"It is only by a naval power," says Gibbon, "that the reduction of

Yemen can be successfully attempted"--a remark, by the way, which

more than one of the ancients had made before him. All the

comparatively fertile districts in the south of Arabia, in fact, are

even more completely insulated by the deserts and barren mountains of

the interior on one side, than by the sea on the other--inasmuch as

easier access would be gained by an invader, even by the dangerous

and difficult navigation of the Red Sea, than by a march through a

region where the means of subsistence do not exist, and where the

Bedoweens, by choking or concealing the wells, might in a moment cut

off even the scanty supply of water which the country affords. This

mode of passive resistance was well understood and practised by them

as early as the time of Ælius Gallus, the first Roman general who

conceived the hope of rifling the virgin treasures popularly

believed to be buried in the inaccessible hoards of the princes of

Arabia, whose realms were long looked upon--perhaps on the principle

of _omne ignotum pro magnifico_--as a sort of indefinite and

mysterious El Dorado. [31]

[Footnote 31: "Intactis opulentior thesauris Arabum."

--_Horat. Od_. iii. 24. Pliny (_Hist. Nat_. vi. 32) more soberly

endeavours to prove the enormous accumulation of wealth which must

have taken place in Arabia, from the constant influx of the precious

metals for the purchase of their spices and other commodities, while

they bought none of the productions of other countries in return.]

These golden dreams speedily vanished as the country became more

extensively known: and though the Arab tribes of the desert between

Syria and the Euphrates acknowledged a nominal subjection to Rome,

the intercourse of the Imperial City with Yemen, or Arabia Felix,

was confined to the trade which was carried on over the Red Sea from

Egypt, and which became the channel through which not only the

spices of Arabia, but the rich products of India, and even the slaves

[32] and ivory of Eastern Africa, were supplied to the markets of

Italy. At the present day, almost the whole of the south coast of

Arabia fronting the Indian Ocean, nearly from the head of the Persian

Gulf to the Straits of Bab-el-Mandeb, as well as the eastern coast of

Africa, from Cape Guardafui to the entrance of the Mozambique Channel

a seaboard approaching 4000 miles in length--is more or less subject

to the Sultan of Muscat, [33] a prince whose power is almost wholly

maritime, and whose dominions nowhere extend more than thirty or forty

miles inland: while our own recent acquisition of Aden, a detached point

with which our communication can be maintained only by restraining

the command of the sea, has for the first time given an European

power (excepting the Turks, whose possessions in Arabia always

depended on Egypt) a _locus standi_ on the shores of Yemen.

[Footnote 32: This part of Africa is noticed by Arrian as famous for

the excellent quality of the slaves brought from [Greek: ta doulicha

chreissota],and it still retains its pre-eminence. The tribes in

this quarter are far superior both in personal appearance and

intellect to the negroes of Guinea.]

[Footnote 33: We have seen it somewhere stated that the Sultan has

also attempted, by means of his navy, to exercise authority on the

shores of Beloochistan; which would bring him into contact with our

own outposts at Soumeeani, &c., near the mouth of the Indus.]

The process by which we obtained this footing in Arabia was strictly

in accordance with the maxims of policy adopted by the then rulers

of British India, and which they were at the same time engaged in

carrying out, on a far more extended scale, in Affghanistan. In both

cases--perhaps from a benevolent anxiety to accommodate our

diplomacy to the primitive ideas of those with whom we had to deal--

"the good old rule

Sufficeth them, the simple plan

That they should take who have the power,

And they should keep who can"--

was assumed as the basis of our proceedings: and though the brilliant

success which for a time attended our philanthropic exertions in the

cause of good order and civilization beyond the Indus, so completely

threw into the shade the minor glories of Aden, that this latter

achievement attracted scarcely any public attention at the time of

its occurrence, its merits are quite sufficient to entitle it to a

more detailed notice than it has hitherto received in the pages of

Maga. Nor can a more opportune juncture be found than the present,

when the late events in Cabul have apparently had a marvellous

effect in opening the eyes of our statesmen, both in India and

England, to the moral and political delinquency of the system we

have so long pursued--of taking the previous owner's consent for

granted, whenever it suited our views to possess ourselves of a

fortress, island, or tract of territory, belonging to any nation not

sufficiently civilized to have had representatives at the Congress

of Vienna. Whether our repentance is to be carried the length of

universal restitution, remains to be seen; if so, it is to be hoped

that the circumstances of the capture of Aden will be duly borne in

mind. But before we proceed to detail the steps by which the British

colours came to be hoisted at this remote angle of Arabia, it will

be well to give some account of the place itself and its previous

history; since we suspect that the majority of newspaper politicians,

unless the intelligence of its capture chanced to catch their eye in

the columns of the _Times_, are to this day ignorant that such a

fortress is numbered among the possessions of the British crown.

The harbour of Aden, then, lies on the south coast of Yemen, as

nearly as possible in 12º 45' N. latitude, and 45º 10' E. longitude;

somewhat more than 100 miles east of Cape Bab-el-Mandeb, at the

entrance of the Red Sea; and about 150 miles by sea, or 120 by land,

from Mokha, [34] the nearest port within the Straits. The town was built

on the eastern side of a high rocky peninsula, about four miles in

length from E. to W., by two miles and a half N. and S.--which was

probably, at no very remote period, an island, but is now joined to

the mainland by a long low sandy isthmus, [35] on each side of which,

to the east and west, a harbour is formed between the peninsula and

the mainland. The East Bay, immediately opposite the town, though

of comparatively small extent, is protected by the rocky islet of

Seerah, rising seaward to the height of from 400 to 600 feet, and

affords excellent anchorage at all times, except during the north-east

monsoon: but the Western or Black Bay, completely landlocked and

sheltered in great part of its extent by the high ground of its

peninsula, (which rises to an elevation of nearly 1800 feet,) runs up

inland a distance of seven miles from the headland of Jibel-Hassan,

(which protects its mouth on the west,) to the junction of the isthmus

with the main, and presents at all times a secure and magnificent

harbour, four miles wide at the entrance, and perfectly free from

rocks, shoals, and all impediments to ingress or egress. Such are the

natural advantages of Aden: and "whoever"--says Wellsted--"might have

been the founder, the site was happily selected, and well calculated

by its imposing appearance not only to display the splendour of its

edifices, but also, uniting strength with ornament, to sustain the

character which it subsequently bore, as the port and bulwark of

Arabia Felix."

[Footnote 35: This isthmus is said by Lieutenant Wellsted to be "about

200 yards in breadth:" perhaps a misprint for 1200, as a writer in the

_United Service Journal_, May 1840, calls it 1350 yards; and,

according to the plan in the papers laid before Parliament, it would

appear to be rather more than half a mile at the narrowest part, where

it is crossed by the Turkish wall.]

From the almost impregnable strength of its situation, and the

excellence of its harbour, which affords almost the only secure

shelter for shipping near the junction of the Red Sea and the Indian

Ocean, Aden has been, both in ancient and modern times, a place of

note and importance as a central point for the commerce carried on

with the East by way of Egypt. It was known to the ancients as the

Arabian emporium, and Abulfeda, in the fourteenth century, describes

it, in his Geography, as "a city on the sea-shore, within the

district of Abiyan; with a safe and capacious port, much frequented

by ships from India and China, and by merchants and men of

wealth, not only from those countries, but from Abyssinia, the

Hedjaz, &c.;" adding, however, "that it is dry and burnt up by the

sun, and so totally destitute of pasture and water, that one of the

gates is named Bab-el-Sakiyyin, or _Gate of the Water-carriers_,

for fresh water must be brought from a distance." In somewhat

later times, when the Portuguese began to effect settlements on the

coasts of Guzerat and Malabar, and to attack the Mohammedan commerce

in the Indian Seas, the port of Aden (when, with the rest of Yemen,

then paid a nominal allegiance to the Egyptian monarchy) became the

principal rendezvous for the armaments equipped by the Circassian

Sultans of Cairo in the Red Sea, in aid of their Moslem brethren,

then oppressed by those whom the Sheikh Zein-ed-deen emphatically

denounces as "a race of unclean Frank interlopers--may the curse of

Allah rest upon them and all infidels!" It was, in consequence, more

than once attacked by the famous Alboquerque, (who, in 1513, lost

2000 men before it,) and his successor Lope Soarez, but the

Portuguese never succeeded in occupying it; and the Mamluke empire

was overthrown, in 1517, by the arms of the Ottoman Sultan, Selim I.

The new masters of Egypt, however, speedily adopted the policy of

the rulers whom they had supplanted; and not contented with the

limited _suzerainté_ over the Arab chiefs of Yemen, exercised by the

Circassian monarchs, determined on bringing that country under the

direct control of the Porte, as a _point d'appui_ for the operations

to be undertaken in the Indian Ocean. With this view, the eunuch,

Soliman-Pasha, who was sent in command of a formidible squadron from

Suez, in 1538, to attempt the recapture of Dui, [36] in Guzerat, from

the Portuguese, received instructions to make himself in the first place

master of Aden, to the possession of which the Turks might reasonable

lay claim as a dependency of their newly-acquired realm of Egypt; the

seizure, however, was effected by means of base treachery. The prince,

Sheikh-Amer, of the race of the Beni-Teher, was summoned on board

the admiral's galley, and accepted the invitation without suspicion;

but he was instantly placed in confinement, and shortly afterwards

publicly hanged at the yard-arm; while the Pasha, landing his troops,

took possession of Aden in the name of Soliman the Magnificent. It

was not, however, till 1568, that the final reduction of Yemen was

accomplished, when Aden and other towns, which had fallen into the

hands of an Arab chief named Moutaher, were recaptured by a powerful

army sent from Egypt; the whole province was formally divided into

sandjaks or districts, and the seat of the beglerbeg, or supreme

pasha, fixed at Sana.

[Footnote 36: The warfare of the Ottomans in India is a curious

episode in their history, which has attracted but little notice from

European writers. The Soliman-Pasha above mentioned (called by

the Indian historians Soliman-Khan _Roomi_, or the Turk, and by the

Portuguese Solimanus Peloponnesiacus) bore a distinguished part

in those affairs; but this expedition against Diu was the last in

which he was engaged. The kingdom of Guzerat was, at that time, in

great confusion after the death of its king, Bahadur Shah, who had

been treacherously killed in an affray with the Portuguese in 1536;

and it would appear probable that the Turks, if they had succeeded

against Diu, meditated taking possession of the country.]

