years of my life. The scene was now greatly changed at the parsonage.
Death had been busy among its inmates; a contagious disorder had carried
off my mother and sisters, and my poor father was left alone in his old
age--not alone, for Julia was still with him. I forgot to say before,
that she was the orphan daughter of his elder brother. Julia, at
sixteen, was beautiful. I will not attempt to describe her, although
every feature, every expression of her lovely countenance, is vividly
pictured in my heart. She was its light, its pride, its hope. Alas!
alas! she had grown up like a sweet flower beside me, and, from her
infancy, had clung to me with a sister's confidence, and more than a
sister's affection. Was it wonderful that I loved her? Yes, I loved
her fondly and devotedly; and I soon had the bliss of knowing that my
affection was returned. I had been for some time at college, studying
for the church, when a distant relation died, and left me a comfortable
competency. My father now consented with pleasure to my union with
Julia; and a distant day was fixed for the marriage, to enable my
brother Henry to be present. He had been abroad for some time in the
merchant service, and his constant employment had prevented his visiting
home for many years; but he had written to say that he expected now to
have a long holiday with us. At length he returned, and great was my
joy at meeting my beloved brother once more. He was a fine, handsome,
manly-looking fellow--frank and boisterous in his manner, kind and
generous in his disposition, but the slave of passion and impulse. In
a week after his return, he became dull and reserved, and every one
remarked the extraordinary change that had come over him. My father and
I both thought that our quiet and monotonous life wearied and disgusted
him, and that he longed for the more bustling scenes to which he had
been accustomed. "Come, Harry!" said I to him one day, "cheer up, my
boy! we shall be merry enough soon: you must lay in a fresh stock of
spirits; Julia will quarrel with you if you show such a melancholy phiz
at our wedding." He turned from me with impatience, and, rushing out
into the garden, I saw no more of him that day. I was hurt and surprised
by his manner, and hastened to express my annoyance to Julia. She
received me with less than her usual warmth, blushed when I talked of my
brother, and soon left me on some trifling pretext. My father had gone
to visit a neighbouring clergyman, at whose house he was taken suddenly
and alarmingly ill. I hastened to his bedside, and found him in such a
precarious state, that I determined upon remaining near him. I therefore
despatched a messenger to Julia, informing her of my intention, and
intimating that it would be necessary to postpone our marriage, which
was to have taken place in the course of a week, until my father's
recovery. In answer to my letter, I received a short and hurried reply,
merely acquiescing in the propriety of my movements, and without any
expression of regret at my lengthened absence. Surprised at the
infrequency and too apparent indifference of Julia's answers to the long
and impassioned letters which I almost daily wrote to her, alarmed at
the long interval which had elapsed since I last heard from her, and
fearing that illness might have occasioned her silence, I left my
father, who was rapidly recovering, and hastened home. When I arrived at
the parsonage, I walked into the drawing-room; but as neither Julia nor
my brother was there, I concluded they were out walking, and, taking a
book, I sat down, impatiently waiting their return. Some time having
elapsed, however, without their making their appearance, I rang the
bell; and our aged servant, on entering, started at seeing me there.
"La, sir!" said she, "I did'nt expect to see _you_!"
"Where are Miss Julia and my brother?"
"Why, la, sir! I was just agoing to ask _you_. Miss Julia had a letter
from you about a week ago, and she and Mr. Henry went off in a poshay
together next day. They said they would be back to-day."
I said not a word in reply, but buried my face in my folded arms on the
table, while the cold perspiration flowed over my brow, and my heart
sickened within me, as the fatal truth by degrees broke upon me.
"Fool, fond fool, that I was, to have been so long blind!" muttered I;
"but it cannot be!--Julia!--_my_ Julia!--no, no!" And I almost cursed
myself for the unworthy suspicion. But why dwell longer upon these
moments of agony? My first surmise was a correct one. In a week's time
all was known. My brother, my brother Harry, for whom I would have
sacrificed fortune, life itself, had betrayed my dearest trust, and had
become the husband of her I had fondly thought my own. The blow was too
sudden and overpowering; I sunk beneath it. My reason became unsettled,
and for several months I was unconscious of my own misery. I awoke to
sense, an altered man. My heart was crushed, my very blood seemed to be
turned into gall; I hated my kind, and resolved to seclude myself for
ever from a world of falsehood and ingratitude. The only tie which could
have reconciled me to life had been wrenched away from me during my
unconsciousness: my brother's misconduct had broken my father's heart,
and I was left alone in the world. I paid one sad visit to my father's
grave, shed over it bitter tears of sorrow and disappointment, and from
that hour to this I have never seen the home in which I passed so many
happy days. Some months afterwards, I received a letter from a friend
residing in Wales, of a very extraordinary nature, requiring me
instantly to visit him, and stating that he had something of importance
to communicate to me. I knew the writer, and confided in him; he had
known my misfortune, and wept with me over the loss of my Julia and of
my father. I hastened to him on the wings of expectation, and, when I
arrived, was taken by him into an inner apartment of his house, with an
air of secrecy and mystery.
