Who were the murderers? Gentle, reader, I think you have a shrewd

suspicion already. But “time tells many secrets,”--so says the Gaelic

adage; and as none have doubted its accuracy, we’ll wait for further

information on the subject.

CHAPTER XXIII. SUNDRY OCCURRENCES NARRATED-MR. BROWN AND HIS FRIENDS IN

TROUBLE.

_Murderer_. Safe in a ditch he bides,

With twenty trenched pashes on his head;

The least a death to nature.”

“Yolk-fellows in arms,

Let us to France!”

Shakspeare.

“You are late, my friend,” I said, as the gipsy stopped beside me and

Mr. Hartley.

“I am too late to warn you against the attempt, but in good time to

apprise you of the extent of the danger you have eseaped, and implore

you, as you value life, to profit by it,” was the reply.

“You are then aware that I have been assailed, and providentially

rescued?”

“I am.”

“Did you witness the attempt upon my young friend’s life?” asked Mr.

Hartley.

“No; had I been near enough, the attempt would never have been made.”

“Then you must have obtained a knowledge of it in a marvellously short

time after the occurrence.”

“I have,” replied the gipsy; “and, as time is precious, I shall at once

tell the means by which I gained that information. I had received an

intimation that certain agents would be employed, and, anxious to learn

the plans that would be adopted, I repaired to a place where I was well

aware the ruffians could be met with. Earlier it would have been useless

to have sought them--crime and darkness are companions--and the boldest

ruffian of the party dared not venture from his skulking-place in the

broad light of day. I went and found them, not preparing for their

murderous essay, but foiled in the attempt, and venting, in impotent

execrations, their rage at disappointment. From one maimed wretch I

heard the particulars of their night adventure, after his companions,

leaving him to my charge, had gone to report their failure to the

scoundrels who had employed them.”

“And after the danger’s past, you come to congratulate my young friend

on his deliverance! Methinks, it would have been doing better service

to have apprised him of his peril, and not entrusted his escape from the

murderer’s knife to the accidental assistance rendered by some passing

strangers.”

“Had I not already cautioned him sufficiently?” returned the gipsy. “If

he allowed himself to be made the dupe of an artful woman--one with the

semblance of purity and innocence veiling a heart that from infancy

has been familiarized with crime--and whose beauty seems to be given so

lavishly, only to render her a greater curse to the community--was I to

blame? All that a woman’s art could do was done. Were he the offspring

of first love, his safety eould not be dearer to a mother. Once more,

Hector O’Halloran, I come to warn you. Danger is averted, but not

passed; and I repeat my former admonition: regard every stranger who

approaches you as an enemy!”

“But, woman, with the knowledge you possess, why not end this state

of insecurity? Tell us whence danger is to come--denounce his

assassins--and the laws of England are quite sufficient to protect my

young friend from those who seek his life.”

“To save is one thing, to betray another; and I would preserve his life,

if possible, without compromising that of one whom I know to be his

deadliest enemy. But of one thing rest assured--should no other means

succeed--the guilty shall be sacrificed and the innocent preserved.

Farewell. Trust implicitly in me. Early to-morrow expect to hear from

me; and stir not from home until my letter shall be delivered.”

She turned away; we heard her steps receding in the darkness. Presently

the sounds became fainter until they died away, and we returned to our

own hotel, very little wiser than when we left it.

“I cannot even fancy who our foemen are,” said Mr. Hartley, as he leaned

thoughtfully against the mantel-pieee. “At times a vague suspicion

crosses my mind. That monk, and his associate, who have enthralled your

grandfather, and estranged the dotard from the child who should have

been the solace of his age, they look no doubt upon you as a dangerous

rival. But were their fears greater, and did they wish, even by

violence, to rid themselves of one who might mar their schemes, still

the villany would require some time ere it could be sufficiently matured

for execution. The secret motives which actuate that mysterious woman

are also impenetrable, but her fidelity is beyond a doubt. Well, Hector,

we must needs be ever on the alert until time developes more than we

know at present. And now, to bed.”

We separated for the night; and never did the slumbers of a private

gentleman prove less refreshing than mine. I dreamed eternally of every

thing abominable. One time, the gipsy was sounding into my attentive ear

her mystic warnings; the next, with smiles, sweet enough to bother any

saint in the whole calendar, that demon-girl was beckoning me along dark

and dreary passages,--and I mechanically following, although perfectly

conscious that she lured me to the grave. No wonder that next morning I

rose with an aching head; and then, for the first time, ascertained

the extent of the injury I had sustained. It is true the hurts were

superficial; but from the number of bruises my arms and back exhibited,

many blows had fallen on both, although at the time they were unfelt by

me.

I was the last personage to present myself at the breakfast table.

I found Isidora there, pale and agitated; for Mr. Hartley had just

acquainted her with my narrow escape from assassination. To do him

justice, he omitted every particular of my having undertaken to arrange

Miss Julia Travers’ claims upon the government; and, as “good men blush

at the record of a virtuous act,” I was delighted to find that my

beneficent intentions regarding the soldier’s orphan were silently

passed over. When I took her hand in mine, I felt it tremble; and,

from the manner of both, had Mr. Hartley been ignorant of our attachment

before, that morning’s meeting would have betrayed the secret to one far

less discerning than he was.

As breakfast ended, the postman’s knock was heard; and presently

Dominique presented several letters to Mr. Hartley and myself. His

appeared to be full of interest, from the attention with which he

perused their contents; and mine, to me, were equally important. One was

from my father, and it apprised me that he expected to get me placed

on the staff of one of his old friends, a general officer, commanding a

brigade of the army now advancing towards the Pyrenees; and the other,

a formal notification of my appointment, with an order for my departure

forthwith for the Peninsula, by a sloop-of-war, which was to sail on the

third day from Portsmouth for Passages, laden with money and military

stores.

While I was reading my despatches, Mr. Hartley rose suddenly and left

the room, to reply to one of his that required an immediate answer. More

unwelcome intelligence never met the eye of a soldier of fortune,

than the unexpected order to leave England now appeared to me. How

differently the route for the Peninsula would have been regarded a

fortnight since! Involuntarily I raised my eyes--and they encountered

those of my gentle mistress. She had perceived that the letters I had

just received contained news of no ordinary interest. I rose, and seated

myself beside her, and gradually announced that the hour of parting was

at hand.

I need not describe the scene that followed. Those who have loved as we

did, can guess it well; and fancy what the “cold in blood” could never

know nor feel. Isidora’s hand was locked in mine; and my flushed cheeks,

and her tearful eyes, told too well, how agonizing the first severance

of love is. Suddenly the door opened--Mr. Hartley entered--he paused

a moment in surprise; and, while she was covered with blushes, and I

astonished beyond the power of free agency, he advanced and stood before

us.

“Soh!--what means this folly, may I ask?”

The tears flowed faster down his daughter’s cheeks, while I,

unconsciously, still held her hand in mine, and merely pointed to the

letters that were lying on the table.

Mr. Hartley read them hastily, and, without evincing any mark of

displeasure at the discovery he had made, he beckoned gently to his

daughter, and next moment she was seated on her father’s knee, her arms

clasped fondly round his neck, and her head rested on his bosom.

“Isidora,” he said, in that soft tone of voice with which he always

addressed his favourite, “I have been already prepared for this

discovery; and had I been unfriendly to the growth of an attachment

which I have witnessed with satisfaction, I would have discouraged the

unrestricted intimacy which has existed between you and my young friend,

and which in youth is ever too dangerous to be permitted.

I think I have known the world too long, to have any doubt upon my

mind respecting this gentleman’s feelings towards you, my child; but,

nevertheless, I will inquire of him whether I have correctly formed this

opinion.”

My reply was a florid declaration of youthful passion, whose ardour

elicited from my gentle mistress a look which told me that my love was

faithfully reciprocated.

“‘Well, I believe you, Hector. Circumstances have hurried matters on

more rapidly than I had expected. I have watched you suspiciously; for

he who would trust his earthly treasure to the keeping of another, will

be guarded ere he parts with it. I am satisfied that all which I value

will be safe. Continue to deserve it; and when events, now in slow

progress, shall have come round, and prudence justifies the step, this

hand, Hector,”--and he placed Isidora’s in mine--“the dearest gift a

father can bestow, is yours.”

Young love is eloquent, and I warmly expressed my gratitude.

“An hour ago I considered that the time had not yet arrived, when you

were entitled to demand my confidence,” continued Mr. Hartley; “I have

now given you the strongest pledge of my personal regard; and you have

a claim upon my unlimited confidence, which shall be freely admitted. We

dine at six; and afterwards you shall know some particulars of the story

of a man, whose very existence none, save yourself and this loved child,

suspect. Little did you imagine that, in the stern monitor who blamed

your follies, a kinsman was cautioning an unschooled novice against

those seductions of vicious society which so often wreck the happiness

of youth. None could have taught the lesson better than himself. He

had erred and paid the penalty--and a life of peril, suffering, and

disappointment, has scarcely redeemed the obloquy and disgrace which

his earlier indiscretions had brought upon a name, which, but for

his offendings, should have been second to none in Britain. Hector

O’Halloran, you stand in the presence of one, who, tempted, ruined, and

rejected by all, became a castaway and an exile--I am Edward Clifford.”

Was I dreaming--or was it a reality, that the man who had exercised such

mysterious influence over my thoughts and actions, was closely united to

me by the bond of blood--my mother’s brother--my grandsire’s heir--but,

dearer tie than all--the father of Isidora! My brain was in a whirl,

when Dominique unclosed the door to announce that two persons were

below, and anxious to see me. I informed my uncle--for that relationship

with him I shall claim for the future--that the strangers were

my deliverers; and in a few minutes after Isidora had retired, my

foster-brother and the honest ratcatcher were formally introduced.

Of the Irish relationship that existed between me and Mark Antony

O’Toole my uncle was already apprised, and he received the fosterer

accordingly as if he had been an old acquaintance; but, touching

the private history of Shemus Rhua, we were both as yet in blissful

ignorance. All we knew was, that in the hour of danger, he had proved

himself a jewel above price; but that he had arrayed himself in arms

against the house of Hanover, eased Tim Maley of his purse, bled an old

woman, or ferretted a rat, were interesting passages in the captain’s

life which we had yet to learn. Neither of my friends looked to the best

advantage. The ratcatcher, in the _rookawn_ of the preceding evening,

had been favoured with a black eye--and the fosterer came out of

action minus a skirt, with the addition of an awkward fracture in

his unmentionables. Both had the appearance of gentlemen who had been

recently in trouble, and from their “_shuck_ * look,” had they presented

themselves as bail, it is doubtful whether a fastidious justice of the

peace would have accepted either, without instituting a slight inquiry

into their “whereabouts” and general effects. I believe the meeting of

last night was, on both sides, a fortunate occurrence. Never did man

receive succour when he needed it more opportunely than I; while the

fosterer and his friend had already experienced some difficulty in

struggling against an exhausted treasury and wardrobe. A liberal present

from Mr. Hartley (for that name must be for the present retained)

placed the finances of the twain once more in a flourishing condition. I

supplied the fosterer with an outfit for his outer man; the captain made

a judicious selection from a fashionable emporium in the vicinity of

Monmouth Street; and in a couple of hours, a happy change in both had

been effected, and their persons were gay as their hearts.

* Anglice--shaken, or shabby.

The morning wore away. No tidings from the gipsy had arrived; and Mr.

Hartley and myself had just come to a conclusion that something

had changed her intention of sending me a dispatch, and that it was

unnecessary to wait longer at home in expectation of the promised

billet. The fosterer and captain had returned from their morning’s

excursion; and Mr. Hartley, having heard their adventure at Mr. Spicer’s

on the preceding evening, was considering the best method in which that

information could be employed to discover who might be the conspirators

against my life. He was listening a second time to a narrative of their

imprisonment in the lumber-room, where Mark Antony had ensconced himself

to avoid the ire of an elderly gentleman, who, like Mr. Spicer, had “not

loved wisely, but too well,” when the negro entered the drawing-room,

and handed me a sealed letter, whose folding and address bore evident

appearance of carelessness. I unclosed it hastily--the private mark

annexed announcing that the gipsy was the writer. The contents were

these:

“Well may it be said that the ways of Providence are inscrutable; for

vengeance so sudden as to pass belief, has fallen on those who last

night endeavoured to effect your destruction. Come to the Green Man

immediately.’ There you will see those who employed, and those who

undertook to murder you. Notice nothing which may occur; and appear to

take no more interest in passing events, than any stranger in the room.

Follow me when I leave the house, and let your friend accompany you.

Fail not!”

“We shall punctually attend the lady’s invitation,” said Mr. Hartley, as

he perused the scroll for the second time, “and we will also take that

henchman of yours and his companion with us.”

Accordingly, these useful allies were dispatched, with proper directions

to find the place appointed; and in half an hour, Mr. Hartley and I

started in the same direction.

On arriving at our destination, we found the street was crowded, and

intense anxiety was visible in the countenances of a very numerous

collection of idle people, to whom every act of atrocity gives interest.

