words, that Lord Robert, stout-hearted as he was, (and there never was a
braver officer,) changed colour; but in a moment recovering his intrepid
spirit and haughty bearing, he flashed back a look of defiance, and
assumed a posture of defence.
"It is unnecessary," said Philip; "I am not going to attack you. You
have in many contests proved the strength of this arm: that it always
was superior to yours, I scarcely need remind you. That your late
injuries have not unnerved it, you may well believe; but, as long as you
observe a temperate line of conduct, and discontinue addressing me by
opprobrious names, you need not fear its force."
"Fear!" repeated Lord Robert indignantly: "I fear God; and have no other
fear! Dost thou imagine that I fear aught like thee?"
"Perhaps not," replied Philip; "but I would advise you not to provoke me
unnecessarily."
So saying, he retired within his hut, leaving Lord Robert speechless
with contending emotions. He was indeed much ruffled by the short but
fierce altercation which had passed between himself and young Harley;
and the more so, when he reflected that Philip's bodily strength was
superior to his own, and that his high rank would be of no avail to him
in this desolate place, as Philip had very unceremoniously told him: and
as his own conscience whispered that he had formerly offered him the
most dreadful provocation, he could scarcely be astonished if Philip,
now that he was the more powerful, should meditate retaliation, and
take, as he threatened, unbounded vengeance for all that he had suffered
on board the Diomede and elsewhere.
He was reluctant to abandon this sheltered and beautiful spot; but he
preferred returning to his dreary cleft in the rock, to residing in the
valley, where Philip had erected his dwelling; considering the heat and
barrenness of the rest of the island as far less evils than the company
of Philip, whose very sight, after the threats he had used, was most
intolerable to him: and Lord Robert felt that he could not bend his
haughty spirit to practise the civility and moderation which Philip had
recommended, lest this behaviour should be construed into fear of his
superior force. On the other hand, he reflected that if he persisted in
his natural imperiousness, so far as to provoke Philip to a personal
contest with him, the languor incidental to the climate had so much
enervated him, that, to maintain a combat with such an adversary as
young Harley had often proved himself to be, with the slightest prospect
of success, was impossible, and would only expose him to insult and
contempt, and perhaps even to more disgraceful treatment, from his
justly incensed enemy. To avoid such consequences, he judged it most
suitable to his dignity to retire; and, whistling to Neptune to follow
him, he slowly and sullenly returned to the beach, leaving Philip in
uninterrupted possession of the Valley of Limes.
Though Philip, still smarting under the remembrance of the many injuries
he had received from Lord Robert, had, on the haughty expressions of
contempt uttered by that young officer, used threats which were most
irritating to his proud spirit, he by no means designed to proceed to
personal hostilities; for Philip was, in spite of all his faults, too
really generous to exert in this instance the advantages his superior
strength gave him; and he was far from intending to drive his companion
in misfortune from the only spot in the island capable of affording him
any of the comforts of life. In short, he expected that when Lord Robert
had vented his displeasure in a solitary walk, he would return to the
valley. When Philip's temper cooled, he began to reflect on the luxuries
Lord Robert had been accustomed to from his cradle; he thought how
severely his high-born adversary must feel the privations to which he
was now exposed; and his heart smote him for having, by his provoking
ridicule, occasioned that ebullition of feeling which had vented itself
in expressions of wrathful contempt, which he, on his part, (not
considering the provocation was of his own giving,) had been so ready to
return; and that their mutual recriminations had induced him to utter
menaces, which had driven his companion in misfortune from an employment
necessary even for the preservation of his existence.
Occupied by these thoughts, Philip often paused in his work, and looked
round to see if Lord Robert had returned to the valley, and listened for
his step with anxiety; but he did not come. Night arrived, and Philip
did not see him reposing under his favourite lime-tree; and he felt out
of humour with himself, for being the cause of keeping him away.