"Have you yet recovered from the effects of your misfortunes?" said he.
"I have often reflected on your extraordinary fate, and pitied you from
the innermost recesses of my soul. Would you believe it? I have in store
for you an antidote against the grief of your ruined affections; but I
will not say a medicine for your pain, or a balm for your sorrow."
"For a broken heart," said I, "there is no cure in this world."
He looked at me, and wept.
"Dress yourself in this suit of my mournings," he said, "and accompany
me whither I will lead you."
I gazed at him in amazement; but he left me to put on the weeds, and to
torture myself with vain thoughts.
He returned and called me out. I followed him. We went some little
distance, and joined a funeral that was slowly proceeding to the
burying-ground. My confusion prevented me from looking at the time to
see who was chief mourner. I proceeded with the mourners, and soon stood
on the brink of the grave. When the pall was taken off, and the coffin
lowered down into the earth, my eye caught the inscription on the plate;
it was--"J. M., aged 20." "So young!" muttered I; and at the same moment
I glanced at the chief mourner. He had withdrawn his handkerchief from
his face. Our eyes met--he turned deadly pale, and made a motion as if
to leave the ground; but I sprang forward, almost _shrieking_ "Henry!"
and detained him. I looked in his face. Oh, what a change was there! His
eye quailed beneath the cold, steady, withering glance of mine. I felt
that he read the meaning of that glance, for he absolutely writhed
beneath it.
"Do not revile me, brother," murmured he; "the hand of Heaven has been
heavy upon me; my crime has already met with its punishment. Oh, my
poor, poor Julia!"
"Where, where is she?" wildly exclaimed I. He pointed to the new-made
grave?
Oh, the bitterness of that hour! We wept--the betrayer and the betrayed
wept together over the grave of their buried hopes. I arose calm and
collected. "Brother," said I, giving him my hand, "my animosity shall be
buried with her; may your own heart forgive you as freely as I do the
injury you have done me! But we must never meet more." And, with slow
steps and aching heart, I turned and left the spot.
I received a letter from Henry some time afterwards, from one of the
outports, telling me that he was just on the point of leaving England
for ever, and imploring my forgiveness in the most touching terms, "for
the sake of our early days, the happy years of our boyhood." Those early
days--those happy days!--my heart softened towards him as I thought of
them. Sorely as he had wronged me, he was my brother still, and I felt
that I could, if permitted, clasp him to my heart once more.
Weary of life, and tired of the world, I dragged on a miserable
existence for some time, in a secluded situation on the shores of
Cornwall; but, by degrees, the monotony of my sedentary and recluse life
wearied me. I began to associate with the poor fishermen around me, and,
in a short time, became enthusiastically fond of their perilous and
exciting mode of life. The sea became to me quite a 'passion'--my mind
had found a new channel for its energies; and when, a short time
afterwards, I lost my little fortune through the mismanagement or
villany of my agent, I took staff in hand, and, hastening to Liverpool,
boldly launched into life again as a common seaman, on board a merchant
vessel bound to the West Indies.
I had toiled on for several years as a common seaman, during which time
I attracted the notice of my captain, by my indefatigable attention to
the duties of my station, and by the reckless indifference with which I
lavished my strength, and often risked my life, in the performance of
them.