The domination of the Turks in Yemen did not continue much more than

sixty years after this latter epoch; the constant revolts of the

Arab tribes, and the feuds of the Turkish military chiefs, whose

distance from the seat of government placed them beyond the control

of the Porte, combined in rendering it an unprofitable possession.

The Indian trade, moreover, was permanently diverted to the route by

the Cape; and any political schemes which the Porte might at one time

have entertained in regard to India, had been extinguished by the

reunion, under the Mogul sway, of the various shattered sovereignties

of Hindostan. In 1633, [37] the Turkish troops were finally withdrawn

from the province, which then fell under the rule of the still existing

dynasty of the Imams of Sana, who claim descent from Mohammed. But the

ruins even now remaining of the fortifications and publick works

constructed in Aden by the Ottomans during their tenure of the place,

are on a scale which not only proves how fully they were aware of the

importance of the position, but gives a high idea of the energy with

which their resources were administered during the palmy days of their

power, when such vast labour and outlay were expended on the security

of an isolated stronghold at the furthest extremity of their empire.

The defences of the town, even in their present state, are the most

striking evidence now existing of the science and skill of the Turkish

engineers in former times; and, when they were entire, Aden must have

been another Gibraltar. "The lines taken for the works," says a late

observer, "evince great judgment, a good flanking fire being every

where obtained; no one place which could possibly admit of being

fortified has been omitted, and we could not do better than tread in

the steps of our predecessors. The profile is tremendous." A supply

of water (of which the peninsula had been wholly destitute) was

secured, not only by constructing numerous tanks within the walls,

and by boring numerous wells through the solid rock to a depth of

upwards of 200 feet, [38] but by carrying an aqueduct into the

town from a spring eight miles in the country, the reservoir at the

end of which was defended by a redoubt mounted with artillery. The

outposts were not less carefully strengthened than the body of the

place--a rampart with bastions (called, in the reports of the

garrison, _the Turkish Wall_) was carried along some high ground on

the isthmus from sea to sea, to guard against an attack on the land

side--the lofty rocky islet of Seerah, immediately off the town, was

covered with watchtowers and batteries--and several of those

enormous guns, with the effect of which the English became

practically acquainted at the passage of the Dardanelles in 1807,

were mounted on the summit of the precipices, to command the seaward

approach; and, when Lieutenant Wellsted was at Aden, those huge

pieces of ordnance was lying neglected on the beach; and he asked

Sultan Mahassan why he did not cut them up for the sake of the metal,

which is said to contain a considerable intermixture of silver;

"but he replied, with more feeling than could have been anticipated,

that he was unwilling to deprive Aden of the only remaining sign of

its former greatness and strength." Several of them have been sent

to England since the capture of the place, measuring from fifteen to

eighteen and a half feet in length; they are covered with ornaments

and inscriptions, stating them to have been cast in the reign of

"Soliman the son of Selim-Khan," (Soliman the Magnificent.)

[Footnote 37: Captain Haines, in the "Report upon Aden," appended to the

Parliamentary papers published on the subject, erroneously places this

even in 1730, the year in or about which, according to Niebuhr, the

Sheikh of Aden made himself independent of Sana.]

[Footnote 38: "No part of the coast of Arabia is celebrated for the

goodness of its water, with the single exception of Aden. The wells

there are 300 in number, cut mostly though the rock, ... and the tanks

were found in good order, coated inside and out with excellant chunam,

(stucco,) and merely requiring cleaning out to be again serviceable."]

At the time of its evacuation by the Turks, Aden is said,

notwithstanding the decay of its Indian trade, to have contained from

20,000 to 30,000 inhabitants; and the lofty minarets which, a few

years since, still towered above the ruins of the mosques to which

they had formerly been attached, as well as the extensive

burying-grounds, in which the turbaned headstones peculiar to the

Turks are even yet conspicuous, bear testimony, not less than the

extent and magnitude of the ruinous fortifications, to the

population and splendour of the town under the Ottomans.--(See

WELLSTED'S _Arabia_, vol. ii, chap. 19.) From the time, however, of

its return into the hands of its former owners, its decline was rapid.

Niebuhr, who visited it in the latter part of the last century, says,

that it had but little trade, as its Sheikh [39] (who had long since

shaken off his dependence on the Iman of Sana) was not on good terms

with his neighbors; and, though Sir Home Popham concluded a commercial

treaty with the uncle and predecessor of the present Sultan Mahassan,

no steps appear to have been taken in consequence of this arrangement.

[Footnote 39: The town would appear to have passed into the hands of

another tribe since Niebuhr's time, as he gives the Sheikh the surname

of _El-Foddeli_ (Futhali,) the present chief being of the Abdalli

tribe.]

In 1835, according to Wellsted, the inhabitants of this once

flourishing emporium did not exceed 800, the only industrious class

among whom were the Jews, who numbered from 250 to 300. The

remainder were "the descendants of Arabs, Sumaulis," (a tribe of the

African coast,) "and the offspring of slaves," who dwelt in wretched

huts, or rather tents, on the ruins of the former city. "Not more

than twenty families are now engaged in mercantile pursuits, the

rest gaining a miserable existence either by supplying the Hadj

boats with wood and water, or by fishing." The chief, Sultan Mahassan,

did not even reside in Aden, but in a town called Lahedj, about

eighteen miles distant, where he kept the treasures which his uncle,

who was a brave and politic ruler, had succeeded in amassing. He

reputation for wealth, however, and the inadequacy of his means for

defending it, drew on him the hostility of the more warlike tribes

in the vicinity; and in 1836 Aden was sacked by the Futhalis,

who not only carried off booty to the value of 30,000 dollars,

(principally the property of the Banians and the Sumauli merchants in

the port,) but compelled the Sultan to agree to an annual payment of

360 dollars; while two other tribes, the Yaffaees and the Houshibees,

took the opportunity to exhort from him a tribute of half that amount.

There can be no doubt but that, if the Arabs had been left to

themselves, this state of things would have ended in all the

contending parties being speedily swallowed up in the dominions of

Mohammed Ali, Pasha of Egypt; who, under pretence of re-asserting

the ancient rights of the Porte to the sovereignty of Yemen, had

already occupied Mokha and Taaz, and was waging war with the tribes

in the neighbouring coffee country, whom he had exasperated by the

treacherous murder of Sheikh Hussein, one of their chiefs, who,

having been inveigled by the Egyptian commander into a personal

conference, was shot dead, like the Mamlukes at Cairo, in the tent of

audience. Aden, in the natural course of things, would have been the

next step; but an unforeseen intervention deprived him of his prey.

Since the establishment of the overland communication with India

through Egypt, and the steam navigation of the Red Sea, the want had

been sensibly felt of an intermediate station between Suez and Bombay,

which might serve both as a coal depot, and, in case of necessity,

as a harbour of shelter. The position of Aden, almost exactly halfway,

would naturally have pointed it out as the sought-for haven, even

had its harbour been less admirably adapted than it is, from its

facility of entrance and depth of water close to the shore, for

steamers to run straight in, receive their fuel and water from the

quay, and proceed on their voyage without loss of time; while the

roadstead of Mokha, [40] the only other station which could possibly be

made available for the purpose, is at all times open and insecure,

and in certain points of the wind, particularly when it blows from

the south through the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb, communication with

the shore is absolutely impracticable. It was clear, therefore, that

the proposed depot, if carried into effect at all, must be fixed at

Aden; and there can be little doubt that its occupation was contemplated

by the Indian government from the time of the visit of the surveying

ships to the Red Sea. A pretext was now all that was sought for, and

this was not long wanted. It was reported to the Bombay Administration

in October 1836, by Captain Haines, (then in command of the Palinurus

at Makullah) that great insecurity to navigation prevailed on both the

African and Indian shores, at the entrance of the Red Sea; and one

particular instance was adduced, in which the crew of a Muscat vessel,

wrecked on the coast near Aden, were subjected to such inordinate

extortion by Sultan Mahassan, that "the master, in anger or despair,

burned his vessel. The Bombay government could only give general

instructions, that in case of any outrage being offered to a vessel

under British colours, redress should be peremptorily demanded. But

long before these instructions were issued, and, indeed, before the

intelligence which elicited them had reached Bombay, a case, such as

they had supposed, had really occurred."--(_Corresponderce relating to

Aden_, printed in May 1839, by order of the House of Commons,

No. 49, p. 38.)

[Footnote 40: "A vessel will lie" (at Mokha) "with a whole chain on end,

topgallant masts struck, and yards braced by, without being able to

communicate with the shore; while at the same time in Aden harbour she

will lie within a few yards of the shore, in perfectly smooth water,

with the bight of her chain cable scarcely taught."--CAPTAIN HAINES'S

_Report_.]

An Indian ship called the Derya-Dowlut, (Fortune of the Sea,) the

property of a lady of the family of the Nawab of Madras, but sailing

under British colours, was wrecked on the coast near Aden, February

20, 1837, when on her voyage from Calcutta to Jiddah, with a cargo

valued at two lacs of rupees, (L.20,000.) It would appear, from the

depositions of the survivors, that the loss of the ship was

intentional on the part of the supercargo and _nakhoda_, (or

sailing-master,) the latter of whom, however, was drowned, with

several of the crew, in attempting to get on shore in the boat. The

passengers--who had been denied help both by the officers who had

deserted them, and by the Arabs who crowded down to the beach--with

difficulty reached the land, when they were stripped, plundered, and

ill-treated by the Bedoweens, but at last escaped without any

personal injury, and made their way in miserable plight to Aden,

where they were relieved and clothed by a Sheikh, the hereditary

guardian of the tomb of Sheikh Idris, the guardian saint of the town.

