THE BROTHERS.
Now commenced a struggle in the bosom of Robert Bramble. It was some
hours before he could recover from the first blush of amazement at the
strange discovery he had made. Not to have had something of a brother's
feelings come over him at such a time, he must have been less than
human; and it was between the promptings of blood, of early
recollections of childhood, before he grew to that age when his
disposition, ruined by indulgence, had led him so bitterly to oppress
and injure his brother as to drive him from the home of their youth, and
the recollection of those little more matured years, when jealousy at
his superior aptness, strength, and success with "cousin Helen," had
made him hate him.
It was impossible for the man to forget the bitterness of the child;
besides, had not the same spirit of rivalry ripened, until he found his
brother in manhood still his successful rival with Helen Huntington? The
reader will remember that they had all three been children together, and
that the last time Charles had looked back at his home, as he started
away from it, his eye detected the little form of Helen, where she stood
gazing after him.
If there had been any better promptings in the heart of Robert Bramble,
they would have turned the balance in favor of his brother, and he would
have befriended him; but this he did not do. He walked his room,
bitterly musing upon the singular position of affairs, while he knew
very well that Charles lay in chains on board his ship in the harbor.
Then he recalled the memory of his parents, as connected with this state
of affairs. The father was dead, the mother, a weak-minded woman, was
also bowed by ill-health; indeed, their early lives had few happy
associations. Robert himself had embittered all its relations.
It was nearly midnight, and the moon had sunk behind the hill that
sheltered the harbor on the north, leaving the dark water of the bay in
deep shadow. At long gunshot from the shore lay the ship in which
Charles Bramble was confined. All was still as death, save the pace of
the sentinel in the ship's waist, and a ripple now and then of tide-way
against the ship's cable. An observant eye, from the leeward side of the
ship, might have seen a dark form creep out from one of the quarter
ports, and gradually make its way along the moulding of the water-lines
toward the larboard bow ports, one of which it stealthily entered.
Entering with this figure, we shall soon find it to be Leonard Hust, who
now, watching an opportunity, slipped into the apartment where the young
commander had been confined since he left the factory of Don Leonardo.
No sooner was the door closed quietly, so as to avoid the observation of
the watch between decks, than the new comer opened a secret lantern and
discovered himself to the prisoner, at the same time cautioning him to
silence.
"Who are you?" coolly asked Charles Bramble, for thus we must know him
in future.
"Leonard Hust," was the reply; "your friend, as I will soon prove."
"But it is only a few hours since you were giving witness against me."
"That is true; but bless you, sir, there has been a great change in
matters since that."
"So I thought, by the movements I observed, though I did not understand
them."
"Hist! speak low, sir," said the other, "and while I am talking to you,
just let me, at the same time, be filing off these steel ornaments upon
your wrists!"
"File them off? Well, then, you must, indeed, be a friend," said the
prisoner.
"Leave me to prove that. Sit here, so the light will fall on them, with
your back this way, that will keep the light from showing between decks.
So, that is it."
"But what was it made your voice and the sound of your name affect me so
this morning? I could not divest myself of the feeling that, I had heard
it somewhere before."
"Heard it? bless you, sir, I rather think you have heard it before,"
said the fellow, as he worked industriously with his file upon the
handcuffs.
"Well, where, and when; and under what circumstances?" asked the
prisoner, curiously.
"That is just what I am going to tell you, sir; and you see, master
Charles--"
"Master Charles,--Charles,--why do you call me that name?"
"Why, you see, that is your name, to be sure. Charles Bramble, and you
are Captain Robert Bramble's brother, and--take care, hold still, or the
file will cut you."
"How,--do not trifle with me,--what is this which you are telling me?"
"Indeed, sir,--indeed, it is all true," said the other, half frightened
at the effect his words had produced upon the prisoner, who now stepped
away from him and stood aloof, withdrawing his wrists from the operation
which Leonard Hust was performing.
"Come hither, Leonard Hust, if that be your name," he said; "sit here
and tell me what this business is that you refer to. No blind hints,
sir, but speak out plainly, and like a man."
Thus interrogated, the man did as he was directed, and went on to tell
the commander of the "Sea Witch" his story, up to the time when he was
lost to his parents and friends. How he had never been kindly treated by
his elder brother, who, indeed, drove him from home by his incessant
oppression. He referred to that last gallant act he had performed, by
saving his mother's favorite dog, and how little cousin Helen (she is
the same as Miss Huntington) had seen it all, and had thanked him over
and over again for it, and a thousand other reminiscences, thread by
thread, and link by link, filling up the space from earliest childhood
to the hour when he had left his home at Bramble Park.
As he went on relating these things, in the same old natural voice that
he had poured into the same ears from their infancy, until nearly ten
years had passed, a long-closed vein of memory seemed gradually to open
in the prisoner's brain; he covered his face with his hands, and for a
few moments seemed lost in connecting the various threads of the past,
until gradually it all came plainly and clearly back to him. His memory
had again by these hints become completely restored, he was himself
again!
"Leonard, Leonard, I see all, remember all," he said, while a tear, a
man's tear, wet for a single moment his bronzed cheek.
"I am rejoiced, sir, to hear it, I am sure," said the other.
"But, Leonard, where is my brother, and why is it necessary to remove
these badges of shame by stealth? Tell me, where is Robert?"
"Alas, sir, you must remember that he never held a brother's regard for
you; it was that very thing which drove you from us when you were a wee
bit of a boy."
"True, true; but he must see the hand of Providence in all this, and I
know he will give me his hand, and we will forgive each other and forget
the past."
