That which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have.
SHAKESPEARE.
But we must return on shore, that we may not lose sight of the
grandfather of our hero, who had no idea that there was a being in
existence who was so nearly connected with him.
The time had come when that information was to be given; for, about six
weeks previous to the action we have described, in which Adams the
quarter-master was killed, Admiral De Courcy was attacked by a painful
and mortal disease. As long as he was able to move about, his
irritability of temper, increased by suffering, rendered him more
insupportable than ever; but he was soon confined to his room, and the
progress of the disease became so rapid, that the medical attendants
considered it their duty to apprise him that all hopes of recovery must
now be abandoned, and that he must prepare himself for the worst.
The admiral received the intelligence with apparent composure, and bowed
his head to the physicians as they quitted his room. He was alone, and
left to his own reflections, which were not of the most enviable nature.
He was seated, propped up in an easy chair, opposite the large French
window, which commanded a view of the park. The sun was setting, and
the long-extended shadows of the magnificent trees which adorned his
extensive domain were in beautiful contrast with the gleams of radiant
light, darting in long streaks between them on the luxuriant herbage.
The cattle, quietly standing in the lake, were refreshing themselves
after the heat of the day, and the deer lay in groups under the shade,
or crouching in their lairs, partly concealed by the underwood and fern.
All was in repose and beauty, and the dying man watched the sun, as it
fast descended to the horizon, as emblematical of his race, so shortly
to be sped. He surveyed the groups before him--he envied even the
beasts of the field, and the reclaimed tenants of the forest, for they
at least had of their kind, with whom they could associate; but he,
their lord and master, was alone--alone in the world, without one who
loved or cared for him, without one to sympathise in his sufferings and
administer to his wants, except from interested motives--without one to
soothe his anguish, and soften the pillow of affliction and disease--
without one to close his eyes, or shed a tear, now that he was dying.
His thoughts naturally reverted to his wife and children. He knew that
two of these individuals, out of three, were in the cold grave--and
where was the other? The certain approach of death had already
humanised and softened his flinty heart. The veil that had been drawn
by passion between his conscience and his guilt was torn away. The past
rushed upon his memory with dreadful rapidity and truth, and horrible
conviction flashed upon his soul, as he unwillingly acknowledged himself
to be the murderer of his wife and child. Remorse, as usual, followed,
treading upon the heels of conviction--such remorse, that, in a short
space, the agony became insupportable.
After an ineffectual struggle of pride, he seized the line which was
attached to the bell-rope, and, when his summons was obeyed, desired
that the vicar might be immediately requested to come to him.
Acquainted with the admiral's situation, the vicar had anxiously waited
the summons which he was but too well aware would come, for he knew the
human heart, and the cry for aid which the sinner in his fear sends
forth. He was soon in the presence of the admiral, for the first time
since the day that he quitted the house with the letter of the
unfortunate Peters in his possession. The conversation which ensued
between the agitated man, who had existed only for this world, and the
placid teacher, who had considered it (as he inculcated) as only, a
preparation for a better, was too long to be here inserted. It will be
sufficient to say, that the humbled and terrified wretch, the sufferer
from disease, and greater sufferer from remorse, never could have been
identified with the once proud and over-bearing mortal who had so long
spurned at the precepts of religion, and turned a deaf ear to the mild
persuasions of its apostle.
"But that letter!" continued the admiral, in a faltering voice--"what
was it? I have yet one child alive--Oh, send immediately for him, and
let me implore his forgiveness for my cruelty."
"That letter, sir, was written but one hour previously to his death."
"His death!" cried the admiral, turning his eyes up to the ceiling.
"God have mercy on me! then I have murdered him also. And how did he
die? Did he starve, as I expressed in my horrid--horrid wish?"
"No, sir; his life was forfeited to the offended laws of his country."
"Good God, sir!" hastily replied the admiral, whose ruling passion--
pride--returned for the moment, "you do not mean to say that he was
hanged?"
"Even so; but here is the letter which he wrote--read it."
The admiral seized the letter in his tremulous hand, and devoured every
word as he perused it. He let it fall on his knees, and said, in a
subdued voice, "My God!--my God!--and he asked forgiveness, and forgives
me!" Then, with frantic exclamation, he continued: "Wretch that I am,--
would that I had died for thee, my son--my son!" and clasping his hands
over his head, he fell back in a state of insensibility.