The stranded ship, meanwhile, after being cleared of as much of her

cargo and stores as could be saved, was burned by direction of the

supercargo, who shortly afterwards took his departure to Jiddah,

carrying with him one-third of the rescued property, and leaving the

remainder as a waif to the Sultan of Aden. After he was gone, the

Sultan made an offer to the agent [41] of the ship to restore the

goods which had fallen to his share on a payment of ten per cent for

salvage; but this was declined, on the ground that after such a length

of time "the things on board must have been almost all lost; that he

did not require them, nor had he money to pay for them." The Sultan,

however, still refused to allow him to leave Aden till he had given

him written acquittance of all claims on account of the ship; a document

was accordingly signed, as he says, under compulsion, to the effect that

he made no claim against the Sultan, but with a full reservation of his

claim for redress from the supercargo, who had wrecked the ship and

embezzled the goods saved from her. The agent and several of the crew,

after undergoing great hardships, at last reached Mokha, and laid their

complaint before the commanders of the Company's cruisers Coote and

Palinurus. The latter vessel, under the command of Captain Haines,

immediately repaired to Aden to demand redress for the injuries thus

inflicted on English subjects, while a formal report of the case was made

to the Government at Bombay. The Sultan at first attempted to deny that

he possessed any of the goods in question, and afterwards alleged

that they had been given to him voluntarily by the supercargo; but

finding all his subterfuges unavailing, he at length gave up

merchandize and stores to the amount of nearly 8000 dollars, besides

a bond at a year's date for 4191 dollars more, in satisfaction for

the goods which had been previously sold or made away with, as well

as for the insults offered to the passengers.

[Footnote 41: This person, Syud Nooradeen, had been captain of the

vessel at the outset of the voyage; but had been deposed from the

responsible command by an order purporting to come from the merchant

who had freighted the ship, but which is now said to have been forged

by the supercargo.]

Here, in ordinary cases, the matter might have rested; for though

the conduct of this Arab chief would certainly have been

indefensible in a civilized country, the worst charge that can be

considered as fairly proved against him is that of being a receiver

of stolen goods, as the price of his connivance at the appropriation

of the rest by the supercargo--since with the wreck of the ship,

whether premeditated or not, he had certainly nothing to do--and the

outrages committed by the wild Bedoweens on the beach can scarcely be

laid to his charge. A far more atrocious insult to the British flag in

1826, when a brig from the Mauritius had been piratically seized at

Berbera, (a port on the African coast, just outside the Straits of

Bab-el-Mandeb,) and part of her crew murdered, had been expiated by

the submission of the offenders, and the repayment of the value of the

plunder by yearly instalments, (see WELLSTED'S _Arabia_, vol. ii.

chap. 18;)--whereas, in the present case, restitution, however reluctant,

had been prompt and complete. But so eager were the authorities in India

to possess themselves of the place on any terms, that even while the

above-mentioned negotiation was pending, a minute was drawn up

(Sept. 28) by the Governor of Bombay, and transmitted to the

Governor-general at Calcutta, in which, after stating that "the

establishment of a monthly communication by steam with the Red Sea,

and the formation of a flotilla of armed steamers, renders it

_absolutely necessary_ that we should have a station of our own on

the coast of Arabia, as we already have on the Persian Gulf"

--alluding to the seizure of the island of Karrack--and noticing

"the insult which has been offered to the British flag by the Sultan

of Aden," requests permission "to take possession of Cape Aden." [42]

The Governor-general, however, in his reply, (Oct. 16,) appears scarcely

of opinion that so strong a measure is warranted by the provocation,

and suggests "that satisfaction should, in the first instance, be

demanded of the Sultan. If it be granted, some _amicable arrangement_

may be made with him for the occupation of this port as a depot for

coals, and harbour for shelter. If it be refused, then further measures

may be considered." [43]

[Footnote 42: Correspondence, No. 16.]

[Footnote 43: Ibid. No. 19.]

But notwithstanding the qualified terms of the Governor-general's

reply, it appears to have been regarded by the Bombay government as

equivalent to a full permission [44] for the prosecution of the

object on which they had fixed their views: for by the despatch

of Captain Haines from Aden, (dated Jan. 20, 1838,) we find that no

sooner had he "completed the first duty on which he was sent,"

(the recovery of the cargo of the Derya-Dowlet,) than he addressed a

letter (Jan. 11) to the Sultan, to the effect that "he was empowered

by Government to form a treaty with the Sultan for the purchase of

Aden, with the land and points surrounding it," &c. &c.--that he felt

assured that the Sultan "would, in his wisdom, readily foresee the

advantages which would accrue to his country from having such an

intimate connecting link with the British"--and enclosing a rough

draft of the terms on which it was proposed that the transfer should

be effected. The Sultan appears to have been considerably _taken

aback_ at this unexpected proposition, which, it should be observed,

was not put forward as part of the atonement required for the affair

of the Derya-Dowlut--as for this, (in the words of Captain Haines,)

"satisfaction has been given by you, and our friendship is as before."

A lengthened correspondence ensued, at the rate of a letter or two

daily, till the end of January--in which the Sultan, with all the

tortuous tact of an Asiatic, endeavoured, without expressly pledging

himself on the main point, to stipulate in the first instance for

assistance, in the shape of artillery and ammunition, against the

hostile tribes in the neighbourhood, and other advantages for

himself and his family, particularly for the retention of their

jurisdiction over the _Arab_ residents in Aden: and he at last

quitted Aden for Lahedj, without absolutely concluding any thing,

but having authorized a merchant of the former place, named

Reshid-Ebn-Abdallah, to act as his agent.

[Footnote 44: "The Government of India did not, indeed, in express

words authorize us to negotiate with the Sultan for a cession to us

of the post and harbour: but they desired us to obtain the occupation

of the port as a coal depot, and that of the harbour as a place of

shelter. These words far exceed the mere establishment of a coal depot

under the auspices of the Sultan, and in fact, could not in any

practical sense, or to any beneficial purpose, be fulfilled, except

by our obtaining the occupation of that port and harbour as a matter

not of sufferance but of right."--_Minute by the Governor of Bombay_,

No. 49.]

Still every thing appeared in a fair way for adjustment; the

principal difficulty remaining to be settled being the annual sum to

be paid as an equivalent for the port-dues of Aden. The Sultan's

commissioner at first rated this source of revenue at the exorbitant

sum of 50,000 dollars!--but it was at last agreed that it should be

commuted for a yearly stipend of 8708, a mode of payment preferred

by the Sultan to the receipt of a gross sum, lest the rapacity of

his neighbours should be excited against him by so sudden an

accession of wealth: while the amount thus fixed was believed even

to exceed the actual amount of the customs. The Sultan meanwhile,

though evading the formal execution of the deed of transfer,

constantly wrote from Lahedj that the English were at liberty to

begin building in Aden as soon as they pleased--adding on more than

one occasion--"if the Turks or any other people should come and take

away the whole country by strength from me, the blame will not rest

on my shoulders."

On the 27th, however, Sultan Hamed, the eldest son and heir-apparent

of Sultan Mahassan, arrived at Aden from Lahedj, accompanied by a

_synd_ or descendant of the prophet, named Hussein, who was

represented as having come as a witness to the transaction; and

Captain Haines was invited on shore to meet them. While he was

preparing, however, to repair to the place of meeting, he received a

private intimation through the merchant already mentioned,

Reshid-Ebn-Abdallih, to the effect that the Arab chiefs had

determined on seizing his person at the interview, in order to

possess themselves of the papers connected with the proposed

transfer of Aden, (to which Sultan Hamed had from the first been

strongly opposed,) and in particular of the bond for 4191 dollars

which had been given in satisfaction for the balance of the goods in

the Derya-Dowlut. How far this imputed treachery was really meditated,

there can be, of course, no means of precisely ascertaining; and the

minute of the governor of Bombay (_Correspondence_, No. 49,) seems

to consider it doubtful; [45] but Captain Haines acted as if fully

convinced of the correctness of the intelligence which he had

received; and after reproaching Sultan Hamed with his intended

perfidy, returned first to Mokha, and afterwards (in February) to

Bombay, carrying with him the letter in which the old Sultan was

alleged to have given his consent to the cession, but leaving the

recovered goods at Aden in charge of a Banyan--a tolerably strong

proof, by the way, that the Sultan, notwithstanding the bad faith

laid to his charge, was not considered likely to appropriate them

afresh.

[Footnote 45: "I am not, however, disposed to treat the matter as

one of much importance. We have no knowledge of it but from report,

and all concerned in it will solemnly deny the truth of the

information."]

The unsuccessful issue of this mission pretty clearly proved, that

notwithstanding the dread of the British power entertained by the

Abdalli chiefs, their reluctance to part with their town would not

be easily overcome by peaceable means: while the Governor-general

(then busily engaged at Simla in forwarding the preparations for the

ill-fated invasion of Affghanistan) still declined, in despite of a

renewed application from Bombay to give any special sanction to

ulterior measures--"a question on which"--in the words of the

despatch--"her Majesty's Government is rather called upon to

pronounce judgment, than the supreme government of India." The

authorities at Bombay, however, were not to be thus diverted from

the attainment of their favourite object; and in a despatch of

September 7, 1838, to the Secret Committee, (_Corresp_. No. 59,)

they announce that, "on reconsideration, they have resolved to adopt

immediate measures for attempting to obtain peaceable possession of

Aden, without waiting for the previous instructions of the

Governor-general of India:" but "as the steamer Berenice will leave

Bombay on the 8th inst.," (_the next day_,) "we have not time to

enter into a detail of the reasons which have induced us to come to

the above resolution." A notification similar to the above had been

forwarded two days previously to Lord Auckland at Simla; and a

laconic reply was received (Oct. 4) from Sir William Macnaghten,

simply to the effect that "his lordship was glad to find that, at

the present crisis of our affairs, the governor (of Bombay) in

council has resolved to resort to no other than peaceful means

for the attainment of the object in view."

