"Well," thought Beauchamp, "I certainly did calculate upon being at
Dorchester to-night, as firmly as if I had never read the Rambler. Oh,
Seged, Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia! But never mind! to-morrow, at all
events, nothing shall stop me; and by that time this leg of mine will
be nearly well, so that some advantage at least will be gained by the
disappointment."
The following morning the son, instead of the father, was accordingly
dispatched to the post-town of ----, to order down a chaise to the
nearest point of the high-road; and he was, moreover directed to take
advantage of the conveyance, to return so far upon his way, in order
to give Beauchamp notice of its arrival. This precaution was not
unnecessary, for the boy was a lout who might very probably have
suffered the chaise to go on without him; but having taken these
measures, Beauchamp very confidently expected to hear that his vehicle
was in waiting at or about the hour of two.
His lameness had by this time so far worn off, that he could move from
place to place with tolerable ease; and he spent the morning
principally on the sea-shore, partly in thoughts which were all the
busier from the forced inactivity of his body, partly in removing any
remaining traces of apprehension from the mind of the old smuggler,
who continued working leisurely and lazily at his boat, the damage
done to which had evidently been considerable. A little before two
o'clock, Beauchamp settled his accounts with his hostess; and all
charges being left to his own liberality, and his purse being luckily
and miraculously still in his pocket, he presented the worthy dame
with a sum so much above either her expectations, or the value of her
mackerel and pickled pork, as, in the first place, to make her turn
red with surprise and satisfaction, and then to run out to tell her
husband what the stranger had given them. Two o'clock however, passed,
and old Billy Small, began to regret that he had sent young Billy
Small, instead of going himself. Three o'clock passed, and Beauchamp
joined most sincerely in the regret, especially when he heard the old
man exclaim, in the tone of a discovery, "I'd bet a puncheon, now,
that Bill has gone and got drunk at the 'lection. I forgot this was
the first day of the 'lection for the borough, or I would ha' gone
myself, to a certainty. He's drunk, no doubt!"
The father, however, did the son injustice; for toward half-past
three, the good youth appeared lumbering over the hill, and entered
the cottage, wiping his brow, indeed, but with a sober pace. In answer
to Beauchamp's inquiries--which were made with more eager haste than
he generally indulged in--the young man replied that all the horses in
the town, and for many miles round it, were engaged in the 'lection,
so that not one was to be got for love or money.
Now, Beauchamp found himself so strongly inclined to be cross,
that--instead of either sending all elections to that distinguished
personage who has gained more by them and their consequences than any
one else--I mean the devil--or vituperating the post-horses, or any of
the other things concerned, as some persons would have done when put
out of temper by similar mischances--he acted, of course, in a way of
his own, and laughed outright, merely exclaiming, "Well, I must buy a
shirt of you, Small, if you will sell me one; for at present I
certainly do not come within the old beau's definition of a
gentleman!"
As Beauchamp now determined to send no more to a town in which the
election of a fit and proper person to represent his Majesty's lieges
in Parliament was going on, his next questions related to the boat, or
rather to the boats. The smaller of the two, old Small assured him,
though it served well enough to catch mackerel in the little sheltered
bay before the house, would never do to go any distance; but he
promised Beauchamp that the other boat should be ready to carry him to
the next coast town by three o'clock on the following day.
Beauchamp, from what he had seen in the morning, imagined that the old
man's promise might very well be fulfilled; but he little knew what
mending an old boat is. Father and son set to work upon it at once,
and went on as long as they could see; and when the young stranger
rose next morning, he found them already occupied in the same manner.
His ankle being now greatly better, though not well, he walked out to
watch their proceedings; and, sitting beside them, and occasionally
giving some slight assistance, he saw hour after hour of the fourth
day since his arrival wear away, in performing what he had imagined
would have been completed in half the time; till at length, while
several small things still remained to be done, he beheld the purple
mingling with the blue in the sky, and telling that the day star was
going down to the dark pavilion of his rest. "Oh! Seged, Seged,
Emperor of Ethiopia!" cried Beauchamp, as he returned into the
cottage, "I will this night, at all events, resolve upon doing nothing
at all to-morrow, in order to see whether fate will for once
disappoint me the right way!"
The morrow, however, dawned bright and clear--the boat was at length
ready and launched; and Beauchamp--shaved as usual with the smuggler's
one universal razor, and covered with the best specimen of his
check-shirts--gladly stepped into the yawl, and saw her pushed off
from the land by the united efforts of father and son, both of whom
accompanied him on his voyage.
The boat was clinker-built, somewhat broad over the beam, and in all
respects the very reverse of a long, thin, shadowy thing that was
lying high and dry a little farther up the beach, looking both in form
and color just like the shell of a razor-fish.
