
that it has raised him greatly in my estima- favour of your friend ; and I think that the
tion, to find that he looks upon marriage as. best thing you can do, is to take this ride
a thing so serious and Solemn, and does not which he proposes, and see his tutor. In
rush into it from mere fancy for a pretty face the mean time, I will drive down to Kew,
and ladylike accomplishments,’ and speak with our good friend Judge

‘I think so, too, Auguste,’ I replied. Selwyn on the subject. To-morrow evening
‘But I wish we knew a little more about I wil] see the count, and hear whatever he
him. His character and Principles, I mean.’ desires to say to me,’

Auguste looked at me for a moment, in This was a very matter-of-fact way of
gteat surprise. ‘What an exceedingly dealing with the affair, certainly ; but whatAuguste had said was in some sort true. I
was in truth rather a matter-of-fact girl, and
I never found that, 1 suffered by it in the
least ; for I certainly was not either worldly
or selfish, and the feelings do, as certainly,
require to be guided and controlled by sober
reason.

After coming to this conclusion, I showed
Madame D’Albret’s letter to Auguste, and
we came to the decision, also, that, under
the circumstances, Auguste should, imme-
diately on his return, communicate the fact
of my being alive and in good cireum-
stances, to my father; leaving it at his dis-
cretion to inform my mother of the facts or
not, as he might judge expedient.

At a very early hour next morning, I took
a glass coach and drove down to Kew,
where I arrived, greatly to the astonishment
of the whole family, just as they were sitting
down to breakfast ; and when I stated that I
had come to speak on very urgent business
with the judge, he desired my carriage to
return to town, and proposed to carry me
back himself, so that we might kill two birds,
as he expressed it, with one stone,—holding
a consultation in his carriage, while on his
way to court.

As soon as we got into the coach, while I
was hesitating how to open the subject,
which was certainly a little awkward for a
young girl, the judge took up the dis-
course—

‘Well, Valerie,’ he said, 'I suppose you
want to know the result of the inquiries
which you were so unwilling that I should
make about the Count de Chavannes. Is
not that true?’

‘It is perfectly true, judge, though I do
not know how you ever have divined use

‘It is lucky, at least, that I consulted my
own judgment, rather than your fancy ; for
otherwise I should have had no information
to give you.’

‘But as it is, judge?’

‘Why as it is, Mademoiselle Valerie, you
may marry him as soon as ever he asks you,
and think yourself a very lucky young lady
into the bargain. He has a character such
as not one man in fiftycan produce. He is
rich, liberal without being extravagant,
never plays, is by no means dissipated, and
in all respects is a man of honour, ability,
and character; such is what I have learned
from a quarter where there can be no mis-
take.’

I was a good deal affected for a moment
or two, and was very near bursting into
tears. The good judge took my hand in his,
and spoke soothingly, and almost caress-

VALERIE.

   
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
  
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
 
   
 
  
     

117

ingly, bidding me confide in him altogether,
and he would advise me, as if he were my
own father.

I did so accordingly ; and while he ap-
proved highly of all that I had done, and of
the delicate and gentlemanly manner in
which the count had acted, he fully advised
me to deal frankly and directly with him.
‘You like him, I am sure, Valerie ; indeed
I believe I knew that before you did your-
self, and I have no doubt he will make you
an admirable husband. ‘Tell him all, show
him this letter of your friend Madame
d’Albret’s, about your mother, and if he
desires it, as I dare say he will, marry him
at once, and set out together with Auguste,
for France, when his leave of absence is ex-
pired, and go directly to Paris with your
husband. As a married woman, your
parents will have no authority of any kind
over you, and I think it is your duty to do
Ou

I agreed with him at once; and when, in
the evening, Auguste returned with the
count from a visit to his former tutor, which
had been in all respects satisfactory,
and left me alone with Monsieur de Cha-
vannes, everything was determined without
difficulty.

Love-scenes and courtships, though vastly
interesting to the actors, are always the
dullest things in the world to bystanders ; I
shall therefore proceed at once to the end,
merely stating that the count wes all, and
did ail, that the most exzgeante of women
could have required—that from the first to
the last he was full of delicacy, of tender-
ness, and honour, and that after twelve
years of a happy life with him, I have never
had cause to repent for a moment that I
consented to give him the hand, which he so
ardently desired.

