THE SEAMAN'S STORY.
'I was little more than twelve years of age when I entered the British
Navy as a midshipman, much against my good father's will, for I was his
only child, and my mother died the day I first saw the light. But I was
a wayward, unruly boy, and he feared I might take to bad courses if
restrained. It was a time of stirring action, and before I was twenty
years of age I bore upon my shoulder the epaulette of a lieutenant,
earned in many a bloody fight. The naval service was then in high
favour, and many sprigs of nobility condescended to walk the
quarter-deck as captains and commanders, though they seldom knew as much
about a ship as the ship's boys. One of these was the late Earl de
Montford--He had the haughty courage of his race; few of them were
deficient in that; but he had disdained to learn his profession, and
when he was appointed to command a corvette, I was sent on board as
first lieutenant, but in fact as what is called a nurse--to do the work,
while my incapable but titled commander reaped the glory. We were
anchored in the bay of Naples, having borne despatches to the fleet then
stationed there, and were under orders to sail the next morning, when he
sent for me into his cabin, and with more familiarity and kindness than
he had ever used to me before, he confided to me that he was in love,
and wanted my assistance to rescue her he loved from a convent. Fond of
adventure, I consented, and we succeeded, so they were that very evening
united by the chaplain on board the corvette. She was very beautiful,
and he was both proud and fond of her. His father was alive, however,
and as the old Earl had negotiated for him a marriage with the daughter
of some proud Marquis in England, he did not dare to acquaint him of
it--for though the title and the estate could not be alienated, yet the
enormous personal property could, and even his love for the fair Italian
could not reconcile him to risk the chance of enduring what he would
have called poverty. He purchased a villa at Leghorn, and leaving the
ship almost entirely at my command, lived for the time at least as
though there was nothing on this earth to care for but love and beauty.
The chaplain had been sworn to secresy, and the other officers of the
ship thought it was merely some amour of their commander's, and whatever
they thought of his morals, they of course took good care to say
nothing. The chaplain died soon after, and I remained the sole living
witness of the marriage. The birth of a son, however, instead of linking
their hearts closer together, became the apple of discord between them.
She pressed him to acknowledge her as his wife to the numerous English
families who were settled around Leghorn, and who refused to associate
with one in her equivocal position. She had borne their slights
patiently when only directed against herself, but the feelings of a
mother were aroused when the finger of scorn was pointed at her child.
It was too evident, also, that his affection for her was on the wane. He
was absent from her more frequently--spoke of the necessity of attending
to his duty--his duty! oh, the ready excuse man finds to do evil. Better
far for that poor girl would it have been to have been buried in the
deepest recesses of the cloister, than to have attracted the notice of
that vile unprincipled nobleman. It was about this time the old Earl
died, and he quitted the service. There was no bar now for his
acknowledging her as his wife--but he was satiated--his fleeting passion
had evaporated. He had visited England in the interval, and seen the
bride destined for him by his father: and her beauty, the enormous
addition to his wealth and power which would accrue from the marriage,
tempted him, and he now regarded the woman who had surrendered to him
the most sacred of man's earthly trusts--her young heart's first
affections, her hopes of earthly happiness--as a barrier to his pride
and the vile passion he dared to dignify with the name of love: and when
she now asked him to do her the justice which he could no longer plead
his father's anger for denying--O God, where were thy thunderbolts!--he
told her that their marriage was a sham one, that the chaplain was but a
servant in disguise, and that in truth she was only his mistress. I had
been dismissed the service through him--I will speak of that anon--the
chaplain was dead--she did not even know his name or mine--how could she
help herself? She never held up her head after this. She refused all
support from him, though he offered to settle upon her a considerable
pension. For five years she supported herself by teaching music at
Florence, whither she removed with an attendant whom her gentle manners
had attached to her, and from whom, years after, I learned these
particulars. She never would, however, consent to sign any papers which
would affect her own or her son's rights, nor would she part with the
certificate of marriage the chaplain had given her, though he tried hard
to obtain them, as also the letters he had written to her from the ship
at different times in which he had always addressed her as his wife. But
her constitution had received a shock from which it never recovered, and
at the expiration of that time she died. His agent, who had been
secretly watching her by his orders, took the boy to England, where he
was sent to a distant school for education under a feigned name, and at
the age of fifteen sent to sea--where, as he was believed to be a
natural son of the Earl, and the latter favored that assumption, his
advancement was rapid; not more so, however, than his gallantry and good
conduct deserved, for I often heard his name mentioned with applause,
though I little dreamed then who he was, or how closely the fortunes of
those I loved the best were connected with him. He was your father,
Edward, and the proud man who now usurps your title and your fortune is
a bastard!'
