The strife was o'er, the vanquish'd had their doom;
The mutineers were crush'd, dispersed, or ta'en,
Or lived to deem the happiest were the slain.
BYRON.
The day broke serenely but brightly, and poured in a stream of light
through the iron grating of the cell where Peters and his wife lay
clasped in each other's arms, not asleep, but torpid, and worn out with
extreme suffering. Peters was the first to break the silence, and
gently moved Ellen, as he called her by her name. She had not for some
time lifted up her head, which was buried in his bosom; and she was not
aware that the darkness had been dispelled. She raised her head at his
summons, and as the dazzling light burst upon her sunken eyes, so did
the recollection that this was the fatal morning flash upon her memory.
With a shriek, she again buried her face in the bosom of her husband.
"Ellen, as you love me," said Peters, "do not distress me in my last
hour. I have yet much to do before I die, and require your assistance
and support. Rise, my love, and let me write to my father; I must not
neglect the interest of our child."
She rose tremblingly, and, turning back from her face her beautiful
hair, which had been for so many days neglected, and was now moistened
with her tears, reached the materials required by her husband, who,
drawing towards him the wooden form to serve him as a table, wrote the
following letter, while his wife sat by him with a countenance of
idiotic apathy and despair:--
"DEAR FATHER,--Yes, still _dear_ father,--Before you cast your eyes
upon these characters, you will be childless. Your eldest boy
perished nobly in the field of honour: your youngest and last will
this morning meet an ignominious, but deserved death on the scaffold.
Thus will you be childless; but if your son does meet the fate of a
traitor, still the secret is confined to you alone, and none will
imagine that the unhappy Peters, ringleader of a mutinous ship, was
the scion of a race who have so long preserved an unblemished name.
Fain would I have spared you this shock to your feelings, and have
allowed you to remain in ignorance of my disgrace; but I have an act
of duty to perform to you and to my child--towards you, that your
estates may not be claimed, and pass away to distant and collateral
branches;--towards my child, that he may eventually reclaim his
rights. Father, I forgive you, I might say--but no--let all now be
buried in oblivion; and as you peruse these lines, and think on my
unhappy fate, shed a tear in memory of the once happy child you
fondled on your knee, and say to your heart, `I forgive him.'
"I have dedicated my boy to his king and country. If you forgive me,
and mean to protect your grandchild, do not change the career in life
marked out for him:--it is a solemn compact between my God and me; and
you must fulfil this last earnest request of a dying man, as you hope
for future pardon and bliss.
"His distracted mother sits by me; I would entreat you to extend your
kindness towards her, but I fear she will soon require no earthly aid.
Still, soothe her last moments with a promise to protect the orphan,
and may God bless you for your kindness.
"Your affectionate son, EDWARD."
Peters had scarcely finished this letter when Adams, with the boy in his
arms, was admitted. "I come for final orders, Peters, and to tell you
what I did last night to this boy. He is real stuff,--never winced.
You said he was to be the King's, and I thought you would like that he
should be marked as such. There is no mistaking this mark, Peters,"
continued Adams, baring the boy's shoulder, and showing the impression
of the broad-headed arrow, which now appeared angry and inflamed, as it
always is for some days after the operation. "I did not mention that I
was going to do it, because Ellen then might not have liked it: but I
hope you do."
"Many, many thanks," answered Peters; and opening his letter, which was
folded, but not sealed, he added a postscript, pointing out the mark by
which the boy would be identified. "You could not have done me a
greater favour, Adams; and now you must promise me one more, which is to
look after my poor Ellen when--"
"I understand, my good fellow, and I will," replied Adams. "There is
the chaplain outside, who is all ready for service if you would like to
see him," continued the old man, passing his hands over his humid eyes.
"Ask him to come in, Adams; he is a good man, and an honour to his
profession. I shall be glad to see him."
Adams went to the door, and soon returned with the chaplain. He saluted
Peters, who respectfully bowed to him, and said: "I have long made my
peace with God and man, sir, and am as well prepared to die, as sinful
mortal can be in faith and charity with all men. Many thanks to you,
sir, for your kindness; but, sir, you may be of use here yet. Can
you,"--and his voice faltered,--"can you, sir, help that poor young
woman? Cannot you reason her into some kind of tranquillity, some
degree of submission to God's will? Oh, do that, sir, and you will
confer a favour on me indeed."
The chaplain approached Ellen, who lay on the deck in a state of mental
stupefaction, and, addressing her in mild accents, persuaded her to rise
and take a seat on the form; he kindly contrived to bring it forward to
the iron-grated port, so that she could not witness the motions of
Peters, and, with a low, yet energetic and persuasive voice, attempted
to reason her into patience and resignation. His efforts were in vain.
She occasionally looked upon him with a vacant stare, but her thoughts
were elsewhere. During the period, Peters had time to shave himself,
and dress in clean attire, preparatory to being summoned to his fate.