The joy of Madame Gironac can be ima-
gined better than described, as well as the
manner in which she bustled about my
trousseau and my outfit for France, as it
was determined that the judge’s plan should
be adopted to the letter, and that we should
start directly from St. George's to Dover
and Calais.

Never, perhaps, was 2 marriage more
rapidly organized and completed. ‘Thelaw
business was expedited with all speed by
Charles Selwyn; Madame Bathurst, the
Jervises, the Gironacs. and the Selwyns,
were alone present at the wedding, and
though we were all dear friends, there was
no affectation of tears or lamentable part-
ings ; for we knew that, in Heaven's plea-
sure, we should all meet again within a iew

na ~

~~~ eee

 

 

 

 

18

months, as, after our wedding tour was
ended, Monsieur de Chavannes proposed to
take up his abode in England, the land of
his choice, as of his education.

There was no bishop to perform the cere-
mony, nor any duke to give away the bride.
No long array of liveried servants with fa-
vours in their buttons and in their hats—no
pompous paragraph in the morning papers
to describe the beauties of the high-bred
bride and the dresses of her aristocratic
bridesmaids—but two hearts were united as
well as two hands, and Heaven smiled upon
the union.

A quick and pleasant passage carried us
to Paris, where I was received with raptures
by my good old friend, Madame Paon, and
with sincere satisfaction by Madame d’Al-
bret, who was proud to recognize her old
protégée in the new character of the Comtesse
de Chavannes, a character which she ima-
gined reflected no small credit on her tuition
and patronage.

The threatened emenute having passed
over, Auguste easily obtained a renewal of
his leave of absence, in order to visit his
family at Pau, and as he preceded us by
three days, and travelled with the utmost
diligence, he outstripped us by nearly a
week, and we found both my parents pre-
pared to receive us, and both vead/y happy
at the prosperous tidings.

My poor mother was indeed dying ; had
we come two days later, we should have
been too late, for she died in my arms on
the day following our arrival, enraptured to
find herself relieved fromm the heinous
crime of which she had so long believed
herself guilty, and blessing me with her
dying lips.

My father, who had always loved me, and
who had erred through weakness of head
only, seemed never to weary of sitting beside
me, of holding my hand in his, and of
gazing in-my face. With Monsieur de

 

VALERIE.

BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, SURREY.

  

Chavannes’ consent, the whole of my little
earnings, amounting now to nearly £3, s00,
was settled on him for his life, and then on
my sisters ; and the income arising from it,
though a mere trifle in England, in that
cheap region sufficed, with what he pos-
sessed of his own, to render his old age
affluent and happy.

Thus all my trials ended : and if the be-
ginning of my career was painful and dis-
astrous, the cares and sorrows of Valerie de
Chatenoeuf have been more than compen-
sated by the happiness of Valerie de Cha-
vannes.

I may as well mention here, that a few
years afterwards, Lionel Dempster married
my second sister, Elisée,a very nice and
very handsome girl, and has settled very
close to the villa which the count purchased
on his return from France, near Windsor,
on the lovely Thames, ministering nota litile
by their company to the bliss of our happy,
peaceful life.

My eldest brother, Auguste, is now a
lieutenant-colonel of the line, having greatly
distinguished himself in Algeria ; Nicholas,
who never returned to France, has ac-
quired both renown and riches by his
musical abilities, and all the younger
branches of the family are happily provided
for.

I have three sweet children, one boy and
two little girls, and the difficulties and sor-
rows I experienced, owing to an evil and
injudicious course of education, have been
so far of use, that they have taught me how
to bring up my own children, even more to
love and honour than to obey.

Perfect happiness is not allotted to any
here below ; but few and short have been
the latter sorrows, and infinite the bless-
ings, vouchsafed by a kind Providence, to
the once poor and houseless, but now
rich, and honoured, and, better than all,
loved Valerie,

END.|
|
El
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The Smuggler... Re i)
Woodman .. : rahe 1)

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