Janeiro.--"We had six Portuguese caulkers to assist our carpenters, who
were paid at the rate of 6s. per diem; though it is certain an English
caulker could do as much in one day as they did in three; but, though
slow and inactive, they perform their work very effectually."
BYRON'S _Voyage_.]
It was not till late that day that Lord Robert summoned courage enough
to disclose to his uncle the whole particulars of his conduct towards
young Harley. It was not without reason that he dreaded the manner in
which Sir Henry would receive this explanation; for he was a man of the
purest honour himself, and was likely to consider with some severity the
misrepresentation his nephew had made to his father, which occasioned
Philip's being removed from his home.
Lord Robert, when a child, had been treated with ruinous indulgence by
his fond parents, by whom his most extravagant whims were considered as
a law to which the whole establishment must submit. Sir Henry Stanley
was the only person who had ever attempted the arduous but necessary
task of controlling Lord Robert; although, with the self-delusion not
uncommon in such cases, his noble parents did not scruple to attribute
their son's violent temper and petulant conduct when on shore, to his
uncle's indulgence. But if there was a man in the world whom Lord Robert
feared, it was Sir Henry; yet, at the same time, he was so unerringly
just and judicious, that his nephew loved him with the most ardent
affection, and was used to consider the displeasure of his uncle as the
most serious misfortune that could befal him: and such was the good
effect this salutary awe had on him, when on board ship, that Sir Henry
was not a little proud of his officer-like conduct, never having had
occasion to frown on him for any breach of duty or immorality. Lord
Robert knew the high place he held in his uncle's opinion, and the idea
of forfeiting his esteem was dreadful. True, he was not actually under
the necessity of making a confession so mortifying. Sir Henry need never
know the misrepresentation he had made to his father:--a single word to
that fond parent would not only prevail on him to bury the whole in
oblivion, but induce him to devise excuses to cover his faults and
reconcile him to himself. From Harley, he knew, he need feel no fear of
its being divulged;--that generous friend would, he was assured, take
the whole blame of what had passed on himself to screen him from
reproach.
Lord Robert was at first strangely tempted to take these measures, and
conceal the worst part of his conduct from his revered commander; but
his better principles obtained the victory in the struggle, and,
in a private conference with his uncle, he revealed every
circumstance,--beginning with his shooting Philip's dog, and relating
all that had happened between them till their reconciliation and
friendship on the Isle of Probation. And so severely did he blame
himself that Sir Henry, moved by his candour, would not increase his
mental sufferings by any reprimands.
Lord Robert was in earnest conference with his uncle that evening and
the next morning; during which time Philip had resumed his duties on
board: but he was restless and unhappy; for he felt his separation from
Lord Robert had now commenced, and he conceived he should never more
enjoy the pleasure of his society. In this frame of mind, he looked back
with the most painful regret to their residence on the island, and the
delightful hours he had spent with his noble friend in the acquirement
of knowledge. In the midst of these repinings, he received a summons to
Lord Robert's cabin. He did not find any one there; but was told by his
conductor to wait till his Lordship returned from dining with his uncle.
At last, Philip heard a quick and well-known step at the door; and Lord
Robert rushed in with more than his usual impetuosity, and, seizing
Philip by the hand, he exclaimed:
"Joy, my dear Harley! My noble uncle has forgiven me! For I have
confessed everything that has passed between us; and so highly does he
approve of your generous conduct towards me, that he has granted my
earnest request of placing you on the quarter-deck of the Diomede, where
you are now privileged to appear with the other midshipmen."--So saying,
he beckoned to his servant who followed him, carrying a full-dress
midshipman's uniform. He superintended himself the pleasing task of
arraying his friend in this dress; and buckled on the dirk with his own
hands, which was the same he had himself worn when a midshipman. When
all was complete, he surveyed Philip from head to foot with great
satisfaction; and assured him that the dress became him as well as if he
had been born a gentleman; and, with much animation, expressed his
conviction that he would, after serving his due time as a naval cadet,
arrive at the dignity of an epaulet, and fill in progression the highest
situations in the navy, to which, he was convinced, he would prove an
honour.