The time was approaching fast; one bell after eight o'clock, designating
the half hour, had struck; at two bells (nine o'clock) he was to be
summoned to his doom. The clergyman rose from his useless
endeavours--"Let us pray," said he, and sank upon his knees,--Peters,
Adams, and the child followed his example; and, last of all, poor Ellen,
who seemed to recover her recollection, sank on her knees, but, unable
to keep her position, fell towards the clergyman, who, as he supported
her in his arms, poured forth a fervent and eloquent appeal in behalf of
the one who was about to appear in the presence of his Maker, and of
those who were left in tribulation behind. It was scarcely over when
the door opened, and the provost-marshal claimed his prisoner.
The prayer of the chaplain seemed to ring in Ellen's ears, and she
remained supported by the worthy man, muttering parts of it at
intervals, during which time the limbs of her husband were freed from
the shackles. All was ready; and Peters, straining the child to his
bosom in silence, and casting one look at his dear Ellen, who still
remained in a state of stupefaction, denied himself a last embrace
(though the effort wrung his heart), rather than awaken her to her
misery. He quitted the cell, and the chaplain, quietly placing Ellen in
the arms of Adams, followed, that he might attend and support Peters in
his last moments.
The prisoner was conducted on the quarter-deck previously to being sent
forward to execution. His sentence was read by Captain A---; and the
remark may perhaps be considered uncharitable, but there certainly
appeared to be an ill-concealed satisfaction in his countenance as he
came to that part where it stated that the prisoner was to "suffer
death." Peters heard it read with firmness, and asked permission to
address the ship's company. This was at first refused by the captain;
but, at the request of the officers, and the assurance of the chaplain
that he would vouch for the language of Peters being such as would have
a proper tendency to future subordination on the part of the ship's
company, it was assented to. Bowing first to the captain and officers,
Peters turned to the ship's company who were assembled on the booms and
gangway, and addressed them as follows:--
"Shipmates, the time may come when our country shall be at peace, and
your services no longer be required. Then, when you narrate to your
children the events of this unhappy mutiny, do not forget to add
instruction to amusement, by pointing out to them that it ended in the
disgrace and death of the ringleaders. Tell them that, in your
presence, one of them acknowledged on the quarter-deck the justice of
his sentence, and returned thanks to his Majesty for his kindness in
pardoning others who had been led into the same error. Tell them to do
their duty, to fight nobly for their King and country, and warn them by
our example--"
At this moment Willy, who had eluded the vigilance of old Adams, who was
occupied in supporting the inanimate Ellen, pushed his way between the
legs of the marines, who were drawn up in ranks on the quarter-deck,
and, running to his father, laid hold of the loose sailor's trousers in
which he was attired, and looked anxiously and inquisitively in his
face. Peters's voice faltered; he attempted to continue his address to
the men, but could not; and waiving his hand, and pointing to the child,
in mute explanation of the cause, after struggling in vain against the
overflowings of a father's heart, he bent over the boy and burst into
tears.
The effect was electrical. The shock was communicated to all; not an
eye but was dimmed; sobs were heard in the crowd; the oldest officers
turned away to conceal their emotions; the younger, and more fresh in
heart, covered their faces, and leant against the bulwarks; the marines
forgot their discipline, and raised their hands from their sides to wipe
their eyes. Many a source, long supposed to be hermetically sealed, was
re-opened, many a spring long dry reflowed rapidly; even Captain
A--- was moved.
By a singular coincidence, the grouping of the parties at this moment
was nearly the same as when we first introduced our little hero to the
reader,--the officers and marines on the after part of the deck, the
ship's company forward, and little Willy standing between the two.
Again he appears in the same position;--but what a change of feeling had
taken place! As if he had been a little spirit of good, waving his
fairy talisman, evil passions, which in the former scene were let loose,
had retired to their darkest recesses, and all the better feelings of
humanity were called forth and displayed in one universal, spontaneous,
and unfeigned tribute to the melancholy and affecting scene.
The silence was first broken by Willy--"Where are you going, father; and
why do you wear that night-cap?"
"I am going to sleep, child,--to an eternal sleep! God bless and
protect you," said Peters, taking him up and kissing him. "And now,
sir, I am ready," continued Peters, who had recovered his
self-possession; "Captain A---, I forgive you, as I trust to be forgiven
myself. Mr ---," said he, addressing the first-lieutenant, "take this
child by the hand, and do not permit him to come forward--remember, he
is the `King's Own.'" Then, bowing to the chaplain, who had scarcely
recovered from the effects that the scene had produced upon him, and
looking significantly at the provost-marshal, Peters bent his steps
forward by the gangway--the noose was fastened--the gun fired, and, in a
moment, all was over.
Loud as was the report of the gun, those who were appointed to the
unpleasant duty of running aft with the rope on the main-deck, which
swung Peters to the yard-arm, heard a shriek that even that deafening
noise could not overpower. It was the soul of Ellen joining that of her
husband--and, before the day closed, their bodies were consigned to the
same grave--
"Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."