"Douglas" (for that was the name which I had assumed), "Douglas," said
the captain to me one day, after I had been particularly active during a
heavy gale we encountered, "I must try if I cannot do something for you;
your activity and energy entitle you to promotion. I will speak to the
owners when we return, and endeavour to procure you a mate's berth." I
thanked him, and went forward again to my duty. A few days afterwards,
we were going along with a strong beaming wind; there was a high sea
running, every now and then throwing a thick spray over the weather
bulwarks; the hands were at dinner, and I was just coming up to relieve
the man at the wheel; there was no one on deck but the mate of the
watch, and the captain, who was standing on the weather bulwark, shaking
the backstays, to feel if they bore an equal strain: all at once the
ship gave a heavy weather lurch, the captain lost his footing, and was
overboard in a moment. I instantly sprang aft, cut away the life-buoy,
and knowing that he was but an indifferent swimmer, jumped overboard
after him. As I said before, the sea was running high, and a few minutes
elapsed before I caught sight of him, rising on the crest of a wave, at
some distance from me. I saw he could not hold out long; for he was
over-exerting himself, shouting and raising his hand for assistance, and
his face was pale as death. I struck out desperately towards him, and
shouted, when I got near him, "Keep up your heart, sir; be cool; don't
attempt to lay hold of me, and, please God, I will save you yet." My
advice had the desired effect, and restored his self-possession; he
became more cool and collected, and with occasional support from me,
contrived to reach the life-buoy. In the meantime, all was confusion on
board the ship; the second mate of the watch, a young hand, in the hurry
of the moment, threw the ship too suddenly up to the wind, a squall
struck her at the moment, and the foretopmast and topgallantmast went
over the side, dragging the maintopgallantmast with them. The cry of
"A man overboard!" had hurried the crew on deck, and the crash of the
falling spars, and the contradictory orders from the quarter-deck, at
first puzzled and confused them; but the _chief_ mate was a cool, active
seaman, and the moment he made his appearance order and silence were
restored; the quarter-boat was instantly lowered, numbers of the men
springing forward to volunteer to man her, for the captain was
deservedly beloved by his crew; and the rest of the hands were
immediately set to work to clear away the wreck. In a few minutes the
boat reached us, and we were safely seated in the stern sheets.
"Douglas, my gallant fellow," said the captain, shaking me cordially by
the hand, "I may thank _you_ that I am not food for the fishes by this
time. I had just resigned myself to my fate, when your voice came over
the water to me, like a messenger of hope and safety. How can I ever
repay you?"
"I am sufficiently repaid, Captain Rose, by seeing you beside me; the
only way in which you can serve me, is by giving me a lift in the way of
promotion, when we return home."
"I will, you may depend upon it," replied he; "and as long as I live,
you may apply to me as a firm and faithful friend."
I was highly gratified by this promise; for the great object of my
ambition for some time past had been to raise myself again from
obscurity into something like my former station in life. Next voyage,
through the captain's interest with the owners, I was appointed chief
mate of the Albion, Captain Rose's ship, for which I was found duly
qualified, having employed all my spare hours at sea in acquiring a
knowledge of the theory of navigation. Captain Rose was like a brother
to me, introducing me to his family and friends as the saver of his
life, and making quite a _lion_ of me in Liverpool. We sailed in company
with a large fleet, under convoy of three frigates and two sloops of
war, and had been some time at sea when a heavy gale of wind came on one
afternoon, which completely dispersed the convoy. When it commenced
there were nearly two hundred sail in sight; at the end of two days, we
were alone. The Albion was a beautiful vessel of her class, about four
hundred tons burden; an excellent sea-boat. We had a smart active crew,
besides a number of passengers, and were well furnished for defence, if
required; but we were now so near our port that we dreaded little
danger. However, it was necessary to be constantly on the alert, for
there were many piratical vessels in those seas, which, in spite of the
vigilance and activity of H.M. cruisers, were constantly on the watch to
pounce upon any stray merchantmen. Capt. Rose was, on the whole, rather
pleased at his separation from the convoy, as there were only one or two
other vessels, besides himself, bound to the Havannah, and he would have
been obliged to accompany the body of the fleet to Barbadoes. After we
had parted from the convoy, we made the best of our way towards Cuba.
One night, it was almost calm, but with every appearance of a coming
breeze; the moon was nearly at her full, but dark, heavy clouds were
drifting quickly over her, which almost entirely hid her from our view,
except when, at intervals, she threw from between them a broad flash
over the waters, as bright and almost as momentary as lightning gleams.
We were crawling slowly along, with all our small canvas set; the breeze
was blowing off the shore, the dark shadow of which lay like a shroud
upon the water; it was nearly eight bells in the first watch; the
captain and several of the passengers were still on deck, enjoying the
cool, delightful breeze; but their suspicious and anxious glances into
the dark shadow to windward, seemed to intimate that their conversation
over their grog that evening, which had been of the pirates that
infested those islands, and Cuba in particular, had awakened their
fears and aroused their watchfulness.
"Hark! Captain Rose," said I, "what noise is that?"
