of light was for a moment increased, and the next succeeding minute
a shower of blazing timbers fell in every direction around, and the
pale moon alone shed her silvery effulgence on the transparent wave.
No shouts--no shrieks were to be heard; the bitterness of death was
passed, and all was as tranquil as the grave. Happily the burning ruin
had struck none of the boats, and we soon afterwards put the sufferers
on board the frigate. The boats then again repaired to the place, but
except the shattered remnants of the wreck, no trace was left. The
swelling billow rolled smoothly on, and that gallant ship with many
a stout heart, was buried beneath its deceitful surface. Still we
passed across and across in every direction, and long after the sun had
kindled up the day, our search was continued; but nothing met our view,
except mutilated fragments of human bodies and pieces of blackened
timber. All hands repaired on board, the boats were hoisted in, and the
frigate pursued her course for England.
On getting aboard, I hastened to the surgeon and inquired the state
of Agnes and her friends. They had all recovered, and were composed
in slumber. Etiquette forbade my entering the precincts of the cabin
uninvited, yet I lingered near the door, and the steward gave me all
the information I could obtain. Duty compelled me to attend in another
part of the ship, after which I hastened to my berth and equipped
myself in uniform for the forenoon watch. The master’s mate had been
promoted to a lieutenancy, and I had been appointed to fill the
vacant station, and never was I more studious in adjusting my dress,
whilst a feeling of pride animated me under the reflection that I had
endeavoured to earn my present distinction solely by my own efforts.
We had saved ninety-seven people, including passengers, out of one
hundred and forty-three. The ship was an East Indiaman on her passage
out, and Sir Edward was going to Bombay to fill a high official
station. No one could tell how the fire had originated, but it
was supposed to have been occasioned by the communication of some
combustible matter with the fodder stowed in the orlop deck for the
live stock. But so amazingly rapid had been its spread, that the boats
were rendered useless before they could be got out, excepting one small
jolly-boat, which sunk soon after it was lowered down.
Notwithstanding my attention to dress, it would be impossible
to describe the tumult of agitation under which I laboured.
Parents--home--Agnes, all rushed upon my heart, and the cruel blow
which had occasioned my departure mingled with the rest. When relieving
the watch I found my friend, the lieutenant upon deck, and to him I
briefly related my situation. He had heard parts of my story before;
but when I told him all, he advised me to suffer things to take
their course, to manifest a becoming spirit, and by no means to show
resentment. He said the captain had spoken very highly of me for my
exertions and humanity, and was greatly pleased with my conduct. Praise
is sweet from those who despise unmeaning flattery, and this came like
a reviving cordial to my drooping mind.
Soon after ten o’clock, Sir Edward awoke considerably refreshed, and
with his children returned thanks to Heaven for safety. They afterwards
came on deck, and as the young man ascended, a feeling of indignation
filled my breast; but it was momentary, and I walked forward to conceal
my agitation, which became almost insupportable, particularly when I
heard the captain’s voice hailing me, and guessed the purport of his
call. Mustering all my resolution, I approached them as they stood
abaft, but who can paint the different looks, of father, son, and
daughter, as the captain presented me to their notice. The recognition
was immediate, and each seemed to have a conflict of passions in the
breast. Sir Edward took my hand with coldness, and then pressed it
ardently; his son walked away, giving me a glance that betrayed humbled
pride, whilst the sweet countenance of Agnes spoke volumes to my soul,
and told me I had been treasured in her memory with fond affection.
I would have inquired for my parents; but while the question hung
upon my lips, a well-remembered face displayed itself,--it was the
old butler of the family. As soon as it was possible, I took the old
man aside, and from him learned every particular. My father had been
dismissed from his situation, and had struggled with many difficulties;
but a relation of my mother had left them a handsome competency at his
death, and their only unhappiness proceeded from ignorance of my fate.
They had mourned my loss as for one who would never return. I briefly
ran over my adventures to him, and only on one subject was I silent;
but this was unnecessary, as he told me of many circumstances which
gladdened my heart.