From some uneasy self-reproaches, he did not taste at night the calm
repose which generally follows a day of labour; on the contrary, he felt
that evening some of those painful feelings of remorse which had so
often tortured Lord Robert, but which had never been experienced by
himself before; and he now remembered that, though Lord Robert had
ill-treated him, yet there _was_ a difference in their rank, and that it
was brutal in him to threaten a high-spirited and elegant young man with
personal violence when they were united in the same distress: and that
Lord Robert's contemptuous expressions were caused by his laughter at
that which was a serious misfortune to his high-born foe; namely, his
want of skill in mechanics, and the mischance of breaking his knife, the
loss of which was irreparable, and would perhaps deprive him, on some
occasions, even of the means of procuring food.
Philip would have repaired to the beach, to see what had become of Lord
Robert; but he thought it probable that some new cause of offence might
arise between them. However, in the afternoon, he had occasion to visit
the beach to search for some pieces of wreck. When he reached the shore,
he found there had been a very high tide the preceding night, and many
articles were scattered on the sand; as staves, pieces of rope, and
splinters from the mast. These Philip carefully collected, and placed
above high-water mark, lest they should be washed to sea again. In the
course of this important avocation, he approached the cave where Lord
Robert had again taken up his residence: but he had been too busily
engaged to think of him, till his eye was attracted by the flash of his
epaulet in the evening sun; and he saw him, at a little distance,
bending over some employment, in which he was too much occupied to
perceive the approach of Philip, who was tempted to draw near enough to
ascertain what it was that so deeply engaged his attention; but he did
so somewhat cautiously, lest he should again give offence. He soon was
near enough to discover that Lord Robert's employment was that of
digging a grave in the sand, with a butt-stave, and near him lay the
bodies of five seamen, which the high tide had washed on shore, close
to the entrance of Lord Robert's cave. Philip felt a bitter pang as he
gazed on the lifeless remains of his unfortunate messmates; and seizing
another stave, he placed himself opposite to Lord Robert, and began to
assist in the sad duty; but neither spoke.
One of the bodies was that of a midshipman, whom Lord Robert had loved;
and as he now proceeded to place his remains in the narrow bed he had
scooped for him with so much toil, his tears fell fast on the face of
the deceased. When he attempted to raise him from the shingle, to lay
him decently in the grave, the effort was too much for him. Philip
immediately sprang forwards and assisted him, otherwise the corpse would
have fallen from his grasp. He did not reject the aid of his foe; but he
did not even glance at him in return. In silence they began their
melancholy task; in silence they proceeded in it; and the moon had risen
high and shone with splendour by the time they had dug the last grave,
when unfortunately, as they placed the seaman in the "house appointed
for all living," Philip recognised his features: it was the boatswain of
the Diomede! A crowd of agonizing feelings passed through Philip's
breast, as he recollected that from this man's hand he had received such
disgraceful punishment. He first turned pale, and then scarlet; and it
recurred to his mind, that this person had only been the passive
instrument obeying the orders of others.
"It was thy malice, tyrant! that added this worst wrong to all the
rest," thought he. True, he did not utter these words: but he regarded
Lord Robert with a look, in which hatred and rage were but too visibly
painted to escape his Lordship's observation, though he was ignorant of
the cause of it; but he thought it shocking of Philip to take the
opportunity of insulting him at such an awful time, particularly when he
had condescended to _permit_ his assistance; and he returned Philip's
indignant look in so disdainful a manner, that, scarcely conscious that
he was the first himself to renew hostilities, Philip took fire, and
provokingly reminded his Lordship "that his haughty looks were useless,
when directed to him; and he advised him to reserve them for those who
cared for them, if he could find any such in the island."
"To the full as many as will endure your low-bred insolence," returned
Lord Robert with equal scorn. "However, Mr. Harley, if I might
condescend to speak to you in the language of entreaty, it would be to
request the favour of your absence. You have taken possession of the
only habitable spot in the island, and _I_ have not attempted to deprive
you of it; and I think the least you can do, in return for my
moderation, is to leave me undisturbed on my barren domain."
