We must now turn for a time to Charles Tyrrell, and give some farther
details of the events which had befallen him between his return to
Oxford and his recall to Harbury Park, which we have hitherto
purposely omitted.
Although there were many things unpleasant in his situation; although
the conduct of his father towards himself had sent him back, as usual,
with unpleasant memories fresh upon him, yet there was something now
in the storehouse of remembrance which made up for all. There was a
drop of that elixir cast into his cup, which is described by one of
the greatest painters of human nature that ever lived, Le Sage, as
giving flavour and sweetness to the sourest, the bitterest, or the
most insipid cup. He had loved and was beloved; and when he looked
back upon the last short month, it seemed as if the whole of the rest
of life was as nothing compared with what he had done, enjoyed, and
suffered in that brief space. The memory thereof afforded him
sufficient matter to occupy his mind till he reached the university,
and then it still remained, a comfort, a consolation, a hope, a joy.
It was to him as an angel stretching out one hand towards the future
and the other towards the past, and scattering flowers over both.
We will not dwell upon the passing of a week or two, on the
prosecution of his academical studies, on the society that he kept, or
the amusements which the narrow means his father afforded him enabled
him to seek. We are coming now to the more bustling and active scenes
of the drama, and we must not pause upon many interludes.
Time slipped by quietly. Charles kept his word faithfully to Mrs.
Effingham; he wrote not to Lucy. He sent her even no message when he
wrote to his mother, though he never failed to mention her in his
letters with terms which he knew would induce Lady Tyrrell to repeat
them to Lucy herself, and would show to her whom he loved how deeply
he still loved her. In so writing, to say the truth, there was perhaps
a greater pleasure than there even would have been in writing to
herself. There was something exciting and doubly interesting in the
shadowing forth, under anything that suggested itself, those feelings,
wishes, hopes, and memories which he was forbidden to express more
plainly. He now mentioned to his mother having met with some flower,
or heard some song that recalled the sweet moments passed in the
society of Lucy Effingham; it was now a picture he had bought which he
longed to show her; it was now a book that he had read which would
give her pleasure to read also; it was something now that she had said
which he remembered and applied under new circumstances.
He certainly thought of Lady Tyrrell when he wrote those letters to
her; but neither Lady Tyrrell, nor himself, nor Lucy Effingham could
doubt that he thought of the latter, too, at every line he wrote. Lady
Tyrrell could not help soon perceiving that her son was really, and
not nominally, in love with Lucy Effingham; but, between a mother's
fondness and a woman's clear-sightedness, she had discovered something
long before which gave her comfort and satisfaction; it was, that Lucy
Effingham was not quite indifferent to her son.
The time thus slipped quietly away, day after day, and Charles Tyrrell
was calculating, with schoolboy impatience, how many days yet remained
to the holidays. He had totally forgotten, by this time, Lieutenant
Hargrave and everything concerning him. As soon as he had found that
Lucy had never loved that personage, he had lost all feelings of
enmity towards him, and his conduct in regard to the duel had only
excited contempt.
A person we despise is soon forgotten, and such was the case in the
present instance; but he was suddenly roused one morning from such
forgetfulness by having a note put into his hands bearing Arthur
Hargrave's name. It simply went to inform him that he had followed him
to Oxford, with his friend Lieutenant ----, for the purpose of
settling the affair which they had been prevented from settling
before. The servant who brought the note told him farther, that the
gentleman who delivered it had said he would call again for an answer
towards five o'clock; and Charles, fully determined to have nothing
farther to do with a person who had before failed to keep his
appointment, merely sent for one of his friends of the same college to
witness the explanation that was to ensue, and waited patiently for
the hour appointed.
At five o'clock precisely the lieutenant of the revenue cutter made
his appearance, and after the ordinary civilities usual on such
occasions, Charles Tyrrell informed him that, by the advice both of
the friend who accompanied him on the previous occasion and the
gentleman whom he then saw present, he had determined to proceed no
farther in the matter, having already done all that was required of
him, and not thinking himself bound to be at the beck and call of
Lieutenant Hargrave at any time that he thought proper.
"I am afraid, sir," replied the lieutenant, "that if you adhere to
this resolution, you will seriously affect your own reputation. I am
charged to give you a full explanation of the causes which prevented
Lieutenant Hargrave from meeting you, and those causes will be found
quite sufficient in the eyes of any man of honour."