Being officer of the forenoon watch, it was my turn to dine with the
captain. This I would gladly have declined, but it was impossible
without a breach of regulations; and at the appointed hour, after
putting on my full-dress, I entered the cabin, and at the captain’s
request, took my seat by the side of Agnes. Sir Edward looked
displeased and bit his lips; his son arose from the table and muttered
something about “plebeian rank;” whilst the sweet girl was almost
fainting with alarm. The captain had noticed a strange peculiarity at
the first interview, and, as I understood afterwards, had answered many
inquiries respecting me. My friend, the lieutenant, had also given him
some hints, but he was not the man to see honest humility abused;
for he himself had risen from an obscure origin, and through his own
merits had climbed every gradation to his present command. Beloved by
his crew and universally respected in the service, he despised the
proud aspirings of those who considered high birth as the greatest
recommendation. Without discomposing himself, he directed the steward
to remove the young gentleman’s plate to another table. Sir Edward
keenly felt this, and rising up, demanded whether his present condition
had so far reduced him in the captain’s estimation, as to render him
the object of insult?
“Sir Edward,” replied the captain calmly, “when you have explained your
meaning, I shall be better able to answer you; at present I am involved
in mystery.”
“Look there!” said the baronet, pointing towards me, “the son of my
gardener! Look there!” continued he, turning to his son, “the heir to
the richest baronetage in Great Britain; and that”--pointing to Agnes,
“to my shame be it spoken, is my daughter.”
I offered to withdraw. “Sit still, Mr. ----,” said the captain,
rising at the same time himself with all the dignity that marked his
character. “Sir Edward,” he coolly answered, “it is not in my nature
to taunt any one with obligations. I view mankind as united to me by
the strongest ties, and whether it was a beggar or a duke, should
consider I had only done my duty in snatching a fellow-creature from
destruction. But where, let me ask, would your baronetage have been,
had not this young officer stepped between you and the grave? Where
would your ungrateful sort have been, but for his timely aid? And where
would this sweet girl, of whom any father ought to be proud,--where,
I say, would she have been, but for the youth whom you despise?” He
grew warm. “By heaven! Sir Edward, you would have found the sharks
no respecters of rank or riches; they revel in the glorious spoils
of death without troubling themselves whether their prey is of noble
or ignoble birth, and you long, ere now, might have satiated their
ravenous appetites.” The baronet shuddered. “As for this young officer,
he has been upwards of three years under my command; I have watched him
silently and secretly; he is a noble fellow, and shall never want a
friend while these old timbers hold together! If he has injured you or
your daughter, prove it, and I instantly discard him!”
“He has! he has!” exclaimed both Sir Edward and his son. I felt myself
almost inspired with eloquence, and briefly told my tale.
“If (said I) to love Miss Agnes is a crime, it is one that has to me
produced the most happy results, and never, never will I resign it.
To that love I am indebted for my present situation; has been the
pole-star of my heart, but never till this moment did my lips publicly
avow it. This then, sir, is the injury I have committed, and it now
remains with you to drive me from your patronage, or still to cherish
the obscure individual whom you have been pleased to raise.”
“Drive you away, my boy!” replied the captain; “no, no! I should indeed
consider you unworthy of my notice, could you associate with so lovely
a lass and remain insensible to her amiable disposition and beauty.
But what says the fair lady? Does she too despise the poor but honest
sailor?”
A faint smile passed across her pallid cheek as she distinctly
uttered--“He has preserved my father’s life.” At that moment, thrown
off my guard, I caught her hand and pressed it to my lips. Both her
father and her brother saw it, but they neither spoke nor moved.
“Come, come,” said the captain, as he turned round to hide the
gathering tear; “let us sit down to dinner, and we’ll discuss the
matter afterwards. At present, thank God, you are safe; the young folks
have yet many years to pass over their heads, and a thousand things may
happen. Thus much, however, I will say; if ever he disgraces his cloth,
I will be the first to oppose his designs; but if, on the contrary, he
continues in the same honourable course he has begun, I will support
him with hand and heart; so, Sir Edward, you will have two opponents
instead of one.”
Sir Edward resumed his seat, his son returned to the table, but it was
evidently with great mortification, and the dinner passed off tolerably
well.
The infant I had taken from its dying mother, was the son of a female
passenger going to join her husband, an officer in the army who had
preceded her about twelve months, at a time when it was impossible she
could accompany him. The little innocent did not want for nurses in the
frigate, as a great many women had been saved, and every seamen was
anxious to caress and fondle the child. It was afterwards restored to
its father; and both their names were returned amongst the killed on
the plains of Waterloo,--the former a colonel, the latter a captain in
his father’s regiment. But to proceed.