Old Willy Small, however, shook his head at mention of that craft,
saying, "No, no! The preventive had knocked up all that stuff." So
that Beauchamp, well content to get off at all, was obliged to rest
satisfied with the slow and sure means of progression which the yawl
afforded, though, the wind being light and rather baffling, it
appeared very plainly that they were not destined to reach their port
much before nightfall.
To increase the tediousness of a day's voyage in an open boat, to a
man who had the utmost abhorrence of every sort of water-carriage, the
fine morning waxed more and more dim; and first a drizzle, and then a
deluge, continued to pour from the sky during the whole of the rest of
the day. It was five o'clock before they reached the small town, whose
white houses, ranged along with their large goggling windows directly
opposite the sea, like a score or two of unsophisticated girls, with
white frocks and large black eyes, ranged along the side of a country
ball-room, afforded a most welcome sight to the eyes of the weary
voyager.
The custom-house officers satisfied themselves with wonderful ease
that there was nothing in the boat which they could count as lawful
prey, though the appearance of their well-known acquaintance, Willy
Small, excited many a shrewd suspicion; and they looked after
Beauchamp, as he was borne off to the inn, with the same prying glance
with which the merchants, in the Arabian Nights, might be supposed to
have examined the pieces of beef brought up by the eagles from the
valley of diamonds. At the inn the dripping traveler, who limped
along, leaning on the shoulder of the old smuggler, was examined
with scarcely less attention, as soon as it was ascertained that he
had no baggage; but, somehow, there was--to use a most fearful
periphrasis--an air of right to respect, and of the habit of being
obeyed, which instantly commanded obedience and attention.
Old Billy Small was immediately rewarded and dismissed; and, with many
thanks, he hustled rapidly away, like a hunted hippopotamus, to his
own element again; perhaps purposing, as he passed by the quay, to
have some short conversation, concerning various professional matters,
with some of the sailors of a ship which was lying in the harbor, and
about to sail for Cherbourg the next morning.
When he was alone, Beauchamp thanked God--not with the empty idleness
of tongue with which those words are so often spoken, but truly,
sincerely, and from his heart--for his escape from dangers which he
had not suffered himself to estimate fully till they were over. He
then rang, and desired the landlord to be called, feeling heated and
weary, and having taken it into his head that the long period which
had elapsed since he had enjoyed any thing like gentlemanly neatness
of person was the cause of the dry and thirsty feeling that he
experienced.
The landlord appeared, and answered his inquiries concerning warm
baths, and various other matters which would occupy too much room to
enumerate, eyeing him curiously to the end, when he added--"Beg
pardon, sir--beg pardon! but is not your name Major Beauchamp?"
"It was some time ago," replied Mr. Beauchamp; "but I have quitted the
service, and am now plain Mr. Beauchamp, if you please--but who are
you, my good friend?"
"Beg your pardon, sir, for the liberty," replied the landlord; "but I
am Frank, the waiter at ----'s Hotel, in St. James's-street--that is
to say, I was, sir; but this being my native place, and having got
together a little money, and having married, and--you see, sir, I came
to set up in a small way for myself."
"Well, I am glad to see you, Frank, and hope you may prosper," replied
Beauchamp "Have you many people in your house?"
"No, sir, no!" answered the man, with a somewhat grave shake of the
head. "Not many; the season's over, indeed--only an old gentleman and
his daughter, and an old lady who seems like the housekeeper; but they
are very dismal-like, and do not do so much in the way of our
business."
"They might be rueful enough, if they had been kept as I have been for
the last five days," replied Beauchamp, "at a little cottage on the
sea-shore, with a dislocated ankle, and neither clothes, assistance,
nor the means of procuring any. But see about the things I mentioned,
Frank, and send the things; and if these warm baths are not far, I
will try to walk to them, in the mean time."
"Next door but one, sir! Next door but one!" replied the landlord.
"Lord, sir, you walk very lame! Stay, sir, I will get my hat, and help
you there;" and accordingly, leaning on the arm of the quondam waiter,
Beauchamp made his way to the warm baths, feeling that there was some
truth in the old Greek epigram, which describes them as among the
luxuries without which life were not worth possessing.
Returning to the inn, where his family and fortune, by this time fully
known, made the whole house ready to perform _Cow Tow_, he dined with
that sort of moderation which a man feels inclined to practice, when
he finds himself extremely feverish, and when every sort of wine, from
cool claret to hot sherry, seems like molten lead, within ten minutes
after it is swallowed. Immediately after dinner, all the necessary
changes of raiment, which he had been so long without, and which could
never be so rapidly supplied as at a seaport town, were brought in
one by one, by the officious care of the landlord; and, on discovering
that the first coach for London set off on the following morning at
ten o'clock, he made that fact a good excuse to himself for yielding
to the lassitude he felt, and going to bed at nine.