Charles Tyrrell turned a questioning look upon his friend, who replied
to it by saying,
"Of course we must hear. Pray, sir, what were those causes?"
"Why, sir," replied the lieutenant of the revenue cutter, "it is a
delicate subject, in some degree, to deal with; but as I am quite sure
I am speaking with two gentlemen and men of honour, who will not, on
any account, betray a trust reposed in them, I will give you the real
causes explicitly. You must know, that after I left Mr. Tyrrell, with
the full determination of bringing Lieutenant Hargrave to the ground
appointed on the following morning, Hargrave informed me of his
intention of carrying off a young lady, who, he said, was willing to
elope with him, and with whom he was in love."
Charles Tyrrell started off his chair, exclaiming, "The scoundrel! I
trust, sir, you had no hand in such a business."
"No farther hand than might become a man of honour, sir," replied the
lieutenant, calmly. "He told me the young lady was ready to go off
with him, he was quite sure; that she would have a large fortune at
her father's death--"
"Why her father has been dead for many months!" exclaimed Charles
Tyrrell, again interrupting him.
"There must be some mistake," replied the lieutenant; "for I saw you
talking to her father himself the very last time we met; and I am as
certain as a man can be of anything in this world, that old Longly was
alive not eight-and-forty hours ago."
"Old Longly!" exclaimed Charles Tyrrell; "that is quite another
affair. I beg your pardon; I interrupted you by mistake; pray go on."
"Well, sir, as I was about to say, he told me if I would but carry
them round to Guernsey or Jersey in the cutter, I should lay him under
an infinite obligation, and it was settled that I was to land him that
evening near the house; that he was to go to meet her, with two of the
boat's crew to carry her things; that he and I were to land the next
morning, to give you the meeting; and, when he had shot you, we were
to go on board again, and get under weigh for Guernsey."
"A kind, pleasant, and jovial arrangement!" said Charles Tyrrell, with
a touch of his father's bitterness in his tone and manner; "pray what
prevented it from succeeding?"
"Why two things," replied the officer; "in the first place, while we
were away, the people got intimation that it was Hargrave that had
spied out the smuggled goods, and given the information which led to
the seizure. His name, it is true, did not appear, but he was to have
two thirds of the reward. In the next place, you see, the young lady
was not quite so willing as he had represented her to be. We landed,
indeed, at the hour appointed; and he went up with the two men and met
her in the wood; but then she did not choose to come away with him;
and when he made his entreaties somewhat too pressing, and got one of
the men to help him lead her down to the boat, perhaps not so tenderly
as might be, she set up a scream, which brought me up from the shore,
and I insisted upon her being set free directly. She then ran back to
her father's house; but it would seem the old gentleman had by this
time found out the whole business, and refused to take her in; so
that, if she had not met with John Hailes, the fisherman, and found
shelter in his cottage, I do not know what would have become of her;
for by this time we had put off, and perhaps reached the ship. Well,
Hargrave and I had a bit of a quarrel that night, as you may suppose."
"I am glad to hear it, I am glad to hear it," exclaimed Charles
Tyrrell, vehemently; "for the honour of human nature, I am glad to
hear it."
"Why I did not like the job, it must be confessed," replied the young
officer; "but, however, as I had engaged to stand his friend in the
business with you, I could not get off, you see, and we landed the
next morning in time to be with you. How it was that the fishermen,
and hovellers, and smugglers got an inkling of what we were about, I
don't know. But it seems they had found out, not only that Hargrave
had given information, but that we were going to land early that
morning, and they had laid an ambuscade just to the west of Stony
Point; so that, before we had got a hundred yards from the boat, they
were upon us, and Hargrave was in their hands in a minute. They did
not offer to hurt us, though they were five or six to one; but they
thrashed him with the stretchers in such a way, that I saw they would
kill him outright before they had done; and consequently, getting all
the boat's crew together, I made a rush for it, and got him more than
half dead out of their hands. They pelted us all the way back to the
boat with large stones, which hurt several of the men; but we got off
notwithstanding, and, as soon as I could, I wrote a note to you, and
going ashore higher up, sent it off by a boy. I hope it reached you."
