“If this heart must break, why delay the stroke?
Rend at once the veiling cloud; no phantom
Of the future, can surpass the wildness
Of Comala’s fears.”
“In vain I close mine eyes, through their sealed lids,
I see his blood!”
The sisters had returned to Lodore, and passed some quiet months in its
peaceful seclusion, when one morning Mrs. Montgomery, handing an open
letter to her grand-daughter across the breakfast-table, said, “It is
from your father: we may expect to see him every day.”
Both daughters expressed pleasure and surprise; but Frances’s hand was
the first extended. Julia had opened a newspaper. Her eye was glancing
over its columns, and had just encountered the words, “Euphrasia frigate,
Captain Montgomery.” Lord L.’s letter was read, and discussed; and during
the moments of suspense thus occasioned, Julia felt her trepidation
increase to a degree that warned her how little she could trust herself
to peruse a paragraph containing such magical words before witnesses.
She, therefore, stole from the room, carrying the paper with her. Julia
was not at first missed. But when a considerable time had elapsed without
her being seen, and that Mr. Jackson, who came in shortly, began to
inquire for the newspaper; Frances, not without feelings of alarm, which
had something very near the truth for their object, sought her sister.
The door was locked. Frances called softly on Julia’s name. There was no
reply! She called louder still. All continued silent within! She made
hasty and repeated efforts to gain admittance. At length, in accents of
terror, she alarmed the house. The door was forced open, and Julia found
insensible on the floor, with the newspaper lying beside her.
The paragraph she had evidently been reading, ran as follows:—
“A report has just reached us from the fleet off * * * *, that the
Hurricane, Lord Fitz-Ullin; and the Euphrasia, Captain Montgomery; being
detached from the squadron, fell in with a number of armed vessels of the
enemy. That, the result was, as usual, brilliant; but, we regret to add,
that the glory obtained on this occasion, has been dearly purchased; the
gallant Captain Montgomery having lost his life in the engagement. The
private letter, from which our account is taken, states distinctly, that
a cannon ball was seen to sweep him from the deck of his ship, at the
very moment when the last of the French vessels lowered her colours. In
our next, we shall be able to give the public, a detailed and official
account of this affair.”
That evening, a few hurried lines arrived from Henry, written on board
the tender of the Euphrasia, of which he had the command, and which
was conveying the same intelligence to the fleet. They confirmed the
newspaper report of Edmund’s death by a cannon-ball, at the moment when
the last of the enemy’s ships struck her colours. He had been standing
for some time, in a very conspicuous situation; and Henry had seen the
ball sweep him from the spot! Henry wrote in this haste, he said, that
his aunt might not see it first in the papers. With great affectation of
consideration, he requested Julia, (to whom the letter was addressed,)
to take her own opportunity of breaking it properly to her grandmother;
and then went on to observe, (by way of consolation,) that Edmund could
not have suffered much, as he was shattered into a thousand atoms in less
than two seconds!! Indeed, must have been, from the amazing height, that
he, Henry, had himself seen the ball fling him into the air. Henry had
been, at the time, he added, alongside in the Tender, waiting, as he had
said, to convey the account of the capture of the enemy to the fleet. He
had been so near, therefore, that he had seen the whole transaction, as
distinctly as if he had been on board the Euphrasia.
The same post brought a supplement to the paper of the morning, giving
a detailed account of the engagement, and of the manner of Captain
Montgomery’s death.
Of course, neither letter nor paper were mentioned to Julia.
While Mr. Jackson is opening the newspaper, and putting on his
spectacles, to read it aloud to Mrs. Montgomery and Frances, in an
adjoining room, and Mrs. Smyth sits at Julia’s bedside, we shall lay
before our readers the circumstances, or rather private feelings, which
probably led to the present rash, though brilliant affair.