Indeed, it had been found necessary to close the tavern doors against

all, excepting those who might professionally or profitably claim a

right of entrance. The appearance of my uncle and myself, however,

secured admission, and we were conducted into a spacious club-room,

which had been selected wherein to hold the necessary inquest on a

murdered man. A crown, judiciously applied, obtained convenient seats

immediately beside the defunct lawyer and the persons suspected of his

murder; and the fosterer and his companion had standing room assigned

them, behind the chairs with which we had been graciously accommodated.

That spacious room had witnessed many an hour of revelry. With the

dance, the song, the laugh, and every outbreak of “tipsy jollity,”

its walls for years had been familiarized. The present was a different

scene. It was an inquisition for “blood spilt” by man; and the victim

and his slaughterers were placed in the immediate presence of each

other.

The deceased remained in the same state as when he had been discovered

in the morning, and even the position in which the body had been found

was scrupulously preserved. No doubt existed as to the cause of death,

for the skull was extensively fractured, and _post mortem_ appearances

evinced that unnecessary violence had been employed; for any of

half-a-dozen injuries inflicted on their victim by the murderers would

have proved mortal. The features were painfully distorted; and the

passing agonies of the departed man had been severe. Not an article of

value was found upon the corpse; the pockets were turned out, and showed

that robbery had succeeded murder.

From the dead my eyes turned to the living. Five men were seated on a

form, and behind each individual a man of peculiar appearance stood,

whom Mr. Hartley told me in a whisper, belonged to a celebrated

community long since extinct--Bow Street runners. On the persons who

occupied the bench the gaze of all within the room was concentrated, and

I examined them, from right to left, attentively.

The first was genteelly dressed, and his general appearance was superior

to that of his companions. His exterior exhibited tokens of vulgar

opulence; and watch, and brooch, and ring, all valuable, told that had

he been criminal, the plea of poverty could not be used in extenuation.

Beside him a man was seated, whose dress was shabby and general

appearance disgusting. His head was swathed in a bloody handkerchief;

and it was announced that, in a murderous affray on the preceding night,

his jaw-bone had been severely fractured.

The third was a blackguard of ordinary stamp; but the fourth and fifth,

Mark Antony and his companion at once recognised as old acquaintances.

“By the hole in my coat!” said the ratcatcher, in a whisper, “I would

swear to that dacent couple in a thousand. That _critch_ * without any

carcase, good nor bad, and the dark-muzzled scoundrel beside him--more

betoken, I think it was himself, the murderin’ thief, that giv me the

black eye.”

* Anglice--a hunchback.

I looked at the scoundrels, with whose appearances the reader is already

familiar. Gracious God! was I so nearly hurried from existence by

the bludgeon of that truculent-looking Jew, or the knife of that

contemptible hunchback? But my thoughts were speedily turned into

another channel. The coroner took his place; the jury were empannelled;

and the inquest formally commenced.

[Illustration: 0249]

It would be unnecessary to trespass upon the reader’s patience, and

narrate in detail every particular attendant on a mercenary murder. The

money intended to procure my death, by a singular accident, caused

the assassination of the guilty wretch who had been the hired agent to

effect it. In the remote place, and at the untimely hour when Sloman

met a doom he merited too well, it was supposed that the foul deed would

have been effected in full security. Guilt plots cunningly, but a higher

influence mars the best-laid schemes. An outcast, without a roof to

cover her, had crept for shelter into a dilapidated building, and,

unseen and undiscovered, overheard the murderers arrange their plans.

She saw them waylay the devoted wretch, knock him on the head, and

afterwards, by the light of a dark-lantern, plunder the dead body.

When they retired, she followed unperceived, and traced them into the

dwelling of their employer. She acquainted the Bow Street myrmidons of

the transaction; led them first, to the place where the murdered man was

found, and afterwards, to the house where she knew the ruffians had been

harboured.

It is a singular fact, that the most cautious villains rarely escape

surprise. The hunchback, excited by the adventures of that busy night,

had drunk more deeply than was his custom. His weakly constitution

soon owned the effect of liquor; and, in his confusion, he left the

street-door open, although, in drunken wisdom, he fancied that he had

effectually secured it. By that neglect, the officers obtained an easy

entrance--and the murderers were seized “red-handed,” and in the very

act of dividing the plunder of their late employer. The facts were

already strong against the whole of the accused; but the hunchback’s

confession rendered the guilt of his confederates past a doubt. He

became king’s evidence; and the wounded bravo, whose fractured jaw had

prevented him from sharing in the murder, corroborated the testimony of

the thing of legs and arms. Mr. Brown, and “the ruffians twain,” whom he

had employed to cause a vacancy in the twenty ------th, by ridding

the world of me, were fully committed--as I heard afterwards on the

Peninsula, in course of law, were tried, found guilty, and suffered a

felon death.

We watched the proceedings at the inquest, which occupied several hours,

with an interest that can be readily imagined.

Although the perpetration of a greater crime had thrown the attempt upon

my life into the background, and steps were no longer required, either

to secure my safety or bring to punishment those who had endangered it,

still the cause of the assault upon me was so incomprehensible, that

both my uncle and myself were anxious to trace the conspiracy to its

source. Nothing during the inquiry transpired that in any way appeared

to be connected with me; and, faithless to her promise, the gipsy had

not attended. Although the room was crowded by a mob of the curious

of either sex, had she been in the throng, from the singularity of her

costume I should have easily recognised my mysterious acquaintance.

The proceedings having ended, the jury were discharged, the prisoners

removed, and the crowd dispersed rapidly.

“Come, Hector,” said Mr. Hartley, “the lady of the bridge, like others

of her sex, is not always to be depended on. Where can that mysterious

gentlewoman be?”

“At your elbow,” responded a voice.

We started, and looked round. A woman, respectably attired, but whose

features were partially hidden by a close bonnet that seemed formed to

conceal the face, was standing immediately beside us. Could this be that

wild wanderer who had accosted me in the park, and met me on the bridge

when all but the outcasts of society were at home? I had no time left

for closer examination--she tapped me gently on the shoulder--and, in a

low voice, desiring me to follow, she mingled in the crowd. Mr. Hartley

and I quietly obeyed the signal; while Mark Antony and the ratcatcher

joined the rabble in the street, who were waiting to offer some

unenviable tokens of the estimation in which Mr. Brown and his

associates were holden, before they took a final departure for durance

vile.

We kept the gipsy well in sight, and observed her turning into another

public-house at no great distance from the Green Man. We entered it,

and were conducted by the barmaid to a back apartment, here we found the

fair one seated.

The latter term is not used unadvisedly; for a finer woman, of a certain

age, could not have been found in the metropolis. Nothing of her former

wild and sybil-looking air remained--the eye had lost its keen and

searching glance--the voice was softened--the very manner seemed altered

with the dress; and when she laid aside her bonnet, Mr. Hartley and I

freely admitted that the face disclosed to us had once been positively

beautiful. When the door was shut, she turned her dark intelligent eyes

on mine, and regarded me in silence for a minute.

“Yes!” she said; “how striking is the likeness between the son and sire!

and what painful recollections does that singular resemblance bring

back! ay, though twenty long years of exile have passed away! But no

more of this. Mr. O’Halloran, you see before you one who can hardly

say whether she should love or hate the name. Time chills the deadliest

enmities; and even jealousy and blighted hopes will own its soothing

influence; and I, who should look upon you as an enemy, felt in your

recent hour of trial all the agonizing uncertainty a mother only knows,

when the child of her first affections is exposed to peril. With my

early story, and wayward fate, it would be idle to detain you. None

have passed through greater vicissitudes of fortune; none have sinned or

suffered more than Mary Halligan!”

I started. “That name’s familiar!--Were you the peasant girl--”

“Through whose mistake Knockloftie, and all within its walls, were saved

from violence and murder; I am that person. Ay, fallen, as I may now

appear, I was innocent, admired, wooed, won, and deserted! Pshaw!--‘tis

but a common tale in woman’s history! No matter--‘tis past--it seems a

dream; but, O God, it is a fearful one! I have not, however, come

here to speak about myself. I come to tender my poor services to the

child--for, from the bottom of the heart of her he wronged, the

father is forgiven! Wild as my career has been, used as I have been to

startling occurrences, still, the events of the last few days appear

to me rather the coinage of a distempered brain than actual realities.

Never did Heaven’s anger fall so suddenly and severely on the guilty;

and never was the innocent so miraculously preserved. Strange, that the

same day on which a life commenced, should have been twice chosen to end

it by secret violence!--and stranger yet, that the same hand, which

in infancy designed to crush you in the cradle, in the very hour of

manhood, but for Heaven’s mercy, would have consigned you to a bloody

grave!”

“Who was the intended murderer?” we both eagerly demanded.

“He was one whose name is perfectly familiar to you. Did you ever hear

the colonel speak of a person named Hacket?”

“A hundred times. He was the villain that would have betrayed the old

castle and its inmates to a band of murderers. They assailed it on the

first anniversary of my birth-night, and were bloodily repulsed. I

often have heard my father execrate that scoundrel’s treachery. Another

perished by his hand--”

“Stop! name him not. There were in the world two beings whom I regarded

with divided love. One perished. Would that it had been by any other

hand. I have forgotten--no, that were impossible--but I strive to banish

from memory all that occurred upon that fatal night.”

“Then Haeket was the person who devised and attempted my murder?” I

exclaimed.

“No--another sought your life. He was but the agent of that person.”

“By whom, then, was the wretch employed?”

“Of that I am utterly uninformed; and, strange as it may appear, Hacket

was left in equal ignorance. If any knew the secret, it was the murdered

man--and with him it rests. Have _you_ no suspicions? Have you crossed

the path of love, or barred the road to wealth? Are there any whose

interests you have thwarted? Are you an object of hatred or of fear?”

I shook my head; but Mr. Hartley replied to the inquiry.

“There are, Alary--and more than one, the dearest objects of whose

hearts this youth will one day overturn, as the child throws down the

card edifice in a moment, which has cost him a world of pains to build.”

“Look _there_, Hector O’Halloran! _There_ will your secret enemy be

found.”

“Right, by heaven! You are on the sure track, my friend,” returned my

uncle. “Where will deadlier feeling harbour than in the bosom of a monk,

thwart but his ambition? or in that of a sordid scoundrel, who trembles

for wealth acquired by knavery? Were you acquainted with recent

occurrences in which our young friend has been connected, my life upon

it, your conviction would be confirmed as to the quarter from which the

danger came.”

“And am I not worthy of that confidence?” inquired the gipsy, in a tone

that showed herself offended.

“Undoubtedly,” returned Mr. Hartley. “One day more, and I will give you

ample proof of the dependence I place in your fidelity and discretion.

That day I would devote to my young friend. It is the last he will pass

in England for a time.”

“What! is he then leaving England?”

“He is ordered to the Peninsula, and sails on Thursday evening.”

“Heaven send him better luck than his father! God knows whether you

and I shall ever meet again!” she said, addressing me. “May the best

fortunes of a soldier be yours! Farewell! I saw your first and your

twentieth, and may your next be a happier anniversary than either!”

She wrung my hand. I left the room, but Mr. Hartley remained, and a

quarter of an hour passed before he joined me in the street. We walked

to the hotel, and there the fosterer and his companion were in waiting.

“Mark, I am ordered off. What can I do for you before I leave England?”

I said, addressing the former.

Mr. O’Toole merely answered with a sigh “hot as a furnace.”

“Where shall I find you on my return? and how will you dispose of

yourself in the mean time?”

“Dispose of myself?” returned the fosterer, like an echo. “Why, am I not

also, ready for the Peninsula: Arrah! what would they say at Killucan,

if you went to the wars, Master Hector, and I remained at home?

_Mona-sin-dioul_, if I went back, the very dogs would not acknowledge

me. But, love apart, where can I put in a happier twelvemonth? Have I

not listened, till my heart beat again, to the old colonel’s talking

to the priest about the time when he stormed that village in the Low

Countries where he lost his arm. Often have I fancied that I saw him

bursting through the streets at the head of his noble grenadiers,

scattering the French column like a flock of sheep, while the shout of

‘Liberty’ was answered by a thundering ‘_Faugh a ballagh!_’ It would be

cruel, Hector, to leave me behind you--I will be no burden to you.”

He placed a little packet in my hand; and turning to the window, the

poor fosterer sentimentalized in secret, while I perused a letter he had

received after we had separated at the inquest. With the course of Mark

Antony’s love adventures, that gentle affair with Miss Biddy O’Dwyer

excepted, I was altogether ignorant--and I felt interest in the

fosterer’s epistle. I read it accordingly; and, could woman rise in the

estimation of one who loved as I did, that artless letter would have

raised her.

“You have followed me to England. In that you have violated our

agreement; but my heart offers a ready apology for the offence.

I told you that twelve months must pass before we met again; and in that

resolution I am confirmed. My brother has wildly ventured to the coast

of Spain, on secret service connected with some of the guerilla chiefs

in Arragon; and, in the mean time, I am resident in the family of the

village clergyman. Mark, I am happy, because I am once more respectable.

Let me remain until the year elapses under this good man’s dwelling--and

then that wanderer whom you protected in her hour of destitution, will

prove to you that she has not forgotten her deliverer.