The look of high reserve that flashed in the young man's eyes as he
listened to the tale, contrasted well while it agreed with the stern,
implacable, expression of the mariner's countenance, which deepened, if
possible, as he proceeded.
'It was many years afterwards that I learned these particulars, but I
must now speak of my dismissal and its cause. From the day that your
grandfather's love for his young bride began to decline, he hated me,
yet he feared me--and took good care to conceal it: I was young and
unsuspicious, and when he procured my appointment as first-lieutenant in
a frigate bound to the West Indies, I thanked the man who was plotting
my ruin. The commander of the frigate was one of the meanest wretches
that ever disgraced a command--an impoverished rake who gained the means
of continuing his excesses by flattering the vanity and aiding the
schemes of his richer companions in vice, and duping the more
inexperienced. He had received his directions evidently, and every
studied insult, everything that petty spite and malice could inflict was
tried to provoke me, but the contempt I felt for the reptile restrained
me full as much as the iron bands of discipline. We arrived at Jamaica
and cruised about the Bay of Mexico for some time, when the daughter of
a rich planter, in South Carolina, (then one of his Majesty's colonies,
now one of the brightest stars in the flag of the Great Republic,) took
a passage with her governess in our ship to New Orleans, whither we were
ordered on service. The Captain tried to make himself agreeable to her,
but she treated his advances with coldness so marked as to enrage him.
She saw through, with ease, the flimsy veil he attempted to throw over
his vices. It was my happy fortune to save her from a watery grave. In
landing, she incautiously stepped from the ladder before the boat was
sufficiently near to receive her, and fell, into the sea. I dashed over
the taffrail, the tide was running strong, but I caught her in my arms,
and bore her up, until the boat came to our relief. Her father, who
awaited her arrival, was unbounded in his expressions of gratitude, and
invited me often to his hotel, he also gave me a cordial invitation to
his plantation in Carolina. The Captain made many unseemly jokes upon
the affair, but I bore them all,--for now I felt I loved and I hoped,
who does not hope at twenty-three? I hoped I was beloved in return.
Annoyed by my patience, galled and mortified by his rejection, he lost
his usual prudence, and one day boasted before a knot of loose
companions in my presence, of favors he had received from her,--from her
who was purity itself, and had scarcely deigned to exchange the common
courtesies of life with him. I struck him to the deck for his detested
lie, and gave myself up as prisoner. I was tried by a Court Martial and
declared incapable of serving his Majesty again. I had expected death,
and his powerful friends did their utmost to procure a sentence, but the
Admiral was a just though a rigid man, and well knew the character of my
accuser,--the provocation was taken into consideration, and the services
I had rendered during eleven years in storm and battle. I was dismissed.
Mr. Elliott, the planter, offered me a home. I had saved considerable
prize money. I was disgusted with England, and I loved. He, himself,
offered me his daughter, and she did not refuse me. We lived together
three happy years, when she died in giving birth to a daughter. Oh! she
was beautiful,--most beautiful, but linked to my wayward fate, she
perished.'