At the time of Admiral Lord Fitz-Ullin’s death, Edmund had found the
task of consoling his young friend Ormond (now Fitz-Ullin) difficult
indeed. Not only was the grief of Fitz-Ullin overwhelming, but his
self-reproaches were heart-rending. “He had never,” he vehemently
exclaimed, “been what his father wished him to be!” He had disappointed
all the hopes of the kindest, the best, the most indulgent of parents!
That parent had died without the consolation of leaving behind him a son
worthy of perpetuating his glorious name. How could he be careless of the
wishes of such a parent! Yet he had always intended to exert himself,
and become all that his father could wish; and now—now he could never do
so. Edmund should have been his son: Edmund of whom he would have been
so proud! Our hero, after trying calmer and more religious consolations
in vain, endeavoured to arouse his friend by suggesting, that the
most acceptable offering he could make to the memory of his father,
was to strike at once into the brilliant path his father had quitted.
Fitz-Ullin’s spirit, gentle and indolent as it was in general, in its
present state of excitation, took fire at the thought; but, alas! he had
neither talent nor steadiness to sustain him in the high resolves which
such feelings suggested. The insufficient impulse carried him into the
midst of daring undertakings, and there left him, astounded at his own
boldness, and pausing whether he should proceed or return. Thus, dangers
were incurred, and yet, results not reached.
The business now before the public, and which took place a few months
after Fitz-Ullin’s going to sea in the same fleet with Edmund, affords
a striking illustration of the fatal consequences of adventitious
excitement, thus operating on a naturally weak character. The
particulars were now read by Mr. Jackson; the sum of them was as follows:
The Hurricane, a large frigate, commanded by Lord Fitz-Ullin, being
detached from the fleet off * * * *, was cruising along the coast. It was
after midnight, and excessively dark, when the signals of enemies’ ships
were seen in shore; but of what description the vessels were, or in what
numbers, could not be even guessed. At length, the first breaking of dawn
beginning to render objects a little more definable, they perceived the
enemy consisted of no less a number than seven large, armed vessels.
“The young Earl, who seems,” said the papers, “to inherit the high daring
of his noble father,” gave immediate orders to clear for action. In the
mean time, he bore down upon the enemy, and took up, unfortunately, a far
from favourable position. It was one, however, in which he could bring
a broadside to bear on some of the French vessels. In endeavouring to
get the Hurricane into a better chosen situation, Fitz-Ullin, from the
ignorance consequent on his former neglect of the service, committed so
many blunders, that by the time she was anchored, it was found that she
had actually got her stern to the enemy in such a position, that for some
time she was exposed to their fire, while but one of her guns could bear
on them.
Fitz-Ullin suddenly walked up to the officer of the marines, who was
overseeing his men, as they manned the guns of the quarter-deck: “Why,
you are doing nothing here, Sir,” he exclaimed.
“Nothing can be done, my Lord,” said the officer, “while the ship remains
in this position.”
Fitz-Ullin turned away without reply; but, a moment after, ordered the
cable to be cut, and stood out to sea. The enemy, who lay close under
the protection of some of their own batteries on the shore, continued
stationary.
Fitz-Ullin dispatched a cutter to the squadron, desiring that the aid
of a frigate might be sent him, to capture some ships of the enemy: but
without mentioning their number, or the batteries by which they were
protected. To his public demand he added a private letter, requesting
that the vessel sent might be the Euphrasia, Captain Montgomery. The
Admiral, an old friend of his father’s, issued orders accordingly.
Fitz-Ullin, when he saw the frigate coming towards him, under a press
of sail, and remembered that she was commanded by the steady friend, to
whose talents he so much looked up, felt his spirit strengthened, and
sent an officer on board, requesting, that as he had first descried the
enemy, his ship might be permitted to move foremost to the attack. This
was granted, of course, and he led in, in great style, the Euphrasia
following. When, suddenly, and to the utter astonishment of all,
Fitz-Ullin called out, “Man the cluelines! Shorten sail!” The order being
obeyed, the Euphrasia, of course, passed them, envied by every officer,
aye, and every sailor too, on board the Hurricane: and no wonder, for at
the moment it was really a magnificent sight, to behold her advancing
boldly in the very front of peril on seven of the enemy, supported by
batteries on shore, now opening their fire. But in consequence of the
late shifting of a sand-bank, of which the pilots were not aware, the
Euphrasia, while still rapidly advancing, unfortunately ran aground; and
thus rooted, as it were, to one spot, became the very target at which
every gun from ship or battery was instantly levelled.