“Do you remember, dear Mark, that when you rescued me from that villain

Jew, you flung your purse into my lap, and pressed me to accept it? If

that circumstance has eseaped your memory, it lives, and will ever live,

in mine. Use prudently the small sum enclosed; and when another supply

is needed, remember that the desolate female whom you generously

saved from more than death, has now the means, and wish to prove her

gratitude.”

The epistle contained sincere expressions of affection, and was

subscribed “Julia.”

“Why, Mark, what the deuce is all this about? and who is this lady, who

forks out her fifty pounds, and subscribes herself “most affectionately

yours?”

“I’ll tell you again, Master Hector. But won’t you let me go with you?”

“Faith, my dear Mark, I never intended that you should remain behind.

Have we not been to each other as flint to steel from child-hood? Where

should I now be but for your rescue? When boys, our joys and sorrows

were the same; and now, as men, Mark, upwards or downwards, our fortunes

shall run together.”

“I thought you wouldn’t leave me,” said the fosterer.

“And pray,” inquired the ratcatcher, “what the divil is to become of

me? You can volunteer, Mark, but I am too old; and were I younger, I

wouldn’t much like to ‘list; for I fancy that the guerilla line would

be more in my way of business. But let us all go together. Blessings on

that outspoken elderly gentleman they call Mr. Hartley! He’s short in

the grain as eat’s hair, but the heart and purse are open. Here I am,

new rigged from head to foot--ay, and rich as a Jew--bad luck to the

whole community of them, root and branch!” and the captain put his

finger to the eye which had been damaged in the last night’s contest.

“It was that long-whiskered ruffin that giv me this token of regard.

Will, all’s settled, and we go together, any how.”

It would have been useless to offer any objection to the determination

of the gallant captain; and, after a consultation with my unele, it was

soon agreed that my fosterer should join one of the regiments of the

brigade I was attached to, as a volunteer, and the ratcatcher enact

_valet de chambre_ during my absence.

Time pressed. Mr. O’Toole gratefully acknowledged, but returned the

fifty pounds sent him by his mistress; swore fidelity and everlasting

love anew; and by the munificence of Mr. Hartley, we all--to wit, the

ratcatcher, the fosterer, and myself--were amply provided with that

indispensable requisite for opening a campaign, properly designated “the

sinews of war.” My future companions took their departure for the Seven

Dials, to bid their loving countrymen, there dwelling, an affectionate

farewell. An Irish parting is always accompanied by a heavy drink, as

sorrow is proverbially dry. No doubt the symposium, like every other

pleasant carouse, ended in a general engagement; for when the twain

honoured me with a visit next morning, I remarked that the gallant

captain had been accommodated with a second black eye, probably

conferred upon him as a keepsake by one his agreeable companions.

CHAPTER XXIV.

_Blanch_. Now shall I see thy love; what motive may

Be stronger with thee than the name of wife?

_Const_. That which upholdeth him that thee upholds,

His honour!”

------“I know thee well;

_But in thy fortunes_ am unlearn’d and strange.”

Shakspeare.

I never sate out a more melancholy dinner than that with Mr. Hartley and

his daughter on the last evening of my sojourn in the metropolis. Mine

honoured uncle was gloomy and abstracted. Isidora looked the very

image of despair; and I felt any thing but martial satisfaction at the

immediate certainty of having an early opportunity afforded of “fleshing

my maiden sword.” Like the courage of Bob Acres, my military ardour was

hourly evaporating from my finger-ends. A month since, the prospect of

being shot at was a matter of indifference; but in that brief space

my feelings had undergone a marvellous change. From childhood, I had

listened to my father’s stories as he “told how fields were won,” and

caught the enthusiasm of a man, every inch a soldier. But then I knew

not what it was to love--I had not felt the witchery that attends a

first attachment--the confession of mutual passion as yet had not fallen

my ear, soft as angels’ whispers to sleeping infancy. I had loved, and

sued, and was accepted; and now this sweetest dream of life was to be

broken; and from one dearer than all that earth contained, I was to be

separated for a long period--perhaps for ever! I came rapidly to the

conclusion, that glory was well enough in its way; but still it was an

awkward business to have to seek it at the other side of the Pyrenees;

and, had it pleased Heaven to bring about a general pacification, I

think that 1 would have borne the disappointment like a philosopher.

I took no formal leave of my gentle mistress, for that unnecessary

infliction of pain Mr. Hartley very properly inhibited. Our parting, as

she left the drawing-room for the night, was probably warmer than was

customary. She little imagined that I was to start at cock-crow for

embarkation; and, in the expectation of meeting me at breakfast, she

sought her apartment to court the soft influence of the drowsy god in

vain.

“Hector,” said Mr. Hartley, as he addressed me, “I regret that you are

at this moment obliged to leave me; for something tells me that a crisis

in our mutual fortunes is approaching. Were it any thing but the call

of honour that takes you from England, I would at once ask you to forego

it.”

“Believe me, my dear sir, never did a more unwelcome order come than

that which Ï am about to obey! Could I but honourably decline it,”---

“Oh, no--that were impossible! Wellington has assumed the offensive, and

every eye in Britain will watch the progress of his arms. A country’s

call is sacred, and it must be obeyed. God knows, in periling your

safety, and exposing you to the common chances of war, I make a

sacrifice that few could estimate. There is one tie that binds me

alone to life; and, save for that alone, the sooner a spirit, soured by

misfortunes, and wearied of a world it despises and detests, were freed

from this ‘mortal coil,’ the better. But were I in the grave, who would

watch over the happiness of that being whom I idolize?--To one only

would I entrust that holy charge. Need I name him?--Yourself!”

I gratefully thanked my uncle for the~proof of confidence he had given,

and he thus proceeded:

“As my life and actions must appear to you involved in mystery and

concealment, it will not surprise you much when I tell you, that for

years I have been intimately informed of every occurrence that happened

in your father’s house. A stern necessity of secrecy obliged me to

remain unknown and unsuspected. Had I been where I was supposed to be

for twenty years--in the grave--I could not have been more removed from

the knowledge of the world than I have been; and the reason I selected

that wild and retired abode where you first found us, was to insure the

incognito, which your interests and Isidora’s demanded; for, strange as

it may appear, from earliest infancy, you were destined for each other.”

“You really astonish me, sir!”

“When you hear my story that surprise will cease. With my past life none

were even partially acquainted but a beloved child and faithful servant.

You shall know more of that dark and painful history than they ever did;

and when you have heard all that I have suffered and endured, then say

whether, but for one endearing tie, a life, wretched and valueless as

mine, would have been worth retaining for an hour. Fill, Hector--fill

freely--many a day may pass before you and I shall meet again!”

I obeyed him. Rising from the table, he took a few turns across the

apartment; it seemed an exertion to regain composure; it was successful.

He resumed his seat, emptied his glass to the bottom, and thus

commenced, what was to me a narrative of perilous adventure, but

all-engrossing interest.

MY UNCLE’S STORY

The career of vice is generally a simple history; a progressive advance

from bad to worse, as the feelings deaden and the conscience, becomes

seared and callous, by degrees. My earlier follies might have been

easily arrested by parental intervention, but Mr. Clifford was reserved

and proud; his displeasure was evinced by frigid mannerism, and his

reproofs conveyed in the cold terms of general disapprobation. He never

reasoned to the understanding--never appealed to the heart. I listened

to him as I would to a lecture; and I came away without the slightest

impression having been made upon an ardent disposition, which under

better management might have been awakened and reclaimed.

My ruin at last was consummated. I was discarded by my father; avoided

by the good--deserted by the bad--and, finally, driven from the land,

dishonoured and disgraced, where, by inheritance and birth, I should

have held a proud position.

Months had passed since I had been alienated from an angry father. The

means by which I had managed, for a time, to obtain the sums of money

my extravagance demanded, had been overtaxed, and consequently, my

resources were completely exhausted. The woman who lured me on to crime

and ruin had heartlessly abandoned me, and those who had plundered me of

hundreds refused me a shilling to buy bread! For a whole day I had not

tasted food, and for two nights no roof had sheltered me--and without

any definite object in my wanderings, I had turned my steps to the home

from which I had been long since rejected. I was ashamed to let any who

had known me in the palmy days of youth witness the degradation that

crime had caused; and, after night-fall, avoiding the village, I stole

unperceived through a broken paling, and, like a thief and not the heir,

entered the grounds of Clifford Hall.

William Morley had been in boyhood my favourite companion. Although his

birth was menial, I treated him, from regard, rather like an equal than

an inferior. My purse was ever open to his wants; and my attachment

gradually obtained for him the notice of my father. Step by step, he

rose in Mr. Clifford’s confidence, until he gained an influence over his

easy master that none besides possessed. I fancied him a friend; and I

had every reason to suppose him one, for his professions of regard

were warm, and his assurances of gratitude unbounded. When the kindly

relations between my parent and myself were first disturbed, I trusted

to Morley’s good offices to extenuate my offendings, and soften down the

displeasure of an angry father. He promised to exert his influence to

the uttermost. I believed him; followed his advice; and acted as he

counselled. Alas! I little dreamed that Morley was all the while a

deadly enemy, and that he was sapping to the foundation any slight

remains of parental affection, and alienating the father from the

child. Why should he thus play me false? and wherefore wear the mask of

friendship, and hate me in his heart? Unconsciously, I had provoked his

deadliest animosity by crossing his path in love.

Morley was in heart a libertine; but he had sufficient cunning to

conceal it from the world. A village beauty had been the object of his

pursuit for months; and fascinated by her superior attractions, his

secret attentions were incessant, and there was no reason to doubt but

they would ultimately be rewarded by success. I returned, after a long

absence, to the Hall. I heard of Mary Davis. A glowing description of

her charms was given me. I saw her--report had only done common justice

to her beauty--and I became her slave. My attentions flattered her

pride--and the heir of Clifford Hall supplanted the son of a deceased

menial. In a word, the weak girl eloped with me--deserted her peaceful

home for a brief career of splendid profligacy; broke her poor mother’s

heart; drew down on me the lasting displeasure of my father; and

rendered Morley my enemy for life. But of the consequence of my

misconduct, 1 remained as yet in ignorance.

To obtain his revenge, Morley worked secretly and steadily. Every act of

imprudence was artfully communicated to my father; while the treacherous

scoundrel led his confiding master to believe that he was kindly, but

unsuccessfully, endeavouring to hide from him the criminal proceedings

of his child. My slightest failings, blazoned by false colouring,

appeared enormities. My letters in explanation were suppressed; the

breach between us became wider every day; Morley’s demoniac ingenuity at

last was crowned with full success; I was discarded--looked upon as one

dead--consigned to poverty and degradation--and became a beggar and an

outcast.

What was the villain’s triumph, when, stealing through the shrubberies,

I sought the well-remembered window of his apartment! Lights were

burning, and there sat Morley. He had numerous papers and accounts

before him; bank-notes and gold were spread over the table carelessly;

and a bottle of wine was opened, from which, as I peeped in, he

liberally helped himself. Heavens! how low had I fallen!--how abject did

I feel myself! With me, indeed, the cup of misery was at the overflow. I

dreaded to knock! I--the born-heir of all around, fearful to disturb the

son of my father’s menial! At last I mustered sufficient resolution to

tap gently on the casement. The steward expected a different visitor.

He seized his hat, hurried from the room, locked the door carefully, let

himself out by a private entrance, of which he kept a key, and in

another minute approached the evergreens to which I had retreated, and

softly pronounced a woman’s name.

“Morley!” I timidly replied.

“Ha!--a man’s voice!--Who’s there?” he demanded.

“An unfortunate--your old playfellow--he who once was your master’s

son!” I answered.

“Heavens!” he exclaimed. “Is it possible! And have you _dared_ to

venture hither?”

“I once thought,” I replied dejectedly, “that none would question my

right of entrance to this domain, which by birth and descent is, or

should be, mine. I am indeed fallen!”

“What do ye want?” he demanded, as I fancied, in a haughty tone. “Why

have you disturbed me at this unseasonable hour?”

“Dire necessity obliged me to come here. I am perishing; food has not

crossed my lips since yesterday. I am without a home,--the humblest

shelter would be acceptable.”

“I cannot offer you one. Were it known that I spoke to you, or gave you

the slightest assistance, your father would discharge me.”

“Is his anger, then, so unmitigable?” I asked in a desponding voice. “It

is beyond the power of being appeased. Advisedly, he would not breathe

the same atmosphere that you did; and the most welcome tidings he could

receive, would be those that assured him that you were no more return ed

the steward.

“I am starving!--pennyless! By Heaven, I will crawl into these

evergreens, and die in sight of that mansion which once was destined to

be mine.”