In the latter part of October, accordingly, Captain Haines once more

reached Aden in the Coote, with a small party of Bombay sepoys on

board as his escort; but the aspect of affairs was by no means

favourable. The old Sultan Mahassan, worn out with age and

infirmities, had resigned the management of affairs almost entirely

to his fiery son Hamed, who, encouraged not only by his success in

baffling the former attempt, but by the smallness of the force which

had accompanied the British commissioner, [46] openly set him at

defiance, declaring that he himself, and not his father, was now the

Sultan of the Bedoweens: that his father was but an imbecile old man;

and that any promise which might have been extorted from him could

not be regarded as of any avail: and, in short, that the place

should not be given up upon any terms. In pursuance of this

denunciation, all supplies, even of wood and water, were refused to

the ship; the Banyan in charge of the Derya-Dowlut's cargo was

prohibited from giving up the goods to the English; and though the

interchange of letters was kept up as briskly as before, the

resolution of Sultan Hamed was not to be shaken by this torrent of

diplomacy: and he constantly adhered to his first expressed

position--"I wish much to be friends, and that amity was between us,

but you must not speak or write about the land of Aden again." The

English agent, however, persisted in speaking of the transfer as

already legally concluded, and out of the power of Hamed to

repudiate or annul: while, in order to give greater stringency to

his remonstrances, he gave orders for the detention of the

date-boats and other vessels which arrived off Aden, hoping to

starve the Sultan into submission, by thus at once stopping his

provisions, and cutting off his receipt of port dues. The blockade

does not seem to have been very effectual: and an overture from the

Futhali chief to aid with his tribe in an attack on the Abdallis, was

of course declined by Captain Haines.

[Footnote 46: "Their first exclamation was, 'Are the English so poor

that they can only afford to send one vessel? and is she only come to

talk? Why did they not send her before? Had they sent their men and

vessels, we would have given up; but until they do, they shall never

have the place.'"--CAPTAIN HAINES'S _Despatch_, Nov. 6, (No. 61.)]

The apparently interminable cross fire of protocols [47] (in which both

Captain Haines and his employers appear to have luxuriated to a degree

which would have gladdened the heart of Lord Palmerston himself) was now,

however, on the point of being brought to a close. On the 20th of

November, one of the Coote's boats, while engaged in overhauling an

Arab vessel near the shore, was fired at by the Bedoweens on the beach,

and hostilities were carried on during several days, but with little

damage on either side. In most cases, it would have been considered

that blockading a port, and intercepting its supplies of provisions

constituted a sufficiently legitimate ground of warfare to justify

these reprisals: but Captain Haines, it appears, thought otherwise,

as he stigmatizes it as "a shameful and cowardly attack," and

becomes urgent with the Bombay government for a reinforcement which

might enable him to assume offensive operations with effect. Her

Majesty's ships Volage, 28, and Cruiser, 16 gun-brig, which had been

employed in some operations about the mouth of the Indus, were

accordingly ordered on this service, and sailed from Bombay December

29, accompanied by two transports conveying about 800 troops--Europeans,

sepoys, and artillerymen--under the command-in-chief of Major Baillie,

24th Bombay native infantry. The Abdalli chiefs, on the other hand,

made an effort to induce the Sultan of the Futhalis, (with whom they

held a conference during the first days of 1839, at the tomb of

Sheikh Othman near Aden, on the occasion of the payment of the annual

tribute above referred to,) to make common cause with them against

the intruders who were endeavouring to establish themselves in the

country; but the negotiation wholly failed, and the two parties

separated on not very amicable terms.

[Footnote 47: It is worthy of remark, that in a note of December 1st,

(_Corresp_. No. 81,) from the Governor of Bombay to the Sultan,

the ill treatment of the passengers of the Derya-Dowlut is again

advanced as the ground of offence, as an atonement for which the

cession of Aden is indispensable; though for this, ample satisfaction

had been admitted long since to have been given.]

It appears that the determination of the Abdallis to hold out had

been materially strengthened by the intelligence which they received

from India, (where many Arabs from this part of Yemen and the

neighbouring country of Hadramout are serving as mercenaries to the

native princes,) of the manifold distractions which beset the

Anglo-Indian government, and the armaments in course of equipment for

Affghanistan, Scinde, the Persian Gulf, &c., and which confirmed

them in the belief that no more troops could be spared from Bombay

for an attack on Aden. The stoppage of provisions by sea, however,

and the threatened hostilities of the Futhalis, caused severe

distress among the inhabitants of the town; and dissensions arose

among the chiefs themselves, as to the proportions in which (in the

event of an amicable settlement) the annual payment of 8700 dollars

should be divided among them--it being determined that Sultan

Mahassan should not have it all. An attempt was now made by the

_synds_ to effect a reconciliation; but though abundance of notes

were once more interchanged, [48] and the old Sultan came down

from Lahedj to offer his mediation, all demands for the main

object, the cession of the place, were rejected or evaded. The

negotiation consequently came to nothing, and hostilities were

resumed with more energy than before, the artillery of Aden being

directed (as was reported) by an European Turk; till, on the 16th of

January, the flotilla from Bombay, under the command of Captain Smith,

R.N., anchored in Western Bay.

[Footnote 48: In this correspondence, the phrase of--"If you will

land and enter the town, I will be upon your head," is more than once

addressed by Sultan Hamed to Captain Haines and seems to have been

understood as a menace; but we have been informed that it rather

implies, "I will be answerable for your safety--your head shall be

in my charge."]

A peremptory requisition was now sent on shore for the immediate

surrender of the town; but the answer of the Sultan was still evasive,

and, as the troops had only a few days' water on board, an immediate

landing was decided upon. On the morning of the 19th, accordingly,

the Coote, Cruiser, Volage, and the Company's armed schooner Mahi,

weighed and stood in shore, opening a heavy fire on the island of

Seerah and the batteries on the mainland, to cover the disembarkation.

The Arabs at first stood to their guns with great determination, but

their artillery was, of course, speedily silenced or dismounted by

the superior weight and rapidity of the English fire; and though the

troops were galled while in the boats by matchlocks from the shore,

both the town and the island of Seerah were carried by storm without

much difficulty. The loss of the assailants was no more than fifteen

killed and wounded--that of the Arabs more than ten times that number,

including a nephew of the Sultan and a chief of the Houshibee tribe,

who fought gallantly, and received a mortal wound; considerable

bloodshed was also occasioned by the desperate resistance made by the

prisoners taken on Seerah in the attempt to disarm them, during which

the greater part of them cut their way through their captors and got

clear off. Most of the inhabitants fled into the interior during the

assault, but speedily returned on hearing of the discipline and good

order preserved by the conquerors; and the old Sultan, on being

informed of the capture of the place, sent an apologetic letter

(Jan. 21) to Captain Haines, in which he threw all the blame on his

son Hamed, and expressed an earnest wish for a reconciliation.

Little difficulty was now experienced in conducting the negotiations,

and during the first days of February articles of pacification were

signed both with the Abdallis and the other tribes in the

neighbourhood. To secure the good-will of the Futhali chief, the

annual payment which he had received from Aden of 360 dollars, was

still guaranteed to him, as were the 8700 dollars per annum to the

Sultan of Lahedj, whose bond for 4191 dollars was further remitted

as a token of good-will.

Such were the circumstances under which Aden became part of the

colonial empire of Great Britain--and the details of which we have

taken, almost entirely, from the official accounts published by

order of Government. In whatever point of view we consider the

transaction, we think it can scarcely be denied that it reflects

little credit on the national character for even-handed justice and

fair dealing. Even if the tact and _savoir faire_, which Captain

Haines must be admitted to have displayed in an eminent degree in

the execution of his instructions, had succeeded in intimidating the

Arabs into surrendering the place without resistance, such a

proceeding would have amounted to nothing more or less than the

appropriation of the territory of a tribe not strong enough to defend

themselves, simply because it was situated conveniently for the

purposes of our own navigation: and the open force by which the

scheme was ultimately carried into effect, imparts to this act of

usurpation a character of violence still more to be regretted. The

originally-alleged provocation, the affair of the Derya-Dowlut, is

not for a moment tenable as warranting such extreme measures:--since

not only was the participation of the parties on whom the whole

responsibility was thrown, at all events extremely venial; but

satisfaction had been given, and had been admitted to have been given,

before the subject of the cession of the place was broached:--and

the Sultan constantly denied that his alleged consent to the transfer,

on which the subsequent hostilities were grounded, had ever been

intended to be so construed. It is evident, moreover, that the Arabs

would gladly have yielded to any amicable arrangement short of the

absolute cession of the town, which they regarded as disgraceful:

--the erection of a factory, which might have been fortified so as

to give us the virtual command of the place and the harbour, would

probably have met with no opposition:--and even if Aden had fallen,

as it seemed on the point of doing, into the hands of the Pasha of

Egypt, there can be little doubt that the Viceroy would have shown

himself equally ready to facilitate our intercourse with India, in

his Arabian as in his Egyptian harbours. At all events, it is

evident that the desired object of obtaining a station and coal

depot for the Indian steamers, might easily have been secured in

various ways, without running even the risk of bringing on the

British name the imputation of unnecessary violence and oppression.

Aden, however, was now, whether for right or wrong, under the British

flag; but the hostile dispositions of the Arabs, notwithstanding the

treaties entered into, were still far from subdued; and the cupidity

of these semi-barbarous tribes was still further excited by the

lavish expenditure of the new garrison, and by the exaggerated

reports of vast treasures said to be brought from India for the

repairs of the works. Among the advantages anticipated by Captain

Haines in his official report from the possession of the town,

especial stress is laid on its vicinity to the coffee and gum

districts, and the certainty, that when it was under the settled

rule of British law, the traffic in these rich products, as well as

in the gold-dust, ivory, and frankincense of the African coast,

would once more centre in its long-neglected harbour. But it was

speedily found that the insecurity of communication with the

interior opposed a serious obstacle to the realization of these

prospects--the European residents and the troops were confined

within the Turkish wall--and though the extreme heat of the climate

(which during summer averaged 90° of Fahrenheit in the shade within

a stone house) did not prove so injurious as had been expected to

European constitutions, it was found, singularly enough, to exercise

a most pernicious influence on the sepoys, who sickened and died in

alarming numbers. Aden at this period is compared, in a letter

quoted in the _Asiatic Journal_, to "the crater of Etna enlarged,

and covered with gravestones and the remains of stone huts;"

provisions were scarce, and vegetables scarcely procurable. By

degrees, however, some symptoms of reviving trade appeared and by the

end of 1839 the population had increased to 1500 souls.

The smouldering rancour with which the Arabs had all along regarded

the Frank intruders upon their soil, had by this time broken out

into open hostility; and, after some minor acts of violence, an

attack was made on the night of November 9th on the Turkish wall

across the isthmus, (which had been additionally strengthened by

redoubts and some guns,) by a body of 4000 men, collected from the

Abdallis, the Futhalis, and the other tribes in the neighbourhood.

