JULIUS LUXMORE.
“The gallant’s form was middle size
For feats of strength, or exercise,
Shaped in proportion fair;
And hazel was his eagle eye,
And auburn of the darkest dye,
His short curl’d beard and hair.
Light was his footstep in the dance,
And firm his stirrup in the lists;
And oh! he had that merry glance
That seldom lady’s heart resists.”—_Scott._
It is about time that we should looked up Mr. Julius Luxmore, whom we
have too long left to his own “devices.”
It will be recollected that after his rescue from death among the waves,
the first thought that arose in the mind of that ingenious young
gentleman was not the religious emotion of gratitude to Divine
Providence for his almost miraculous preservation; but, on the contrary,
the wicked impulse of suppressing his real name and giving a fictitious
one.
For this act he had, as it was afterward discovered, a very strong
motive.
Julius Luxmore, from his earliest youth, had been the subject of one
grand passion—the love of money. How to make the largest possible
fortune in the least possible time, was to him the constant subject of
study. The love of money, as the love of any particular object of
pursuit, is accompanied with an instinctive knowledge of the readiest
road to its acquirement.
As early as his twelfth year commerce suggested itself to the
intelligent lad as the quickest means by which to gain wealth.
Thus, when in his fourteenth year, he was left a destitute and
irresponsible orphan, without a near relative in the world, and with
only one decent suit of clothes, and one guinea in his pocket, he
applied to his neighbor, old Captain Brande, and was engaged as
cabin-boy on board the Mercury.
It was on this first voyage, that he became acquainted with Barbara, the
skipper’s little daughter and constant companion.
Captain Brande was very kind to the fatherless and motherless lad who
had sought his protection, and Barbara, to whom orphanage seemed the
most appalling of all calamities, treated the boy as a dear brother.
It was the old skipper’s delight, in his leisure moments, to instruct
these children not only in the various branches of a common school
education, but also in the science of navigation, and in the art of
seamanship—and even in the long night watches he used sometimes, without
too much taxing their hours of sleep, to teach them the names of the
constellations and the stars.
He encouraged a generous spirit of emulation between the boy and girl,
who could never in any one acquirement be quite equal; for Julius
possessed the greater physical power, and Barbara the quicker intellect;
therefore Julius excelled in the _practice_, and Barbara in the _theory_
of working the ship. But the old skipper was not content that this
should remain just so—and in giving his lessons he stimulated the mind
of the boy to a greater activity; and in directing the firm little hand
of the girl, he encouraged her to lay out her full strength upon the
ropes.
This constant companionship of the youth and maiden was likely to result
in one of two things—mutual dislike or mutual affection—it eventuated in
the latter.
Their ship was bound to London. And on arriving at that port, Julius
cast about in his mind the problem—how to invest his precious guinea to
such advantage as finally to turn it into two guineas—for to double his
money in every speculation was with the sanguine lad a fundamental
principle of financiering.
An accident assisted him—accident _always_ assists those who are
sufficiently in earnest.
One day, in strolling along the narrow streets of Liverpool, he came to
an auction where the goods of a dealer in Sheffield cutlery were in
process of sale. He stood awhile and watched the bidding, and then with
his five dollars bought about twenty dollars’ worth of morocco cases,
each containing steel scissors, tweezers, penknife, bodkin, needlecase,
thimble, netting and tatting shuttle, knitting-needles, and, in short,
every possibly needful accessory of a lady’s work-box. Having secured
his prize, he took it on board the ship, where he concealed it until he
got an opportunity of sewing it up in his mattress—for Julius had not
the slightest intention of permitting the custom-house to share his
profits.
On reaching Baltimore, these twenty cases, worth in England a dollar a
piece, were easily retailed by the boy for two dollars. So that, in his
very first venture, from an investment of five dollars he had cleared
thirty-five, or seven hundred per cent.! Why, the thought almost took
his breath! At this rate he should speedily make a fortune.
But Julius had to learn that, with all its advantages, commerce is a
very uncertain vocation—that its great gains are often counter-balanced
by as great losses. His next venture was not quite so lucky.
This first voyage of Julius was also the last one which Barbara
accompanied her father. Her mother’s declining health and subsequent
death rendered it necessary that this eldest child should remain at home
to take charge of the younger ones.
But Julius went to the West Indies with the skipper, and from that time
accompanied him on all his voyages, and in a few years rose from the
position of cabin-boy to that of mate.