Morley started at the declaration. “Pshaw!” said he, with an appearance

of more feeling than before; “this is mere folly! Let me see--I dare not

afford aught but temporary relief; and in doing so I risk the loss of

Mr. Clifford’s favour, were the thing discovered. Stay; I will bring you

some refreshment, and see whether I cannot do something to save you from

actual starvation afterwards he then returned to the house, and in a few

minutes reappeared with the remnant of the supper he had eaten, and a

portion of the wine I noticed on the table. I ate ravenously--drank to

the bottom of the flask--and then listened to the false scoundrel as he

thus continued:--

“I have a relation in London, who perhaps might enable you to leave

the country for a season. It is possible that time might soften your

father’s animosity, were you removed beyond his notice; and the violence

of his resentment might happily cool down. Here. It is a guinea, and

some silver; ’twill carry you to London; and when you get to town,

inquire at the Post Office, and you will find an anonymous letter

to give you future directions how to act. To save myself from ruin,

requires the greatest caution on my part. Push forward to the next

village on the London road; and when you have reached the metropolis

to-morrow, you will be fully instructed what to do. For Heaven’s sake,

stay not another moment!--Steal secretly from the park, as you entered

it; and all I can do for you shall be done.” He hastily left me, as if

in fear; I heard him bar the private entrance, and observed him

close the shutters of his chamber, while I, in a state of humiliation

bordering on insensibility, obeyed the order, and, like a felon, stole

out of that domain where, two years previously, my will was absolute.

I slept at a mean public-house; but what a luxury was a bed to me!

and yet the lowliest servant on my father’s establishment would have

rejected what his fallen child gratefully received!

Next morning I put myself on the roof of a coach which in other days

I had frequently driven. Neither guard nor coachman remembered me. Of

course, the vulgar scoundrels had heard of my downfall. Well, they only

imitated men of better birth! They forgot me when it was convenient.

I entered London. It was the anniversary of a victory^ and I remembered

it well. Two years before, by a singular coincidence, I had driven in

with my own four-in-hand--and as the slang went then, it was “the best

appointed drag in England.” Mary Davis was on the box. Ah, two years

had made a difference! I was a pauper on a stagecoach--Mary Davis,

a wanderer on the streets! A ice, with her, poor girl, commenced

in luxury, but to both it brought what it generally does--ruin and

disgrace!

The paltry supply that Morley had given was half consumed by my journey;

and I sought one of the humblest hostleries which London, in its

infinity of accommodation, presents. The extent of my degradation

had nearly stupified me; but next morning I went to the Postoffice

to inquire for the promised communication, scarcely caring whether

it arrived or not. The steward, however, had been punctual; and the

expected letter was delivered. It was brief--written in a disguised

hand--and merely desired me to call at some rascally place in one of the

worst localities of the oldest portion of the city.

I proceeded to find out the street, and with some difficulty succeeded.

The person I inquired for was from home, but I was directed to a low

public-house in the neighbourhood, and there I found him in company

with several blackguard-looking personages. The room reeked with tobacco

smoke; the table was splashed over with spilt liquors; the ceiling

in many places had fallen in; and the contrivances to stop the broken

casement, and exclude the air, were extraordinary. The man I sought

took me to an inner closet, called for a stoup of gin, shut the door

carefully, and then proceeded to business.

“You are the gentleman Mr. M. has recommended to me?’’ said the

stranger.

“I am that unfortunate person.”

“And you want to leave the country for a while? Well, there’s no great

difficulty in doing that, if a person was not very particular about the

way he travelled. It’s only getting lagged, you know.’

“_Lagged!_ I don’t understand you.”

“Don’t ye?” replied my new acquaintance. “Why I’m certain I speak plain

English. I mean, if you did not mind transportation, why you could

travel at the king’s expense. But I see you’re raw. Well, I’ll try how

far I can oblige the gentleman who takes an interest about ye. Let me

see--I have some appointments to keep which will detain me all morning;

but meet me at eight this evening in the Borough,” and on the back of an

old tavern bill he scrawled, in villanous characters, the place and hour

of meeting; told me to be punctual; drank the gin; desired me to pay

for it; and conducting me to the door, left me to wear the wretched day

through in any way I pleased.

If I might form any opinion from personal appearance, Morley’s friend

was every thing but respectable. ‘Well, he was the fitter acquaintance

for an outcast like me. I had none better left; and at the appointed

time I crossed over London Bridge, to seek the place where the interview

with the stranger was to take place.

The house was found. I asked for Mr. Pilch, and was conducted into a

private room. He was seated in the corner, with several companions round

the table. They were gambling when I entered; but they put away the

greasy cards, and then one by one dropped out, leaving Morley’s friend

and me together.

“I think I have arranged this matter to your satisfaction,” said he,

“and secured a comfortable passage for you to the States. The vessel

will sail the beginning of next week, and you will have no time to lose

in getting your outfit ready. I have been commissioned by a friend, who

shall be nameless, but who you may possibly make a shrewd guess at, to

give you what money you may require and, taking out a pocket-book, he

handed me several bank notes. You will excuse the liberty I take, in

hinting that this money is intended to cover the necessary expenses

attendant on a long voyage, and not to be idly wasted; and therefore

I recommend you to secure it well, and use it prudently. What!” he

exclaimed, as he perceived me about to put the notes into an outer

pocket of my coat; “do you carry money so loosely on your person?--in

London too, where you cannot enter a tavern or cross a street without

encountering a plunderer? Come, my young friend, take a lesson from

an old and leary cove like me. Keep but one flimsey out for present

purposes, and secure the rest, as I do, in the neckcloth.”

He put his hand across the table and undid my handkerchief, folded

the bank notes carefully within it, and then returned it to me. One

five-pound note he desired me to put into my purse. My purse!--many a

day had passed since I had needed such a conveniency.

I pocketed the money, and the stranger took his leave, appointing,

however, another meeting at the same hour and place tomorrow.

I remained after he was gone musing before the fire. I was astonished

at Morley’s unexpected generosity, and I secretly censured myself for

having doubted the attachment of my old playfellow and friend. His

bearing towards me on the night of my stolen visit to Clifford Hall

was now perfectly accounted for. I thought it, at the moment, cold and

heartless. I now perceived that it arose from a caution imposed by

stern necessity; and the secrecy observed in the manner in which he

had conveyed the liberal supply, now confirmed it. Even to the agent he

employed I had been guilty of injustice. It is true, the man was neither

prepossessing in appearance, nor polished in address; but the candid

manner in which he exhorted me to be prudent, and the care with which he

secured my money against accident, all proved a friendly interest in

my welfare; and when I left the public-house, I admitted that I had

slandered mankind, in imagining that pity for misfortune was banished

from human hearts.

As I quitted the Coach and Horses, I remarked a man drawn up in a corner

of the gateway, and standing in a position that intimated he wished to

escape my notice. He wore a white hat, and, from rather a remarkable

coat, I easily recognised him to be one of the men I had disturbed at

play, when I entered the back room in search of Mr. Pilch. Well, he

might have some private reasons for concealment; and it was no atfair in

which I had any interest. I strolled onwards towards London Bridge, and

happening to pass the shop of an out-litter, I stepped in to make some

purchases for my voyage. The selection of different articles delayed me

half an hour. Once I observed the man with the white hat pass the door;

and again, I detected him peeping through the window. He was probably

an idler; and I continued to purchase what I wanted in the shop. The

articles were tied up; the account written and presented; I handed the

shopman a five-pound note; he desired me to endorse it. I took the pen,

and wrote a fictitious name, as I had determined to drop that on which

I had brought so much obloquy and disgrace already. The man handed some

change in silver, and I took up the parcel, and left the shop.

I had nearly reached the extremity of the bridge when I heard footsteps

behind, and perceived several men running in the direction in which I

was walking. They came up rapidly; and, in another minute, I was

seized, pushed into a shop, and charged with felony. My identity was

certain--the parcel confirmed it; and, to my horror, I heard the captors

accuse me of passing a forged note. The charge astounded me; I could not

speak, and my silence was mistaken for a tacit acknowledgment of guilt.

I turned my eyes in mute despair at the men who surrounded me. By

Heaven! one of them was the white-hatted stranger, who had been playing

at cards with Mr. Pilch! It was providential, he could corroborate the

statement I commenced. He had seen me--was a friend of Mr. Pilch--his

evidence would be invaluable. I told the manner in which the money was

obtained. My statement elicited a laugh of derision from the hearers.

I appealed to the gentleman in the white hat, but the gentleman in the

white hat disclaimed all knowledge of me, and goodnaturedly added,

that he fancied he had seen me once before, at a fair he mentioned, in

company with a party of the swell mob. My pockets were searched. Nothing

to criminate me further was found. I casually looked round, and

saw “White-hat” wink at-an officer, and point significantly to my

handkerchief. It was instantly loosed and opened. My name was worked

upon it in the dark hair of my faithless mistress; and five other notes

were found; they were examined--and all of them pronounced forgeries!

For a minute, I felt as if my heart had ceased its pulsations, but,

gradually, I became conscious of the position in which I was placed.

None could doubt my guilt. Could any deny that I was a felon? I, with

forced notes concealed upon my person, of which I had uttered one

already under a fictitious name. The observations of the crowd

occasionally reached me. There was no difference of opinion as to my

destiny--my career would close upon the scaffold!

Oh Heaven! if thoughtless youth could only fancy the agony of soul I

felt, how many would be deterred from crime, and saved from ruin! To

die!--to perish in the very opening of my manhood! And how die? Like

a dog--stared at by a gaping crowd--pitied by some--laughed at by

others--choked--hanged!

“Never, by Heavens!” I muttered to myself,--“Never shall a Clifford,

no matter how fallen, die such a felon-death! The grave is open for me;

what matters it whether it hide me now, or in a brief space after? Come,

man thyself, Edward Clifford, for a last effort--and die!”

Nothing remained but to convey me before a magistrate for committal.

The crowd retired; the officers took me away in custody. My passive

conduct throughout, led them to set me down a heartless wretch, with

whom hope was at an end; and mine seemed

“The composure of settled despair,”

which enables the criminal to meet his doom in sullen apathy. How little

they suspected the dark thoughts which then occupied my mind, or the

deadly purpose which I meditated!

An old watchman held my collar in his feeble grasp, and two or three

others surrounded me. The mob kept generally in advance of us, to enable

them to frequently indulge their curiosity with a view of the criminal.

Before we had moved a dozen paces, I made a sudden spring, shook off

the man who held me, overturned another in my rear, and started off, at

headlong speed, to gain the bridge which was immediately contiguous.

A wild outcry announced my escape; an instant pursuit succeeded. The

mob were the only persons I had to fear; for the old men who watched the

city then, wrapped in their great coats, and encumbered with poles and

lanterns, were incapable of rapid movements. Several persons, however,

kept me well in sight; they little knew that death, and not deliverance,

was what I aimed at; and they raised a cry to warn the passengers who

were approaching in the opposite direction. I saw several men draw

themselves across the bridge to bar my farther progress. I stopped,

leaped upon the balustrade--“Seize him!” cried a dozen voices--they were

the last words I heard--I muttered one brief adjuration to Heaven to

pardon the act I was about to commit, closed my eyes, sprang from the

battlement, and the waters closed over me!

Mr. Clifford paused. His usual stern composure was unequal to conquer

the agitation which the terrible recollections of early imprudence

had brought back. A short silence was unbroken, when suddenly the door

unclosed, and the dark functionary presented himself, and handed me

a letter of most unprepossessing appearance. He announced that the

messenger would not leave without an answer--and ill-timed as the

interruption was, my uncle signalled me to break the wafer. I obeyed,

and communicated to him the contents of the following singular

epistle:--

“_For Captain Hectur O’Haleran, esquare, or Mister Hartlay, if he’s

out_.

“Honered Sir,--

“i am sorray too inform ye we are in Trubbel and at Present undir the

Skrew in the Watehouse they call Watlin Street, and all Contrarey to

sense and Justis. We went into a dacint-lookin’ house, with a Woman

without a head for the sign of it, and cald for half a pint, and sat

down fair and asey at the fire, when in coms three Blakgards. Immadately

they begins to rig us. ‘Morra, Pat,’ says one of them. ‘Devil a worse

guess ye iver med, young man,’ says I. ‘Arrah!’ says he, ‘Does ye’r

mother know your out?’ ‘What the blazes have ye to say to my mother?’

says I. ‘What a hole you could make in a saucepan of patatays the night

she was married!’ says he; and then he goes on aggravatin’ us, and

abusin’ the old country, swarin’ Saint Patrick wasn’t a reglar saint at

all, and not fit to powder Saint Gorge’s wig, af he wore one. ‘Oh! by

the groves of Blarney,’ says Mr. O’Toole, ‘the divil wouldn’t stand this

i’ so he offs wid the coat, and offered to box the biggest of the lot

for thirty shilhns. “Well, they agrees to it at wonse, and Mark and the

big’un set-to. Sorra handier boy iver it was my luck to meet with! he

made nothin’ of the chap--a couple of rounds settled his hash, and

he gives in. “Well, what does they do? insted of comin’ down with the

battel money, they charges us on the watch, and we were bunddled off

here, as if we were a pair of Pickpockets. We sends off to the Dials to

say we were in trubbel, and before half an hour, there was the full of

the street of dacent acquaintances. Some wanted to give bail, others

offered to pull down the watchouse; and an honest man, whose father came

from Ballyhawnis, went off to knock up the Priest, and get him to write

us a Carakter. The divil a one of the bailsmen the constable would touch

with the tongs; and so here we remain, snug and warm in the Black hole,

unless your honir will bee plased to get us off.

“I Remain, till Death, your Obediant Servint,

“James McGrale.”

“Poscrip.--There’s a Poor woman here, the lord Pity her, callid Finigen.

