Soon after their arrival in London an order for sailing arrived, and they
were all obliged to get on board, without having time to show John much of
the wonders of the metropolis. They however had the satisfaction of
receiving good accounts from the Manse. Helen wrote to this effect, that,
within a few days after the parting was once fairly over, her father
recovered in a great degree his spirits, and that she had great hopes of
seeing him soon as cheerful as ever. Marion wrote to John, and told him
that she had been with Miss Helen for some days, and that she thought they
were all much better than she had expected to find them; "but," she added,
"the dale now looks so melancholy, I can scarcely believe it the same
place."
The Amazon was now sent into the Mediterranean, therefore it was seldom
that letters could pass between our navigators and their friends in
Eskdale. About a year after they had left England, Captain Elliott
received a letter, on putting into Gibraltar, from Mr. Martin, informing
him of the sudden death of his mother. He said she had been complaining a
few days, but they were not in the least alarmed till the day before her
death, when Helen thought she perceived a change in her manner of
speaking, and sent for Mr. Armstrong, who immediately saw she had had a
stroke of the palsy. Nothing could be done; and before the next morning,
another stroke carried her off. From the time she became seriously ill,
she never quitted Helen's hand; having her near her seemed her only
consolation.
Every letter that Mr. Martin received was filled with John's praises,
Captain Elliott affirming he was a perfect treasure to him as a servant,
as well as a great acquisition to the ship's company, and that he was such
a happy good-tempered fellow that he was beloved by every one on board.
William wrote regularly to his father, and his letters constituted the
chief enjoyment of Mr. Martin's life. John sent him an account of all he
saw and heard, that he thought would in any way serve to amuse either him
or Helen; and, at the same time, he never forgot to send a letter to
Marion in every packet.
This kind of communication had continued about two years, when one
afternoon the sailors on board the Amazon discovered a strange sail at a
distance, and Captain Elliott gave orders to give chase to her directly.
As she was but a slow sailer they soon gained on her, and when they came
near enough, William was ordered into the boat, to go alongside and
discover what she was. The wind blew rather fresh, and the clouds looked
lowering. John, who was standing on deck, took alarm at the weather, and
coming up to William as he was preparing to enter the boat, endeavoured to
persuade him to speak to the Captain before he went. "He has not looked at
the sky, I am sure," said John, "or he would never send you on such an
expedition"--"Pho! pho!" answered William, "we must have no fresh-water
sailors here. Go I must; so there is no alternative. My orders are
explicit."--"Then, Sir, permit me to go with you," said John. "I am an
expert swimmer, which you are not; and I really feel so very wretched and
uncomfortable at seeing my master's son go out in such a night, that if
you won't take me otherwise, I will run and get the Captain's orders to be
of the party, and then you cannot refuse."--"No, John," said William, "if
there really is danger, I shall not needlessly expose more lives than I
can help. God bless you, my lad. See that you have a dry shirt for me,
when I come back; for I think we are likely to have wet jackets. Here is
my key. Mind your orders!" So saying, he jumped into the boat; and though
John ran as quick as he could, to get the Captain's permission to
accompany him, the boat had left the ship by the time he came back. John
staid on deck, watching with a glass all the boat's movements; he saw it
safe alongside the other vessel, where it was detained nearly
half-an-hour, he then had just light enough to see it leave the ship on
its way back.
Oh! what an anxious hour was the next! The wind had been gradually rising,
and by this time nearly blew a hurricane. John could conceal his
uneasiness no longer; he ran down below to the Captain, who had been
unwell, and was lying in his cot. "Captain Elliott," exclaimed he, "for
God's sake get up, and see if any thing can be done to save Mr.
William."--"Good God! John," said Captain Elliott, starting up from a
sound sleep, "it blows a hurricane. How long has the boat been out? Why
was I not called before?" John said that the sailors on deck, even now,
did not consider there was any danger; but that the boat had been parted
from the other ship above an hour, and he could not help feeling very
uneasy. The night was excessively dark, and it rained in torrents.