The change was so sudden, that it almost took from Philip the power of
expressing his joy. Lord Robert could not help smiling to find that he
had, for once, overcome that firmness for which Philip generally was
distinguished. His agitation was painful in the extreme; but when he did
at length speak, it was with a vehemence of gratitude, which showed Lord
Robert the dominion he now possessed over the once stubborn and haughty
mind of Philip Harley. "It is not," said he, wringing Lord Robert's hand
as he spoke, "because I am proud and ambitious, and you have raised me
from my lowly rank, and given me an opportunity of distinguishing
myself--this is, indeed, much,--but it is not that which makes my heart
overflow with joy: it is the consciousness that I shall now sometimes be
suffered to be near you, and that my humble situation will not deprive
me of your friendship."
"Now, my dear friend," said Lord Robert, "I must leave you, though
against my wishes: as the barge is waiting to convey my uncle on shore,
to spend two days with the Governor, and it is his pleasure that I shall
attend him. You will, in the mean time, find sufficient amusement, I
doubt not, among your brother officers." As he said this, he gaily
withdrew. Harley pursued his retreating figure with his eyes, as he
followed Sir Henry Stanley and Lieutenant Cary into the splendid
state-barge, which the Portuguese Governor had sent to convey them on
shore. As the sun shone brightly on the gilded vessel, and her silken
streamers fluttered in the breeze, it recalled to his mind the
remembrance of the Ariel; and he recollected with shame his lawless
exploit of sailing in that fairy frigate, in defiance of her owner, and
in his very sight.
"Well might Lord Robert have been enraged at my repeated trespasses!"
thought he: and, as he looked down on his new uniform, and considered
how engagingly and delicately his noble friend had behaved in presenting
it to him, he wondered how he could ever have appeared so overbearing
and arrogant. Yet Philip was deceived when, in the warmth of his
affection, he thought it must have been his own prejudices that made
Lord Robert appear to him at one time so cruel and tyrannical. It was
from the trials experienced in adversity, that he had learned to correct
his faults and follies: yet it is but justice to Lord Robert to say,
that he never would have committed such outrages, had not Philip studied
modes of insult and provocation sufficient to have irritated a much
calmer spirit, and which finally drew upon Philip severe punishment, and
on Lord Robert proportionable remorse and suffering.
When Philip presented himself on the quarter-deck, he had the
mortification to perceive a general coldness and disapprobation among
the officers, very painful to one of his quick feelings and high spirit;
and he attributed this contempt to his low birth. Perhaps many of them
were not without prejudice on that subject; but, in addition to this,
his former mutinous conduct had not failed to make a very ill impression
on the minds of these gentlemen; and this conduct they now appeared to
remember, so far as to render the time of Lord Robert's absence very
uncomfortable, and to deprive Philip of most of the pleasure his new
rank had given him. When Lord Robert returned, he found his friend, whom
he expected to have seen full of joy and spirits, walking by himself in
a very melancholy mood. To his anxious inquiries respecting the reason
of his dejection, he replied, by relating the various slights which he
had experienced since his departure.
"I went on deck with a heart full of goodwill to every one," added he;
"and expecting to find every one there noble, generous, and refined,
like yourself. But see how they have treated me!"
"For which, my young friend, you have no one to blame but yourself,"
observed Lieutenant Cary, who had returned with Lord Robert, and
listened to Philip with some interest. Philip looked at him with
surprise, but he continued:
"You perhaps forget, but they doubtless remember, that at the time you
thought proper to act the part of a mutineer, among the other
accomplishments of that character, you had a most provoking tongue; and
there is not one of these gentlemen but has had a specimen of your
sarcastic repartees, addressed to them, while in the lawful exercise of
the authority with which their country has intrusted them. And they now
think fit to show how much they disapprove of your former conduct when
on board the Diomede, and that they do not think one worthy to command
who formerly would not obey."
