A RURAL SCENE BY MOONLIGHT.—THE STORM.—AN ACCIDENT ON THE ROAD.—A
NEW AND STRANGE ACQUAINTANCE ACQUIRED.—A DISAPPOINTMENT.
It was one of those pleasant, moonlight evenings that are frequently
felt, as well as seen, towards the end of August, that a party of
individuals sat in a travelling-carriage, and were proceeding at an
easy pace on one of the cross-roads that run from Winchester to Bath,
and also from Southampton, the Isle of Wight, between Salisbury—more
properly speaking—and Bath.
The evening was lovely; the day had been sultry, and the sun had not
been gone down so long but that the heat of his rays yet remained.
Indeed, though the moon gave light, yet the radiated heat from the
earth, first received from the sun, was so great, that the light
evening breeze barely tempered the air.
The party thus proceeding had been spending a few weeks in rambling
about Southampton, Portsmouth, and Salisbury, and were now
wending their way to the city of Bath. They consisted of but four
individuals,—Captain Fraser, his wife, her sister, and younger brother.
The latter did not count more than twelve years, while the sister, Miss
Stevens, was just seventeen years of age.
Captain Fraser had scarce been married six months, and was upon one
of the early matrimonial jaunts which often take place in the earlier
part of the married life, when all is sunshine, and the matrimonial
barometer might always have the index nailed to “set fair” at such
periods.
The lady’s sister and brother were residing with her; for their parents
were dead, and hence they, the captain and his lady, were their natural
protectors.
They were riding in an open carriage, the head parted, and thrown back;
and even in this manner they felt the evening air was scarcely, though
riding, cool.
“I don’t think,” said Mrs. Fraser to her husband, “that ever I beheld
so beautiful a scene. The time—the warmth of the air—the occasional
delicious feel of the light evening breeze—the serene light of the
moon; altogether, I never felt so comfortable, or, I may add, so happy
as I do at this moment.”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” said the captain; “it gives me an
additional pleasure to find I can please you.”
“Now, Fraser, that is too bad of you.”
“What is too bad, my dear?” said the captain, inquiringly.
“Why, to say you are glad you can please. That is as bad as to say that
it is a very difficult matter; and you know I am very easily pleased,
especially when you make the attempt,” said Mrs. Fraser.
“Well, we will not quarrel about that, my dear. But I must say, with
you, this hour, time, and place are all one could desire, and such as
we seldom meet; the scene across the country is truly beautiful!”
“Yes,” said Miss Stevens; “it is beautiful, as far as we can see.”
“What river is that yonder?” inquired the brother.
“That is the Willey; the same that we saw at Salisbury,” said Captain
Fraser.
“Indeed! I thought that came from another direction more northerly.”
“That was another arm of the same river, and joined this about there,
and all the low grounds on this side of yon hills are called the Valley
of the Willey; and a beautiful little vale it is, too, fruitful and
picturesque.”
“How beautiful the moonbeams glisten on yonder water!”
“They do; but not so strongly as they did.”
“No. What is the reason of that? The air appears to darken. I have
noticed it for some minutes past. Why is that?”
“I suppose it is caused by the evaporation from the grounds and heavy
dews, to compensate for the want of rain that usually takes place at
this time of the year.”
“Then we shall be obliged to shut up the carriage, for the dew is more
likely to cause cold than anything else.”
“It is so; but we are upon comparatively high ground here; and,
moreover, they will not reach us yet; but, here are shawls; you can
wrap up if you feel chilly, or you can put on your veils.”
“It is yet so warm,” said Miss Stevens, “that I should be reluctant to
put on any more clothing yet-awhile.”
“Do as you please, but do not take cold,” said Captain Fraser. “How
indistinct the scene becomes around; the river, which we just now saw
so plain, is quite obscured, and you can scarcely tell where it is,
save here and there, where the doddered willows appear, and which mark
out the course of the stream.”