His home on shore was always at the Headland, where Barbara received him
with a sister’s warm affection.
As the years passed, the youth and maiden grew in strength and beauty,
and in mutual love.
Julius, notwithstanding the fluctuating nature of his business, had
increased in riches, and was worth several thousand dollars upon the day
when he first asked the hand of Barbara from her father.
Old Captain Brande gladly consented to a betrothal, with this
stipulation—that the marriage should not be consummated until the end of
the voyage upon which they were then bound, after which the mate, as
Captain Luxmore, should have the command of the vessel, and the hand of
the retired master’s daughter.
Alas, we know how that promising voyage ended—in the wreck of the
Mercury, with the loss of all on board except Julius Luxmore, who
brought from the waves one wild hope connected with one wicked purpose.
The circumstances in which he found himself placed on his restoration to
life, formed the first terrible temptation to his integrity.
He saw himself the sole survivor of a shipwrecked crew, with none to
identify his person. He found himself left guardian to a young girl of
almost fabulous beauty and immense wealth, who had always lived a life
of utter seclusion, on a lovely sea-girt island—her own patrimony—and
having no companions except a half-crazy old man in his ninetieth year,
and a troop of negro slaves, that, like the fair island, was her own
inheritance.
“Princess,” she had been called by her mad old uncle, but was _that_ so
mad a term, as applied to her, after all? Little Island Queen was she,
rather—for, would not all the land, from its centre to its sea-washed
shores, and all the people on it, belong absolutely to her?—to her, not
only for government, but for bargain and sale, if she should will it?
Truly, she would be “monarch of all she surveyed,” and not with a
limited, but with an absolute monarchy!
And this beautiful little millionaire, this little queen of eleven years
of age, would, in four or five years, be legally marriageable.
What a rich prize would she be! It almost took the breath of the
ambitious and avaricious young man to think of it!
He reflected. To wait five years, and then to marry her, would be the
quickest, easiest, and surest way of securing an immense fortune. This
lovely little Etoile—this radiant star of the sea—this young “Island
Princess” had, as it appeared, never left her beautiful, solitary,
sea-girt home, and had never seen any other human creatures than her mad
old uncle and her negro or mulatto slaves. Good! He resolved that she
should never see any other person, except himself—Julius Luxmore. He was
quite conscious of possessing a handsome face and figure, with great
powers of pleasing, and he determined to use his advantages to attach
her affections to himself—and if that eventually failed, to use his
power as her sole guardian to bring about a marriage with her, before he
would ever consent to take her from the lone Isle.
To this plan her doting, old uncle could be no hindrance, as its
consummation belonged to future years, while a few weeks or months must
naturally terminate the life of a man of ninety, who had already fallen
into second childhood. But it might be well to conciliate even this old
lunatic, and to do this Julius Luxmore resolved.
There was one serious trouble in his way; it was not an obstacle, for
Julius resolved that it should not be such; but it was a grief. It was
the thought of Barbara Brande, whom, notwithstanding all his selfish
ambition, he still loved—the thought of Barbara in her awful
bereavement—of Barbara, the noble and true-hearted, now crushed down
under an overwhelming weight of sorrow—and whom he should rather hasten
to raise up, support and console—than deceive, betray and abandon—the
thought of Barbara that would _not_ be banished, but that made his heart
intensely ache. For he was not old in sin, or hardened in guilt, this
Julius Luxmore!—his ruling passion had been powerfully tempted, and had
betrayed his integrity; he had sold his soul to the fiend and was
resolved to do his work—that was all! and truly that was enough.
He knew that to Barbara’s noble, truthful, and confiding nature the
belief in his death would bring less of anguish than the knowledge of
his falsehood—falsehood, the perfidy of which was so extremely
aggravated under the circumstances of her tremendous calamities. He
determined to permit Barbara to believe him dead; and for this reason
gave a fictitious name, instead of his own.
It is true, he felt that this fraud might be discovered; but if it
should be, he was resolved to shift all the responsibility upon others,
by affirming that _they_ had made a mistake in the name.
And to defer as long as possible any chance of being identified as
Julius Luxmore, late mate of Captain Brande, he had, immediately on
reaching the port of Baltimore, slipped out of sight and concealed
himself.
He made his way to New York, and thence took a vessel bound down the
coast. He landed at Norfolk—there purchased a small, clean schooner, and
having manned it with negroes, set sail for the East, or Orient Isle.