The vicar, much affected with the scene, rang the bell for assistance,
which was obtained; but the wretched man had received a shock which
hastened his dissolution. He was too much exhausted to sit upright, and
they were obliged to carry him to the bed, from which he never rose
again. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to be able to converse,
he waved the servants from the room, and resumed in a faltering voice--
"But, sir, he mentions his child--my grandchild. Where is he? Can I
see him?"
"I am afraid not, sir," replied the vicar, who then entered into a
recital of the arrangements which had taken place, and the name of the
ship on board of which our hero had been permitted to remain, under the
charge of Adams, the quartermaster.
The admiral listened to the recital of the vicar without interruption,
and, as soon as it was finished, to the great joy of the worthy pastor,
expressed the most anxious wish to make every reparation in his power.
Aware that difficulties might arise, from the circumstance of our hero's
existence not being suspected by his collateral heirs, who had for some
time considered as certain their ultimate possession of his large
entailed property, he directed a will to be immediately drawn up,
acknowledging his grandchild, and leaving to him all his personal
property, which was very considerable; and praying the vicar to take
upon himself the office of guardian to the boy--a request which was
cheerfully complied with. The admiral would not listen to the repeated
requests of the vicar, to take the repose which his excited and sinking
frame required, until the necessary document had been drawn out, signed,
and duly witnessed. When all was complete he fell back on the pillow,
in such a state of exhaustion as threatened immediately to terminate his
career. It was late when the vicar took his leave, after having
administered some little consolation to the repentant and dying man, and
promised to call upon him early on the ensuing morning.
But the vicar had other duties to perform, which induced him to defer
his visit until the following noon. Others were sick, others were
dying, and needed spiritual consolation; and he made no distinction
between the rich and the poor. The physicians had expressed their
opinion that the admiral might linger for many days, and the vicar
thought that advantage might be derived from his being left for a short
time to his own reflections, and to recover from the state of exhaustion
arising from the communications of the preceding evening. When he
arrived at the hall the windows were closed--Admiral De Courcy was no
more.
Reader, you shall hear how he died. It was about two o'clock in the
morning that he awoke from an uneasy slumber, and felt his end
approaching. The old crone who had been hired as a nurse to watch at
night, was fast asleep in her chair. The rushlight had burned low down
in the socket, and, through the interstices of its pierced shade, threw
a feeble and alternate light and shadow over the room. The mouth of the
dying man was glued together from internal heat, and he suffered from
agonising thirst. He murmured for relief, but no one answered. Again
and again he attempted to make his careless attendant acquainted with
his wants, but in vain. He stretched out his arm and moved the curtains
of the bed, that the noise of the curtain-rings upon the iron rods might
have the effect, and then fell back with exhaustion, arising from the
effort which he had made.
The old beldame, who, for money, was willing to undertake the most
revolting offices, and who, without remuneration, was so hardened, by
her constant familiarity with disease and death, that she was callous
and insensible to the most earnest supplication, woke up at the noise
which the curtain-rings had made, and opened the curtain to ascertain
what was required. Long experience told her at once that all would soon
be over, and she was convinced that her charge would never rise or speak
again.
This was true; but the suffering man (his arm lying outside of the
bedclothes, and his elbow bent upwards) still pointed with his finger to
his parched mouth, with a look of entreaty from his sinking eyes. The
old fiend shut the curtains, and the admiral waited with impatience for
them to reopen with the drop of water "to cool his parched tongue"--but
in vain. Leaving him to his fate, she hobbled about the room to secure
a golden harvest, before others should make their appearance and share
it with her. His purse was on the table: she removed the gold which it
contained, and left the silver; she chose that which she imagined to be
the most valuable of the three rings on the dressing table; she detached
one seal from the chain of his watch. She then repaired to the wardrobe
and examined its contents. One of her capacious pockets was soon filled
with the finest cambric handkerchiefs, all of which she first took the
precaution to open and hold up to the light, rejecting those which were
not of the finest texture. The silk stockings were the next articles
that were coveted; they were unfolded one by one, and her skinny arm
passed up, that the feet might be extended by her shrivelled hands, to
ascertain whether they were darned or not--if so, they were rejected.
The wardrobe was on the opposite side of the bed, and on that side the
curtains had not been closed. The dying man had still enough sight left
to perceive the employment of his attendant. What must have been his
feelings! He uttered a deep groan, which startled the old hag, and she
repaired to the bedside, to examine the state of her charge.