I forget her own name, but she has a Brother that lives under magor

Blake, and her unkel was parish priest of Carintubber, a Man grately

respected. I often heerd my father spake about him--as he cured the

Failin’ siknis with a charm, and plaid butifully on the Fiddel. Well,

she’s in quod, the crater, for just Nothing at all. She had words with

a vagabone that lives in the back Attick, and he insinevated, in the

Presens of the hole lodgers, that she wasn’t aney better than she ought

to be. ‘Misses Finigen,’ says he, ‘might I fatague ye for a sqint

at ye’r Marrige lines, if ye happen to have sich an article in ye’r

pocket,’ which ye know was as much as sayin’, the Divil a certifikit she

had at all. The crature couldn’t but resint it, and she took the fire

out of the vagabone’s left eye wid a brass Candelstik she had in her

fist--and that’s all she’s loked up for. Maybe your honir would Include

her in the Bail--the lord sees it would be Charatey.”

“N. B.--I forgot to Say the Blakgards offered to make it up for

ten shillins, half in drink, and half in money--but it’s such an

Impisi-shin, that nather mark or Me would listin to it.”

“P. S.--For the sake of the blessed Mother cum soon, or they’ll have the

Roof off the Watchouse, and then We’ll be Trunsportid for life. The more

I see of this Unsivilized Country, the Better plased I am that we’re

lavin it.

“No more at Presint from

“Yours to Command,

J. McGrale.”

“Plase answir by Return of post--I mane by the boy wid the red hair

that carries this. Remembir Mr. O’Toole and me to Mister hartlay and his

Daughtir, onley we don’t know her name. Also to mister domnik, the Black

gentleman, whose as Civil and well manerd as a Christian, for all that

he’s so dusky in the skin.

“J. M.”

“In Heaven’s name,” I exclaimed, when I finished the ratcatcher’s

epistle, “what is to be done with these scoundrels?”

“Perhaps the better course to be pursued would be to leave them where

they are, allow their excellent friends to pull down the watch-house,

and then the Government will provide for them in New Holland. But I

suppose we must interfere for once in their behalf.”

The landlord of the hotel was summoned, and requested to effect the

deliverance of the prisoners, a task that was easily performed. The door

again was shut, and Mr. Clifford resumed his melancholy narrative.

CHAPTER XXV. MY UNCLE’S STORY.

“The waters heave around me; and on high

The winds lift up their voices. I depart

Whither I know not; but the hour’s gone by

When Albion’s lessening shores could grieve or glad my eye.”

Byron.

|I cannot describe the sensations I felt, momentary as they were, while

descending from the balustrade of London Bridge; but from the instant I

struck the surface of the water, all recollection ceases. A considerable

time elapsed before consciousness returned, and when it did, I found

myself in the cabin of a Welsh coasting vessel, with a woman, her

husband, and their son, (the owners and crew of the little schooner,)

chafing my limbs, and using every simple means of resuscitation which

their scanty resources could supply. Nothing could exceed the pleasure

these true Samaritans evinced, when they perceived that their efforts

had proved successful. They had no suspicion that he, the object of

their care, had been hounded like a felon to do the desperate deed he

had attempted; but, from the occasional remarks I overheard, they set me

down as some desponding wretch, who, from very weariness of living,

had rashly ventured on that fearful remedy, hateful alike to God and

man--self-murder.

When perfectly restored, they made a bed for me before the fire,

administered some spirits with caution, left me to my repose, and I sank

into a profound sleep, which continued until morning. When I awoke. I

found that my kind preservers, overnight, had dried my wet clothes; my

breakfast was already prepared--and when I had eaten it, at my request

they rowed me ashore in their small skiff, and landed me at Tower

Stairs, with three shillings in my pocket, and not a friend upon the

earth.

I entered a low tavern--a house of call for seamen--and seated myself in

the most obscure corner of the dark and smoky tap-room. Several men were

round the lire with pipes, and pewter measures, and to the latter they

frequently applied; while others were sleeping on the benches, like men

after a debauch. They were evidently sailors, but they had not the free

and honest look and bearing which generally distinguishes that careless

and warm-hearted class of men. Their dark and weather-beaten faces

were those of men habitually drunken, and indicated service in tropic

climes--while, from their air and manner, you would pronounce them, at

first sight, to be lawless men--bold and reckless ruffians.

“I say, Bob, wasn’t that job last night upon the bridge a funny one?”

said a swarthy fellow to an equally ill-looking companion.

The latter removed his pipe, knocked the ashes out upon the table,

replenished it from a seal-skin pouch with fresh tobacco, and then

leisurely replied:--

“It was, Jim; I have tipped them leg-bail in my time, but the chap last

night gave them, wliat I calls, river security and he laughed hoarsely

at his own wit.

“Well,” observed the first speaker, “I likes a plucky cove; he wouldn’t

let them have the satisfaction of hanging him; and that jump in the dark

robbed them as planted him, of blood-money--ay, and sarved them right, I

say.”

“You may depend on it, Bob, he was a green’un. No doubt a first offence;

otherwise he would have taken chance of flaws and failures at the Old

Bailey; for it was only scragging after all.”

“Have they found the body yet, I wonder? I’d like to know whether it was

any of our pals, Jim?”

“He’s sure to float the ninth day--he won’t lie longer at the bottom.

They won’t go to the trouble of draggin’ for him, will they, Bob?”

“They’ll drag to little purpose,” I muttered from the corner.

The fellows turned round and looked at me.

“And what is there about that dead-un’s carcass that a creeper should

not grip it? Let me see--how was the tide?--it was Jack water at the

time. I’ll bet a dollar he’s not lower down than Lime-house.”

“I’ll wager twice the sum he’s not half so far,” I answered, with

desperate composure.

“And where do ye say he is?” asked the fellow, with a stare.

“Here!--in this room!--seated on this chair!--and talking to you at this

moment!”

“Well!” exclaimed the sailor, “if that ain’t a rum confession. I never

knew in my born days, a man that passed forged flimsies split upon

himself before.”

“Nor would I, had I done so--I am innocent.”

Both ruffians laughed.

“I said the same thing myself once,” said the darker fellow of the

twain, “and I could not out of twelve men, good and true, get a single

soul to believe the story.”

[Illustration: 0269]

A couple of the sleepers wakened up. One of them stretched himself,

yawned, and inquired, like a person still half asleep, “What’s all that

gammon about innocence, forged notes, and blood-money?”

Why, Captain, this here cove is the chap who jumped off the bridge; and

as he’s innocent, I suppose he’ll go quietly to them he bolted from last

night, and get hanged to prove it.”

“More fool he,” observed the man whom they called captain. “Had I taken

that plan to convince the world of my honesty, I should have been, ten

years ago, dangling among the scare-crows that ornament Dogs’ Island.

Let’s hear your story, youngster; you have told too little, or too

much--enough to hang you twice over--so out with the remainder; we’re

men of honour; though, if we swore it, the world would hardly credit,

it.”

I had no motive to court concealment; to me, life and death were equally

indifferent. The funner portion of my history I kept to myself, but

freely narrated the villanous conspiracy of ------ --------, and his

agents, to fix a charge of felony upon me first, and bring me to an

ignominious end afterwards.

“I never heard of a plant better laid and executed,” said the captain,

as I finished the detail of my last night’s adventures. “Never was man

booked safer for the gallows; you had a close escape. Well, ‘touch and

go’ is good pilotage, they say--I’ll tell you what to do. I sail for the

coast of Guinea this evening; we’re short-handed; it’s a voyage that’s

not much fancied, and I can’t persuade men enough to ship. They give a

cowardly preference to low wages, and no fever; but you have no choice

between that and hemp, you know. If it’s in you, Joe Barton is the man

to make a sailor of you--What say ye?”

“That I embrace your offer cheerfully.”

Mr. Barton extended his hand, and, with the hold of a vice, grasped

mine. Then pulling from his pea-coat pocket a canvass bag filled with

dollars, he counted thirty down, and shoved them across the table.

“There’s two months’ wages in advance. It’s a toss-up that you’re

dead in half the time. No matter; I will run the chance--go with Bob

there--he’ll take you to a slop-seller, who’ll fit you out in no time,

he’ll not refuse to join in a stoup afterward. Don’t object; it may

be the last either of you will take in England. Be on board, drunk or

sober, at eight; and now be off, for I have some matters to attend to.”

I obeyed the mandate of my new commander, purchased some clothing fitted

for the sultry climate I was about to visit, joined the vessel before

the appointed hour, sailed at midnight, and bade a long--I prayed an

eternal--adieu to England.

We reached the Downs, having cleared the river safely; and there, I

might add, that the good fortune of our voyage terminated. Could aught

better be expected? No; the errand and the agents were infamous alike.

We were bound to Africa to trade in human flesh, although, professedly,

we had left England to bring home hard-woods, ivory, and gold-dust.

But no honest trading was intended; we went out regularly prepared

to perpetrate the worst cruelty that savage man can fancy when

he contemplates deeds of crime--prey on the being that wore God’s

image--violate every bond of nature, and sever the ties which common

humanity holds dearest! Speak of the slave-dealer and the highwayman!

Pshaw! compare them not.

When I said, that after we lost sight of the shores of England, our

fortunes proved indifferent, the statement must be qualified. In

the first object of the voyage we were successful, and carried, in

comparative safety, a full cargo of slaves to their destination;

that is, we managed to land _alive_ two-thirds of the wretches we

had kidnapped. We brought eternal misery with us, and left endless

wretchedness behind. But already the vengeance of God was upon us--fever

accompanied our accursed ship; and, one by one, the villain-crew which

originally left England died off, and greater villains--were that

possible--supplied the places of the departed.

The hour of retribution was at hand--the decree had gone forth--and

vengeance was impending on the guilty. We returned to “the coast”--as

that of Africa, in particular, was termed--shipped a full complement

of slaves, and once more proceeded on our iniquitous voyage. During ten

days we made good progress. The captain and his hellish crew, elated

with apparent success, indulged in ruffian revelry. They drank, and

danced, and sung; and while despair and death reigned in the crowded

hold, the deck presented a saturnalia that fiends might have delighted

to share.

But on the eleventh day that unhallowed revelry ended. The wind dropped

suddenly--ominously. In one short hour not a ripple was seen upon the

sea; and, far as the eye could range, a burning surface of bright blue

water encircled us. The next sun--the next--and yet the next, rose and

sank, and not a breeze was felt, and not a cat’s-paw crept over the

distant ocean. Ten more passed; and still we drifted idly on the

glassy surface, like some sea-bird reposing on the deep. Food failed us

fast--that was bad; water rapidly diminished--that was worse. The hold

became a pest-house. Contagion below produced an increase of fever

above. The negroes died off by twenties; the crew, one after another,

disappeared, till, of thirty-six seamen who left the Gambia, fourteen

alone remained; while half of that small number were so debilitated that

they could scarcely stand; and the few who still remained effective,

were quite unequal to that disgusting duty, of disencumbering the waist

of the human carrion which every hour accumulated. All hope to carry

any portion of the accursed cargo to its destination was over. The dead

putrified; the living, maddened by thirst and hunger, had broken their

chains, and, like rabid animals, could not be approached! One only

course remained, and the ruffian-crew determined to batten down the

hatches, fire brimstone underneath the slave-deck, destroy what life

remained, and make the pest--a charnel-house!

Night was properly chosen for the execution of this diabolical act; and

I saw the combustibles which were to effect it duly prepared. To witness

this wholesale murder of two hundred victims was more than I could bear.

I, who had ever revolted from the horrid vocation of a slave-dealer,

fancied, that in all which had befallen us, I saw the vengeance of the

Deity let loose on our accursed bark; and when at midnight I was placed

at the wheel, and my villanous companions were occupied in murderous

preparations, from the davits I lowered the only boat could swim,

slipped over the ship’s counter unobserved, and paddled quietly away. In

a few minutes I was called for--my evasion was detected--a dozen muskets

were discharged after me at random; I heard bullets dip upon the water:

but I plied my oars vigorously, and in a few minutes was out of range.

I paused, took breath, and looked around. The ship lay in shade, looming

immensely; all else sea--sea--sea! I searched my pockets, and found two

biscuits; but I was without water! Under a tropic sun, a thousand miles

from land--no water! The very thought was enough to madden one; but,

presently, other feelings banished that horrible conviction.

[Illustration: 0274]

My eyes were turned towards the slaver. Before this, I knew that the

infernal deed must have been consummated, and that, to protract the

lives of some dozen guilty wretches, two hundred innocent victims had

been immolated! A feeble gleam twinkled from the vessel; it faded into

darkness; and a dull mass, shapeless and colourless, showed me the spot,

where, upon the waveless ocean the felon-ship lay sleeping.

I looked again. Suddenly, a blaze, as if some inflammable matter had

been ignited, burst from the slaver and dispelled the darkness. The

outline of the vessel became distinct; the flame waxed stronger still;

every rope and sail was visible; and I could perceive figures on the

deck, rush to and fro, as if in wild disorder. The glare grew redder

yet--the ship was in a blaze from stem to stern--and in their nefarious

attempt to suffocate their victims, the villains fired the vessel!

I turned the boat’s head towards the burning ship; and after rowing a

short distance back, rested on my oars. I knew that if I attempted to

near the vessel, the skiff would be overcrowded, and all must perish.