"It certainly did," replied Charles Tyrrell, "but not till I had
waited some time. However, by your own account, sir, this Lieutenant
Hargrave seems to be so little of a gentleman and so much of a
scoundrel, that I wonder you consent to present yourself upon his
part."
"I do not intend to justify his conduct or to make myself his
champion, sir," replied the commander of the revenue cutter, "and
therefore we will put all that out of the question, if you please.
Having once engaged in the business, I do not choose to go back; and
have only farther to say, that, of course, you will act as you please;
but that the cause of Lieutenant Hargrave's conduct in not meeting you
at the place appointed having been explained, and that cause being
that he was incapacitated from doing anything by the ill usage of the
mob, it seems to me that a gentleman, a brave man, and a man of honour
cannot refuse the appointment he before made."
"Well, sir," replied Charles Tyrrell, "on your account, and to make it
perfectly evident that fear has nothing to do with the matter, I will
meet him. I suppose if you, a respectable officer and an honourable
and gentlemanly man, do not refuse to second him, I must not refuse to
fight him: but still, sir, I must say, that I look upon him as a
scoundrel of the lowest and most ungentlemanly character, for whom the
only proper treatment would be a horsewhip."
The lieutenant bit his lips. "I must beg leave to decline giving any
opinion respecting his character," he answered; "the task I have
undertaken I will accomplish, and I have only further to ask you to
name the time and place."
The rest of the preliminaries were speedily arranged, and upon the
particulars of the duel we shall not pause. Every precaution was taken
by Charles Tyrrell and his second to keep the matter so private that
it could not reach the ears of the academical authorities, and in this
they succeeded perfectly. Charles met his antagonist at a considerable
distance from Oxford, and, as he had predetermined, did not fire at
him, though he made no display of firing in the air. The other fired
at him and missed him only by a few inches; and the moment that an
exchange of shots had taken place, Lieutenant Hargrave's second walked
up to Charles Tyrrell, saying, "I ask you, sir, as a gentleman and a
man of honour, whether you fired at Lieutenant Hargrave?"
"To a question so put," replied Charles, "I can but reply, that I did
not."
"Then the business can go no farther," said the lieutenant; "I presume
you agree with me, sir?" he continued, turning to Charles Tyrrell's
second.
The other replied that he did so exactly; and, without any farther
discussion, the parties prepared to separate.
To Charles's surprise, however, he perceived, as they were getting
into the chaise which brought them there, that Arthur Hargrave and his
second parted also on the ground, with no other farewell than a cold
bow on either side. Every precaution was adopted, in returning to
Oxford, to avoid attracting attention, and, by extreme prudence and
care, not a whisper of the transaction spread through the university.
Everything resumed its usual train in the life of Charles Tyrrell, and
he fancied the matter would never be farther heard of, when he
suddenly was aroused from this dream of repose by receiving the bitter
but laconic note from his father, which we mentioned in a former
chapter, bidding him come immediately to Harbury Park. The tone of
this epistle led him to believe, upon full consideration, that Sir
Francis was acquainted with the whole affair of the duel, though of
course he did not know, till he reached home, that his engagement with
Lucy Effingham had been also disclosed.
He prepared, however, instantly to obey the summons he had received,
and certainly did not suppose that his father, who had always been an
advocate for duelling, would now entertain any very serious wrath at
what had occurred, if the matter were properly explained to him.
Making his preparations, therefore, with as much quickness as
possible, he set out, on the morning after the receipt of his father's
note, upon a journey destined to prove the most important of his life.
He followed the same course that he had pursued on his preceding
journey, going first to London, and then making his way onward by the
heavy nightcoach.
During the former part of the journey, namely, from Oxford to London,
Charles Tyrrell's thoughts were principally employed in endeavouring,
by one effort of imagination or another, to divine who could be the
person that had given Sir Francis Tyrrell information of an event
which had been so carefully concealed as to be perfectly unknown to
the members of the university, within twenty miles of the spot where
it took place. But the only person whom he could fix upon was
Lieutenant Hargrave himself, as he felt perfectly sure that that
officer's second would not mention the matter: it having been
represented to him beforehand that very serious consequences might
ensue if it became known, by any chance, to the heads of the colleges,
that a duel had been fought by one of the gentlemen commoners.