"If all my security were the _moderation_ of Lord Robert Summers,"
replied Philip with a contemptuous laugh, "I should be as soon driven
from my dwelling here as I was forced from the home of my parents: but
here I can, by the strength of my own right hand, maintain my rights;
and whoever attempts to invade them, may chance to repent of his folly."
As Philip uttered this threat, he finished casting the last heap of sand
on the boatswain's grave; on which, apparently exhausted with fatigue,
Lord Robert had seated himself. The sight of these bodies had recalled
the fate of his uncle, and he had been lately weeping bitterly; and when
young Harley observed his tearful eyes, and the evident languor and
despondency visible in his whole appearance, his conscience again smote
him; he remembered what he had so lately suffered from self-reproach;
and he reflected, that if he so much abused the mere bodily superiority
his strength gave him, it was by no means wonderful that when Lord
Robert possessed so much power, he should exert it when offended.
He paused, and looked earnestly at Lord Robert. The moon shone brightly
on his face; the flush of resentment had faded from it; and he looked so
ill, and there was such an expression of hopeless dejection in his eyes,
that Philip was greatly touched; and he even thought of apologizing to
him for what he had lately said, and of entreating him to return with
him to the Valley of Limes. While he yet hesitated, Lord Robert looked
up, and waved his hand impatiently for him to be gone: and Philip,
finding that the conquest of his own pride was too great an effort to be
made at that time, retired to his home, self-condemned and unhappy.
Lord Robert continued sitting on the grave, in a listless attitude,
leaning his head on his hand, almost unconscious that he was alone. The
faintness and languor which had been for some time stealing on him,
seemed so wholly overpowering, as even to take away the inclination of
retorting Philip's last innuendo; but now, though the words still rang
upon his ear, and he fully understood their meaning to comprise
reproach, insult, and threat, either of which was sufficient to put his
proud spirit in a flame, yet he was conscious of a growing confusion in
his own mind, which seemed to prevent his forming a suitable reply; and,
for the first time in his life, he found himself unwilling to continue
the war of words. He felt an impatient desire of quiet; and, forgetful
that Philip would most likely pay no attention to his mandate, he
motioned for him to retire, with no little of his habitual air of
superiority. Philip, however, _did_ obey in this instance. Lord Robert,
after some minutes, raised his aching head from his hand, and, looking
round to see if he were gone, uttered an expression of satisfaction at
finding himself alone.
Lord Robert's naturally fine constitution had been greatly impaired
since his residence in the island, by the pain of mind he had suffered
from the loss of his uncle and friends, the remorse he felt for his
numerous errors, joined to his discontent and impatience at being
placed in a situation so uncongenial to all his former habits. Besides,
he suffered from the hardships which he was forced to endure: sleeping
on the flinty rock, or passing the night on the turf under the
lime-tree--a most unhealthy practice--for the dews were very heavy, and,
in common to all hot countries, very noxious to those who were exposed
to their influence.
He had lost his hat when the boat was overset; and, trivial as this loss
may appear to the natives of a temperate climate, it was attended with
very painful consequences to Lord Robert, on whose head the rays of the
sun fell with unmitigated violence, and occasioned him the most acute
headache whenever he was exposed to the noon-day heat. After his retreat
from the Valley of Limes, he had for many hours paced the beach in a
tumult of rage, with the perpendicular rays of a tropical sun darting on
his uncovered head. The night he had passed without sleep; and, early in
the morning, he found the remains of the unfortunate seamen. He was ill
and feverish; and it was only by a strong effort that he so far overcame
his painful languor as to attempt the necessary but mournful task of
giving them burial.