There was a softened shade over the seaman's face, and the stern
expression had gone,--he brushed some moisture from his eyes with his
strong hand, and turned aside for a moment; the young man was deeply
moved.
'A life of inactivity gave no balm to my wounded spirit, and I burned
for action. Mr. Elliott saw it; "Side with us," said he, "there has been
a Tea Party in Boston harbor that will bring thunder ere long, and I
will procure you a command;" he did so. I joined the Navy of the United
States, and bore the stars and stripes aloft through many a scene of
peril and of death. Mr. Elliott doted on his grandchild, and she
remained with him. Those were times that tried men's hearts, and my
father-in-law was chivalrous as he was generous--he gave the bulk of his
fortune to his country's need, and confiding my daughter, then a child
some two years old, to a distant relative, carried his grey head and
feeble limbs to join the ranks of those who fought for liberty. He fell
gloriously in battle, and when, after years of active service, peace was
declared, and I came home to seek my daughter, the lady who had her in
charge had died of fever, and my child had been taken away, no one could
tell me by whom or where:--all traces of her were lost. I now longed to
see my father, peace was declared, the Independence of America admitted,
and as I had fought under an assumed name, I anticipated no danger. I
was received as one from the grave. I never mentioned my marriage, even
to my father, but accounted for my absence and my silence, by saying
that, ashamed to come home after being dismissed, I had gone in a
merchant vessel to India, and had there been taken prisoner by the
Lootees, a species of banditti, while on an excursion inland. My tale
was easily believed; to please my father, I married again. The sister of
good Mrs. Ally, my second wife, was a good and kind woman, and after the
birth of my daughter Mary, I again hoped for happiness. Vain hope. The
malice of the De Montford family was again let loose upon me. Your
grandfather was dead. I knew nothing of the events that had occurred
during my absence, and supposed that his first wife had died in Italy,
and her son also. But the countess had found among her husband's papers,
so I suppose, at least, for on this point I am uninformed, something
which threw light upon the past, and, supposing that I knew of the
existence of your father resolved on removing me. I was fond of
shooting, and one day shot a hare in a distant part of the manor. I had
been watched, by her orders, and a charge of poaching was instituted
against me. Her son was absent then, upon his murderous errand, as I
afterwards knew. I was tried on a charge of poaching; the game laws were
severe; the justice was her creature, and despite the entreaties of my
father, and the tears of my wife, I was condemned to transportation for
seven years.'
A bitter sneer was curling on the young man's lip; the mariner's face
had resumed its stern expression. 'The details of my escape from Botany
Bay are unimportant. Suffice it, that I once more reached America, and
devoted my energies to tracing the fate of my child. In Savannah I was
fortunate enough to meet with the attendant of your grandmother. She had
accompanied a family of refugees from European disturbances, and from
her I learned not only what I have told you already--but that my
daughter had been married, and that her husband was no other than the
son of her old mistress and your father!'
The young man threw his hands towards heaven and fell on his knees.
'O Thou, whose ways are inscrutable, blessed be thy name, for out of
darkness thou hast brought light, and turned the misdeeds of the guilty
upon themselves, and made the promptings of nature yearn in the heart of
the orphan boy towards the father of my mother.'
He fell upon the old man's neck and sobbed. Such emotions are no
disgrace to manhood. The mariner strained him to his heart, and it was
some time ere the emotion of both had subsided sufficiently to enable
the one to ask or the other to give further explanation. At length the
mariner resumed. 'From this woman, who had recognised your father by a
peculiar mark on his hand, I learned that she had kept the papers of
your grandmother and the locket, and gave them to your father; but he
treated them as fabulous, and her as an impostor. Your mother, however,
gave credence to her tale, and even consulted a lawyer; but they were
not sufficient without my evidence, and your father would not take any
steps in the affair. Your mother kept her as an attendant till her own
death, but your uncle must have heard from some source of the existence
of his brother; and after his death, which happened in battle at sea, he
tried to induce the widow to give up these papers. Failing in this, by a
large sum of money he tempted your nurse to poison her, and possessed
himself of them, representing himself as her husband's brother, but
concealing his rank. She was also to make away with you; but repenting
of the murder of your mother, she concealed you for some time in a
distant part of the State, but he discovered her and sold her to a
Tennessee planter. It was but this year I succeeded in tracing her, and
finding her almost at the point of death, got these facts from her,
regularly drawn up and witnessed. I bought her freedom first to enable
her to give evidence, and soon after her earthly account was closed.