Fitz-Ullin, whose wavering mind seized on the one idea of the danger he
saw the leading vessel in the very act of incurring, called, “Let go the
anchor!”
“Not here, for heaven’s sake!” cried the first lieutenant, running up to
him, and pointing to the enemy’s ships on one side, and the Euphrasia
on the other; thus indicating that their own vessel must, in her actual
situation, receive the fire of both, and prevent that of their consort
reaching the enemy. While this was passing, the sailors at the anchor
involuntarily suspended their hands for a moment, during which, the
vessel, as she was moving with some velocity through the water, shot
a few lengths further ahead. The command, “Let go the anchor,” was
reiterated by Fitz-Ullin. The anchor now fell, and fixed them in a
position which, though less dreadful than that they had just passed,
was still one of more peril, and less efficiency, than might have been
chosen. Such as it was, however, it was bravely maintained; for not even
the contradictory orders of this, unhappily, so ill-qualified commander,
could, once fighting commenced, keep British officers and British sailors
from doing their duty.
The Euphrasia, in her terrible, but fortunately, very effective
situation, was behaving most gallantly. She was the central object,
necessarily alone, and involved in a cloud of smoke, through which the
silent flashes of her guns were still seen, preceding by an awful second
the loud thunders of destruction, issuing peal after peal from both her
sides.
Fitz-Ullin, as the wreaths of smoke from time to time blew aside on her
deck, could discern the figure of Edmund, now here, now there, busily
engaged, encouraging and directing his men in all quarters.
Gun after gun, from the batteries was silenced; ship after ship, of the
enemy struck; and the contest seemed nearly concluded. The Euphrasia was
at length seen to pour a formidable broadside into the last remaining
vessel which still displayed French colours. The fire was not answered.
Fitz-Ullin kept his eyes anxiously fixed on the moving wreaths of smoke,
in which the frigate’s own guns had now again enveloped her. When these
began to disperse a little, he beheld, emerging from the white vapour,
at an unusual elevation, the figure of his friend; at first but faintly
seen, afterwards more distinctly, but still, for some seconds, itself
the only palpable object. Gradually it became evident, that Edmund stood
out on one of the flukes of the anchor, now partly visible, and which
was made fast to the bows. He seemed endeavouring to look through the
thickened atmosphere towards the enemy’s colours, as if to ascertain
whether they were about to be lowered, ere he should again fire. The
enemy were also partly shrouded; but her rigging and masts appeared, and
shortly her colours were seen descending. At the same moment, the last
gun, which was still effective, fired from the batteries.
Fitz-Ullin saw the ball enter the cloud of smoke, and, a second after,
carry with it the form of Edmund! He could actually descry his friend’s
feet lifted from the spot whereon they had stood. He clasped his hands
over his eyes, but too late—the fearful sight had been seen—it continued
to float before their closed vision. He groaned with agony of mind. When
he again looked, the deck of the Euphrasia, from which the smoke was fast
clearing, had become a scene of evident hustle and confusion.
He saw, with breathless impatience, every moving figure collecting to a
central point. He called for his boat four or five times in one minute.
It came—he leaped into it—it remained without motion, for no order had
been given. He pointed to the frigate, and his men pulled towards her.
While crossing the open space between the ships, the Euphrasia’s Tender
passed them. A person on its deck, in a loud and distinct voice, said,
“Captain Montgomery is killed!”
Fitz-Ullin shuddered. His nerves recoiled from the sounds. He had
himself seen his friend fall; yet the admission of the fact through the
medium of a new sense, seemed capable of inflicting a new pang.