Shrieks, wild and maddening, like those of despairing men, were

heard--every inch of canvas which had hung dangling from the yards, was

wrapped in fire, and the loftiest spars were burning! It was a grand,

but terrible spectacle; and I strained my eyes to gaze upon it until the

red glare pained them. At once, a column of brilliant light mounted to

the skies, followed by a heavy, dull, concussion, which came trembling

over the water, and rocked my little skiff. A cloud of smoke succeeded.

Suddenly the light vanished; darkness returned denser than before--night

and stillness resumed their silent reign. The magazine had exploded--and

the slaver was now buried in the depths of ocean!

In tropic climes, night is but a name, and morning broke immediately. I

gazed over the ocean expanse, as the first glow of sunshine reddened

its surface, bright and unruffled as a mirror, excepting one small spot

ahead, which was covered with floating wreck. There, the slaver had

gone down, and I looked fixedly in that direction. On a scathed beam, I

fancied I could perceive a human form attached. I rowed to the place. To

the half-burned portion of the wreck, a fine negro lad was holding with

desperate tenacity; but he was nearly exhausted, and it was with much

difficulty I could drag him into the boat. In a few minutes he was

sufficiently recovered to know that I had rescued him from death,

and with looks of mute intelligence he seemed to thank me for timely

succour. I gave him a biscuit; he seized and ate it ravenously. No

wonder, poor boy! for five long days, food had not passed his lips. With

expressive signs he intimated that he would hereafter consider himself

my slave; and by looks of encouragement, in return, I assured him of

protection. It was a simple contract after all, and made under unusual

circumstances; but it has lasted, and will last, for life. That negro

youth was Dominique.

Before I had time to smile at the mockery of a forlorn wretch like

myself, assuming a momentary superiority over another cast-a-way, saved

mercilessly from an easier death to perish by the more dreadful agonies

of thirst and hunger, a light air came stealing over the glassy sea.

I looked anxiously to windward. Far off, a breeze darkened the blue

water, and in ten minutes we felt its influence, and our boat danced

merrily on the tiny waves which curled the ocean for as sight could

wander. I felt as if Heaven had been appeased, and vengeance satisfied;

and hope once more replaced the dark despondency to which I had

abandoned myself, as one whose doom was sealed.

Nor was that cheerful foreboding unfulfilled. Within an hour, and dead

to windward, a speck appeared upon the edge of the horizon, and seemed,

by slow degrees, to rise gradually from the ocean, until a goodly ship

presented itself to the eye; and down she came before a leading breeze,

with all the canvas set her spars could spread. We lay directly in her

course. I hoisted a signal on an oar, and it was seen and answered--for

presently the stranger took in sail, lowered a boat, sent it to our

assistance, and “I and my man Friday.” as worthy Robinson would say,

were kindly received on board a vessel that proved to be a Portuguese

trader, bound for the Brazils. My story was readily believed, namely,

that our ship, an honest merchantman! had accidentally caught fire,

and all except the negro and myself had perished. No doubt could be

entertained of the correctness of this statement, for our deliverers

had seen the blaze, and heard the explosion, when becalmed, at too great

distance to render us relief.

I was landed safely in Rio Janeiro, and another epoch in an eventful

life began. The history of seven years would require too much time to

give it in detail--it must be confined to a brief summary. The owner of

the vessel that had picked me up was a merchant of high respectability.

The tale of my escape from a burning ship and ultimate starvation,

had interest, and, pitying my destitution, he offered me a berth in

a coasting vessel which belonged to him--I accepted it, and in a few

months became its captain. I traded for him honestly and successfully,

and rose by degrees rapidly in his estimation. Every year brought me

fresh tokens of his confidence and esteem, until at last, I became

a partner in his business. In every commercial adventure fortune

befriended us; and when the old man died, and the affairs of his house

were finally arranged, I, who had landed on the wharf of Rio without a

second shirt, found myself a merchant of repute, and possessor of thirty

thousand dollars. I must add, that I had assumed the name of Hartley,

and that, during this season of good fortune, my faithful negro shared

and enjoyed that period of treacherous sunshine.

And yet, during this prosperous career, I was secretly unhappy. Year

after year, the English residents returned with the independence they

had acquired, to die in the land which gave them birth. To me, as I

bade them an eternal farewell, every departure caused fresh misery, and

probed to the very quick a wound that none suspected was rankling in

my breast. I had no country. What was father-land to me? I, a degraded

outcast--stigmatized with crime, believed to be a felon and a suicide;

and from the memory of whose existence, my very father, if living, would

recoil. And yet the fancy of returning to England haunted me. I thought

of it--dreamed of it--till at last, unable to combat the inclination, I

determined, at every hazard, to indulge the wish, and revisit the “land

of my sires,” were it but to die there.

I made the necessary preparations to effect my design--converted my

property into specie--secured a passage for myself and faithful follower

in a vessel bound for England, which, with several others, were to start

under convoy of a sloop of war. We sailed on the appointed day; and,

as I then believed, bade an eternal farewell to the shores of South

America.

What was my motive for returning to a land where my name was a disgrace,

and where he whose feelings towards the offendings of a child are

lenient, a father--ay, a father--would repudiate me with contempt? It

was to cleanse that name, stained as it was with youthful indiscretions,

from the plague-spot that human villany had attached to it; and now

with the command of the means by which justice in England can

be secured--money--wipe away the felon charge which had driven me

undeservedly into exile and disgrace, and expose the guilty to the

world--ay, though the last guinea of a fortune, which years of toil, and

danger, and privations, had acquired, should be expended to attain the

end.

For a week our little fleet progressed steadily across the ocean. Old

merchantmen were then the dullest sailors imaginable; and with every

inch of canvass we could spread, the sloop of war, with topsails on the

cap, was frequently obliged to heave to and wait upon our lazy barque.

Indeed, the vigilance of the convoy-ship was rendered necessary from

the circumstance of a very suspicious vessel having been discovered for

several successive mornings at sunrise, following in the wake of the

fleet, and hauling off whenever she observed that she had been noticed.

On the sixth evening, the weather, which had hitherto been remarkably

fine, threatened a change; and at midnight, the wind had considerably

freshened. The security of the ship would have pointed out the prudence

of making preparations for a gale, and putting the vessel under easy

canvass; while, from the dulness of our sailing, and the certainty that

a suspicious stranger was in our immediate vicinity, it was absolutely

necessary that we should keep our place in the fleet, and avail

ourselves of the man-of-war’s protection. In this dilemma it was

determined to trust to fortune, and “carry on.” We had certainly, two

dangerous alternatives to choose between--threatening weather, and an

enemy’s privateer. The latter fear was predominant; and although every

minute skyey appearance became more alarming, we still kept a press of

canvass on the vessel--and consequently, it was our fate to verify an

old saw, in avoiding Seylla, to fall into Charybdis.

In the darkness, a squall struck us suddenly; and before everything

could be let fly, our three topmasts were over the side, and our worst

apprehensions were about to be realized.

It was but a passing gale which had wrought us all this mischief; and

when morning dawned, the weather had moderated into a light and steady

breeze. The fleet was out of sight; and we were unable, from the

weakness of the crew, to clear away at once the wreck of fallen spars

and sails that cumbered us. We were lying a log upon the water, while

our more fortunate companions were bowling away before a wind directly

in their favour. One sail only was in sight, and that was steering in

the same direction with the convoy. For a time, from being dismasted, we

were not discovered by the stranger. But suddenly he changed his course,

hauled closely to the wind, and soon presented to our startled view,

the same long, black, suspicious-looking brig, which for days before had

occasioned a general uneasiness.

We had no chance of escape, even had our spars been standing; and in

an hour the suspected vessel was within musquet range. No doubt of

his country and calling remained. A French ensign was flying at his

peak--his long dark hull showed eleven ports a side--his decks were

crowded, and he looked a regular rover.

Had we a wish to resist, the means were wanting; and at the first hail,

a boat was lowered, and our captain went on board. In return, two

boats, filled with armed men, rowed to us from the privateer; the rovers

mounted our decks, and the work of plunder commenced busily. I had no

hope from the first, that my property could by any possibility’ escape

detection; and a very few minutes put that question at rest. A

foreign seaman, whom we had shipped at Bio, gave information to

the prize-master; and I had the misery to see the acquisition of an

enter-prizing life pass into the possession of the sea-robbers who had

captured us.

From the disabled condition of the ship, all design of taking her into

port was abandoned by our captors; but every thing that was portable,

even to the sea-chests of the crew, was removed on board the brig. The

whole day was consumed in stripping our luckless vessel; and when at

nightfall the enemy left us lying still a wreck upon the ocean, I found

myself in the same condition as when, seven years before, I had landed

on the beach at Bio--without a second shirt, a second dollar, or a

second friend. Of the latter, I possessed a faithful one--Dominique

remained. He had resisted every inducement held out by the French

captain to join the privateer. Poor faithful fellow! when the fickle

goddess smiled, he had shared my fortune; and adversity had no other

effect than to confirm his devoted attachment.

When the spoilers had taken their departure, nothing but lamentations

were heard. The humblest mariner had lost his all, the wages he had

already earned, or the little venture he was bringing home to England,

in the honest hopes of realizing enough to render a wife or parent

comfortable. There was but one of that ship’s company preserved a sullen

indifference; I, who had been stripped of more than all together, kept

a moody silence, and uttered no complaint. All was gone at “one fell

swoop”--the prospect of revisiting my native land--the hope of clearing

my calumniated character from the unmerited obloquy whieh designing

villains had heaped upon it--the means by which I expected to have

effected it--of all, one luckless day had robbed me! The stupid calmness

of despair tied my tongue, and gave to my countenance an unearthly

composure, which many might have mistaken for philosophic resignation.

But the bosom within was tortured--my’ sorrow was too great for

language to convey; and, thunderstruck with the sudden visitation I had

undergone, I was debating whether it were not at once better to end

an existence not to be endured, and--“unannealed and unforgiven,” in

defiance of his canon against self-murder,--venture desperately into the

presence of an angry God.

These impious thoughts were mercifully terminated. I looked up, an eye

was bent on mine. It was Dominique’s; and the mute expression of that

faithful negro spoke its deep sympathy for my misfortune, and intimated

an eternal attachment. A sudden revulsion of intent succeeded the

promptings of despair. I had lost wealth--but had I not a friend? A

stern determination came over me to live and dare Fortune’s worst; and

when my dark follower placed silently a goblet in my hand, I drank the

wine to the bottom, and swore no matter how darkly fate might frown, she

should not crush my spirit.

“All’s gone, Dominique. We have no errand now to England.”

The negro answered with a groan.

“Shall we commence life anew, and again seek fortune in each other’s

company?”

The hand I stretched out the negro pressed to his lips respectfully; and

with a meaning look, told me that we should sink or rise together.

The plunder of the ship was followed by a scene of drunken

insubordination--for the bad example which the captain set, the crew

had followed; and on the second evening we were still a wreck upon the

water, our top-gear over the sides, and none in temper or condition

to repair the damage we had sustained, and replace our lost spars

with jurymasts. On the third morning the ship’s company had become

sufficiently sober to commence a work, that should hwe been long before

effected--and I was sleeping in my cabin, worn out with the mental

suffering I had undergone, when my slumbers were gently broken by my

sable attendant, to acquaint me that another, and an equally dishonest

looking vessel, was bearing down upon us fast, and barely a league to

windward.

I hurried upon deck, and a glance confirmed Dominique’s announcement.

The stranger was a large topsail-schooner, with raking masts, a long

black hull, and Spanish ensign floating from her gaff-end. Her sailing

properties were admirable; and her whole appearance told that she was

neither adapted for, nor employed in peaceful commerce. When she rounded

to under our stern, I counted nine ports aside--a huge pivot gun was on

a traverse between her masts, and her decks seemed full of men. She

could not be mistaken for a moment; she was a rover, a slaver, or a

privateer, and, probably, all by turns.

An old adage * says, that a traveller already disencumbered of his

property, feels little uneasiness in presence of a highwayman; and

certainly, to me the appearance of this rakish schooner was a matter of

perfect indifference. I saw her back her topsail, and take a position

that placed us “end-on,” under the fire of her starboard guns.

Immediately a boat was lowered, and twenty men pulled from her side and

boarded us. This second visitation, and within eight-and-forty hours,

caused but little sensation in the ship. All that was valuable was

already gone; and the new comers must be men of uncommon industry and

research, if they could discover much that was worth removal. Indeed,

the style in which the Frenchman had cleared every thing away worth

notice, could never be surpassed, and proved that in sea robbery his

crew had attained perfection.

* Cantabit vacuus coram latroae viator.

Sad was their disappointment, when our new captors found that they had

fallen in with a mere bone from which the marrow had been carefully

extracted. Still, however, there were some necessaries that might prove

useful; and sails, cordage, water and provisions, were unceremoniously

conveyed on board the schooner. Presently, a second boat pushed off from

the rover’s side; and it was notified that the captain, in person, was

coming on board to ascertain how a prize so promising should prove so

very unproductive.

“What a cursed misfortune,” said he, in reply to the account his first

officer gave him of our hwing been thoroughly plundered, and that only

twenty hours before. “By Heven, I am half inclined to make sail after

the privateer, and make him divide or disgorge the booty.”

