STEPPING WESTWARD.
On Darien's sands and deadly dew.
Rokeby.
Enterprise and speed both alike directed Fitzjocelyn's course across
the Isthmus of Panama, which in 1853 had newly become practicable for
adventurous travellers. A canal conducted him as far as Cruces, after
which he had to push on through wild forest and swamp, under the escort
of the muleteers who took charge of the various travellers who had
arrived by the same packet.
It was a very novel and amusing journey, even in the very discomforts
and the strange characters with whom he was thrown, and more
discontented travellers used to declare that Don Luis, as he told the
muleteers to call him, always seemed to have the best success with the
surly hotel-keepers, though when he resigned his acquisitions to any
resolute grumbler, it used to be discovered that he had been putting up
with the worst share.
A place called Guallaval seemed to be the most squalid and forlorn of
all the stations--outside, an atmosphere of mosquitoes; inside, an
atmosphere of brandy and smoke, the master an ague-stricken Yankee, who
sat with his bare feet high against the wall, and only deigned to jerk
with his head to show in what quarter was the drink and food, and to
'guess that strangers must sleep on the ground, for first-comers had
all the beds'--hammocks slung up in a barn, or unwholesome cupboards in
the wall.
At the dirty board sat several of the party first arrived, washing down
tough, stringy beef with brandy. Louis was about to take his place
near a very black-bearded young man, who appeared more civilized than
the rest, and who surprised him by at once making room for him, leaving
the table with an air of courtesy; and when, in his halting Spanish, he
begged 'his Grace' not to disturb himself, he was answered, in the same
tongue, 'I have finished.'
After the meal, such as it was, he wandered out of the hut, to escape
the fumes and the company within; but he was presently accosted by the
same stranger, who, touching his slouched Panama hat, made him a speech
in Spanish, too long and fluent for his comprehension, at the same time
offering him a cigar. He was civilly refusing, when, to his surprise,
the man interrupted him in good English. 'These swamps breed fever, to
a certainty. A cigar is the only protection; and even then there is
nothing more dangerous than to be out at sunset.'
'Thank you, I am much obliged,' said Louis, turning towards the hut.
'Have you been long out here?'
'The first time on the Isthmus; but I know these sort of places. Pray
go in, my Lord.'
The title and the accent startled Louis, and he exclaimed, 'You must be
from the Northwold country?'
He drew back, and said bluntly, 'Never mind me, only keep out of this
pestiferous air.'
But the abrupt surliness completed the recognition, and, seizing his
hand, Louis cried, 'Tom! how are you?' You have turned into a thorough
Spaniard, and taken me in entirely.'
'Only come in, my Lord; I would never have spoken to you, but that I
could not see you catching your death.'
'I am coming: but what's the matter? Why avoid me, when you are the
very man I most wished to see?'
'I'm done for,' said Tom. 'The fellows up there have saddled their
rogueries on me, and I'm off to the States. I--'
'What do you say? There, I am coming in. Be satisfied, Tom; I am come
out with a commission from Mr. Dynevor, to see what can be arranged.'
'That's right,' cried Tom, 'now poor Miss Ponsonby will have one
friend.'
'Your letter to Charlotte brought me out--' began Louis; but Madison
broke in with an expression of dismay and self-reproach at seeing him
walking somewhat lame.
'It is only when I am tired, and not thinking of it,' said Louis; 'do
you know that old ash stick, Tom, my constant friend? See, here are
the names of all the places I have seen cut out on it.'
'I knew it, and you, the moment you sat down by the table,' said Tom,
in a tone of the utmost feeling, as Louis took his arm. 'You are not
one to forget.'
'And yet you were going to pass me without making yourself known.'
'A disgraced man has no business to be known,' said Tom, low and
hoarsely. 'No, I wish none of them ever to hear my name again; and but
for the slip of the tongue that came so naturally, you should not, but
I was drawn to you, and could not help it. I am glad I have seen you
once more, my Lord--'
He would have left him at the entrance, but Louis held him fast.
'You are the very man I depend on for unravelling the business. A man
cannot be disgraced by any one but himself, and that is not the case
with you, Tom.'
'No, thank Heaven,' said Tom, fervently; 'I've kept my honesty, if I
have lost all the rest.'