Again he pointed with his finger to his mouth, and again she returned to
her employment, without having rendered the assistance which he
required. His eyes followed, and his finger still pointed. Having
ransacked every drawer, and secured all that she dared take, or that her
pockets could contain, she rang the bell for the servants of the house;
then pulling out her handkerchief, ready to put to her eyes in token of
sympathy, she sat down on her easy chair to await their coming.
In the meanwhile, the eyes of the unfortunate man gradually turned
upward; his vision was gone, but his agonising thirst continued to the
last; and when the retainers of the family came in, he was found dead,
with his finger still pointing in the same direction.
With ordinary minds, there is something so terrible in death, something
so awful in the dissolution of the elements of our frame, something so
horrible in the leap into the dark abyss, that it requires all the
powers of a fortified spirit, all the encouragement of a good
conscience, and all the consolations of religion and of faith, to enable
us to muster any degree of resolution for the awful change. But if
aught can smooth the pillow--can chase away from the terrified spirit
the doubt and depression by which it is overwhelmed, it is the being
surrounded and attended by those who are devoted and endeared to us.
When love, and duty, and charity, and sympathy hover round the couch of
the departing, fainting hope is supported by their presence, and the
fleeting Spirit, directed by them, looks upward to the realms from which
these heaven-born passions have been permitted to descend on earth, to
cheer us through our weary pilgrimage.
What, then, had Admiral De Courcy to support him in his last moments?--A
good conscience?--faith?--hope?--love?--duty?--or even sympathy?--
Wanting all, he breathed his last. But, let us--
Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all;
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtains
close.
And let us all to meditation.
The vicar affixed seals upon the drawers, to secure the remainder of the
property (for the example of the old nurse had been followed by many
others), and, having given directions for the funeral, returned to his
own home.
The second day after the admiral's death, a carriage and four drove
furiously up the avenue and stopped at the entrance door. The occupants
descended, and rang the bells with an air of authority; the summons was
answered by several of the male domestics, who were anxiously looking
out for the new proprietor of the domain. A tall man, of very
gentlemanlike appearance, followed by a mean-looking personage in black,
walked in, the latter as he followed, proclaiming the other to the
servants as the heir-at-law, and present owner of the property. By this
time the whole household were assembled, lining the hall for the
visitors to pass, and bowing and curtseying to the ground. The vicar,
who had expected the appearance of these parties, had left directions
that he might be immediately acquainted with their arrival. On receipt
of the information, he proceeded to the hall, and was ushered into the
library, where he found them anxiously awaiting his arrival, that the
seals might be withdrawn which had been placed upon the drawers.
"Whom have I the honour of addressing, sir?" said the vicar to the
taller of the two, whom he presumed, by his appearance, to be the
superior.
"Sir," replied the little man, in a pompous manner, "you are speaking to
Mr Rainscourt, the heir-at-law, of this entailed property."
"I am sorry, truly sorry, sir," replied the vicar, "that from not having
been well informed, you should be subjected to such severe
disappointment. I am afraid, sir, that, the grandchild of Admiral De
Courcy will have a prior claim."
The two parties started from their chairs and looked at each other in
amazement.
"The grandchild!" replied the little man--"never even heard that there
was such a person."
"Very probably, sir; but I have long known it, and so did Admiral De
Courcy, as you will perceive when you read his will, which is in my
possession, as guardian to the child--and upon the strength of which
office I have put seals upon the property."
The parties looked aghast.
"We must inquire into this," replied the legal adviser, for such he was.
"I am ready to give you any information you may require," replied the
vicar. "I have here copies of the marriage certificate of the parents,
and the register of baptism of the child, the originals of which you
will find in the parish church of ---, not five miles distant; and I can
most satisfactorily prove his identity, should that be necessary."
"And where is the grandchild?"
"At sea, on board a man-of-war, at the dying request of his father, who
determined that he should be brought up for the service. Would you like
to see the late admiral's will?"
The tall gentleman bowed assent, and it was read. Having been carefully
examined by the lawyer, as well as the other documents in the vicar's
possession, all appeared so clear and conclusive, that he unwillingly
acknowledged to his employer, in a whisper, that there was no chance of
setting the will aside. Pallid with the revulsion of feelings from hope
to despair, the pretender to the estates ordered the horses to be
brought out, and, on their being announced, with a slight bow to the
vicar, retired from the library.
But outside, the state of affairs was altered, by the servants having
overheard the conversation. No one was attentive enough to open the
door to let out those whom they had so obsequiously admitted: and one of
the postilions was obliged to dismount, to shut up the chaise after they
had entered it. Such is the deference shown respectively to those who
are, or are not, the real heirs-at-law.