The assailants were of course repulsed, but not without a severe

conflict, in which the Arabs engaged the defenders hand to hand

with the most determined valour--so highly had their hopes of

plunder been stimulated by the rumours of English wealth. This

daring attempt (which the Pasha of Egypt was by some suspected

to have had some share in instigating) at once placed the occupants

of Aden in a state of open warfare with all their Arab neighbours;

and the subsidies hitherto paid to the Futhali chief and the old

Sultan of Lahedj were consequently stopped--while L.100,000 were

voted by the Bombay government for repairing the fortifications,

and engineers were sent from India to put the place in an efficient

state of defence. These regular ramparts, however, even when

completed, can never be relied on as a security against the guerilla

attacks of these daring marauders, who can wade through the sea at

low water round the flanks of the Turkish wall, and scramble over

precipices to get in the rear of the outposts--and accordingly,

during 1840, the garrison had to withstand two more desperate

attempts (May 20, and July 4,) to surprise the place, both of which

were beaten off after some hard fighting, though in one instance the

attacking party succeeded in carrying off a considerable amount of

plunder from the encampment near the Turkish wall. Since that period,

it has been found necessary gradually to raise the strength of the

garrison from 800 to 4000 men, one-fourth of whom are always European

soldiers--and though no attack in force has lately been made by the

Arabs, the necessity of being constantly on the alert against their

covert approaches, renders the duties of the garrison harassing to

the last degree. Though a considerable trade now exists with the

African coast, scarcely any commercial intercourse has yet been

established with the interior of Arabia, (notwithstanding the

friendly dispositions evinced by the Iman of Sana,) the road being

barred by the hostile tribes--and a further impediment to

improvement is found in the dissensions of the civil and military

authorities of the place itself, who, pent up in a narrow space

under a broiling sun, seem to employ their energies in endless

squabbles with each other. Whatever may be the ultimate fate of this

colony, it must be allowed, to quote the candid admission of a

writer in the _United Service Journal_, that "at present we are not

occupying a very proud position in Arabia"--though considering the

means by which we obtained our footing in that peninsula, our

position is perhaps as good as we deserve.

* * * * *

SONNET

BY THE AUTHOR OP THE LIFE OF BURKE, OF GOLDSMITH, &C.,

ON VIEWING MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.

How warms the heart when dwelling on that face,

Those lips that mine a thousand times have prest,

The swelling source that nurture gav'st her race,

Where found my infant head its downiest rest!

How in those features aim to trace my own,

Cast in a softer mould my being see;

Recall the voice that sooth'd my helpless moan,

The thoughts that sprang for scarcely aught save me;

That shaped and formed me; gave me to the day,

Bade in her breast absorbing love arise;

O'er me a ceaseless tender care display,

For weak all else to thee maternal ties!

This debt of love but One may claim; no other

Such self-devotion boasts, save thee, my Mother!

* * * * *

CALEB STUKELY.

PART XIII.

THE FUGITIVE.

The tongue has nothing to say when the soul hath spoken all! What

need of words in the passionate and early intercourse of love! There

is no oral language that can satisfy or meet the requisitions of the

stricken heart. Speech, the worldling and the false--oftener the

dark veil than the bright mirror of man's thoughts--is banished from

the spot consecrated to purity, unselfishness, and truth. The lovely

and beloved Ellen learnt, before a syllable escaped my lips, the

secret which those lips would never have disclosed. Her innocent and

conscious cheek acknowledged instantly her quick perception, and

with maiden modesty she turned aside--not angrily, but timorous as a

bird, upon whose leafy covert the heavy fowler's foot has trod too

harshly and too suddenly. I thought of nothing then but the pain I

had inflicted, and was sensible of no feeling but that of shame and

sorrow for my fault. We walked on in silence. Our road brought us to

the point in the village at which I had met Miss Fairman and her

father, when, for the first time, we became companions in our

evening walk. We retraced the path which then we took, and the

hallowed spot grew lovelier as we followed it. I could not choose

but tell how deeply and indelibly the scene of beauty had become

imprinted on my heart.

"To you, Miss Fairman," I began, "and to others who were born and

nurtured in this valley, this is a common sight. To me it is a land

of enchantment, and the impression that it brings must affect my

future being. I am sure, whatever may be my lot, that I shall be a

happier man for what I now behold."

"It is well," said my companion, "that you did not make the

acquaintance of our hills during the bleak winter, when their charms

were hidden in the snow, and they had nothing better to offer their

worshipper than rain and sleet and nipping winds. They would have

lost your praise then."

"Do you think so? Imprisoned as I have been, and kept a stranger to

the noblest works of Providence, my enjoyment is excessive, and I

dare scarcely trust myself to feel it as I would. I could gaze on

yonder sweet hillock, with its wild-flowers and its own blue patch

of sky, until I wept."

"Yes, this is a lovely scene in truth!" exclaimed Miss Fairman

pensively.

"Do you remember, Miss Fairman, our first spring walk? For an hour

we went on, and that little green clump, as it appears from here,

was not for a moment out of my sight. My eyes were riveted upon it,

and I watched the clouds shifting across it, changing its hue, now

darkening, now lighting it up, until it became fixed in my

remembrance, never to depart from it. We have many fair visions

around us, but that is to me the fairest. It is connected with our

evening walk. Neither can be forgotten whilst I live."

It was well that we reached the parsonage gate before another word

was spoken. In spite of the firmest of resolutions, the smallest

self-indulgence brought me to the very verge of transgression.

In the evening I sat alone, and began a letter to the minister. I

wrote a few lines expressive of my gratitude and deep sense of

obligation. They did not read well, and I destroyed them. I

recommenced. I reproached myself for presumption and temerity, and

confessed that I had taken advantage of his confidence by attempting

to gain the affections of his only child. I regretted the fault, and

desired to be dismissed. The terms which I employed, on reperusal,

looked too harsh, and did not certainly do justice to the motives by

which throughout I had been actuated; for, however violent had been

my passion, _principle_ had still protected and restrained me. I had

not coldly and _deliberately_ betrayed myself. The second writing,

not more satisfactory than the first, was, in its turn, expunged. I

attempted a third epistle, and failed. Then I put down the pen and

considered. I pondered until I concluded that I had ever been too

hasty and too violent. Miss Fairman would certainly take no notice

of what had happened, and if I were guarded--silent--and determined

for the future, all would still be well. It was madness to indulge a

passion which could only lead to my expulsion from the parsonage, and

end in misery. Had I found it so easy to obtain a home and quiet,

that both were to be so recklessly and shamefully abandoned? Surely

it was time to dwell soberly and seriously upon the affairs of life.

I had numbered years and undergone trial sufficient to be acquainted

with true policy and the line of duty. Both bade me instantly reject

the new solicitation, and pursue, with singleness of purpose, the

occupation which fortune had mercifully vouchsafed to me. All this

was specious and most just, and sounded well to the understanding

that was not less able to look temperately and calmly upon the

argument in consequence of the previous overflow of feeling. Reason

is never so plausible and prevailing as when it takes the place of

gratified passion. Never are we so firmly resolved upon good, as in

the moment that follows instantly the doing of evil. Never is

conscience louder in her complaints than when she rises from a

temporary overthrow. I had discovered every thing to Miss Fairman. I

had fatally committed myself. There was no doubt of this; and

nothing was left for present consolation but sapient resolutions for

the future. Virtuous and fixed they looked in my silent chamber and

in the silent hour of night. Morning had yet to dawn, and they had

yet to contend with the thousand incitements which our desires are

ever setting up to battle with our better judgment. I did not write

to Mr. Fairman, but I rose from my seat much comforted, and softened

my midnight pillow with the best intentions.

Fancy might have suggested to me, on the following morning, that the

eyes of Miss Fairnan had been visited but little by sleep, and that

her face was far more pallid than usual, if her parent had not

remarked, with much anxiety, when she took her place amongst us,

that she was looking most weary and unwell. Like the sudden

emanation that crimsons all the east, the beautiful and earliest

blush of morning, came the driven blood into the maiden's cheek,

telling of discovery and shame. Nothing she said in answer, but

diligently pursued her occupation. I could perceive that the fair

hand trembled, and that the gentle bosom was disquieted. _I_ could

tell why downwards bent the head, and with what new emotions the

artless spirit had become acquainted. Instantly I saw the mischief

which my rashness had occasioned, and felt how deeply had fallen the

first accents of love into the poor heart of the secluded one. What

had I done by the short, indistinct, most inconsiderate avowal, and

how was it possible now to avert its consequences? Every tender and

uneasy glance that Mr. Fairman cast upon his cherished daughter,

passed like a sting to me, and roused the bitterest self-reproach. I

could have calmed his groundless fears, had I been bold enough to

risk his righteous indignation. The frankness and cordiality which

had ever marked my intercourse with Miss Fairman, were from this

hour suspended. Could it be otherwise with one so innocent, so

truthful, and so meek! Anger she had none, but apprehension and

conceptions strange, such as disturb the awakened soul of woman, ere

the storm of passion comes to overcharge it.

I slunk from the apartment and the first meal of the day, like a man

guilty of a heinous fault. I pleaded illness, and did not rejoin my

friends. I knew not what to do, and I passed a day in long and

feverish doubt. Evening arrived. My pupils were dismissed, and once

more I sat in my own silent room lost in anxious meditation. Suddenly

an unusual knock at the door roused me, and brought me to my feet. I

requested the visitor to enter, and Mr. Fairman himself walked slowly

in. He was pale and care-worn and he looked, as I imagined, sternly

upon me. "All is known!" was my first thought, and my throat swelled

with agitation. I presented a chair to the incumbent; and when he

sat down and turned his wan face upon me, I felt that my own cheek

was no less blanched than his. I awaited his rebuke in breathless

suspense.

"You are indeed ill, Stukely," commenced Mr. Fairman, gazing

earnestly. "I was not aware of this, or I would have seen you before.

You have overworked yourself with the boys. You shall be relieved

to-morrow. I will take charge of them myself. You should not have

persevered when you found your strength unequal to the task. A

little repose will, I trust, restore you."

With every animating syllable, the affrighted blood returned again,

and I gained confidence. His tones assured me that he was still in

ignorance. A load was taken from me.

"I shall be better in the morning, sir," I answered. "Do not think

seriously of the slightest indisposition. I am better now."