Violetta D'Arista, your grand-mother's faithful attendant, gave me a
clue by which I traced you; and she is now in London, anxious to fold
you to her breast, and to aid you as far as in her power, to restore to
you your birthright and inheritance.'
'And the papers?'
'If not destroyed, are in his possession.'
'Then I can obtain them, although he has had, as he thinks, all the
subterranean passages stopped up, yet there remains one, by which I can
penetrate to his very bed-room unseen, although a stout man could not.'
The seaman mused. 'It would be dangerous. Your uncle is a brave man, and
powerful. If he awoke--and such consciences must be bad sleeping
companions, you would be sacrificed.'
'I fear not--for vengeance on my mother's murderer I would dare
anything.'
'It must not be, young man. You have a sacred duty to perform, more
binding far than vengeance, which is the Lord's alone. You have to heal
the sorrows of those who will be in a great measure dependent upon you
to redress the wrongs of years of oppression, to be a father to the
tenants of your wide domain, and your life must not be idly risked.'
'I have it!' said Edward, eagerly. 'You say my father was fair-haired,
and I am like my mother.'
The seaman took a miniature from his vest, and handed it to him. It
contained two portraits--one of a captain in the British navy, in full
uniform, his head bare, and locks of fair hair falling even over his
shoulders, for he had disdained the peruke then in fashion--and that of
a lady, whose dark eyes and raven ringlets told that her nativity had
been the sunny south.
'Johnson is not unlike the portrait of my father, and is a slim man,'
said Edward. 'He will readily go with me. I will personate my mother. I
am confident the papers are not destroyed, for I have often seen him
when he little dreamed an eye was upon him, examining some papers he
keeps in a small casket on his toilet, and one in particular, a document
of some length, which he has often seemed to me about to tear, but
always replaced.'
'It will do,' said his grandfather. 'Good Mrs. Ally will procure you the
necessary attire. She can be trusted fully, and I will reconcile her and
Johnson, so that we can all work in concert. Those papers secured, with
the evidence of Violetta and the dying deposition of your nurse, with
the evidence of the lady who took charge of your mother, and who is also
alive and in London, I doubt not soon to see you in the enjoyment of
your rights. It will be a strange anomaly--an American a British peer.'
'And then, dear grandfather, you will allow me to repay you, in a small
measure, by my affection and care of your declining years, for all the
anxiety you have endured in securing my interests.'
'Not to me, young man, not to me. My lot on earth is cast. I am here a
fugitive, in danger of a felon's doom. I shall return to honest, plain
America, and there devote the remainder of my life to succoring the poor
and afflicted. Do you likewise here, remembering that you are but the
steward of your wealth. Let the former oppressions of your house be
forgotten in your good deeds. Let your voice be heard in the high court
of which you will be a member, whenever the artizan and the laborer need
a defender from the foul enactments that are there consummated. Let your
passions be subjected to the control of religion and morality--let no
avaricious knave oppress the hard-toiling farmer in your name, but see
to these things yourself. Let your ear be easy of access, and your heart
be open, and then, my Lord, I shall be more than repaid, you will have
had a nobler vengeance than any man could give you, and will earn in
truth a right to bear the proud motto which your fathers arrogated to
themselves, emblazoned, not on your escutcheon, but in the hearts of
grateful men--
"_Second to none in deeds of charity._"'