After touching at the island of Flores for a supply of water and fresh
provisions, we pursued our course for home; and though from my junior
station I could not join the company of Sir Edward and his family, nor
even approach the captain without his sanction, unless on duty, yet
Agnes took frequent opportunities for conversing with me. I did not
venture to mention my ardent attachment, or request a return of her
esteem; yet I had the satisfaction of knowing that we regarded each
other with feelings of affection, founded upon the purest desire of
promoting each other’s happiness. None but those who have witnessed,
can form an idea of the beauties of a fine clear summer evening passed
upon the smooth surface of the ocean; it is the season when the
officers assemble on the quarter-deck, and as they pace fore-and-aft,
enjoy the social and unrestrained converse which is precious to the
heart. The falling shades of twilight conceal the anxious look as busy
Memory conjures up scenes of past joys, and Hope portrays the coming
future. It was at these hours that Agnes generally came on deck, and I
had the inexpressible pleasure of enjoying her society; for Sir Edward
had relaxed in his haughtiness though his son remained impenetrably
stubborn.
At length we arrived in England, and the baronet repaired to London;
but previously to his departure I received the most solemn assurances
of the attachment of Agnes. To my friend, the lieutenant, I was
indebted for this last interview; and in his presence our vows of
fidelity were pledged. A few weeks afterwards, the baronet with his son
and daughter once more embarked for Bombay. Agnes wrote me a farewell
letter, and every energy of my soul was aroused to fresh exertions in
my profession, under the hope of one day calling her mine. As soon as
duty would admit, I visited my parents, whose joy at seeing me again
exceeded all bounds. They were very comfortably settled, and it was not
amongst the least of their gratifications to behold their only child
arrayed in the naval uniform of his country.
It would be a useless, though perhaps not altogether an uninteresting
task, for me to detail the events of the seven succeeding years, during
which I frequently endeavoured to get on the East India station,
and at last obtained my desire. At this time I was first-lieutenant
of a frigate, (as through the interest of the captain, I received a
commission almost immediately after passing my examination,) and had
amassed a very handsome property in prize-money; but I knew it would
be necessary for me to gain higher promotion before Sir Edward would
listen to my proposals. Nevertheless, the prospect of seeing Agnes
afforded me the most lively emotions of pleasure. To this moment I can
remember the delight which swelled my soul when we anchored at Bombay,
particularly as we had captured an enemy’s ship that had long been a
great annoyance to commerce in the Indian seas, as it seemed to promise
me another step.
As soon as duty would permit, I went on shore and eagerly hastened to
the residence of Sir Edward, where almost the first individual that met
my sight was the old butler. From him I learned that the baronet had
been consigned to the tomb about nine months;--that young Sir Edward
retained an important and lucrative office,--and that the gentle Agnes,
harassed by the _importunities_ (I afterwards heard _cruelties_) of
her brother to become the wife of an extremely wealthy but depraved
libertine, had sunk broken-hearted to the grave! and the old man, with
many tears, placed in my hands her last letter addressed to me, with
a small box containing her miniature and several other mementos of an
affectionate heart.
I shall not attempt to describe the anguish of my spirit at this heavy
disappointment; at first it seemed to wither up my faculties, as if
the only incentive to exertion was entirely destroyed, and all my
future prospects were thenceforward to be dark and dreary. Many years
have flown away since, and I am now an old post captain; but though I
have seen hundreds of beautiful and pleasing women, I am still single.
My affection for the devoted Agnes--my first, my only love--remains
unshaken, and I look forward to that happy union in the blissful realms
of immortality which knows neither separation nor sorrow.
FOOTNOTES
[7] Three miles.
[8] Half-past ten o’clock.
THE VETERAN SOLDIER.
“The brave poor soldier ne’er despise,
Nor treat him as a stranger:
For still he’ll prove his country’s stay,
In every hour of danger.”
The young urchins were taking their last five minutes of play on the
beautiful village green at S----, in Devonshire, previous to returning
to the school-room for the afternoon, and in the midst of them stood
a tall but aged man, who appeared to be regulating the game with all
the accuracy of a thorough tactician. I stood watching the interesting
group of children (of all ages) whose actions were guided by the tall
old man, and witnessed their parting when the sonorous bell called them
from their sports. They assembled round the aged mentor, and in a broad
Irish accent he bade them mind their “larning,” and be good “childer.”