"I am rejoiced to hear it," answered the incumbent. "I am full of

alarm and wretchedness to-day. Did you observe my daughter this

morning, Stukely?"

"Yes, sir," I faltered.

"You did at breakfast, but you have not seen her since. I wish you

had. I am sick at heart."

"Is she unwell, sir?"

"Do you know what consumption is? Have you ever watched its fearful

progress?"

"Never."

"I thought you might have done so. It is a fearful disease, and

leaves hardly a family untouched. Did she not look ill?--you can

tell me that, at least."

"Not quite so well, perhaps, as I have seen her, sir; but I should

hope"--

"Eh--what, not very ill, then? Well, that is strange, for I was

frightened by her. What can it be? I wish that Mayhew had called in.

Every ailment fills me with terror. I always think of her dear mother.

Three months before her death, she sat with me, as we do here

together, well and strong, and thanking Providence for health and

strength. She withered, as it might be from that hour, and, as I

tell you, three short months of havoc brought her to the grave."

"Was she young, sir?"

"A few years older than my child--but that is nothing. Did you say

you did not think her looks this morning indicated any symptoms?

Oh--no! I recollect. You never saw the malady at work. Well,

certainly she does not cough as her poor mother did. Did it look

like languor, think you?"

"The loss of rest might"--

"Yes, it might, and perhaps it is nothing worse. I know Mayhew

thinks lightly of these temporary shadows; but I do not believe he

has ever seen her so thoroughly feeble and depressed as she appears

to-day. She is very pale, but I was glad to find her face free from

all flush whatever. That is comforting. Let us hope the best. How do

the boys advance? What opinion have you formed of the lad Charlton?"

"He is a dull, good-hearted boy, sir. Willing to learn, with little

ability to help him on. Most difficult of treatment. His tears lie

near the surface. At times it seems that the simplest terms are

beyond his understanding, and then the gentlest reproof opens the

flood-gate, and submerges his faculties for the day."

"Be tender and cautious, Stukely, with that child. He is a sapling

that will not bear the rough wind. Let him learn what he will--rest

assured, it is all he can. His eagerness to learn will never fall

short of your's to teach. He must be kindly encouraged, not frowned

upon in his reverses; for who fights so hard against them, or

deplores them more deeply than himself? Poor, weak child, he is his

own chastiser."

"I will take care, sir."

"Have you seen this coming on, Stukely?"

"With Charlton, sir?"

"No. Miss Fairman's indisposition. For many weeks she has certainly

improved in health. I have remarked it, and I was taken by surprise

this morning. I should be easier had Mayhew seen her."

"Let me fetch him in the morning, sir. His presence will relieve you.

I will start early--and bring him with me."

"Well, if you are better, but certainly not otherwise. I confess I

should be pleased to talk with him. But do not rise too early. Get

your breakfast first. I will take the boys until you come back."

This had been the object of the anxious father's visit. As soon as I

had undertaken to meet his wish, he became more tranquil. My mission

was to be kept a secret. The reason why a servant had not been

employed, was the fear of causing alarm in the beloved patient.

Before Mr. Fairman left me, I was more than half persuaded that I

myself had mistaken the cause of his daughter's suffering; so

agreeable is it, even against conviction, to discharge ourselves of

blame.

The residence of Dr. Mayhew was about four miles distant from our

village. It was a fine brick house, as old as the oaks which stood

before it, conferring upon a few acres of grass land the right to be

regarded as a park. The interior of the house was as substantial as

the outside; both were as solid as the good doctor himself. He was a

man of independent property, a member of the University of Oxford,

and a great stickler for old observances. He received a fee from

every man who was able to pay him for his services; and the poor

might always receive at his door, at the cost of application only,

medical advice and physic, and a few commodities much more

acceptable than either. He kept a good establishment, in the most

interesting portion of which dwelt three decaying creatures, the

youngest fourscore years of age and more. They were an entail from

his grandfather, and had faithfully served that ancestor for many

years as coachman, housekeeper, and butler. The father of Dr. Mayhew

had availed himself of their integrity and experience until Time

robbed them of the latter, and rendered the former a useless ornament;

and dying, he bequeathed them, with the house and lands, to their

present friend and patron. There they sat in their own hall, royal

servants every one, hanging to life by one small thread, which when

it breaks for one must break for all. They had little interest in

the present world, to which the daily visit of the doctor, and that

alone, connected them. He never failed to pay it. Unconscious of all

else, they never failed to look for it.

The village clock struck eleven as I walked up the avenue that

conducted to the house. The day was intensely hot, and at that early

hour the fierce fire of the sun had rendered the atmosphere sweltry

and oppressive. I knocked many times before I could obtain admittance,

and, at last, the door was opened by a ragged urchin about twelve

years of age, looking more like the son of a thief or a gypsy than a

juvenile member of the decent household.

"Is Dr. Mayhew at home?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know!" he answered surlily; "you had better come and see;"

and therewith he turned upon his heel, and tramped heavily down the

kitchen stairs. For a few seconds I remained where I was. At length,

hearing no voices in the house, and finding that no one was likely

to come to me, I followed him. At the bottom of the stairs was a

long passage leading to the offices. It was very dark, or it was

rendered so to me who had just left the glare of noonday. At the end

of it, however, a small lamp glimmered, and under its feeble help I

advanced. Arriving at its extremity, I was stopped by the hum of many

voices that proceeded from a chamber on the right. Here I knocked

immediately. The voice of Dr. Mayhew desired me to enter. The door

was opened the moment afterwards, and then I beheld the doctor

himself and every servant of the house assembled in a crowd. The

little boy who had given me admission was in the group; and in the

very centre of all, sitting upright in a chair, was the strangest

apparition of a man that I have ever gazed upon, before or since. The

object that attracted, and at the same time repelled, my notice, was

a creature whose age no living man could possibly determine. He was

at least six feet high, with raven hair, and a complexion sallow as

the sear leaf. Look at his figure, then mark the absence of a single

wrinkle, and you judge him for a youth. Observe again: look at the

emaciated face; note the jet-black eye, deeply-sunken, and void of

all fire and life; the crushed, the vacant, and forlorn expression;

the aquiline nose, prominent as an eagle's, from which the parchment

skin is drawn as rigidly as though it were a dead man's skin,

bloodless and inert. The wear and tear, the buffeting and misery of

seventy years are there. Seventy!--yea, twice seventy years of mortal

agony and suffering could hardly leave a deeper impress. He is

strangely clad. He is in rags. The remnants of fine clothes are

dropping from his shrunken body. His hand is white and small. Upon

the largest finger he wears a ring--once, no doubt, before his hand

had shrivelled up--the property and ornament of the smallest. It is

a sparkling diamond, and it glistens as his own black eye should, if

it be true that he is old only in mental misery and pain. There is

no sign of thought or feeling in his look. His eye falls on no one,

but seems to pass beyond the lookers-on, and to rest on space. The

company are far more agitated. A few minutes before my arrival the

strange object had been found, with the boy whom I had first seen,

wandering in the garden. He was apprehended for a thief, brought

into the house, and not until Dr. Mayhew had been summoned, had it

been suspected that the poor creature was an idiot. Commiseration

then took the place of anger quickly, and all was anxiety and desire

to know whence he had come, who he might be, and what his business

was. He could not speak for himself, and the answers of the boy had

been unsatisfactory and vague. When I entered the room, the doctor

gave me a slight recognition, and proceeded at once to a further

examination of the stripling.

"Where did you pick him up, Sir?" enquired the Doctor.

"Mother sent me out a-begging with him," answered the gypsy boy.

"Who is your mother?"

"Mabel."

"Mabel what?"

"Mabel nothing."

"Where does she live, then?"

"She doesn't live nowhere. She's a tramper."

"Where is she now?"

"How can I tell? We shall pick up somewhere. Let me go, and take

Silly Billy with me. I shall get such a licking if I don't."

"Is his name Billy?"

"No, Silly Billy, all then chaps as is fools are called Silly Billy.

You know that, don't you? Oh, I say, do let's go now, there's good

fellows!"

"Wait a moment, boy--not so fast. How long have you been acquainted

with this unfortunate?"

"What, Silly Billy? Oh, we ain't very old friends! I only see'd him

yesterday. He came up quite unawares to our camp whilst we were

grubbing. He seemed very hungry, so mother gave him summut, and made

him up a bed--and she means to have him. So she sent me out this

morning a-begging with him, and told me she'd break every gallows

bone I'd got, if I did not bring him back safe. I say, now I have

told all, let us go--there's a good gentleman! I'm quite glad he is

going to live with us. It's so lucky to have a Silly Billy."

"How is it, you young rascal, you didn't tell me all this before?

What do you mean by it?

"Why, it isn't no business of your'n. Let us go, will you?"

"Strange," said Doctor Mayhew, turning to his butler--"Strange, that

they should leave that ring upon his finger--valuable as it looks."

"Oh, you try it on, that's all! Catch mother leaving that there, if

she could get it off. She tried hard enough, I can tell you and I

thought he'd just have bitten her hand off. Wasn't he savage neither,

oh cry! She won't try at it again in a hurry. She says it serves her

right, for no luck comes of robbing a Silly Billy."

The servants, who betrayed a few minutes before great anxiety and

apprehension, were perfectly overcome by this humorous sally, and

burst, with on accord, into the loudest laughter. The generally

jocose doctor, however, looked particularly serious, and kept his

eye upon the poor idiot with an expression of deep pity. "Will he

not speak?" he asked, still marking his unhappy countenance bereft of

every sign of sensibility.

"He won't say not nuffin," said the boy, in a tone which he hoped

would settle the business; "You have no right to keep us. Let us go."

"Leave me with these persons," said the Doctor, turning to the

servants. "We will see if the tongue of this wretched be really tied.

Go, all of you."

In an instant the room was left to Doctor Mayhew and myself--the

idiot and his keeper.

"What is your name, my man?" enquired the physician in a soothing

tone. "Do not be frightened. Nobody will hurt you here. We are all

your very good friends. Tell me now, what is your name?"

The questioner took the poor fellow at the same time by the hand, and

pressed it kindly. The latter then looked round the room with a

vacant stare, and sighed profoundly.

"Tell me your name," continued the Doctor, encouraged by the movement.