Captain Elliott got on deck instantly; he was perfectly convinced that
John had not been alarmed without good cause. Every expedient that could
be thought of was tried. They hung out lights at every part of the ship,
to direct the boat in its course; but alas! no boat appeared. Such a night
of wretchedness did Captain Elliott and John spend, as cannot possibly be
related. When day broke, it required force to prevent John from throwing
himself into the sea, as if he meant to search the ocean for his dear
master's son. He absolutely screamed with agony, when a boat that had been
sent out in search of the one missing returned, bringing a hat, with poor
William's name inside of it. There was not a shadow of hope. Captain
Elliott, who till now had never quitted the deck, fainted away at this
confirmation of the ruin of all his poor brother's happiness, and indeed
of his own.
William had been as dear to him as a son, almost from the moment he had
seen him; and for the last eight years they had scarcely ever been
separated. He was carried down to his cabin insensible, whilst poor John's
equal, though more violent grief, attracted the attention of the first
lieutenant, who had him taken to his own cabin, and endeavoured in every
way he could think of to soften the misery he could not remove.
Several weeks passed over their heads, and no opportunity offered of
writing to England. Indeed both Captain Elliott and John dreaded the
thoughts of putting pen to paper to give this intelligence. "It will kill
his father," said the Captain; "but I shall never live to hear it, most
probably." John asked him if he felt unwell; "I am not well, John,"
answered he; "my complaints were but trifling till this unlucky affair; my
head and soul were wrapt up in that boy, and to lose him in such a way has
quite ruined my constitution. Take my advice, John," added he, "return to
Eskdale as soon as you have an opportunity. Now that poor William is gone,
you will be a comfort to his father, should he survive the blow, which I
do not believe; but in all events, you may be of serious use to my poor
niece, who, God knows, will require a friend. Promise me, John, that you
will be this friend, and I shall feel more comfortable in looking forward
to my own death." John gave him the promise required; and there was no
opportunity of resuming the subject.
The very next morning after this conversation, an engagement took place
with two large French frigates. Captain Elliott and his crew performed
prodigies of valour; but at last, unfortunately, Captain Elliott received
a shot through the heart, which killed him on the spot. He fell into the
arms of John, who stood behind him, and was carried below, in hopes that
the wound was not mortal; but the surgeon only shook his head; all was
over.
When the ship was taken possession of by the French, John was found
sitting on the floor of the cabin, by the side of his captain's body,
perfectly insensible to all that was passing around him. He took no notice
of any thing, till they attempted to move the body. He then threw himself
on it, and entreated they would bury them together; saying he now no
object to live for. As he repeated this, a sudden flash of recollection
crossed his mind. "Yes," exclaimed he, "I have still a great and important
duty to perform to Miss Helen and my master!" He then suffered them to
remove the captain, and became more composed from that moment.
When the ship was carried into Toulon, John and the other prisoners were
ordered immediately to Thoulouse. Mr. Murray, the first lieutenant, who
had been so kind to John at the time of William's death, still felt a
great interest for him. He was a kind-hearted young man, and seemed to
enter into all John's feelings. He endeavoured, on their long and
wearisome march, to keep him near himself; and when they reached
Thoulouse, he prevailed on his guard to allow John to remain with him as
his servant. He was a man of considerable property, and being allowed to
draw on England for remittances, had it in his power to obtain many
favours and advantages denied to his poorer companions.
Meantime Mr. Martin and Helen were looking forward with the hope of seeing
their sailor friends very shortly. William, in the last letter his father
had from him, said he thought the ship would most probably be sent home in
the course of the next autumn, and that his uncle had promised to give him
leave of absence for a fortnight; "and in that time," he added, "I shall
try hard to get another peep at my friends in Eskdale."
One morning, as they were at breakfast, Helen said, "Surely that is Mr.
Scott, from Craigie Hall; what can have brought him here?" and rising, she
opened the glass door. Mr. Scott came in and sat down. He did not seem to
have any thing particular to say beyond common occurrences, yet still he
remained; and Helen wondered what could be the meaning of the visit. As
she rose to move something from the table, she observed him make her a
sign to leave the room unobserved by her father: a cold chill came over
her. "What can be the matter?" thought she, as she entered the parlour.