Philip blushed deeply as he assented to the justice of these
observations; but Lord Robert, who was highly incensed at the conduct of
the officers, exclaimed, with no little of his usual impetuosity,
"Nonsense! Cary; they must have seen that I only was to blame for his
behaviour then."
"Perhaps, as far as related to the blow which he struck, you were,"
replied Cary; "and during your residence at the island, to which you
have given so _appropriate_ a name, it appears he completely satisfied
you for all his offences, and forgave you for yours. But, remember, the
other officers who had given him no reasonable cause of offence, are not
obliged to look over all the saucy speeches he addressed to them,
because a reconciliation has taken place between you."
"But when they know all his noble conduct to me, they must and shall
treat him with respect!" replied Lord Robert; and, drawing Philip's arm
through his, he advanced towards the group of officers, who had
withdrawn to a different part of the deck, and were discussing the
matter among themselves.
"Gentlemen," said he, "give me leave to present to you my friend, Mr.
Harley; for whose former faults I own myself more than answerable. He
is sensible that you all have had cause to be offended with him at
different times; but he trusts that you will have reason in future to
forget the rashness of the pressed man in the merits of the midshipman;
to which rank our noble captain, in reward of his valour in the last
engagement, has thought proper to promote him. I say nothing of his
admirable conduct to myself; though, I trust, that, with all my faults,
his having been the means of saving my life will be a recommendation to
my brother officers; and I should hope that his lowly birth will not be
remembered to his prejudice by officers of the British navy, whose boast
it is that some of its proudest ornaments[7] have risen from before the
mast."
[Footnote 7: Sir Cloudesly Shovel, Admiral Hopson, Admiral Campbell, Sir
Samuel Cornish, and many other gallant gentlemen, rose from the lowest
ranks.]
A murmur of applause followed this speech, which was seconded by
Lieutenant Cary's presenting his hand to young Harley; and his example
was followed by all the gentlemen present, who, with the frankness of
British officers, offered him successively their congratulations on his
promotion.
"Spoken like yourselves, my gallant friends!" exclaimed Lord Robert,
warmly shaking hands with his brother officers; "it shall never be said
by our enemies, that valour and merit were slighted in the British navy,
unless recommended by the adventitious advantages of rank or riches in
their possessor."
Lord Robert knew the way to the hearts of his brave friends. To their
good feelings he did not appeal in vain; and Philip never again had
reason to complain of the least slight or disregard from any officer on
board the Diomede; and never till that hour had Lord Robert tasted how
truly delightful is the possession of power, when the influence which
more or less it holds in society is applied to a noble purpose; and
Philip Harley, by his steady attention to his duty, and his officer-like
and gallant conduct in his new rank, speedily erased from the minds of
these gentlemen his former mutinous and violent behaviour, and obtained
the highest praise from his just and discriminating commander. How proud
was Philip--how happy Lord Robert, whenever Sir Henry Stanley expressed
his approbation at this conduct! There never was a friendship more warm
or sincere than that which now subsisted between the two former
enemies, who used often to relate their mutual sufferings, as a warning
of the folly of answering a provocation, or retaliating an injury.
Before they sailed from Rio de Janeiro, Sir Henry Stanley generously
presented Philip with every equipment necessary for his appearance as a
gentleman; and, during the voyage home, he was the friend, companion,
and pupil of Lord Robert, who delighted to impart to him every
accomplishment and took the greatest pleasure in witnessing the
development of his naturally fine talents.
When the Diomede approached the shores of England, Philip again began to
be fearful lest the high rank of Lord Robert should separate them; but
he was agreeably surprised, when, on their landing, Lord Robert insisted
on his taking a place in the equipage that conveyed him to Lancashire;
and, though he permitted Philip to visit first the lowly home of his
sorrowing parents, yet he and his noble father came for him the next
day, and invited him to the Hall, where he shared in all the unbounded
affection and caresses which the Marquis and Marchioness bestowed on
their noble son.