I entered into conversation with the veteran, and found he was a
pensioner on the army, who had also a little property to live upon in
the village of S----, which had been left him by an officer whose life
he had preserved at the battle of Talavera. Having an hour or two
to spare, I requested to hear something of his history, and with the
garrulity natural to old age, he readily complied with my request. We
seated ourselves, on a rustic bench beneath a giant sycamore, and he
began by telling me--but I cannot do better than give it in his own
language.
“Faith, but your honour’s mighty condescending,” he exclaimed, “to
listen to the chathering of ould Pat. Fifty years have marched off
under General Time since I first shouldered the firelock, and now I
am daily expecting the route (for my billet is nearly expired) to
assemble for the grand review before the sarcher of all hearts. Och,
many’s the time and oft I’ve wished for some kind friend that I might
spake a word to and unburthen my sinful spirit; for when I’ve stood
sentry all alone by myself in the dark nights in Ameriky and Spain,
and in dare little Ireland too, I’ve thought, ‘Arrah Paddy, but you
are a great big blaggard, so you are, for running away from your ould
mother that’s dead and gone, without so much as seeing her dacently
laid under the turf. If she had been alive, it would have broke her
heart, so it would, to think how her own beautiful Paddy should desart
her in time of need, and not stop to see her waked.’ But ’twas the
dthrink, your honour, ’twas the murthering dthrink, and bad manners to
Sarjent Linstock for that same; he laughed at poor Pat, and marched
us off without bate of drum, saying that ‘She would never wake again;’
for I must be after telling you that there was a recruiting party
came down to the fair, so they picked me out as the most likely lad
on the sod; and indeed your honour, there wasn’t many in those days,
though I say it meself, that dared tread upon my greatcoat, or call my
shtick a rascal. But, as I said before, it was the dthrink, and then
they chated me by slipping the king’s countenance into my fob when I
knew nothing about it at all, at all; but they swore I had ’listed
willingly, and had taken the picture meself. Och, by my conscience,
didn’t I get into a thundering rage, sure!--not that I minded sarving
his Majesty, heaven bless the heart of his soul, that’s in t’other
world! but I thought it was not trateing me handsome, your honour, to
trap me into it. But I found it was of no use to complain; so I went
to bid poor mother good bye, and she’d just breath enough left to
tell me not to disgrace the country that gave me birth. ‘Arrah Paddy,
(says she,) my own dare Paddy, that I loved so tinderly, and used to
get the but--but--but-buthermilk and pra-pratees for!’ Oh, sir, ’tis a
big shame to see a sodger cry; but when I think of the dare soul and
the buthermilk, how can I help it? ‘Niver dishonour your cloth, Paddy,
(says she,) nor the king you sarve, nor the father that begot you.
Fight in a just cause, and when the vanquished cry for quarter, unlock
the heart and spare the hand. Protect the innocent, and do your duty
like a man.’
“Then there was poor Norah, your honour. Och, hone, but I thought it
would have broken my heart entirely, to see how the tears chased each
other down her pale face! ‘And why will ye lave me, Paddy, (says she)
all alone by meself? Oh, look at our cottage and the peat-stack--where
will you find the likes of it in another country, Paddy? Then there’s
the bit of a bog yonder for the pigs and the geese, and your own dare
Norah, and the pratee garden. Oh, why will you go, Paddy, and lave me
all alone by meself?’ And then, your honour, I put my arms round her
neck, (for I couldn’t spake a word,) and my tears fell trickling on a
bosom that looked like twin roses moistened with dew. Oh, I niver felt
before nor since as I did at that same moment! But then Mr. Sarjent
must have his say, divel twist him to the right about round the rim
of the moon,--God forgive me that I should have unchristian feelings
tow’rds the vilest of his creatures; ‘Come, come, young man, (says he)
fall into the ranks and march; you’ll soon find prettier girls to lead
a wild-goose chase!’ Bad manners to him for that same, to try and make
my own dare Norah believe that her Pat would iver cease to love her as
his own heart’s blood; so I up and tould him I didn’t like to be made
game of. ‘Well, well, (says he) I suppose an honest sodger may have
a kiss.’--‘Arrah, dress back to the rear, (says I) Mr. Sarjent, for
by me soul, if you lay but one of your thieving-hooks upon a digit of
her corporal substance, faith! but I’ll brake me arm across your face,
so I will.’ Well, your honour, and so he persisted in that same, and
cotch’d hould of her gown. Oh, ’twas more than Irish blood could brook,
and ‘Lay there jewel!’ says I, stretching him along upon mother earth
before he could cry ‘whack!’ and then they put iron mittens on me, and
tore my swate love away. I thought me brain would have turned, and
so they took me before ould Justice Ballymagfoglem, and poor Pat was
committed for a rogue and a vagabond, and marched off for Cork under a
military guard; and put into jail.