Notwithstanding the heat of the day, and the toilsome task he was
engaged in, he experienced repeated fits of shivering; the burning rays
of the sun pouring on his head, though they occasioned the most acute
pain, failed to impart warmth to his frame. This was accompanied with so
strong a disinclination to move, that he several times paused in the
course of digging the first grave; and, yielding to the sickly lassitude
which oppressed him, he retired to his cave; but that commanding a full
view of the poor seamen, the dreadful sight roused him from his
inactivity, and again he proceeded in his mournful work. He had scarcely
completed digging one grave with great toil and pain, and was wondering
how it would be possible for him, ill as he was, to go through the whole
business of interment, when Philip appeared and afforded his powerful
aid. This was too valuable to be rejected; and he felt grateful for the
silent manner in which he tendered his assistance and worked by his
side; and he was about to thank him for his services, when, on raising
his head for that purpose, he caught the offensive look which has
already been mentioned. Lord Robert, lost in his own sad thoughts, did
not perceive the _reason_ of this. Had he, indeed, recognised the
features of the boatswain in the person they were burying, perhaps the
same idea might have occurred to him. But, after having interred his
friend, he had sedulously averted his eyes from the faces of the dead.
Ignorant, therefore, of Philip's motives for renewed indignation, he
returned his hostile glance, and the second contention ensued.
The rest of the night Lord Robert passed in a sort of stupor, seated on
the boatswain's grave; from which he felt unable to rise through extreme
exhaustion. The first rays of the sun drove him for shelter to the cave.
His thirst was excessive; and he had no means of allaying it, unless he
proceeded either to the Valley of Limes or the spring of water. The
remembrance of Philip induced him to prefer the latter; and thither,
with some difficulty, he crept rather than walked. Having drank
profusely, he filled a large shell for a supply in the cave; for he
thought it probable he should never be able to perform another journey
to the stream; and slowly and faintly returned to his comfortless
dwelling in the rock. The chills of the preceding day had terminated in
the burning heat of raging fever; and as he retraced his melancholy
steps through the sand, which reflected the intolerable rays of the sun
to his eyes, and surveyed the barren rocks and frightful basalts of
which the island was composed, he with a bitter sigh recalled the
verdure of his father's park, and the shades of his native groves which
bounded that beautiful domain.
"But these," said Lord Robert, "I shall never see again: I shall perish
on this arid, frightful spot, without a living creature near who cares
for me, except my poor Neptune!--And you, my tender mother, who are so
benevolently solicitous to provide comforts for the sick poor, what
would be your feelings, could you see your unhappy son stretched on this
burning flint!" continued he, as entering the rocky chamber, he sank
exhausted on the floor. He thought his death was near; yet he felt far
from being in a proper frame of mind to die. Like too many of the young
and thoughtless, if he were not profane, he was careless in matters of
religion; in this awful moment, a thousand instances of neglect and
offence against his Creator occurred to his mind; and he felt that he
would have given worlds, had he possessed them, for a few hours of the
time he had so often abused.
He recollected, too, with bitter regret, his pride, imperiousness, and
implacability of disposition; of this, his conduct to young Harley was a
frightful instance; he vainly wished he could have recalled the _past_,
but that was not in his power; and he felt it very doubtful, if for him
a _future_ in this world would be granted. The present was all he could
call his own; and it behoved him to make the best use he could of the
precious moments that were yet allowed him to make his peace with God.
But, alas! the confusion incidental to fever had already attacked his
brain; and, though he felt the necessity of penitence and prayer, it was
no longer in his power to collect his wandering thoughts, so as to raise
a single petition to the Throne of Mercy. He was sensible that he was on
the brink of eternity; yet the minutes passed rapidly away, leaving his
mind in a state between reason and delirium, yet conscious of his
danger, and the importance of that time which was ebbing from him for
ever.
His bodily sufferings, too, were dreadful. Burning with fever, he had no
means of quenching his thirst--he had long since drained the last drop
from the shell, and could not replenish it; for the next morning saw him
raving in delirium, or sunk in long and death-like fits of stupor, from
which his faithful Neptune strove in vain to arouse him by his caresses.