“‘Twere idle,” said the lieutenant; “Heven knows what course he’s

steering. And even if we overtook him, what certainty have we that he

would not be able to hold his own with us? They say he carried twenty

guns, and was chokeful of men. He’ll dodge the convoy while he dare, and

trust to accident for a second God-send. No, no--it was a cursed chance,

no doubt--the luck was all John Crapo’s--and no use crying over spilt

milk, you know.”

The reasoning of his lieutenant appeared to satisfy his superior, that

the misfortune he had sustained in coming upon us after the Frenchman’s

visit was irretrievable, and, accordingly, he submitted to it like a

Christian man; but still he could not avoid making an occasional lament

over what he termed “the blackest of bad luck.”

“Thirty thousand dollars--hard silver--all one property--besides other

most valuable plunder. Was ever ship so unfortunate! But who was the

unlucky devil who lost the money? Did he drown himself at once, or is he

still on board?”

The lieutenant pointed quietly to me; and the captain crossed the deck

to the place where I was standing, with my arm leaning on the bulwark,

as if nothing particular had occurred.

“So, Sir, I hear you hwe been cleaned out; and, as they tell me, to a

tolerable tune?”

“I have,” I answered; “can you put me in the way of recovering the

loss?”

“I!” said the stranger in surprise; “how the devil should I?”

“Then, as I am already plucked to the last feather, your honest

companions have nothing to deprive me of, and you can neither serve nor

injure me. Is not that a comfort, captain?”

“Come, my good sir,” replied the rover, “you need not be so snappish;

though, ’pon my soul, the loss of thirty thousand dollars is nothing to

joke about. But stop; have I ever seen that face before?”

“That question you can best resolve yourself,” I answered; “yours has

been seen by me, I fancy, for the first time; and, let me add, worthy

captain, I sincerely hope for the last one too.”

“Indeed! would it be too much trouble to ask you to look at it a second

time?”

I complied carelessly with the captain’s wish, and examined the features

and figure of this new intruder. The face was swarthy, sunburnt, and

had, what the Irish happily term, “a devil-may-care” expression. The

person of the stranger was square and well-compacted; his dress was

composed of cotton and nanquin--textures best suited to the climate. In

the silken sash which bound his waist, he had secured a watch, a dagger,

and a brace of pistols; all apparently very valuable. He wore a jewel on

his finger; diamond rings in either ear, and a gold-laced hat, fit for

a vice-admiral, completed his showy and singular costume. He was a very

young man, apparently not more than five-and-twenty.

“And pray, Mr. Jones, or Mr. Thompson, or by whatever name besides you

called yourself in the Fancy, six years ago upon the coast, now that you

hwe finished your survey, may I inquire if you can yet recollect an old

companion?”

I started. He had mentioned the slaver’s name correctly, and also the

false appellation by which I was known on board that accursed vessel.

“I have heard of that slave-ship,” I replied; “she foundered at sea, and

none escaped but--”

“You and myself,” responded the stranger carelessly.

“You labour under a mistake, she perished by fire, and none escaped--

“But _you_; and how you managed it I don’t know. As for me, I gave

leg-bail in the Gambia. Come, Jones, Thompson, Robinson, or any thing

you please to call yourself, fear nothing from me. I owe you a debt

of gratitude. I shipped myself in that villanous slaver, a

runaway-apprentice; and, when struck down by fever, and dying of thirst

upon my passage out, the only hand in all that rascally ship’s company,

to whom I was indebted for a drink of water to slake my burning thirst,

was your’s; and now, seven years after, I survive to prove to you that

kindness to a destitute boy has not been, and shall not be forgotten.”

“It seems you know me,” I replied; “and concealment would be idle. It

is, indeed, too true that all on board the slaver perished, save that

negro who attends me, and myself.”

“Ay,” said the rover; “but you may recollect that a boy was missing the

night before you sailed. I was that lost one; and, from weariness of

a miserable life, and disgust at the horrible duty imposed upon me, of

attending to the slave-hold, every feeling had revolted. I bolted from

the vessel; escaped a fate that none survived but you; passed through

a thousand hair-breadth adventures; and now command the Flambeau--the

sweetest schooner that ever spread canvass to a breeze. Come, I bear

you have lost every thing again but life; try your luck once more with

Captain Raleigh; and rest assured, that he who succoured the fevered

boy, shall secure the friendship of the commander of the Flambeau,--a

craft by some called a privateer, and by others set down--may Heaven

forgive them!--as nothing better than a pirate!”

I listened to the rover’s invitation. There was much that would induce

a man, circumstanced as I was, to accept it; I seemed a being marked out

for misfortune--for whom no happiness was predestined, and one, for whom

fate had reserved the phials of her wrath. Captain Raleigh marked my

hesitation.

“Come,” said he, “time presses. You brought me, and for little

advantage, I regret, out of my course this morning, and I must regain

it speedily. You are, as far as I am concerned, a free agent. Come with

me--you will be welcome; stay where you are--a hundred dollars are

at your service, to begin the world anew, and the best wishes of the

runaway apprentice you nursed on his passage to the Gambia. I’ll rejoin

you in five minutes--a time sufficiently long for a man to come to a

decision, as well as if he dreamed over it for a twelvemonth.”

He turned, walked to another part of the vessel, and gave orders to his

crew to man their boats, and prepare for returning to the schooner.

Dominique had been a silent, but a most attentive observer of my

tête-à-tête with Captain Raleigh, and I beckoned him to approach.

“The hour for parting has arrived, Dominique, which, three days since,

neither you nor I could have anticipated; but so fate wills it. A new

and perilous career lies before me, the ocean surface must be my home,

and its deeps shall furnish me a grave. England, the land of freedom,

is your happier destination. Go, my tried and trusty friend; follow some

one of brighter fortunes than him you leave; and may your future fate be

what your attachment and fidelity to me so richly merit!”

The negro did not speak for a few moments--tears fell first upon the

deck--at last, he turned a look of mild inquiry upon my face, and, in a

broken voice, asked “in what he had offended me.”

I was assuring my sable follower how truly I estimated his worth, and

how deeply I felt the necessity that should deprive me of his services,

when Captain Raleigh joined us. He held a bag of dollars in his hand.

“Here--catch,” he cried, as he tossed the money to me. “And now, ‘to

be or not to be, ay, that’s the question.’ There’s Shakespeare for you.

Confound the bard of won;’twas he that made a rover of me; and but

for Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, I, Harry Jones, had never been Captain

Raleigh, but probably, at this blessed hour, a thriving citizen on

Ludgate Hill, slicing off lutestring for a dowager, or assuring some

pretty girl how beautifully the last new ribbon harmonized with the

colour of her hair. Heigh-ho! I might have been happier. Happier! pshaw!

nonsense. Yard and shears are only fit for woman’s hand; this is the

tool for man’s”--and he touched the hilt of his cutlass. “But what’s the

matter with your dark companion? Has he, too, lost some dollars by the

accursed visit of the Frenchman?”

“I have lost more--far more,” replied the black, “the preserver of

my life--the master whom for seven years I followed--my friend--my

benefactor--him have I lost. He tells me that I must leave him--leave

one from whom I thought death alone should separate me.”

“And will you follow his fortunes, and take your chance on board the

schooner?”

“Follow him!” exclaimed the negro; “oh, were that allowed, Dominique

would be too happy.” ^

“Give me that honest fist of yours,” returned the rover. “No matter

what the colour of the skin may be; the heart’s the thing for me. Well,

you’ll take your chance, and seek new fortunes in the Flambeau?” he

continued, addressing me.

“I have no other choice,” was my reply.

“Come, you have no luggage to remove, I fancy; John Crapo saved you that

trouble. Jump in; the boat is ready.”

I followed this new director of my destiny; and the whale-boat quitted

the vessel’s side, where, but three short days ago, I was owner of

thirty thousand dollars, to commence a roving life--a career of criminal

adventure--its close--at best an ocean grave--or, what was likelier far,

the plank, * the yard-arm, or the gibbet.

* A piratical method of drowning.

I shall pass over an epoch of three years, the crowded history of which

was more than enough to fill the story of a life. Would you know it? ask

in every Spanish port, from Chili to Panama, what was the Flambeau, and

who were her commanders? They will tell you, that that pirate barque,

though for years resting in the caves of the Atlantic, still carries

terror in her name. They will say, that Raleigh was daring, rash,

and sanguinary; but that, with the audacious courage of the boldest

buccaneer, Ramirez was merciful; and that the blood of innocence or

old age had never stained his hand. Who Raleigh was you know; who

Ramirez--you may fancy.

A year had passed since Raleigh had perished in a wild descent upon

the Spanish Main; and Ramirez, his successor, had assumed a command for

which his daring and good-fortune had qualified him preeminently. Much

wealth had been acquired; and it was believed that the Rover Captain had

transmitted large remittances, in specie and valuables, to Europe. In

one of the secret inlets with which the Caribees abound, the Flambeau

had been refitted, provisioned, and made ready for a fresh adventure.

The crew were all on board, and nothing delayed the schooner’s sailing,

but the unaccountable absence of her commander. A week before he had

set out for a distant town, to meet a secret agent. The business was

speedily transacted, and Ramirez had left the city he had visited, to

rejoin the Rover’s crew. Day after day passed; the worst suspicions were

entertained--it was believed that he had been assassinated; and a

deep gloom spread over the whole of the lawless community, who justly

regarded Ramirez as the ablest commander that ever trod a rover’s deck.

Many conjectures were hazarded; three days elapsed, when a canoe paddled

one evening on board the Flambeau, and delivered a letter addressed to

the second in command, in the well-known hand-writing of the captain.

In that epistle the mystery was cleared away; wonder succeeded

apprehension; and wishes so often and so warmly breathed by the rover’s

crew for the safety of their leader, were exchanged for imprecations on

his head, and deadly vows of everlasting vengeance; and one, who was

an hour before the idol of that lawless band, would have found in every

individual who composed it, a willing executioner.

What could hwe caused this singular change of feeling?

In the letter addressed by Ramirez to his lieutenant, he stated that he

had determined to abandon a roving life for ever, and assured him that

every attempt to ascertain his motives, or discover his retreat, would

be equally unwailing. The investment of valuable property on the general

account of the predatory community had been faithfully executed. He

promised that every secret connected with his late confederates should

be buried in his grave--and the eternal silence of his black companion

might be equally confided in. The letter concluded with the warmest

wishes for their future welfare--with a strong entreaty that they should

abandon a dangerous career, which, no matter how long fortune smiled

upon it, must inevitably incur an ignominious termination.

Mr. Hartley paused, and took from his pocket a small sealed packet,

carefully tied up.

“Hector,” said he, addressing me, “the remainder of my sad history would

be as painful for me to narrate, as you to listen to. In these detached

papers you will find my chequered and adventurous career faithfully

outlined. At intervals, ‘few and far between,’ when I could look back

upon the past with tolerable composure, these unconnected documents

were written; and any portions of the tale which may not be sufficiently

intelligible, your own fancy must fill up. I have not shrunk from being

the chronicler of my own shame; but I have not nerve or courage to be

the narrator of suffering so terrible, that reason was unseated, and

Heaven alone, through gentle agencies, saved me from total despair. Save

one--my child--no other eye has rested on these papers--none other will;

for, when you restore them to-morrow, the record of crime and sorrow

shall perish. Farewell! At dawn of day expect me. Sleep soundly,

boy;--may never recollections of the past rob you of rest, as they will

me!”

He shook my hand, bade me good night, and retired to his chamber; and

I, burning with curiosity to learn all the particulars of a “strange

eventful history,” broke the sealed packet, and read the following

details:--

CHAPTER XXVI. MY UNCLE’S STORY CONTINUED.

“Gent.--Help!--help!--O, help!

Edgar. “What kind of help?

Albany. Speak, man.

Edgar. What means that bloody knife?

Gent. ‘Tis hot!--it smokes!--

It came even from the heart of--

Albany. Who, man?--speak!

Gent. Your lady, sir--your lady!”

King Lear.

The city of Quito was brilliantly illuminated; it was the anniversary of

its patron saint, and, in honour of their holy founder, the convent and

church of the Ursulines presented a spectacle of dazzling splendour.

The latter was lighted with a thousand tapers, and the great altar was

ornamented with all the monastic treasures which a devotee delights

to view. Crucifixes and sacred vessels, in gold and silver, and of

surpassing beauty, were liberally exhibited; while relics, in jewelled

cabinets, were on this, the high festival of Saint Ursula, brought from

their hallowed shrines, to delight the eyes and gladden the hearts

of the faithful. A long array of dignified ecclesiastics, in gorgeous

robes, filed in procession through the lofty aisles, while censors

blazed, and the pealing organ thundered forth its “jubilate.’” Within a

large extent round the city, all that was noble, wealthy, or religious,

on this her glorious anniversary, were assembled to do honour to their

fwourite saint,--while salvos of artillery from the ramparts, and the

rolling fire of _feu de joie_, rose at times above the choral swell,

adding to a religious pageant, the anomalous associations which a

battle-field and “heady fight” would give. To complete the effect of

this splendid spectacle, the proud, the brwe, the beautiful, followed

humbly in procession after monk and nun--the men bearing perfumed tapers

of coloured wax--while the women strewed flowers as they moved along

before the blessed relics of their sainted patroness.