“It is so,” said the youth. “I can just see the green tops of the trees
appear above the thick mist that rises from the river below.”
“Exactly; that is the fact.”
“And see how it spreads itself over the cornfields and meadows.”
“Was that not a flash of light?” said Mrs. Fraser, suddenly.
“Light! I saw no light,” said the captain.
“Nor I,” said the youth; “did you, sister?”
“No, I did not do so; but it is very sultry, and therefore it is very
likely just at this time of the year. How much farther have we to
travel before we stop for the night?”
“I suppose seven or eight miles, not more.”
“There, that was no mistake, however,” said Mrs. Fraser, as a flash of
light shot across the heavens, and left not a trace behind it.
“No, there was no mistake about it; nor did I think so before,” said
Captain Fraser, “only I have not noticed it; but it is harmless—it is
what is called summer lightning, and has none of the ordinary results
of lightning.”
“It will possibly make the air cool,” suggested Mrs. Fraser, “and,
in that case, we shall have a more agreeable temperature; to tell
the truth, the extreme warmth and dryness of the air gives a strange
uneasiness to the body.”
“Another flash—ah, that’s a change in its character.”
“Yes; that is the blue-forked lightning, and I am much mistaken if we
do not have a sudden change—hark!”
At that moment, a sullen and deep rumbling was heard in the heavens,
followed by another flash, and then such a peal of thunder that boomed
and rattled through the air in a manner that startled the dull echoes
of the night, and made the welkin resound with the fearful sounds that
filled the heavens.
“We shall have a fall of rain in another moment,” said Captain Fraser;
“push on, drive on, and let us get out of this as soon as we can.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the driver, and crack went his whip—the horses
increased their speed, and they rattled on at a good pace.
“Had we better not stop and have the hood closed?”
“No,” said the captain; “I can manage that very well, with the
assistance of your brother, and we shall not lose time.”
Captain Fraser, and the young gentleman alluded to, brought the
coach-top up and secured it, just as a heavy shower descended in such
torrents that they could scarcely hear themselves speak, so heavily did
it rattle upon the leathern covering of the vehicle, and they sat for
some time in silence.
Soon, however, the thunder and lightning filled the air with sounds
and flashes in a manner that began to create a feeling of alarm in the
minds of the ladies, and some uneasiness in the mind of the captain;
not upon their account only, but because the cattle might take flight
under the circumstances, especially as they were fresh, and had now
scarcely run three or four miles; for their stage was a long one before
they reached their destination, which was now about two days’ easy
journeys.
The thunder and lightning appeared to become more and more terrible;
the storm, indeed, appeared to increase rather than diminish
in intensity; the very centre of the storm appeared to be fast
approaching, and making the spot upon which they stood the pivot on
which it turned; its fury increased, and with it the horses were each
moment becoming more and more unmanageable. Though in some measure
aware of the fact, Captain Fraser kept his place, fearful lest he
should alarm his wife, and at the same time distract the coachman.
Suddenly there was a bright and vivid flash of light, such as they
had not seen before, but which illumined the whole place around them,
and made everything as visible as if placed in the strongest light
imaginable, followed by such a crashing peal of thunder that the living
earth appeared to rock again.
It wanted but this to make the horses perfectly ungovernable, and they
dashed away at a furious speed along the road.
“Good heavens! the horses have taken fright,” said Mrs. Fraser, as she
became aware of the speed they were going at.
[Illustration: The carriage speeds through the storm.]
“They have merely taken fright, my dear,” said the captain, unwilling
to increase their alarm by informing them of his own; “he will keep
them in the middle of the road, and we shall be at our journey’s end
the sooner, and the more so the better.”
They were upon the point of being satisfied, when the jolts of the
carriage, added to its eccentric course from one side of the road to
the other, attracted so much of their attention that Miss Stevens said,—
“See, captain, how the carriage sways from side to side; we shall all
be over in another minute or two—we shall all be killed!”