The night passed in heated tossing to and fro; and short fitful
intervals of sleep too dreamful and agitated to be called repose. From
one of those brief snatches of slumber he was awakened early the next
morning, by someone knocking at the door of the room next to his own,
and exclaiming in a loud tone, "Seven o'clock, sir; is the luggage
ready?"
Beauchamp certainly wished the luggage, and the man who demanded it,
at the bottom of the sea together, and tried to go to sleep again; but
after rolling from side to side for half an hour, he found that it was
in vain. All the infamous noises which announce that some frightful
people, in the neighboring chambers of the same inn, are going to set
out upon voyage or journey, at an awfully early hour, were complicated
around Beauchamp's unfortunate head; and at length, after the
trampling of sailors and porters in the passage had ceased, he heard
some one again knock at a door, on the opposite side of the passage,
and say, "My love, I must go down to see the luggage passed and put on
board; but make haste and be ready, for the ship will sail directly. I
will send up and let you know when to come down."
Beauchamp started out of bed, and hurried on his clothes as fast as
possible, for the voice was that of Sir Sidney Delaware; but his
lameness still retarded him, and every time he took a quick step, his
ankle gave way beneath him, and caused him intolerable pain; so that,
just as he was tying his cravat, the voice of old Mrs. Williams, the
housekeeper, was heard along the passage.
"Miss Blanche! Miss Blanche!" she cried, "make haste, pray make haste!
Your papa says all is ready, and the ship is just going to sail."
Beauchamp pulled on his coat as best he might, and threw open his
door; nor was he a moment too soon, for Blanche Delaware was already
walking along the passage. She was paler far, but as beautiful as
ever, and not the less so that the tears were swimming in her eyes at
the thought, of quitting her own dear fair native land--perhaps
forever.
"Good God, Miss Delaware!" cried Beauchamp, "what is the meaning of
this?"
"Mr. Burrel!" exclaimed Blanche faintly, while the blood mounted quick
into her cheek, and then again left it pale as ashes. "Oh, Mr. Burrel,
where have you been? Your presence might perhaps have saved us all!"
"How, how?" cried Beauchamp. "You sent me from you, yourself. Had it
not been for your own word, I would never, never have left you!"
"Do not--do not say it!" cried Blanche, while the tears streamed over
her cheeks, "Do not say it, or I shall never forgive myself--I never
have, indeed. You only could have saved us--and oh, Henry Beauchamp, I
am sure you would have done so!"
Beauchamp started to hear his real name from his fair cousin's lips;
but Blanche went on as rapidly and eagerly. "But it seems all strange
to you. Have you not heard of my poor brother? Have you not heard what
has happened?"
"I have heard nothing!" replied Beauchamp "I have been detained for
several days, ill and wretched, in a spot where I heard nothing."
"Oh!" cried Blanche, wringing her hands, "they have accused him of
crimes he never committed, and blasted his name, and broken his
heart--and if--if--Henry Beauchamp!--"
"Is not the lady coming?" cried a voice from below. "The ship's
getting under weigh, ma'am. You'll be left behind, if you don't mind."
"Indeed, Miss Blanche, you must come," cried Mrs. Williams, who had
hitherto discreetly remained at the other end of the corridor, when
she saw who it was that detained her young mistress. "You must come,
indeed!"
"I will--I will!" said Blanche, and, dropping her voice, she
added--while for one moment she raised her beautiful eyes to
Beauchamp's face, and the warm blood mounted again into her
cheek--"Henry Beauchamp, my dear cousin, it is most likely the last
time we shall ever meet--but if ever you loved me--if you would have
poor Blanche Delaware bless and pray for you to her last hour--use
your whole strength and mind to clear my poor brother's name and
character--God bless you, God bless you!" and she ran on, down the
stairs.
Beauchamp paused for a moment in utter bewilderment, then, darting
into his room, seized his hat and followed with all the speed he could
employ. That, however, was but little. The harbor was not far, it is
true; but ere he could reach the narrow pier, from which the
passengers had been embarked, the ship bound to Cherbourg had shot out
to sea, and with a strong and favorable wind was making its way toward
the coast of France.
Beauchamp gazed after her in vain; for nothing but the faint,
indistinct forms of the many people that crowded the deck could now be
discovered; and, with feelings as bitter and painful as ever man felt,
he turned away and went back to the inn.