Little more was needed to bring Madison to a seat on a wooden bench
beside Fitzjocelyn, answering his anxious inquiries. The first tidings
were a shock--Mr. Ponsonby was dead. He had long been declining, and
the last thing Tom had heard from Lima was, that he was dead; but of
the daughter there was no intelligence; Tom had been too much occupied
with his own affairs to know anything of her. Robson had returned from
Guayaquil some weeks previously, and in the settlement of accounts
consequent on Mr. Ponsonby's death, Tom had demurred giving up all the
valuable property at the mines under his charge, until he should have
direct orders from Mr. Dynevor or Miss Ponsonby. A hot dispute ensued,
and Robson became aware that Tom was informed of his nefarious
practices, and had threatened him violently; but a few hours after he
had returned, affecting to have learnt from the new clerk, Ford, that
Madison's peculations required to be winked at with equal forbearance,
and giving him the alternative of sharing the spoil, or of being
denounced to the authorities. He took a night to consider; and, as
Louis started at hearing of any deliberation, he said, sadly, 'You
would not believe me, my Lord, but I had almost a mind. They would
take away my character, any way; and what advantage was my honesty
without that? And as to hurting my employers, they would only take what
I did not; and such as that is thought nothing of by very many. I'd
got no faith in man nor woman left, and I'd got nothing but suspicion
by my honesty; so why should I not give in to the way of the world, and
try if it would serve me. But then, my Lord, it struck me that if I
had nothing else, I had still my God left.'
Louis grasped his hand.
'Yes, I'm thankful that Miss Ponsonby asked me to read to the Cornish
miners,' said Madison. 'One gets soon heathenish in a heathenish
place; and but for that I don't believe I should ever have stood it
out. But Joseph's words, 'How can I do this great wickedness, and sin
against God,' kept ringing in my ears like a peal of bells, all night,
and by morning I sent in a note to Mr. Robson, to say No to what he
proposed.'
Every other principle would have cracked in such a conflict, and Louis
looked up at Tom with intense admiration, while the young man spoke on,
not conscious that it had been noble, but ashamed of owning himself to
have been brought to a pass where mere integrity had been an effort.
He had gone back at once to his mines, in some hopes that the threats
might yet prove nothing but blustering; but he had scarcely arrived
there when an Indian muleteer, to whom he had shown some kindness,
brought him intelligence that la justida was in quest of him, but in
difficulties how to get up the mountains. The poor Indians guided his
escape, conducting him down wonderful paths only known to themselves,
hiding him in strange sequestered huts, and finally guiding him safely
to Callao, where he had secretly embarked on board an American vessel
bound for Panama. Louis asked why he had fled, instead of taking his
trial, and confuting Robson; but he smiled, and said, my Lord knew
little of foreign justice; besides, Ford was ready to bear any witness
that Robson might put into his mouth;--and his face grew dark. Who was
this Ford? He could not tell; Mr. Robson had picked him up a few
months back, when there was a want of a clerk; like loved like, he
supposed, but it was no concern of his. Would it be safe for him to
venture back to Peru, under Fitzjocelyn's protection, and assist him in
unmasking the treacherous Robson! To this he readily agreed, catching
at the hope of establishing his innocence; but declaring that he should
then go at once to the States.--'What, not even go home to see
Charlotte? I've got a letter for you, when I can get at it.'
Tom made no answer, and Fitzjocelyn feared that, in spite of all his
good qualities, his fidelity in love had not equalled his fidelity to
his employers. He could not understand his protege during the few days
of their journey. He was a great acquisition to his comfort, with his
knowledge of the language and people, and his affectionate deference.
At home, where all were courtly, he had been almost rude; but here, in
the land of ill manners, his attentions were so assiduous that Louis
was obliged to beg him to moderate them lest they should both be
ridiculous. He had become a fine-looking young man, with a foreign air
and dress agreeing well with his dark complexion; and he had acquired
much practical ability and information. Mountains, authority, and a
good selection of books had been excellent educators; he was a very
superior and intelligent person, and, without much polish, had laid
aside his peasant rusticities, and developed some of the best qualities
of a gentleman. But though open and warm-hearted on many points with
his early friend, there was a gloom and moodiness about him, which
Louis could only explain by thinking that his unmerited disgrace preyed
on him more than was quite manly. To this cause, likewise, Louis at
first attributed his never choosing to hear a word about Charlotte; but
as the distaste--nay almost sullenness, evoked by any allusion to her,
became more apparent, Louis began unwillingly to balance his suspicions
between some fresh attachment, or unworthy shame at an engagement to a
maidservant.