“There goes the thunder again, worse than your kettle drums,” said
young Stevens, who appeared to think it rather a joke; “the lightning
flashes, too, as if we had got into an electrical machine.”
“Do not talk in that way, Charles, for goodness sake,” exclaimed his
younger sister. “We shall all be killed presently.”
“I hope not,” said Captain Fraser, “though I admit it looks serious;
but all you can do, and the best under all the circumstances, is to
remain calm and quiet, and see what happens.”
“See what happens! Dear me, captain, what do you think we are all made
of that we should sit calm,” said Miss Stevens, “and see what will
happen, when there may be broken limbs, at the least, if not death?”
“It is the best advice I can give you.”
“Had we better not get out—I don’t mind trying?”
“Aye, if you wish to run imminent risk of instant and violent death,
you will make the attempt; if you remain in here shut up, you have
every probability that, if we do have an upset, which is not yet
certain, we may all escape with but a little fright, or at most a few
bruises.”
“Yes, sister; you had better wait for the worst, if the worst must
happen, rather than rush into it.”
This was sensible advice, and the whole party fell into a deep silence,
which was unbroken save by the sounds of wheels, the rattling of the
carriage, the rain, and the roar of thunder, enough to employ their
minds, and at the same time to keep them in momentary dread of the
fearful catastrophe.
Suddenly there was a crash and dreadful jolt; they knew not what had
happened, except they felt that the vehicle was turned over.
In a moment more the door was opened, and a stranger lent assistance in
getting out the unfortunate travellers.
“Do not be alarmed, ladies,” said a strange, but courteous voice. “No
further mischief can happen now, beyond inconvenience.”
As the stranger spoke, he lifted the two ladies out of the carriage,
and placed them in a sheltered position by the body.
“Are you hurt?” inquired the stranger, as he assisted Captain Fraser
and young Stevens out of the fallen carriage.
“No, sir, I am not; I thank you for your timely aid. Where are the
ladies?”
“There they are; I hope, uninjured.”
Captain Fraser immediately ran up to them, and, seeing them in safety,
said,—
“I am glad to see you are safe. I was stunned at first by a blow on the
side of my head.”
“Yes, we are safe; but we have to thank this gentleman that we have
been so speedily and so easily extricated from our unpleasant prison.”
“I am much indebted, sir, for your aid to the ladies. May I trespass
upon your kindness to lend me a little further assistance?”
“I shall be happy to assist you under these unpleasant circumstances;
but, allow me to suggest as the first thing, that the cushions be
placed under the hedge for the use of the ladies, and what cloaks or
coats you have should be thrown over them.”
“Right, sir; I thank you.”
“If you are deficient in them, my cloak is at their service, though I
am afraid that it is almost saturated.”
“I have enough here,” said Captain Fraser, as he pulled out several
articles of that nature; and then he, with the assistance of the
stranger, placed them so that Mrs. Fraser and sister were almost, if
not entirely, sheltered from the storm.
“Now,” said the stranger, “the first thing that can be done will be to
right the carriage, and place it in a position where it will receive no
further damage.”
“But the driver and horses,” said Captain Fraser, “I must look after
them. Had we better not look after them? He may be dying.”
“By no means,” said the stranger; “he will do very well; if we place
the carriage upright, we shall be able to replace the ladies.”
“We can,” said the captain, who appeared to be divided between the
duties of humanity and the tender anxiety he felt for his wife.
“Exactly,” said the stranger; “and permit me to suggest that he has
either gone on beyond our aid, or does not require it.”
“It is possible.”
“And very probable,” said the stranger; “but if you prefer it, and
think the ladies will not suffer, we can walk on ahead till we come up
with them, if they stop before the end of the stage.”
“No, no, sir; you are quite right; I will get the carriage up if you
can so far assist me; we shall then place the ladies in comparative
safety.”
“We shall so.”
They immediately walked round the carriage, and examined its position,
as well as they were able, when, to the captain’s great relief, he
found that it was still on its wheels, though the body was thrown over
on its side.