The irritation which he felt, under these circumstances, was very
great; and it was fortunate that Lieutenant Hargrave himself was not
near at hand at the moment when Charles came to the above conclusion,
as it is not improbable that he would speedily have resorted to some
sharp measure for chastising what he conceived to be an unwarrantable
breach of confidence. However, as we have said, it luckily so happened
that Lieutenant Hargrave was not in the coach, and, even more, that
there was nobody in it at all: for Charles Tyrrell was certainly in an
irritable mood, and there are few men, let their dispositions be what
they will, who are not disagreeable companions when such is the case.
Thus he had plenty of opportunity to torment himself with his own
fancies, and in the course of that journey he learned one of the most
valuable secrets of the human heart, by long and solitary commune with
his own in a state of excitement.
People of an eager and impetuous nature, when by chance they fall into
the sin and folly of anger, are apt to declare, that other people or
other things have put them in a passion, when, in truth--even if
others have had any share in the business at all, which is not always
the case--those angry people have been themselves the principals, and
others only the accessories. It generally happens that others may
throw down for us a little smouldering straw, but it is our own
thoughts and imagination that toss it up into a flame.
Charles Tyrrell felt that such was the case in his own instance; that
he had worked himself up into a fit of anger upon very unreasonable
grounds. He detected the habit of doing so in his own mind, and he had
sufficient firmness and resolution, as soon as he had detected that
habit, vigorously to set about rooting it out.
As the first effort so to do, he resolved to think upon Lieutenant
Hargrave no farther; gazing forth from the window, he revolved with
pleasure upon a thousand other things; remembered that the shooting
season had already commenced; laid out a plan for being absent from
home the greater part of the day, either occupied in the healthful
sports of the field, or passing the hours in the society of her he
loved best; and devising with her schemes for future happiness,
building on foundations laid by imagination with materials from the
abundant storehouses of hope.
At length, however, he reached the great metropolis of smoke and
industry, and then once more set out in the Old Blue for the park of
his father. At a little distance from London, however, the coach
stopped, and a woman and a little girl, seemingly both out of health,
and probably proceeding to the seaside for its recovery, applied to
the coachman to be admitted. There was one place vacant in the
vehicle, and the guard represented that the little girl was young and
small, and would occupy but little space, if the passengers would
consent to her sitting on her mother's knee.
Against this proposal a fat lady, who, if equity ruled stagecoaches,
should have paid for two places instead of one, opposed her veto most
vehemently, declaring that she would get out and take a chaise, and
make the coachman pay, if any more than the legal proportion of
passengers was admitted into the favoured vehicle in which she
travelled. The poor woman stood by the coachside, with her child in
her hand, waiting the event of the discussion, and pleading by no
other means than a look of care, and anxiety, and ill health. The
little girl was a frail, delicate child, like a flower of the early
spring, that the first frost might wither, and she looked up first to
her mother's face, and then to the vehicle, as if asking what they
were to do.
After listening for a moment or two to the fat woman's objections,
Charles Tyrrell put his foot out of the coach, saying, "My good lady,
I will soon settle the matter; you sha'n't be put to the trouble of
seeking a postchaise to-night by having too many in the inside.
Coachman, I will go on the top, and then there will be plenty of
room."
The fat woman had nothing to say, but, "Well, I declare!" but the poor
woman by the coach side dropped him a low and grateful courtesy, and
thanked him in a tone which could not be mistaken.
If it had been the coldest night of the year, Charles Tyrrell would
have been well repaid for what was, in fact, no sacrifice. But it was
clear, and beautiful, and warm; and as the coach rolled along, with
the fine summer's moon pouring her bright light over the sleeping
world, he enjoyed himself highly, till a gray streak here and there
upon the edge of the eastern sky, and a faint indescribable glistening
about, the tops of the hills, told that the orb of day was soon about
to rise.
They had now come very near to the seacoast, and were within a few
miles of the spot where, winding round the deep shores of a small bay,
the road turned to pass the park of Sir Francis Tyrrell. The distance
by the road might be about ten miles; through the wood it was less
than half; and so fine had been the night, that Charles Tyrrell had
almost made up his mind to alight at that spot, and take the shorter
path in order to enjoy the morning freshness more at leisure.