"Alas! sir, I always befriended you at home, when master Robert had set
both the old folk against you, and I would do so now; but as to him,
sir, I am sorry to say it, but he's a bad man, and he makes all those
who are with him bad men, and I have many a sad thing at heart that I
have been guilty of by following his orders, sir. No, no, master
Charles, take my advice, don't trust Robert,--make your escape, or you
will be hanged at the yard-arm of this very ship ere another twenty-four
hours have passed!"
"Is he capable of this?" asked the younger brother, in tones of
amazement.
"Nobody should know better than I, sir, and I tell you yes."
"My blood, then, shall not be upon his hands," said Charles, musing, "I
will escape. Come, good Leonard, relieve me of these shackles, and
quickly."
"Slowly, slowly, master Charles, we must be cautious, there are watchful
eyes on board the ship, and sentries who know their duty, so be wary."
The young commander seemed now to stand more erect, there was a freer
glance to his eye, his lips were more compressed and firm, he felt that
what had been to him heretofore an indelible stain, a stigma upon his
character, was now effaced; he was not only respectably born, but even
gently and highly so. His father was knighted by his king, his blood was
as pure and ancient as any in England. He could now take Helen
Huntington to his heart without shame; he could boldly plead a cause
that he had not before dared to utter; he could refer her to the dear
hours of their childhood, to the tender kiss she gave him when he left
that distant home to become a wanderer over half the globe!
He no longer felt the irons that Leonard Hust was filing away. He seemed
to feel a strength that would have snapped them like pack threap. He was
a man now, a free man, and not a thing of accident; a thing for the
world to point at in scorn, not an abandoned child of shame. No, he felt
nerved at once by this singular, this almost miraculous discovery, and
could hardly restrain his impatience. Yet a shadow for a moment crossed
over his brow, as he thought of that brother, who could coldly look on
and see him sacrificed, knowing what he must and surely did know. Could
he have permitted such a result, had he been in Robert's place? Indeed,
he felt he could not.
"Does not my brother know that you are here on this errand, Leonard?"
"If he did it would cost me my life," said the honest fellow.
Charles would have placed some favorable construction upon the case,
but, alas, he could not; there was no possible way of disguising the
matter. Robert was the same bitter, jealous-spirited soul that had
rendered his childhood miserable. Time had not improved him,--it was his
nature and could not be eradicated. Charles now realized this, and
within a few further inquiries of Leonard, touching matters of vital
interest to him, he resolved not to seek Robert, as he had at the outset
intended, neither would he avoid him. He knew no other person save him
could bring a continuance of the suit against him, but he hardly feared
that even he would do that.
"Of course Helen Huntington knows nothing of this development yet,
Leonard?"
"No, sir, and master Robert bid me be careful not to let her find it
out, or to say one word about the matter to any one whatever. I wonder
the lady didn't know you, sir."
"You forget that even Robert did not recognize me."
"And that, too, seemed funny to me. Why, sir, I seemed to know you the
instant I set eyes on you in the court, and when I got close I soon
settled the doubt in my mind."
"Well, my good fellow, it seems that but for you I might have been
hanged, and that, too, by my own bother; but I trust all is set right
now."
"I hope so, sir, only you must not let master Robert know that I
liberated you from these ruffles, sir, will you, master Charles?"
"Never fear me, Leonard, I shall not do as you were about to do towards
me, give testimony that will in any way criminate you."
"But I wasn't, sir, of my own free will, only master Robert had told me
what I must say, and stick to it, and swear to it through thick and
thin, and I'm afraid not to obey him."
"Poor fellow, I see you are, indeed, his tool; but if I find myself in
any sort of a position ere long, I will take care to make your situation
more comfortable."
"Thank ye, sir," said Leonard Hust, just as the last shackle dropped
from the prisoner's wrists.
In the mean time, let us turn for a moment to the bedside of Captain
Robert Bramble, for it is long past midnight, and, weary in mind and
body, he had retired to that rest which he most certainly needed. But
sleep is hardly repose to the guilty, and he was trebly so. Phantoms of
all imaginable shapes flitted across his brain, pictures of suffering,
of misery and of danger, to all of which he seemed to be exposed, and
from which he had no power to flee. Alas, how fearful the shadows that
haunt a bad man's pillow. He writhed like one in physical pain, tossed
from side to side, while the cold perspiration stood in big drops upon
his brow and temples.
Now his dreams carry him back, far back a score of years, to his
childhood at Bramble Park, when all was innocence, and then, with
leaping strides, he finds himself, years after, even as to-day, bearing
deadly witness against his brother. His dead father seems standing by
his bedside, pointing at him a warning finger, and sadly chiding his
fearful want of feeling. He tosses and turns and writhes again, then
leaping from the uneasy bed, looks bewildered around, and half grows
alarmed. Quickly he wraps a dressing-gown about him, and hastily walks
back and forth to still the agony of feeling and the bitter phantoms of
his dreams. How haggard and wild he looks by that dim candle-light.
Once more he throws himself upon his bed, and, after a while, is again
asleep, if such unconsciousness can be called sleep. Again he tosses,
and turns, and sighs like one in a nightmare until at last, towards the
breaking of day, the quick, startling breathing ceases, and subsides
into a regular and equal respiration, and he lies still. Nature
overcomes all else, and he now sleeps, indeed, but not until he has
passed through a fearful purgatory of dreams, all too real, too
trying.--His brother, with soon the prospect of a disgraceful death on
the gallows, had not suffered thus. No, he was repentant for the wrong
he had done, and had already resolved to completely reform if the
opportunity were offered to him; but Robert Bramble was outraging the
laws of nature and of God.