On the first arrival of the Diomede at Rio de Janeiro, Sir Henry
Stanley, supposing he had seen his nephew and Philip Harley perish,
wrote to England an account of the dreadful loss, which was received
both in the cottage and at the Hall with the deepest affliction. Since
that time, no communication had been received; but as the Diomede was
nearly ready to sail when the young friends arrived from the island,
they themselves brought the first intelligence to England of their
safety and welfare. They found each family in deep mourning, and plunged
in acute sorrow, which was changed into extravagant joy at their
unexpected arrival. The Marquis had become acquainted with most of the
circumstances that occasioned the enmity between his son and Philip
Harley, and had suffered much remorse, reproaching himself continually
for having torn the only surviving child from his parents to meet an
untimely death. From his natural goodness of heart, he greeted Philip's
safe return as that of another son, particularly when he found he was
indebted to him for the delight of seeing Lord Robert once again.
The unlimited indulgence which the young friends met with at home might
have been attended with bad effects, had they remained long exposed to
its influence. But, in less than a month, they were again summoned to
resume their duties on board the Diomede, where Sir Henry had hoisted
his flag on his promotion to the rank of Admiral.
Both the friends were possessed of those high talents which, when
combined with valour, seldom fail of obtaining great distinction; and so
nobly did they acquit themselves in their naval duties, that after many
years had witnessed their career of glory, and they had attained the
height of their profession, England never saw two braver admirals than
Lord Robert Summers and the Mutineer.
ARTHUR RIDLEY;
OR, A
VOYAGE TO NORWAY.
Among the springs and mosses of Alston Moor, near the source of the
South Tyne, are several little grass farms, on which are bred sheep and
black cattle by the industrious farmers of Cumberland and
Northumberland. In a most retired spot between the two counties, dwelt
old farmer Ridley and his grandson Arthur. The farmer was one of those
small landholders, who are called _statesmen_ in the dialect of the
northern counties; he had lost his wife, but she had left him two sons.
Walter Ridley, the elder, was the father of Arthur, and captain of a
merchant ship, that traded to the Baltic, from the port of Newcastle. He
had married a tradesman's daughter from that place, who died when little
Arthur was but two years old; and Walter, who knew not what to do with
so young a child, begged his father to take the boy, and bring him up at
the farm, till he was old enough to go to sea. About four years after,
Hugh Ridley, the farmer's younger son, was killed in the command of a
privateer, while he was endeavouring to take a French merchant ship. It
was greatly against the wishes of old Mr. Ridley that both his sons
followed so dangerous a profession: one of them, at least, he hoped
would have remained at home to assist in cultivating the peaceful little
farm which had descended from father to son for three centuries; but
both the sons made light of the wishes of their father; and Hugh
actually disobeyed his express commands, when he became captain of the
privateer; a mode of life agreeing well enough with his rude rough
habits, but which the good farmer abhorred and detested, justly
considering such an occupation to be but one degree better than the
pursuits of a pirate. This act of disobedience was soon punished; for
Hugh Ridley fell in the first engagement, leaving a young widow and a
little girl quite destitute. His death filled his father's heart with
sorrow, and he lost no time in fetching his widowed daughter-in-law and
her little Phoebe from Newcastle, and bringing them to his own quiet
home, to the great joy of young Arthur, who promised to love aunt Rachel
and cousin Phoebe better than his best pet lamb. Indeed, he said that
little Phoebe was much prettier than his finest cosset; besides, she
could answer all his questions, and ask him a thousand in return. They
passed their happy summers together, keeping the sheep and cows on
Alston Moor; in the winter, their good grandfather taught them to read
the Bible; and in the long evenings, Phoebe spun by her mother's side,
while Arthur learned to write and keep accounts. Arthur seldom saw his
father, who only came to the farm for a few hours, when he was on shore,
and then only laughed at his quiet habits and peaceful temper, slapped
him rudely on the back, and asked him whether he were not ashamed of
remaining lounging on shore like a coward and a milksop.