As they approached the shore, however, and the day began to dawn, a
thick sea-fog came on, unusual at that period of the year, but which
took away all promise of pleasure from the idea of walking through the
wood. The high road itself was scarcely discernible; and as they
turned away from the sea again to sweep round the bay and cut across
the opposite point, they could hear the voices of persons talking
close by the road, without being able to see where they were.
The coachman was going on at a furious rate, and one of the passengers
who sat on the box had just said, "You had better take care, or you
will run over something or somebody," when some object coming out of
the wood on the left, which neither the coachman nor any of the
passengers could see, startled the leaders, who dashed violently up
the bank on the opposite side of the road. The coach was carried after
them and instantly upset, and Charles Tyrrell, with the rest of the
passengers on the outside, felt himself instantly cast with enormous
force towards the wood on the left.
Of what happened after for some time he had no consciousness. He felt,
indeed, a violent blow upon the head, but that was all; and when,
after a long lapse of time, he regained his senses for a few minutes,
it was but to feel, or at least to think, he was dying, and to sink
again into insensibility. Those brief moments, however, had been
sufficient for many a painful thought to cross his mind. He thought of
Lucy Effingham certainly; but we must tell the truth, and acknowledge
that the first, the deepest, the most painful thought was of his
mother. Lucy, he knew, had other ties to life; and though she might
grieve, she would not grieve without consolation. Lady Tyrrell had
none but him, and, had he had power to speak, he might have exclaimed
with the wounded cavalier, Prince Baldwin, in the Marquis of Mantua:
"O triste Reyna mi madre,
Dios te quiera consolar,
Que yà es quebrado el espejo
En que te solias mirar.
"Siempre de mi recelaste
Sobresalto de pesar
Ahora de aqui adelante
No te cumple rezelar."
However, as we have said, he spoke not; for there was a faint sickness
upon him, a deathlike sensation at his heart, which took away all
power; and the first feelings that assailed him instantly cast him
back into insensibility once more. How long he remained in this state,
he, of course, could in no degree calculate; but when he at length
opened his eyes again, he felt much better than he had been before,
and could see around him, which had not been the case on the former
occasion, when all had been dim and indistinct. It was night, and the
place in which he was had the appearance of a fisherman's cottage; and
stretched upon a rough but clean bed, he gazed round, and saw several
anxious faces watching him by the light of a single candle.
All those faces but one were known to him, and they were those of
honest John Hailes, the fisherman, his wife, and his eldest boy, who
now, apparently recovered from the injury he had sustained, but pale
and eager with anxiety, was holding a basin under Charles's arm, while
the blood flowed into it from an incision just made by a gentleman in
black, who was sitting by the bedside, and whom Charles Tyrrell
naturally concluded to be a surgeon. The medical man immediately saw
that consciousness had returned, and slightly moving the arm backward
and forward, he caused the bleeding to proceed more freely, every drop
that flowed giving his patient greater relief.
After a short time Charles found himself able to speak, and was about
to ask some questions when the surgeon held up his finger, saying,
"Perfect quietness, and you will soon be quite well! There is no bone
broken, no injury to the scull, merely a severe cut and concussion.
But you must be perfectly quiet; neither speak nor move, nor think, if
it be possible, till to-morrow morning. I will stay with you all
night, and not leave you till I am perfectly sure you are safe. Your
father has been informed of what has occurred, as soon as these good
people could send up to let him know. But their first care was, of
course, most wisely to seek for medical advice, which rendered it
late. You will soon be quite well, however, so keep your mind at
ease."
His arm was then bandaged up, and, by the surgeon's direction, Hailes
and his wife and children left the room in which the young gentleman
was, and retired into an inner chamber, keeping everything as quiet as
possible. The surgeon then resumed his seat by his patient's bedside,
shaded the lamp, and applied himself to read, refraining from speaking
even a word. Charles Tyrrell did not sleep for some time, however, and
towards midnight the surgeon felt his pulse, and gave him something to
drink, which seemed both to cool and tranquillize him: for in a few
moments he fell asleep, and did not wake again till the sun was high
up in the sky.
END OF VOL. I.
CHARLES TYRRELL;
OR,
THE BITTER BLOOD.
BY
G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.
AUTHOR OF "THE HUGUENOT," "THE ROBBER," "MARY
OF BURGUNDY," &c., &c.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1855.
CHARLES TYRRELL.