The lips of the afflicted man unclosed. His brick-red tongue

attempted to moisten them. Fixing his expressionless eyes upon the

doctor, he answered, in a hollow voice, "_Belton_."

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the boy. "Them Silly Billies is the

deceitfulest chaps as is. He made out to mother that he couldn't

speak a word."

"Take care what you are about, boy," said Doctor Mayhew sternly.

"I tell you that I suspect you." Turning to the idiot, he proceeded.

"And where do you come from?"

The lips opened again, and the same hollow voice again answered,

"_Belton_."

"Yes, I understand--that is your name--but whither do you wish to go?"

"_Belton_," said the man.

"Strange!" ejaculated the Doctor. "How old are you?"

"_Belton_," repeated the simple creature, more earnestly than ever.

"I am puzzled," exclaimed Mr. Mayhew, releasing the hand of the idiot,

and standing for a few seconds in suspense. "However," he continued,

"upon one thing I am resolved. The man shall be left here, and in my

care. I will be responsible for his safety until something is done

for him. We shall certainly get intelligence. He has escaped from an

asylum--I have not the slightest doubt of it--and we shall be able,

after a few days, to restore him. As for you, sir," he added,

addressing the young gypsy, "make the best of your way to your mother,

and be thankful that you have come so well off--fly."

The boy began to remonstrate, upon which the doctor began to talk of

the cage and the horsepond. The former then evinced his good sense

by listening to reason, and by selecting, as many a wiser man has

done before him--the smaller of two necessary evils. He departed,

not expressing himself in the most elegant terms that might have

been applied to a leave-taking.

The benevolent physician soon made arrangements for the comfort of

his charge. He was immediately placed in a bath, supplied with food,

and dressed in decent clothing. He submitted at once to his treatment,

and permitted his attendant to do what he would with him, taking,

all the while, especial care to feel the diamond ring safe and

secure under the palm of his own hand. A room was given to him and

Robin, the gardener's son, who was forthwith installed his guardian,

with strict directions not to leave the patient for an instant by

himself. When Dr. Mayhew had seen every thing that could be done

properly executed, he turned cheerfully to me, and bade me follow

him to his library.

"His clothes have been good," muttered the doctor to himself, as he

sat down. "Diamond ring! He is a gentleman, or has been one. Curious

business! Well, we shall have him advertised all round the country

in a day or two. Meanwhile here he is, and will be safe. That

trouble is over. Now, Stukely, what brings you so early? Any thing

wrong at home? Fairman in the dumps again; fidgety and restless, eh?"

I told my errand.

"Ah, I thought so! There's nothing the matter there, sir. She is

well enough now, and will continue so, if her father doesn't

frighten her into sickness, which he may do. I tell you what, I must

get little puss a husband, and take her from him. That will save her.

I have my eye upon a handsome fellow--Hollo, sir, what's the matter

with you! Just look at your face in that glass. It is as red as fire."

"The weather, sir, is"--

"Oh, is it? You mean to say, then, that you are acquainted with the

influences of the weather. That is just the thing, for you can help

me to a few facts for the little treatise on climate which I have

got now in hand. Well, go on, my friend. You were saying that the

weather is--is what?"

"It is very hot, sir," I answered, dreadfully annoyed.

"Well, so it is; that's very true but not original. I have heard the

same remark at least six times this morning. I say, Master Stukely,

you haven't been casting sheep's-eyes in that sweet quarter, have you?

Haven't, perhaps, been giving the young lady instruction as well as

the boys--eh?"

"I do not understand, sir," I struggled to say with coolness.

"Oh, very well!" answered Dr. Mayhew dryly. "That's very unfortunate

too, for," continued he, taking out his watch, "I haven't time to

explain myself just now. I have an appointment four miles away in

half an hour's time. I am late as it is. Williams will get you some

lunch. Tell Fairman I shall see him before night. Make yourself

perfectly at home, and don't hurry. But excuse me; this affair has

made me quite behindhand."

The Doctor took a few papers and a book from the table, and before I

had time to reply, vanished, much to my relief and satisfaction. My

journey homeward was not a happy one. I felt alarm and agitation,

and the beautiful scenery failed to remove or temper them. My

heart's dear secret had been once more discovered. Rumour could not

omit to convey it speedily to the minister himself. In two

directions the flame had now power to advance and spread; and if the

old villager remained faithful, what reason had I to hope that

Dr. Mayhew would not immediately expose me--yes, must not regard it

as his business and duty so to do? Yet one thing was certain. The

secret, such as it had become, might, for all practical purposes, be

known to the whole world, for unquestionably the shallowest observer

was at present able to detect it. The old woman in the village, aged

and ignorant as she was, had been skilful enough to discover it when

I spoke. The doctor had gathered it from my looks even before I

uttered a syllable. What was to hinder the incumbent from reading

the tale on my forehead the moment that I again stood in his presence?

Reaching the parsonage, I proceeded at once to the drawing-room,

where I expected to see the minister. No one was in the room, but a

chair was drawn to the table, and the implements of drawing were

before it. Could I not guess who had been the recent tenant of that

happy chair--who had been busy there? Forgetful of every thing but

her, I stood for a time in silent adoration of the absent one; then

I ventured to approach and gaze upon her handiwork. I shook with joy,

with ravishment, and ecstasy, when I beheld it. What was not made

known to me in that one hasty look! What golden dreams did not engage,

what blissful triumph did not elevate, what passionate delight did

not overflow my aching heart! Oh, it was true--and the blessed

intelligence came to me with a power and a reality that no language

could contain--SHE LOVED ME! she, the beloved, the good, the innocent,

and pure! Before me was the scene--the dearest to me in

life--through which we had so recently walked together, and upon

which she knew I doated, for the sake of her whose presence had

given it light and hallowed it. Why had she brought it on the paper?

Why this particular scene, and that fair hillock, but for the sake

of him who worshipped them--but that the mysterious and communicable

fire had touched her soul, and melted it? I trembled with my

happiness. There was a spot upon the paper--a tear--one sacred drop

from the immaculate fount. Why had it been shed? In joy or pain--for

whom--and wherefore? The paper was still moist--the tear still warm.

Happiest and most unfortunate of my race, I pressed it to my lips,

and kissed it passionately.

Miss Fairman entered at that moment.

She looked pale and ill. This was not a season for consideration.

Before I could speak, I saw her tottering, and about to fall. I

rushed to her and held her in my arms. She strove for recovery, and

set herself at liberty; but she wept aloud as she did so, and

covered her face with her hands. I fell upon my knees, and implored

her to forgive me.

"I have been rash and cruel, Miss Fairman, but extend to me your

pardon, and I will go for ever, and disturb your peace no more. Do

not despise me, or believe that I have deliberately interfered with

your happiness, and destroyed my own for ever. Do not hate me when I

shall see you no more."

"Leave me, Mr. Stukely, I entreat," sobbed Miss Fairman, weeping amain.

Her hand fell. I was inflamed with passion, and I became indifferent

to the claims of duty, which were drowned in the louder clamours of

love. I seized that hand and held it firm. It needed not, for the

lady sought not to withdraw it.

"I am not indifferent to you, dearest Miss Fairman," I exclaimed;

"you do not hate me--you do not despise me--I am sure you do not.

That drawing has revealed to me all that I wish or care to know. I

would rather die this moment possessed of that knowledge, than live

a monarch without it."

"Leave me, leave me, I implore you," faltered Miss Fairman.

"Yes, dearest lady, I must--I shall leave you. I can stay no longer

here. Life is valueless now. I have permitted a raging fire to

consume me. I have indulged, madly and fearfully indulged, in error.

I have struggled against the temptation. Heaven has willed that I

should not escape it. I have learnt that you love me--come what may,

I am content."

"If you regard me, Mr. Stukely, pity me, and go, now. I beg, I

entreat you to leave me."

I raised the quivering hand, and kissed it ardently. I resigned it,

and departed.

My whole youth was a succession of inconsiderate yieldings to passion,

and of hasty visitings of remorse. It is not a matter of surprise

that I hated myself for every word that I had spoken as soon as I

was again master of my conduct. It was my nature to fall into error

against conviction and my cool reason, and to experience speedily the

reaction that succeeds the commission of exorbitant crimes. In

proportion to the facility with which I erred, was the extravagance

and exaggeration with which I viewed my faults. During the

predominance of a passion, death, surrounded by its terrors, would

not have frighted me or driven me back--would not have received my

passing notice; whilst it lasted it prevailed. So, afterwards, when

all was calm and over, a crushing sense of wrong and guilt magnified

the smallest offence, until it grew into a bugbear to scare me night

and day. Leaving Miss Fairman, I rushed into the garden, preparatory

to running away from the parsonage altogether. This, in the height

of remorseful excitement, presented itself to my mind forcibly as

the necessary and only available step to adopt; but this soon came

to be regarded as open to numerous and powerful objections.

It seemed impossible that the incumbent could be kept any longer in

ignorance of the affair; and it was better--oh! how much better--for

comfort and peace of mind that he should not be. In a few hours

Dr. Mayhew would arrive, and his shrewd eye would immediately

penetrate to the very seat of his patient's disquietude. The

discovery would be communicated to her father--and what would he

think of me?--what would become of me? I grew as agitated as though

the doctor were at that moment seated with the minister--and

revealing to his astounded listener the history of my deceit and

black ingratitude. The feeling was not to be borne; and in order to

cast it off, I determined myself to be the messenger of the tale,

and to stand the brunt of his first surprise and indignation. With

the earliest conception of the idea, I ran to put it into execution.

Nor did I stop until I reached the door of his study, when the

difficulty of introducing at once so delicate a business, and the

importance of a little quiet preparation, suggested themselves,

and made me hesitate. It was however, but for a moment for

self-possession. I would argue with myself no longer. The few hours

that intervened before the arrival of the doctor were my own and if

I permitted them to pass away, my opportunity was gone for ever, and

every claim upon the kindness and forgiveness of my patron lost. I

would confess my affection, and offer him the only reparation in my

power--to quit his roof, and carry the passion with me for my

punishment and torment.

