THE ADMIRAL’S STORY OF THE BEAUTIFUL BELINDA.
Just at this moment Flora Bannerworth stole into the room from whence
she had departed a short time since; but when she saw that old Admiral
Bell was looking so exceedingly serious, and apparently about to
address Henry upon some very important subject, she would have retired,
but he turned towards her, and said,—
“My story, my dear, I’ve no objection to your hearing, and, like all
women folks, a love story never comes amiss to you; so you may as well
stay and hear it.”—“A love story,” said Flora; “you tell a love story,
sir?”
“Yes, my dear, and not only tell it, but be the hero of it, likewise;
ain’t you astonished?”—“I am, indeed.”
“Well, you’ll be more astonished then before I’ve done; so just listen.
As Jack Pringle says, it was the matter of about somewhere forty
years ago, that I was in command of the Victory frigate, which was
placed upon the West Indian station, during a war then raging, for
the protection of our ports and harbours in that vicinity. We’d not a
strong force in that quarter, therefore, I had to cut about from place
to place, and do the best I could. After a time, though, I rather think
that we frightened off the enemy, during which time I chiefly anchored
off the island of Antigua, and was hospitably received at the house
of a planter, of the name of Marchant, who, in fact, made his house
my home, and introduced me to all the _elite_ of the society of the
island. Ah! Miss Flora, you’ve no idea, to look at me now, what I was
then; I held a captain’s commission, and was nearly the youngest man
in the service, with such a rank. I was as slender, ay, as a dancing
master. These withered and bleached locks were black as the raven’s
plume. Ay, ay, but no matter; the planter had a daughter.”
“And you loved her?” said Flora—“Loved her,” said the old man, and the
flush of youthful animation came to his countenance; “loved her, do you
say! I adored her; I worshipped her; she was to me—but what a d—d old
fool, I am; we’ll skip that if you please.”
“Nay, nay,” said Flora; “that is what I want to hear.”—“I haven’t the
least doubt of that, in the world; but that’s just what you won’t hear;
none of your nonsense, Miss Flora; the old man may be a fool, but he
isn’t quite an idiot.”
“He’s neither,” said Flora; “true feelings can never disgrace any
one.”—“Perhaps not; but, however, to make a long story short, somehow
or other, one day, Belinda was sitting alone, and I rudely pounced upon
her; I rather think then I must have said something that I oughtn’t to
have said, for it took her so aback; I was forced, somehow or other, to
hold her up, and then I—I—yes; I’m sure I kissed her; and so, I told
her I loved her; and then, what do you think she said?”
“Why,” said Flora, “that she reciprocated the passion.”—“D—n my rags,”
said Jack, who at the moment came into the room, “I suppose that’s the
name of some shell or other.”
“You here, you villain!” said the admiral; “I thought you were
gone.”—“So I was,” said Jack, “but I came back for my hat, you see.”
Away he went again, and the admiral resumed his story.
“Well, Miss Flora,” he said, “you haven’t made a good guess, as she
didn’t say anything at all, she only clung to me like some wild bird to
its mother’s breast, and cried as if her heart would break.”—“Indeed!”
“Yes; I didn’t know the cause of her emotion, but at last I got it out
of her.”—“What was it?”
“Oh, a mere trifle; she was already married to somebody else, that’s
all; some d—d fellow, who had gone trading about the islands, a fellow
she didn’t care a straw about, that was old enough to be her father.”
“And you left her?”—“No, I didn’t. Guess again. I was a mad-headed
youngster. I only felt—I didn’t think. I persuaded her to come away
with me. I took her aboard my ship, and set sail with her. A few weeks
flew like hours; but one day we were hailed by a vessel, and when we
neared her, she manned a boat and brought a letter on board, addressed
to Belinda. It was from her father, written in his last moments. It
began with a curse and ended with a blessing. There was a postscript in
another hand, to say the old man died of grief. She read it by my side
on the quarter-deck. It dropped from her grasp, and she plunged into
the sea. Jack Pringle went after her; but I never saw her again.”
“Gracious Heavens! what a tragedy!”—“Yes, tolerable,” said the old man.
He arose and took his hat and placed it on his head. He gave the crown
of it a blow that sent it nearly over his eyes. He thrust his hands
deep into his breeches pockets, clenched his teeth, and muttered
something inaudible as he strode from the apartment.
“Who would have thought, Henry,” said Flora, “that such a man as
Admiral Bell had been the hero of such an adventure?”—“Ay, who indeed;
but it shows that we never can judge from appearances, Flora; and that
those who seem to us the most heart-whole may have experienced the
wildest vicissitudes of passion.”
“And we must remember, likewise, that this was forty years ago, Henry,
which makes a material difference in the state of the case as regards
Admiral Bell.”
“It does indeed—more than half a lifetime; and yet how evident it was
that his old feelings clung to him. I can well imagine the many hours
of bitter regret which the memory of this his lost love must have given
him.”
“True—true. I can feel something for him; for have I not lost one who
loved me—a worse loss, too, than that which Admiral Bell relates; for
am I not a prey to all the horrors of uncertainty? Whereas, he knew the
worst, and that, at all events, death had claimed its victim, leaving
nothing to conjecture in the shape of suffering, so that the mind had
nothing to do but to recover slowly, but surely, as it would from the
shock which it had received.”
“That is worse than you, Flora; but rather would I have you cherish
hope of soon beholding Charles Holland, probably alive and well, than
fancy any great disaster has come over him.”
“I will endeavour to do so,” replied Flora.
“I long to hear what has become of Dr. Chillingworth. His disappearance
is most singular; for I fully suspected that he had some particular
object in view in getting possession for a short time of Bannerworth
Hall; but now, from Jack Pringle’s account, he appears not to be in it,
and, in fact, to have disappeared completely from the sight of all who
knew him.”
“Yes,” said Flora; “but he may have done that, brother, still in
furtherance of his object.”
“It may be so, and I will hope that it is so. Keep yourself close,
sister, and see no one, while I proceed to his house to inquire if they
have heard anything of him. I will return soon, be assured; and, in the
meantime, should you see my brother, tell him I shall be at home in an
hour or so, and not to leave the cottage; for it is more than likely
that the admiral has gone to Bannerworth Hall, so that you may not see
anything of him for some time.”