“How can it have happened?” inquired the captain.
“I cannot well see,” replied the stranger; “but you will perceive
something must have caught the off-side wheel, and turned the whole
of the fore carriage that way, which has left this corner of the body
without support; added to which, the speed or momentum it must have
acquired in its course, has thrown it over.”
“Precisely. I see now how it is; but if we get the body up, it will
fall again over on this side, since it has no support.”
“Oh, yes, it will remain up, since it has lost all force, all moving
power; unless, indeed, any of the straps are broken. We can try.”
“Here, Charles,” said Captain Fraser, “we shall want your aid.”
“Oh,” said the stranger, “the slightest assistance is valuable; it is
the last strain or effort that may complete the removal. Now, if we can
lift it up from this side, we shall soon right it, and then the fore
carriage can be forced round, and the ladies replaced, until we can
better dispose of them.”
The stranger placed his shoulder to the carriage, as well as the
captain and his brother-in-law, young Stevens, and thus aided, he soon
lifted it up into its old position, and there it remained very quietly.
“Now we had better pull the wheels round.”
This was done, and the carriage assumed its former state.
“Well, how could they have got away?” inquired Captain Fraser,
examining the axles and the bars; “all appears right.”
“They have broken the splinter-bar, and here are the remains of the
traces. The splinter-bar, I find, has only lost its hooks, so it will
do again. Come, sir, you have less damage to regret than I at first
thought it possible you could have escaped with; I am truly glad it is
so.”
“Thank you, sir; your kindness and assistance has been truly great and
efficient; but I have yet to find the poor fellow who drove us.”
“We will seek after him; or, I had better ride on to the next town or
house where I can obtain assistance, while you will be better able to
protect the ladies by remaining with them, and my horse will carry me
quickly enough.”
“Oh! you are mounted.”
“I am; but the ladies wait.”
Thus admonished, the captain turned to the ladies, and, with the
stranger’s assistance, he conducted them back to the carriage, where
they were replaced, without any material damage or misfortune of any
kind, save what might arise from fright.
“Some one is coming this way,” said the stranger. “If I mistake not,
they are your runaways, by the sounds.”
They listened, and distinctly heard the sounds of horses’ feet coming
along, with the jingling of harness, that made it pretty certain that
what the stranger said was correct, and that it was most probable
that this was indeed the man who drove them coming back with the same
cattle, or some fresh.
A few moments more decided the speculation, and the man himself rode
up, and looked at the carriage, saying,—
“Well, I thought it was upset.”
“So it was, but we have righted it now. Has no accident happened to
you? But these are the same horses!”
“Yes, sir. When they got loose, or broke away, they went as if they
were shot out of a gun, and away they went for some miles, until I
contrived to stop them, which was a hard job; however, I thought then,
as there was nothing the matter with them or with me, I had better
return and see what was become of you, sir, and the ladies.”
“Quite right. Do you think they will go quietly in the harness again?”
“Oh, yes—oh, yes, sir.”
“Then we will harness them, and go on to the end of the next stage,
when we can see exactly what mischief, if any, has been done.”
This was immediately put in practice, and they were soon harnessed,
the broken straps and traces being mended in the best way time and
circumstances admitted, but effectually enough for the present purpose.
“Now, sir,” said Captain Fraser, “do you continue this road, or the one
we have come? I suppose we must have overtaken you, as you were coming
this way.”
“No; I was a traveller going in the same direction. I saw your speed
from a distance, and, believing your horses to have taken fright, I
rode on, and, being well mounted, I overtook you just as the accident
happened.”
“Then we may have the pleasure of your company on the road for some
distance to come, I hope, sir?”
“As far as the next place to stop at, at all events; for I do not
desire to travel further than I can avoid to-night.”
“Then I shall be able to thank you more at leisure, and at a better
opportunity than at present,” said the captain.
“Do not name it; I am too happy to have had it in my power to render
you any assistance. Shall I ride on and secure you proper accommodation
when you do arrive there?”