Every face was instantly turned over the weather gunwale, and in
breathless silence they all listened in the direction to which I
pointed. A low, murmuring, rippling sound was heard, and a kind of dull,
smothered, creaking noise repeated at short intervals; nothing was to be
seen, however, for all was in deep shadow in that quarter.
"Talk of the devil, and he'll show his horns, Douglas!" said the
captain. "I have not been so long at sea without being able to
distinguish the whispering of the smooth water when a sharp keel is
slipping through it, or the sound of muffled sweeps. There may be
mischief there, or there may not; but we'll be prepared for the worst.
Get the men quietly to their quarters, put an extra dose of grape into
the guns, and have all our tools ready."
Just at this moment the moonlight broke brightly through the clouds, and
showed us a small, black-looking schooner, slowly crawling out from the
shadow of the land. Her decks were apparently crowded with people, and
she had a boat towing astern. The men were soon at their quarters--and a
fine, active, spirited set of fellows they were--each armed with a
cutlass and a brace of pistols, while tomahawks and boarding pikes lay
at hand for use if required. The passengers were all likewise provided
with muskets, pistols, and cutlasses, and the servants were ready to
load spare fire-arms. We mustered about fifty in all; but there was not
a flincher among us.
"Now, my lads;" said Captain Rose to his crew, "we must have a brush
for it. I have no doubt those fellows are pirates; and if once they get
footing on this deck, I would not give a farthing for any man's life on
board. Be cool and quiet. Don't throw away a shot; remember that you are
fighting for your lives; I do not doubt your courage, but be cool and
steady!"
In the meantime, the dark hull of the schooner was gradually nearing us.
"Schooner ahoy!" shouted Captain Rose. No answer; but the sweeps dipped
faster into the water, which rippled up beneath her bow. "Schooner,
ahoy!--answer, or I'll fire!" Still no reply; but, almost immediately, a
bright sudden flash burst from her bow, and a shot came whizzing through
the mizen-rigging.
"I thought so," calmly said the captain; "be cool, my lads; we must not
throw away a shot; he's hardly within our range yet." The moon broke out
for a moment. "Now, my lads, take time, and a steady aim. Give it him!"
And flash, flash--bang, bang, went all our six carronades. The captain's
advice had not been thrown away; the aim had been cool and deliberate;
we heard the loud crashing of the sweeps as the grape-shot rattled among
them, and fell pattering into the water; and at the same time a yell
arose from the schooner, as if all the devils in hell were broke loose.
The next glimpse of moonlight showed us her foretopmast hanging over the
side.
"Well done, my fine fellows!" shouted Captain Rose, "bear a hand, and
give them another dose. We must keep them at arms' length as long as we
can." The schooner had by this time, braced up on the larboard tack, and
was standing the same way as ourselves, so as to bring her broadside to
bear upon us; and seemed to be trying to edge out of the range of our
guns.
"Oh, oh," said our gallant captain, "is that your play, old boy? You
want to pepper us at a distance: that'll never do. Starboard, my
boy!--So! steady! Now, my lads, fire way!"--And again our little bark
shook with the explosion. The schooner was not slow in returning the
compliment. One of her shot lodged in our hull and another sent the
splinters flying out of the boat on the booms. Immediately after she
fired, she stood away before the wind, and, rounding our stern at a
respectful distance, she crawled up on the other side of us, as fast
almost as if we had been at anchor, with a wish apparently to cut off
our escape in that direction. But he was playing a deeper game. A long,
dark, unbroken cloud was passing over the moon, which threw its black
shadow over the water, and partially concealed the movements of the
pirate. When it cleared away again, he was braced sharp up on the
larboard tack, standing across our bows, with the intention of raking
us.
"Starboard the helm!--Brace sharp up!--Bear a hand, my fine
fellows!"--And, before she had time to take advantage of her position,
the Albion again presented her broadside. The flash from the pirate's
guns was quickly followed by the report of ours, and we heard
immediately the loud clattering of blocks on board of her, as if some
sail had come down by the run. At this moment, I thought I heard some
strange noise astern, and, running aft, I plainly distinguished the
sound of muffled oars, and, immediately after, saw a small dark line
upon the water.
"Aft, here, small-arm men!" shouted I.
"Boat, ahoy!--Boat, ahoy!"--A loud and wild cheer rose from the boat;
and the men in her, finding that caution would no longer avail them,
evidently redoubled their efforts at their oars.