But Arthur was no coward. True, his very fair complexion and placid
features gave him that gentle look which might well deceive careless
observers into the belief that any insult might be offered to him with
impunity; but there was a quiet, determined firmness in his
character,--a spirit which silently says, on the appearance of any
difficulty, "I will overcome it." On such minds success is a sure
attendant: they follow the toilsome path which leads to glory and
distinction with unwearied and steady steps, and often leave those of
bold demeanour and boasting tongues at a hopeless distance.
Mr. Ridley's house was a very long way from the other farms; so when
Arthur and Phoebe drove their cattle to any distance from home, on the
moor, to seek fresh pasture, they were considered as strangers and
intruders, by the boys who kept the flocks of the neighbouring farmers.
Though somewhat older than Phoebe, Arthur was scarcely so tall as the
blooming girl; and she looked better able to be his protector, than to
receive assistance from him; but Phoebe knew well to whom to fly in
any danger, as her cousin would beat off the most ferocious dog, or the
biggest boy that strove to molest her. The farmers' sons in the
neighbourhood, when once they had tried the force of Arthur's well-knit
little arm, and felt the effects of his cool, determined courage, soon
retracted the mean opinion they had formed of his prowess; and left off
their favourite amusements of pelting his whitest lambs with mud, and
running after Phoebe, to pull the long flaxen ringlets which floated
from under her bonnet.
At fourteen, Arthur Ridley thought himself the happiest boy in the
world; for his grandfather had a gold medal presented to him at an
agricultural meeting in the county, as a prize for showing there six
finer and fatter lambs than any one else could produce. Mr. Ridley told
every one that it was by the care and attention of his grandson, that
his flock throve so well; and the nobleman who held the meeting patted
Arthur's head, and told him he would be an honour to Cumberland, and
hoped that he should see him at the next sheep-shearing. Oh! how Arthur
loved the dear little lambs that had obtained for him such an honour!
And, all the way home, he secretly resolved never to be anything but a
farmer.
We may suppose that Arthur anticipated the next June with great delight:
but, alas! the succeeding summer, though it bloomed fairer than ever,
brought no joy in its course to him; for it was in that lovely season
that his young heart was to know the first taste of sorrow.
The spring set in cold and stormy, and it was a very bad lambing-time
for the ewes. Farmer Ridley was more anxious for their well-doing than
usual, and, in taking care of some of the early new-fallen lambs, he
caught a bad cold, attended with ague, which hung on him through the two
succeeding months; and before May came with all her flowers, even the
inexperienced eyes of his grandchildren read, in his sunken temples and
hollow cheeks, that the mortal foe within would soon rob them of their
venerable protector. Arthur's father had passed the winter in Hamburgh,
and was now expected home every day. Mr. Ridley wished much to behold
his son once more in this world; and he seemed to linger from hour to
hour, in the hope of seeing him again; till, about eventide, on the 2nd
of May, his last minutes drew to a close. "Arthur," he said, in a faint
voice. Arthur started from the place where he was leaning his head
against the casement, and approached the bed.
"Arthur," he said, "your father is away; but tell him from me to take
care of your aunt Rachel and your cousin Phoebe: I have little to
leave them; for the farm is entailed on my eldest son, and must descend
to you. Tell him that my dying request is, that he will never suffer
them to want a home. They will find, in my oaken box, eighty guineas in
a yellow canvas bag, and my will, which directs the money to be divided
between them. And now, Arthur, my dear boy, you have ever been a dutiful
child to me; be the same to your father, whatever his commands may be,
and make it your rule to do your duty in that state of life unto which
it may please God to call you."
The rising sun beamed on the bed of death; the venerable Mr. Ridley was
no more! And his sorrowing family were not to be consoled. The next
Sunday, they followed his remains to the grave. It was in vain that the
first day of early summer smiled on them, and that between every solemn
response of the burial service the blackbird sang loud and joyously;
their hearts no longer leaped to the sound once so full of delight.
"Oh, Arthur," said Phoebe, as her tears fell on her black sleeve, "we
shall never see May-flowers again without mourning!"