“You kindness is very great,” said the captain again. “I am much
beholden to you; but if we can get as far as we hoped to do, we shall
not require it; there will be sufficient for travellers under the
ordinary course of events. We shall do very well; and if we should not
be able to get so far, we must make ourselves content with whatever
chance accommodation we get on the road.”
“Then we will journey for that distance in company,” said the stranger,
as he mounted his horse, which had stood quietly by while the tall
stranger rendered the timely assistance he had to them.
They proceeded along now at a cautious pace. The weather had abated,
and the rain was now less severe; the thunder only heard in the
distance; while the lightning could only be seen in occasional flashes
in the distance, in a direction away from them. The clouds began to
lighten, and then the diffused light of the moon came and shed a gentle
light upon the scene, though it was very scarce, and of comparative
little use save it enabled them to see their way all the better.
The roads were good, and they travelled onwards with some increase of
speed; and finding none of their amended horse-tackle had given way,
they still kept journeying onwards at the same pace.
Time brought them to their destination, and when they arrived at the
inn at which they were to stop for the night, they found it had not
made much more than an hour or an hour and a half’s difference.
When they were fairly housed, the stranger took an apartment to
himself. It was while he sat before the fire that Captain Fraser
entered his room.
“I must apologise for my intrusion,” began the captain.
“Do not say a word on that head, sir,” said the stranger; “it is no
intrusion—you are welcome. Be seated, if you please; I am alone, and
perfectly at leisure.”
“I have come to thank you for the service you have done us, and to beg
that you will sup with us, and permit the ladies to have an opportunity
of thanking their preserver in person. You will oblige us all by
accepting the invitation.”
“I am much obliged for your courteous offer,” said the stranger, who
was a tall, dignified man. “I will come after supper, if you please,
and shall feel it a great honour, I assure you; but I am so truly
sensible that my efforts were more owing to accident than to anything
else, that I do not wish to hear anything more of it.”
“You must not be so self-denying, sir. We do not wish to put any more
merit on your act than we think it deserves; but that much you must
accept, if you will permit me to use such a word. Shall we have the
pleasure of your company?”
“After supper.”
“I will not press you against your feelings; but you will come in after
supper, sir? I hope I may have the pleasure of drinking a bottle of
wine with you. Will you come?”
“I will, sir, and thank you for the honour.”
“May I have the pleasure of being able to introduce you to the ladies
by name?” said the captain, with a little hesitation.
“Certainly—certainly. I beg your pardon. I am somewhat forgetful; I
forgot I had not passed through an introduction,” said the stranger.
“Permit me to give you my card.”
As he spoke, he handed Captain Fraser a beautifully-embossed card, upon
which was printed, in Italian characters,—“Sir Francis Varney.”
Captain Fraser took the card and read the name, and then, passing
a compliment, he said, that since he could not have his company to
supper, then he should expect him when he felt at leisure and disposed
to do so.
• • • • •
“My dear,” said Captain Fraser to his wife, when he returned to his
apartment, “our new friend will not come to supper but will take a
glass of wine with me afterwards.”
“I am sorry he will not come; though, under other circumstances, I
should have been glad of it; but I am sorry on this occasion.”
“And why would you have been glad?”
“Because, after the flurry and upset we had, I am hardly fit to see any
one, much less a stranger; but he so kindly and promptly rescued us
from our danger, that I cannot feel reluctance at any time.”
“Yes,” said her sister; “and I must say I never heard a voice that
sounded so really like a gentleman’s—indeed, I could fancy that any
one could positively assert that he was a gentleman, only from hearing
him speak, without seeing him at all; but, be that as it may, I felt
convinced he was such.”
“He is very courteous, I must say,” said Mrs. Fraser.
“And who do you think he is?”
“I have no means of forming any judgment.”
“Well, then, he is Sir Francis Varney.”
“Sir Francis Varney! Well, I do not know the name; I never heard the
name before that time; but I think there was some one of that name in
the time of Queen Elizabeth—an attendant on the Earl of Leicester.”