Mr. Fairman was alone. The pupils were playing on the lawn upon

which the window of the study opened. There they ran, and leaped, and

shouted, all feeling and enjoyment, without an atom of the leaden

care of life to press upon the light elastic soul; and there stood I,

young enough to be a playmate brother, separated from them and their

hearts' joyousness by the deep broad line which, once traversed, may

never be recovered, ground to the earth by suffering, trial, and

disappointment; darkness and discouragement without; misery and

self-upbraiding robbing me of peace within. My eyes caught but a

glimpse of the laughing boys before they settled on the minister,

and summoned me to my ungracious task--and it was a glimpse of a

bright and beautiful world, with which I had nothing in common, of

which I had known something, it might be ages since--but whose glory

had departed even from the memory.

"Is he here?" enquired the incumbent.

"Doctor Mahew could not accompany me, sir," I answered, "but he will

shortly come."

"Thank you, Stukely, thank you. I have good news for you. I can

afford you time to recruit and be yourself again. The lads return

home on Monday next; you shall have a month's holiday, and you shall

spend it as you will--with us, or elsewhere. If your health will be

improved by travelling, I shall be happy to provide you with the

means. I cannot afford to lose your services. You must not get ill."

"You are very kind, sir," I replied--"kinder than I deserve."

"That is a matter of opinion, Stukely. I do not think so. You have

served me faithfully and well. I consult my own interest in rewarding

you and taking care of yours."

"Yes, sir--but"--

"Well, never mind now. We will not argue on whose side the obligation

lies. It is perhaps well that we should both of us think as we do. It

is likely that we shall both perform our duty more strictly if we

strike the balance against ourselves. Go and refresh yourself. You

look tired and worn. Get a glass of wine, and cheer up. Have you

seen Miss Fairman?"

"It is concerning her, sir," I answered, trembling in every joint,

"that I desire particularly to speak to you."

"Good heaven!" exclaimed the incumbent, starting from his chair,

"what do you mean? What is the matter? What has happened? Why do you

tremble, Stukely, and look so ghastly pale? What has happened since

the morning? What ails her? Go on. Speak. Tell me at once. My poor

child--what of her?"

"Calm yourself, I implore you, sir. Miss Fairman is quite well.

Nothing has happened. Do not distress yourself. I have done very

wrong to speak so indiscreetly. Pardon me, sir. I should have known

better. She is well."

Mr. Fairman paced the room in perturbation, and held his hand upon

his heart to allay its heavy throbs.

"This is very wrong," he said--"very impious. I have thought of

nothing else this day--and this is the consequence. I have dwelt

upon the probability of calamity, until I have persuaded myself of

its actual presence--looked for woe, until I have created it. This

is not the patience and resignation which I teach; for shame, for

shame!--go to thy closet, worm--repent and pray."

Mr. Fairman resumed his seat, and hid his face for a time in his

hands. At length he spoke again.

"Proceed, Stukely. I am calm now. The thoughts and fears in which it

was most sinfull to indulge, and which accumulated in this most

anxious breast, are dissipated. What would you say? I can listen as I

ought."

"I am glad, sir, that the boys revisit their homes on Monday, and

that a month, at least, will elapse before their return to you. In

that interval, you will have an opportunity of providing them with a

teacher worthier your regard and confidence; and, if I leave you at

once, you will not be put to inconvenience."

"I do not understand you."

"I must resign my office, sir," I said with trepidation.

"Resign? Wherefore? What have I said or done?"

"Let me beg your attention, sir, whilst I attempt to explain my

motives, and to do justice to myself and you. I mentioned the name

of Miss Fairman."

"You did. Ha! Go on, sir."

"You cannot blame me, Mr. Fairman, if I tell you that, in common

with every one whose happiness it is to be acquainted with that lady,

I have not been insensible to the qualities which render her so

worthy of your love, so deserving the esteem"--I stopped.

"I am listening, sir--proceed."

"I know not how to tell you, sir, in what language to express the

growth of an attachment which has taken root in this poor heart,

increased and strengthened against every effort which I have made to

crush it."

"Sir!" uttered the incumbent in great amazement.

"Do not be angry, Mr. Fairman, until you have heard all. I confess

that I have been imprudent and rash, that I have foolishly permitted

a passion to take possession of my heart, instead of manfully

resisting its inroads; but if I have been weak, do not believe that

I have been wicked."

"Speak plainly, Stukely. What am I to understand by this?"

"That I have dared, sir, to indulge a fond, a hopeless love,

inspired by the gentlest and most innocent of her sex--that I have

striven, and striven, to forget and flee from it--that I have

failed--that I come to confess the fault, to ask your pardon, and

depart."

"Tell me one thing," asked the incumbent quickly. "Have you

communicated your sentiments to Miss Fairman?"

"I have, sir."

"Is her illness connected with that declaration?--You do not answer.

Stukely, I am deceived in you. I mistrust and doubt you. You have

_murdered_ my poor child."

"Mr. Fairman, do not, I entreat"--

"Heaven have mercy upon me for my wild uncrucified temper. I will

use no harsh terms. I retract that expression, young man. I am sorry

that I used it. Let me know what more you have to say."

The tears came to my eyes, and blinded them. I did not answer.

"Be seated, Stukely," continued the minister, in a kinder tone;

"compose yourself. I am to blame for using such a term. Forgive me

for it--I did not mean all that it conveyed. But you know how

fragile and how delicate a plant is that. You should have thought of

her and me before you gratified a passion as wild as it is idle. Now,

tell me every thing. Conceal and disguise nothing. I will listen to

your calmly, and I will be indulgent. The past is not to be recalled.

Aid me in the future, if you are generous and just."

I related all that had passed between Miss Fairman and myself--all

that had taken place in my own turbulent soul--the battlings of the

will and judgment, the determination to overcome temptation, and the

sudden and violent yielding to it. Faithful to his command, I

concealed nothing, and, at the close of all, I signified my readiness,

my wish, and my intention to depart.

"Forgive me, sir, at parting," said I, "and you shall hear no more of

the disturber of your peace."

"I do not wish that, Stukely. I am indebted to you for the candour

with which you have spoken, and the proper view which you take of

your position. I wish to hear of you, and to serve you--and I will

do it. I agree with you, that you must leave us now--yes, and at once;

and, as you say, without another interview. But I will not turn you

into the world, lad, without some provision for the present, and

good hopes for the future. I owe you much. Yes--very much. When I

consider how differently you might behave, how very seriously you

might interfere with my happiness"--as Mr. Fairman spoke, he opened

the drawer of a table, and drew a checque-book from it--"I feel that

you ought not to be a loser by your honesty. I do not offer you this

as a reward for that honesty--far from it--I would only indemnify

you--and this is my duty."

Mr. Fairman placed a draft for a hundred pounds in my hand.

"Pardon me, sir," said I, replacing it on his table. "I can take no

money. Millions could not _indemnify_ me for all that I resign.

Judge charitably, and think kindly of me, sir--and I am paid. Honour

is priceless."

"Well, but when you get to London?"--

"I am not altogether friendless. My salary is yet untouched, and will

supply my wants until I find employment."

"Which you shall not be long without, believe me, Stukely, if I have

power to get it you--and I think I have. You will tell me where I may

address my letters. I will not desert you. You shall not repent this."

"I do not, sir; and I believe I never shall. I propose to leave the

parsonage to-night, sir."

"No, to-morrow, we must have some talk. You need not see her. I

could not let you go to-night. You shall depart to-morrow, and I rely

upon your good sense and honourable feelings to avoid another meeting.

It could only increase the mischief that has already taken place, and

answer no good purpose. You must be aware of this."

"I am, sir. You shall have no reason to complain."

"I am sure of it, Stukely. You had better see about your preparations.

John will help you in any way you wish. Make use of him. There must

be many little things to do. There can be no impropriety, Stukely,

in your accepting the whole of your year's salary. You are entitled

to that. I am sorry to lose you--very--but there's no help for it. I

will come to your room this evening, and have some further

conversation. Leave me now." The incumbent was evidently much excited.

Love for his child, and apprehension for her safety, were feelings

that were, perhaps, too prominent and apparent in the good and

faithful minister of heaven; they betrayed him at times into a

self-forgetfulness, and a warmth of expression, of which he repented

heartily as soon as they occurred. Originally of a violent and

wayward disposition, it had cost the continual exercise and the

prayers of a life, to acquire evenness of temper and gentleness of

deportment, neither of which, in truth, was easily, if ever disturbed,

if not by the amiable infirmity above alluded to. He was the best of

men; but to the best, immunity from the natural weakness of

mortality is not to be vouchsafed.

Mr. Fairman was the last person whom I saw that night. He remained

with me until I retired to rest. He was the first person whom I saw

on the following morning. I do not believe that he did not rely upon

the word which I had pledged to him. I did not suppose that he

suspected my resolution, but I an convinced that he was most

restless and unhappy, from the moment that I revealed my passion to

him, until that which saw me safely deposited at the foot of the hill,

on my way to the village. So long as I remained in his house, he

could only see danger for his daughter; and with my disappearance he

counted upon her recovery and peace.

The incumbent was himself my companion from the parsonage. The

servant had already carried my trunk to the inn. At the bottom of

the hill, Mr. Fairman stopped and extended his hand.

"Fare-you-well, Stukely," said he, with emotion. "Once more, I am

obliged to you. I will never forget your conduct; you shall hear

from me."

Since the conversation of the preceding day, the incumbent had not

mentioned the name of his daughter. I had not spoken of her. I felt

it impossible to _part_ without a word.

"What did Doctor Mayhew say?" I asked.

"She is a little better, and will be soon quite well, we trust."

"That is good news. Is she composed?"

"Yes--she is better."

"One question more, sir. Does she know of my departure?"

"She does not--but she will, of course."

"Do not speak unkindly of me to her, sir. I should be sorry if she

thought ill"--

"She will respect you, Stukely, for the part which you have acted.

She must do so. You will respect yourself."

I had nothing more to say, I returned his warm pressure, and bade

him farewell.

"God bless you, lad, and prosper you! We may meet again in a happier

season; but if we do not, receive a father's thanks and gratitude.

You have behaved nobly. I feel it--believe me."

Manly and generous tears rushed to the eyes of my venerable friend,

and he could not speak. Once more he grasped my hand fervently, and

in the saddest silence that I have ever known we separated.

There was gloom around my heart, which the bright sun in heaven, that

gladdened all the land, could not penetrate or disperse; but it gave

way before a touch of true affection, which came to me as a last

memorial of the beloved scene on which I lingered.