In a few minutes Mr. Scott quitted the study, and going out at the front
door, beckoned at the parlour window for her to follow him.
"What can you have to say, Mr. Scott?" said Helen, as she approached him;
and, suddenly struck with the look of woe that was in his face, would have
fallen if he had not supported her. "William?" uttered she, and could say
no more. Mr. Scott then said, "the family at the hall receive many of the
London newspapers, and sometimes the housekeeper sends them in for me to
read. The family are all gone on a visit from home for some days,
consequently the paper was sent me early. I have, my dear Miss Helen, read
a very unpleasant account of the Amazon: but it may not be correct; and
even if it is so, Mr. William may yet be safe, for his name is not
mentioned." "My uncle's is then," said Helen, greatly agitated; "Thank
God! my grandmother did not live to hear this: but wait a moment, Mr.
Scott, I shall be able to hear it all presently." She leant against the
gate for a few seconds, and then begged Mr. Scott to read the paragraphs.
He did so; and then said, "I thought, Miss Helen, it was best to tell you
this dreadful news in the first place, that you might consider how our
good Minister can be informed of it; for he will certainly hear it in the
dale from somebody, and I think it will be better to break it to him by
degrees." Helen thought so too. "But how can I tell him," said she,
weeping, "both my dear uncle's death and William's imprisonment, all at
once? It seems more than he can ever bear," and recollecting John,
suddenly said, "poor Marion, too, will feel for John. All, all our friends
at once, is too much to bear." Mr. Scott was a very sensible man. He
allowed her to weep for some time and then, seeing her a little more
composed, said, "You must, my dear Miss Helen, endeavour to moderate your
grief, for the sake of your father. I see him coming toward the green, and
if he observe us he will be alarmed." Helen replied, "I will do all I can,
but I cannot possibly see him just yet; so I shall get into the house
without meeting him, if possible. Leave me the paper, and good morning!"
It required all Helen's gentleness and caution to inform her poor father
of this afflicting news. Notwithstanding all the precaution and care with
which she broke it to him, he fainted before she could finish the
narration; and though he endeavoured to regain composure, it was evident
to Helen that his strength was sinking. Nothing, however, seemed to bear
so hard upon him as the uncertainty of the fate of William. Nothing had
been mentioned of him, and indeed nothing could be known, for there had
been no communication from the ship between the time of his accident and
that of their being all taken prisoners. The winter passed on: a long a
dreary one it was to Helen and her father. Marion, likewise, looked ill
and melancholy; she had loved John as a brother, and his loss was severely
felt. Early in the spring, Mr. Martin had occasion to go to Langholm;
Helen insisted on accompanying him. After finishing his business, they
were passing the inn where the mail stops. Just as they got to the door of
it, the landlord was standing speaking to a sailor, a good-looking man,
and seeing Mr. Martin, he said, hastily, "Oh, Mr. Martin, this person is
just returned from Thoulouse, in France; he has made his escape. Perhaps
he may be able to give you some account of Mr. William!" Mr. Martin, on
hearing this, turned to the man, and asked him what ship he had belonged
to, and how he became a prisoner. "I belonged, Sir, to the Amazon, and was
taken with the whole ship's company that remained after the
battle."--"Tell me," said Mr. Martin, quickly, "was William Martin,
Captain Elliott's nephew, at Thoulouse when you left it?" "Oh, no!" said
the man, "he was drowned six weeks before the battle." Mr. Martin heard no
more; he fell as if a shot had passed through his heart. The landlord
carried him into the inn, and sent for Mr. Armstrong; his poor daughter,
almost in as pitiable a state as he was, still endeavoured to exert
herself to save her father. She undid his stock, rubbed his face and hands
with vinegar, and tried every means her experience had ever found useful,
at last Mr. Armstrong made his appearance. He was excessively alarmed, and
begged Helen would leave the room; but she answered, firmly, "No, Mr.
Armstrong, I never will quit my father whilst a spark of life remains. He
is not dead yet, for I feel his pulse; therefore do not talk of my leaving
him, even for an instant." In the evening Mr. Martin just opened his eyes,
fixed them on Helen, and said, "My poor girl:" and drawing a long sigh,
was removed from all his sufferings.