“Are you not joking?”
“Indeed I am not; I have read so.”
“And you think this gentleman may be a descendant of his?”
“There is no impossibility nor improbability about it, that I see,”
said Mrs. Fraser; “but I am the more obliged to him for his timely
assistance. I am sure it was fortunate that he was so close at hand.”
“Yes, it was very fortunate. Mary, my dear, we shall be introduced to a
baronet. It is quite a prophecy of yours in saying he was a gentleman
when you only heard him speak. By the way, Fraser, what sort of a man
is he?”
“Very singular indeed.”
“Singular! Ay—he is very tall.”
“Yes, he is tall; but very pale; more remarkable and dignified than
handsome; extremely courteous and polite.”
“What age is he?”
“Well, I cannot tell; perhaps forty, perhaps not so old by ten years;
it is quite impossible to say.”
“Dear me, how strange! I think I could guess anybody’s age better than
that.”
“You shall have an opportunity of doing so, then, in an hour or so,
when he will come; and I think I may venture upon saying you will be
pleased with his dignified politeness, and say he is much superior to
most men.”
• • • • •
The supper ended, and the wine was produced, and Captain Fraser, his
lady, and two young relatives, were seated round a good fire—for
the storm had chilled the air; besides, the damp they had stood in
rendered such a precaution necessary and pleasant, notwithstanding the
day had been sultry; but the change in the temperature was sudden and
great—awaiting, with something like impatience, the stranger’s arrival.
“He does not appear to come,” said Charles Stevens.
“He is not here, certainly; but he will come, no doubt, the moment he
is quite sure that we had done our supper, and he had finished his own;
perhaps he takes longer than we.”
“Perhaps so; but I am strongly tempted to go to him again.”
“It might be construed into undue urgency, or something of the sort,”
said Mrs. Fraser; “and yet he might be waiting for something of the
sort.”
“So he might,” said the captain. “At all events, I will go and see; if
he were inclined to do so under other circumstances, he would not take
offence under the present.”
“Perhaps not.”
At that moment the door was opened, and the waiter presented a note.
“A note for me?” said Captain Fraser.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who can it be from?”
“From the gentleman up stairs, sir, who came with you an hour back.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Captain Fraser.
“He was taken ill, and obliged to go to bed, sir.”
Captain Fraser immediately tore open the note, and read as follows:—
+Sir+,—I deeply regret I cannot keep my promise to take a glass of wine
with you, and have the honour of being introduced to the ladies. Favour
me so far as to make my excuses to them. It is a great pleasure lost to
me on the occasion; permit me to say deferred, rather than lost; and if
I might venture to make an appointment, under the circumstances, I can
only say that, if convenient, I should be happy to breakfast with you,
and then have the honour and happiness I have now the misfortune to
lose.
Sudden and severe indisposition alone have caused me to retire before
I had the honour of seeing you, and expressing my inability to attend
you.—Yours, obliged,
“+Francis Varney+.”
There was a blank upon the countenances of all present. Evidently a
deep disappointment was felt by all; but the captain was especially
surprised, and, turning to the waiter, he said,—
“Did you see this gentleman?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was he unwell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I mean, was he, or is he, dangerously ill?”
“He was very ill, sir; but I don’t know that he is dangerously ill. He
suffered much pain, and he was obliged to have aid to go up stairs.”
“Did he say what it was that ailed him?” pursued Captain Fraser.
“Not that I heard; though some said he had got the cramp and cold by
being too long in the wet.”
“Perhaps so—very likely—very likely—that will do. Let me know how he is
the first thing in the morning; do you hear?”
“Yes, sir, I will take care.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Fraser, when they were alone, “I did not expect
such a disappointment this evening. However, he makes up for it
by appointing the breakfast hour for our meeting; it is the more
agreeable, as we shall have had a good night’s repose, and shall be the
better able to appear to advantage.”