Philip, in the mean time, had returned to his comfortable hut in the
Valley of Limes, and laid himself down to rest; but the image of Lord
Robert, pale and languid as he had seen him seated on the boatswain's
grave after their last altercation, pursued him when awake, and haunted
his slumbers when he closed his eyes in sleep. In the morning, Philip
sedulously pursued his useful employments, to divert these painful
thoughts. He had discovered on the other side of the island some grass,
the only natural production of the place, growing in long, dry, silky
tufts out of the clefts of the rocks. He had cut several bundles of this
grass, and braided it into a soft, thick mat; this mat he had fixed on a
frame-work which he had made, and formed it into a most comfortable
couch, rolling one end of the mat over for a pillow. He was so
completely occupied and pleased with this employment, that he did not
think of Lord Robert, till, on stretching his limbs upon this excellent
bed, he remembered how differently his unfortunate enemy would sleep
that night. He recollected that he had seen nothing of him in the Valley
of Limes that day; and when he recalled the reproaches and threats he
had used the day before, and reflected on Lord Robert's high spirit, he
thought it probable that he would endure every suffering, rather than
improve his condition by procuring anything from that spot. Of Neptune,
Philip had seen nothing since the preceding day, when he had once
visited the valley, and begged for a share of his dinner; for Lord
Robert had peevishly chidden the dog for his importunities; indeed, he
had nothing to give him, being too ill to go in search of food. Philip,
who was very fond of Neptune, and had been accustomed to caress him when
Lord Robert was out of sight, had fed him, and expected to see him
again, but he did not come; and Philip thought it likely that Lord
Robert was very ill; and he again bitterly regretted having used such
expressions as had driven him from the valley.
The next day, Philip again visited the beach, where he had never been
before in the meridian heat of the day, and when he experienced the
blinding effects of the sunbeams, which soon occasioned him to feel,
though in a lesser degree, one of those headaches that had continually
tortured his more delicate rival, he wondered where Lord Robert could
find shelter from the intense heat. Actuated by more humane motives than
mere curiosity, he continued to pace the beach, determining not to
return till he had seen Lord Robert. For some time he pursued his
solitary walk, without discovering the object of his research. The sight
of the seamen's graves redoubled his pain of mind. When he remembered
the hopeless dejection visible in Lord Robert's face, so different from
his usual animated expression of countenance, and combined it with the
illness so apparent in his whole person, the thought crossed his mind,
that he might have expired without a human creature near him. Philip
shuddered as this dreadful idea presented itself. He was busy with
self-accusing thoughts, when he paused before Lord Robert's cave,
wishing, yet unwilling, to enter, when Neptune sprang from the interior
part of it, and bounding round him, looked up wistfully in his face,
and returned, as if to invite him to follow. This Philip could not
prevail on himself to do. After waiting a few minutes, Neptune came
again; and, laying hold of his jacket with his teeth, endeavoured to
draw him into the cave--looking at him in such an imploring manner, that
Philip could no longer resist his entreaties, not withstanding the
reluctance he felt at intruding himself into Lord Robert's presence.
On entering the cave he beheld the unfortunate young nobleman stretched
on the flinty floor in a stupor, so nearly resembling death, that Philip
started back in horror; and so much had the violence of the disorder
changed the appearance of his once beautiful countenance, that his
dearest friends would scarcely have recognised his convulsed and livid
features. On a second glance, Philip discovered that he still breathed,
but was unconscious of his approach. His heavy eyes, half closed and
fixed, had lost their expression of spirit and intelligence; his lips
appeared parched and burning; and his light brown ringlets hung in
disordered profusion, tangled and neglected, over his forehead.
At this heart-rending sight, Philip, forgetful of the enmity that had
subsisted between him and the unhappy sufferer, turned away, and wept
bitterly. It was with feelings of the most bitter compunction he
recalled the altercation that had passed over the boatswain's
grave--particularly when he experienced the stifling closeness of the
cave, where he felt a difficulty in respiring; and reflected, that his
menaces had had the effect of driving Lord Robert from the only
temperate spot on the island.
Philip could form some idea of his Lordship's sufferings, from the
recollection of an autumnal fever which had attacked him in his
childhood, and nearly brought him to the brink of the grave; he
remembered how much he had suffered from thirst, and the relief he had
felt from some ices which the Marchioness, Lord Robert's mother, had
brought him in her carriage. That noble lady had supplied him with the
most delicate fruits from the hothouse; and his mother believed that
these ices and fruits, which he took with so much avidity, had saved his
life.