The poor little damsel's sweet blushing face and shy courtesy, and all
her long and steady faithfulness, made him feel indignant at such a
suspicion, and he resolved to bring Madison to some explanation; but he
did not find the opportunity till after they had embarked at the
beautiful little islet of Toboga for Callao. On board, he had time to
find in his portmanteau the letter with which she had entrusted him,
and, seeking Madison on deck, gave it to him. He held it in his hand
without opening it; but the sparkle in his dark eye did not betoken the
bashfulness of fondness, and Louis, taking a turn along the deck to
watch him unperceived, saw him raise his hand as if to throw the poor
letter overboard at once. A few long steps, and Louis was beside him,
exclaiming, 'What now, Tom--is that the way you treat your letters?'
'The little hypocrite! I don't want no more of her false words,'
muttered Tom, returning, in his emotion, to his peasant's emphatic
double negative.
'Hypocrite! Do you know how nobly and generously she has been helping
Mr. and Mrs. Frost through their straits? how faithfully--'
'I know better,' said Tom, hoarsely; 'don't excuse her, my Lord; you
know little of what passes in your own kitchens.'
'Too true, I fear, in many cases,' said Louis; 'but I have seen this
poor child in circumstances that make me feel sure that she is an
admirable creature. What misunderstanding can have arisen?'
'No misunderstanding, my Lord. I saw, as plain as I see you, her name
and her writing in the book that she gave to Ford--her copying out of
his love-poems, my Lord, in the blank pages,--if I had wanted any proof
of what he alleged.'
And he had nearly thrown the letter into the Pacific; but Louis caught
his arm.
'Did you ever read Cymbeline, Tom?'
'Yes, to be sure I have,' growled Tom, in surprise.
'Then remember Iachimo, and spare that letter. What did he tell you?'
With some difficulty Fitzjocelyn drew from Madison that he had for some
time been surprised at Ford's knowledge of Northwold and the
neighbourhood; but had indulged in no suspicions till about the epoch
of Robson's return from Guayaquil. Chancing to be waiting in his
fellow-clerk's room, he had looked at his books, and, always attracted
by poetry as the rough fellow was, had lighted on a crimson
watered-silk volume, in the first page of which he had, to his horror,
found the name of Charlotte Arnold borne aloft by the two doves, and in
the blank leaves several extremely flowery poems in her own handwriting.
With ill-suppressed rage he had demanded an explanation, and had been
met with provokingly indifferent inuendoes. The book was the gift of a
young lady with whom Ford had the pleasure to be acquainted; the little
effusions were trifles of his own, inscribed by her own fair hands.
Oh, yes! he knew Miss Arnold very well--very pretty, very complaisant!
Ah! he was afraid there were some broken hearts at home! Poor little
thing! he should never forget how she took leave of him, after forcing
upon him her little savings! He was sorry for her, too; but a man
cannot have compassion on all the pretty girls he sees.
'And you could be deceived by such shallow coxcombry as this!' said
Louis.
'I tell you there was the book,' returned Tom.
'Well, Tom, if Mr. Ford prove to be the Ford I take him to be, I'll
undertake that you shall see through him, and be heartily ashamed of
yourself. Give me back the letter,--you do not deserve to have it.'
'I don't want it,' said Tom, moodily; 'she has not been as true to me
as I've been to her, and if she isn't what I took her for, I do not
care to hear of her again. I used to look at the mountain-tops, and
think she was as pure as they; and that she should have been making
herself the talk of a fellow like that, and writing so sweet to me all
the time!--No, my Lord, there's no excusing it; and 'twas her being
gone after the rest that made it so bitter hard to me! If she had been
true, I would have gone through fire and water to be an honest man
worthy of her; but when I found how she had deceived me, it went hard
with me to cut myself off from the wild mountain life that I'd got to
love, and my poor niggers, that will hardly have so kind a master set
over them.'
'You have stood the fiery ordeal well,' said Louis; 'and I verily
believe that you will soon find that it was only an ordeal.'
The care of Tom was a wholesome distraction to the suspense that became
almost agony as Louis approached Peru, and beheld the gigantic summits
of the more northern Andes, which sunset revealed shining out white and
fitfully, like the Pilgrim's vision of the Celestial City, although,
owing to their extreme distance, even on a bright noonday, nothing was
visible but clear deep-blue sky. They seemed to make him realize that
the decisive moment was near, when he should tread the same soil with
Mary, and yet, as he stood silently watching those glorious heights,
human hopes and cares seemed to shrink into nothing before the eternity
and Infinite Greatness of which the depth and the height spoke. Yet He
remembereth the hairs of our heads, Who weigheth the mountains in the
balance, and counteth the isles as a very little thing. Louis took
comfort, but nerved himself for resignation; his prayer was more, that
he might bear rightly whatever might be in store, than that he should
succeed. He could hardly have made the latter petition with that
submissiveness and reserve befitting all entreaty for blessings of this
passing world.