“A few days afterwards and the transports were going to sail; so they
trotted me down to the beach, and there I found a great many more like
meself. Well, just as I was stepping into the boat, I heard the swate
voice of my own dear Norah, and so I stepped back again. ‘Jump into
the boat! you mutinous rascal,’ says the sarjent. ‘Rascal yourself,
(says I) Mr. Sarjent; do you think his honoured majesty, God bless him!
would refuse me one last embrace from the dare cratur I’d broke the
bit o’ gold with? Arrah, be aisey now, and paws off,’ for they began
to handle me again, your honour. ‘Let the poor fellow alone!’ said the
midshipmite of the boat; ‘let him alone to spake to the girl.’--‘God
bless you! young jontleman (says I) for that same. May your father
niver have to sorrow over your mother’s son!’
“And so poor Norah came to me; but I couldn’t throw my arms round her
neck now, your honour, for the bracelets they had clapped upon my
wrists; but she stooped down and got between them, and we were folded
to each other’s hearts. Oh, sir, I feel it at this moment, and hope
you won’t think the worse of poor Pat for the dthrop in his eye. Well,
we were obliged to part; ‘Oh Paddy, (says she) niver, niver forget
your country or your Norah!’--and bad luck to me, your honour, if ever
I did--and she waved her apron till I saw her out of sight, and then
I could have laid down and died. ‘Niver forget your country or your
Norah!’ were her last words; and they have ever been engraven on my
heart, by the same token that Corporal Flannagan, who had received a
’varsity edecation where he was brought up to run arrands and clane
shoes, composed the beautifullest song,--oh! your honour, it would do
your heart good to hear it. Faith, and it’s here I’ve got it, along
with the bit of broken gold and a lock of my own darling’s hair, all
black and shining,--oh! they’re a rich treasure to poor Pat. My hair
was like it once, but now my head is silvered over with the snow of
age; but my heart is as warm as iver, and melts with tenderness, spite
of the frost of adversity that has so often nipped it. Would your
honour like to rade that same? or shall I rade it to you? Oh, I can
repeat it by heart, for sure it is always laying next to it.
‘Dear land of my fathers, their glory and pride,
Who fought for their homes and in Freedom’s cause died;
The hallow’d green turf-mound marks each sacred spot,
And their spirits still cry, Let us ne’er be forgot!
Forget you? Ah never, whilst Shannon’s stream flows,
And Liberty’s tree on dear Erin’s land grows,
To yield us shilelahs to lather our foes
Will Paddy forget you,--ah never!
‘Your lovely green meadows, all sparkling with dew,
Where Norah first met me, how dear to my view;
Remembrance now pictures the sweet little cot,
And I hear her last words, Let me ne’er be forgot!
Forget you? Ah never! though now far apart,
Still faithful and honest shall be this poor heart;
Till life’s latest breath from my lips shall depart
Can Paddy forget you?--ah never!’
“There, your honour, what do you think of that for a composition? oh
sure, it’s a sublimity. ‘Can Paddy forget you? ah never!’ But to make
the long of the short of it and go on with my story; I was sent on
board a transport, and the next day we sailed with the rest for the
West Injees, and all the passage out I was drilled morning, noon,
and night, till I was as thin as a pratee dibble,--marching and
countermarching between two guns on the deck, that wer’n’t more nor six
feet asunder; and what with the sea-sickness, and the drilling, and the
six-upon-four,[9] I was almost done up by the time we got to Jemakee,
where they make niggers of the poor blacks.
“Och! your honour, but that was the place for the yellow faver and the
land crabs, and may-be I didn’t get a long spell in the hospital, that
made me as thin as a ramrod and as wake as ten-water grog. But I got
over that bout; though many’s the brave sodger I’ve seen hearty and
well at sunset--talking about home and the darlins--and a loathsome
corpse before morning, and buried by day-break. By me conscience,
death gives but little more warning there than he does in the field of
battle. Yet I got used to the place at last, and there I was made a
corporal, and should have been contint but for the thoughts of my poor
Norah.