"Fire!" shouted the captain, while a blue light he had just ignited
threw a pale unearthly glare over the ship's tafferel, and showed us
our new and unexpected enemy It was the pirate's boat, which she had
dropped during the partial obscurity I spoke of, intending to board
us a-head herself, while the boat's crew attacked us astern. It was
fortunate that we happened to hear them--three minutes more and nothing
could have saved us. There was a set of the most ferocious-looking
desperadoes I had ever seen, armed to the teeth; and the boat (a large
one) was crowded with them. Deadly was the effect of our fire. Four or
five of the men at the oars were tumbled over on their faces; but their
places were instantly supplied by others, who, with loud yells for
revenge, bent desperately to their oars. In a few minutes the boat shot
up under the mizen-chains, while the bullets that were raining down upon
them from above only rendered them more desperate. The living trampled
upon the dying and the dead, in their eagerness to board; and, in a
thick swarm, the blood-thirsty scoundrels came yelling over the
bulwarks. A sharp and well-directed fire staggered them for a moment,
and sent several of them to their last account. We now threw aside the
muskets, for cutlasses and tomahawks. Hand to hand, foot to foot,
desperate and deadly was the struggle.
"Down with them, my lads!" shouted Rose. "Hew the blood-thirsty villains
to pieces. No quarter! no quarter!--show them such mercy as they would
show you!"
Short and bloody was the conflict; several of the pirates had been
killed, the deck was slippery with blood, and the rest were keeping
their ground with difficulty. I had a long and severe hand-to-hand fight
with one of them. We had each received desperate wounds, when his foot
slipped on the bloody deck. I gave him a severe stroke on the head with
a tomahawk, and, after a deadly struggle on the gangway, tumbled him
backwards overboard. The moon shone bright out at the moment, and fell
full upon his face. Merciful heaven!--my brain reeled, I staggered
against a gun, and became insensible--that face, Mr. Stewart, haunts my
dreams to this hour with its ghastly, despairing expression. It was the
long-lost Henry's--I was my brother's murderer! (Here the poor fellow
hid his face in his hands, and groaned with agony. I pitied him from my
heart; but I knew that sorrow such as his "will not be comforted" in the
moment of its strength; so I sat in silence beside him, till his first
burst of grief was over, and then I endeavoured calmly and coolly to
reason with him on the subject, and to persuade him, by all the
arguments I could think of, that he had no cause to reproach himself
with what had happened).
"It is kindly meant of you, Mr. Stewart (said he, mournfully shaking
his head), kindly meant, but in vain! I know that I was only acting
in self-defence--that it was life against life--that I was perfectly
justified, in the eyes of men, in taking the life of him who would have
taken mine--but I cannot drive that last despairing look from my memory.
I feel as if my brother's blood were crying out against my soul. O my
poor Harry! would that the blow had fallen on my head instead of
thine!--would that I had had time to tell thee how fondly I loved thee,
how freely I forgave thee!
But I beg pardon, Mr. Stewart;--I must go on with my tale. Ten of the
pirates were lying dead on the deck, and five of our poor fellows; the
bodies of the former were immediately thrown overboard, and the others
were laid side by side amidships, till we could find time to give them
Christian burial. Our last lucky shot had prevented the pirate from
carrying the other part of his scheme into effect: the moon was now
shining out full and clear, and by her light we saw that her throat
halyards had been shot away, and her main-sail was flapping over the
quarter; there were hands aloft, reaving new halyards, and busily
employed about the mast-head, as if it were crippled. "We have had
fighting enough for one bout," said Captain Rose; "we must run for it
now." Our main-top-gallant mast was hanging over the side, and our sails
were riddled with the schooner's shot; she had evidently been firing
high, to disable us, that she might carry us by boarding. We clapped on
all the sail we could, served out grog to the men, and lay down at our
quarters. We were not suffered to remain at peace long: the moment the
schooner perceived our intention, she edged away after us, and having
repaired her damage, set her main-sail again; and, as the wind was still
light, with the assistance of her remaining sweeps, came crawling up
again in-shore of us. "Scoundrels!" muttered the captain, "they will
stick to us like leeches as long as there is a drop of blood left on
board."
Again we saw the flash of her gun, and the smoke curling white in the
moonbeam. The shot told with fatal effect; our main-top-sail-yard
creaked, bent, and snapped in the slings, falling forward in two pieces.
The loud cheers of the pirate crew came faintly over the water; but our
brave fellows, nothing daunted, responded to them heartily.