Leaning against a pillar of the two, two personages of very different

appearance, viewed the procession with that interest it was so well

calculated to excite. One, from his quiet air and sober dress, seemed

a man engaged in some peaceful avocation; he might have been a notary, a

doctor, or a trader. The other, a young, tall, and handsome cavalier,

was richly attired in a fanciful costume; rapier and poignard were in an

embroidered belt; rings of costly workmanship glittered on his fingers,

and a jewel of exquisite brilliancy sparkled from the looping of his

richly-plumed hat. As the procession moved slowly on, the gay stranger

might hwe been overheard addressing his more sober companion, to inquire

who the actors in the passing scene might be; and while he bent his head

in differently as every succeeding relic passed, and bishop and mitred

abbot, one after another, defiled before him, the irreligious stranger

never asked their names.

“Yon stately man in the rich cope and alb is the holy prior of San

Augustin;--he exorcises devils----”

The gay foreigner impatiently interrupted his soberer companion. “Hang

the fat prior!--we have no devils to be exorcised.”

“And see, yonder thin black priest--he is the canon of San Roque,--the

best preacher that ever mounted pulpit.”

“There leave him, my good friend,--I hate the drowsy race. Ha!--Who is

that noble-looking person in the green uniform faced with gold?”

“That is General Paez. Saints and angels!--here comes the archbishop of

--------”

“Never mind the archbishop. Who is the silver-headed veteran with the

hat and scarlet plume?”

“Oh, that is Admiral Cordova. But the Dominican who bears the

banner----”

Again the irreligious foreigner broke in. “Confound them both! bearer

and banner. Look, man!”--as another, and the fairest portion of the

procession, walked slowly past the pillar, strewing flowers as they

moved along. “Ay,” said the stranger, “that sylph-like girl, with blue

eyes, is worth all the monks and cardinals who ever said an ave,

or carried a blessed candle. But see!--mark you that lovely girl

in silvered satin?--she with the ebon locks, and downcast eyes. How

beautiful is that air--the easy movement of her walk--the grace with

which each flower drops from her hand! I must not, dare not look.”

“‘Twere better not,” remarked the soberer of the twain; “she is for the

last time in worldly company: in another week she enters the convent of

Saint Agatha, and she will be professed immediately.”

“Professed!” exclaimed his companion,--“what means that? But see--the

procession halts!” and at the moment, the beautiful _religieuse_ stopped

at the base of the very pillar against which the gay stranger had taken

his position.

“Who is that sweet girl?” said the latter, impatiently.

The sudden halting of the long array caused the fair flower-bearer

to look up, and her eyes encountered those of the stranger which were

turned upon her in breathless admiration. The beautiful devotee coloured

to the brows, and again her eyes dropped upon the tesselated pavement.

It was probably from agitation that a small bouquet, composed of the

most delicate flowers which a tropic clime produces, fell unconsciously

from her hand, when, unperceived by any but the lovely _religieuse_ and

his own companion, the stranger picked it up, pressed it for a moment

with ardour to his lips, and then carefully deposited the floral

treasure in his bosom. Again the procession moved, the beauteous devotee

exchanged a passing glance; and if it were intended to reprove the

boldness of the daring adventurer, or express sorrow at the loss of her

fragrant bouquet, neither feeling was conveyed, for the look was the

sweetest one imaginable.

“Now by every saint upon the calendar, and the list is longer than

the muster-bill of a line-of-battle ship, it’s all over with me--I’m

lost--destroyed--undone. Who is that angel in woman’s form? Speak!”

exclaimed the stranger, passionately.

“The loveliest girl in Grenada,” returned his companion.

“Pshaw! tell me not what I know already--but her name? her family? Come,

out with all you know, man.”

“It’s a long story,” replied the civilian.

“No matter,” returned his friend, “tell me anything connected with that

charming devotee, and I’ll listen although the tale lasted to eternity.”

“Captain,” replied the other,--and he whispered the title by which he

addressed him softly in his gay companion’s ear,--“‘ware love!--Cupid

himself would find no welcome on board a vessel called the Flambeau.”

“Out with the story!” exclaimed the stranger; “or I’ll break through the

procession, and ask it of the sweet girl herself.”

“Well,” said the civilian, with a smile, “to keep you clear of the

Inquisition for an insult to a fwourite saint like blessed Agatha, I

will tell you all I know. Sit down upon this marble pediment, and we can

speak without any one hearing us. Marked you the greyheaded commander,

dressed in a blue uniform, with two crosses at his breast?”

“To be sure I did: the worn-out admiral who bore a candle in the crowd.”

“Well, the taper is fitter than the sword for the hand of age to carry;

no doubt, many a day since, the old gentleman has been laid up in

ordinary.”

“He would be anything but flattered could he but overhear our

conversation,” continued the companion of the gay stranger. “In

ordinary! Not he, faith!--It is barely six months ago since he married

the----”

“Widow of some gouty general,” exclaimed the other, impatiently.

“Pshaw!--no more of him.”

“He married,” responded the civilian, “no widow of a gouty general, but

Inez de Liomana.”

“An antiquated virgin,” said the stranger, with a smile; “of high

family, holy life, and on the wrong side of sixty.”

“Never did a man guess wider of the mark: she was one of the prettiest

girls in the province, and on the right side of seventeen,” observed the

civilian.

“But what the devil does it interest me,” exclaimed the stranger,

“whether an old gentleman exhibits his dotage, by committing matrimony,

or any other similar absurdity? I don’t want to know anything about his

wife.”

“But you wish me to favour you with full particulars touching his lovely

daughter.”

“His daughter!” said the stranger: “Is yonder peerless beauty indeed

that old man’s child?”

“His only child. She pays the penalty of an act of dotage, for the old

fool’s marriage consigns her to a convent.”

“Monstrous!” ejaculated the stranger: “What! bury beauty like her’s

within a living grave! By Heaven! I’ll escalade the convent walls

myself, and liberate that lovely victim; ay, though I perished by the

hands of the Inquisition for the sacrilege! But why, if the old man

played the fool, should she, poor girl, be immured for it?”

“To gratify the selfish vanity of a weak old dupe. Inez was the orphan

daughter of a poor knight of San Iago; and on her father’s death,

without friends or fortune, she was destined to take the veil. Educated

at the same convent with the heiress of the admiral, she came to visit

her young companion before the vows should be pronounced, that would

sever her for ever from society. The old man saw her, and, struck with

her beauty, fancied that he loved. He told his tale of folly. Inez

detested the seclusion which awaited her. A splendid home--a life of

luxury--the name of wife--a lover--coupled with a title, were offered

and accepted. Inez is vain and ostentatious, and a sudden rise from

humble orphanage, has almost turned her brain. She indulges in every

extravagance, and the doting admiral, they say, yields to every

solicitation, no matter how expensive; and thus a fortune, sufficient

to support the rank and establishment of a grandee, has been found

inadequate to meet the profusion his silly marriage has entailed; and

to gratify the extravagance of his youthful consort, the old dupe has

determined that his only child shall be sacrificed, to enable him to

meet the extra demands made upon his purse, by the capricious girl

whom he has been weak enough to marry. And now, Captain Ramirez,

you know as much as I do of every thing connected with the lovely

_religieuse_.”

“By Heaven!” returned the stranger, passionately, “friend Sanchez, I

will know more, or the fault shall not be mine. But see--the procession

is about to move. Whither will these fat drones steer to now? Stand

fast; they’ll pass again. I would not lose the chance of another

angel-glance of yon dark eye, for this brilliant in my hat; and the

water is the purest in Grenada.”

“And what would you give me, could I procure you an interview? Ay,

captain, stare not so incredulously; an interview!--not exactly

tête-à-tête; but in the presence only of a youthful step-dame, and

myself, your very humble servant,” said the civilian, with a smile.

“Give!” exclaimed the stranger; “change your query, Signor Sanchez, and

rather inquire, what would I not give. Pshaw! the thing’s impossible.”

“Would you wager one hundred dollars on the event?” inquired the

Captain’s companion.

“No,” returned the stranger; “but I’ll bet you three to one, and in

hundreds too.”

“Done,” was the brief reply.

“And _done_. The wager’s made. Prepare your money, Master Sanchez. Were

it but for exciting false hopes, every dollar shall be exacted, whether

they be begged, borrowed, or stolen. But, saints and angels! here she

comes.”

Again the long array filed past in solemn mardi; and a less devout

spectator could not have been discovered in the crowded assemblage

than Captain Ramirez. The archbishop of Moldivia glided on in stately

dignity; and the stranger regarded the haughty prelate with as little

veneration as the neophyte who waved a perfumed censer in his rear. On

came the thin black canon of San Roque; and the ablest preacher in the

province elicited no more notice. In fact, two objects engrossed the

gallant captain’s attention--one was the old admiral with the yellow

taper; and the other that lovely devotee, his daughter.

She passed the pillar closely as before. To the stranger, the crowded

procession contained a single object, and his ardent gaze sought that

one only in the throng. She came; for a moment she raised her soft and

speaking eyes,--they met those of the stranger. He took the flowers from

his bosom--pressed them to his lips. The fair devotee observed the act;

and the glance that answered it, would not induce a lover to despair.

“Now,” said Captain Ramirez, as the ceremony ended, and the numerous

spectators issued from the church, “if ever man were fairly ruined, I

am he. Friend Sanchez, how gladly would I tell thee out three hundred

dollars!”

“Indeed!” said the civilian; “I’m happy to assure you, that that

pleasure is reserved for to-morrow.”

“‘Would I dare think it so,” said the captain, with a sigh; “but how is

it to be done? Are we to pick locks, scale walls, commit-murder, or--”

“Heaven forbid!” returned Signor Sanchez; “we will effect it by no

felonious means, or I shall agree to forego the benefit of the wager.

Rest assured, that the entry into the admiral’s domicile shall be

peacefully achieved. Come, supper will be waiting; we will finish

afterwards a flask or two to the health of the peerless Camilla; and,

it by the hour of siesta to-morrow, I have not lightened your purse by

three hundred pieces, why, worthy captain, then write Juan Sanchez down

a very ass.”

Morning came. The gay stranger was early a-foot; for, were the truth

told, the sweet _religieuse_ had spoiled the captain’s sleep. Presently

his host joined him. The morning meal was discussed; and the stranger

reminded Signor Sanchez that he had net forgotten the wager made on the

preceding evening.

“I should be sorry if you had, noble captain, for it would be to me

the loss of a sum in sterling silver, that we traders do not every day

realize so easily.”

“Well, my friend, when is the trial to come off?” was the inquiry.

“The bet shall be speedily decided; and, in one hour hence, the pocket

of one of us will be lighter than it is at present: I could give a

shrewd guess, Captain Ramirez, which of them it will be.”

Half the time wore away, when the essay was to be made; and the stranger

became momentarily more impatient.

“I fancy you may prepare,” said the civilian, “for your interview with

Camilla.”

“What preparations are necessary?” inquired the stranger; “my hat and

sword are on the table.”

“Where they shall peaceably await our return. You must adopt a more

respectable appearance. Doth these gay trappings; and, for the occasion,

pass as my assistant. There is a modest-looking dress at your service,

in the next room; and when you have put it on, the box you are to carry

will be ready.”

In a few minutes the change of costume was completed. Don Juan Sanchez

set out for the admiral’s residence, with a jewel-case under his arm,

and Captain Ramirez, attired like a sober citizen’s attendant, followed

dutifully with another, largely stocked with artificial flowers, and

divers other articles which interest the fair sex. They reached Don

Manuel’s residence, in the Plaza; and the moment Sanchez and his

assistant presented themselves, they were freely admitted, and conducted

to a waiting-room, until their arrival should be formally announced to

the consort of the commander.

“Captain,” said the civilian, in a whisper, “how many dollars would

you give to be off? Your wager’s lost. Well, take some from me, and

I promise you a glorious opportunity. I am the bearer of an emerald

necklace--the young wife will be sufficiently occupied in its

examination: and could you not, in the interim, dispose of some of your

wares to the old man’s daughter?”

“Egad, I’ll try. But, honest Sanchez, I fear I can manage the retail

business but indifferently. I’m in the wholesale line, you know. Here

comes the lady’s page.”

A richly-dressed negro-boy summoned the civilian and his companion to

the presence of Dona Inez. They found her in a magnificent apartment,

resting in luxurious indolence upon a splendid couch, while the lovely

devotee was arranging some beautiful flowers in a crystal vase, in

another corner of the chamber. Sanchez bowed with deferential humility

to the haughty beauty; a civility she scarcely returned; and then,

advancing to the sofa, he presented a casket, with its brilliant

contents, for the inspection of the lofty Doha.

In a moment the attention of the consort of the admiral was enthralled

with the jewellery that this costly casket presented, and frequent

exclamations of her admiration told how ardently she responded to the

commendations of the merchant, as he pointed out the beauty of every

gem.

“Pedro,” said the civilian, “show that box of mine to yonder lady.

Flowers, merely, your excellenza; fit only for young ladies about to be

professed.”

The companion of Juan Sanchez instantly obeyed the order of his

superior; and, crossing the apartment, disclosed the treasure’s of his

box.