“Who bore the murd’ring steel?
… The arrow came not
From the ranks of the foe, a nearer hand
Hath winged the shaft.”
“The upright sentence struck upon his heart.
And then sent forth a groan of agony.”
The Euphrasia was cruising off the French coast, when, one morning,
Fitz-Ullin, who was walking the quarter-deck, discovered, what appeared
to be a sail in shore. On using his glass, however, he perceived that
there were two, the one a large privateer, the other a smaller vessel
ahead, of which the privateer seemed to be in pursuit. He immediately
issued orders to make all sail and give chace. In a little time the
privateer was within pistol-shot of the headmost ship, but, being
closely pressed by the Euphrasia, she was obliged to content herself with
the wanton mischief of firing one gun as she passed.
She had hitherto been to windward of the frigate, she now bore away,
with the evident intention of crossing her bows, when the wind, suddenly
shifting, threw her all aback. The Euphrasia shortly after came up with
her, upon which, seeing no further chance of escape, she slackened sail
and fell almost alongside. While the crew of the Euphrasia were busily
engaged taking in their sails, Fitz-Ullin, who was looking out for the
lowering of the privateer’s colours, observed some of her men pointing
a long twenty-four pounder, which was placed in the centre of their
deck, and which appeared to turn on a pivot. At first, he could scarcely
believe that so useless a piece of cruelty could be intended; seeing
them, however, actually about to apply the match, he ordered the small
armed party of marines to fire a volley into the midst of them. In a
moment, the fellows who had been employed about the gun were swept away.
This destructive piece of ordnance was afterwards found to be loaded with
buck shot, old nails, and crooked pieces of iron. Had it been discharged
from so short a distance, on the, just then, necessarily crowded decks of
the frigate, the havoc must have been dreadful.
The privateer was now boarded, and her Captain found to be too ill to
leave his berth. This circumstance, however, was not attended with any
inconvenience, as it would have been necessary, at any rate, to leave
the Captain in the prize, to facilitate her condemnation. The rest of
the crew, with the exception of one black, for whose attendance the sick
Captain sent an urgent petition, were taken on board the Euphrasia, and
a proper complement of her men sent into the prize, with a midshipman
as prize master. By the time, however, that these necessary arrangements
were completed, the aspect of the weather changed so much, that
Fitz-Ullin judged it not prudent, under the possible circumstances, to
entrust so considerable a prize to the care of a midshipman. Accordingly,
at about ten o’clock at night, he sent Henry on board, with orders to
take the command, and forthwith sail for Plymouth.
Henry finding from the midshipman whom he relieved, that every needful
preparation was already made, went immediately to his cabin. He saw
neither the sick captain nor his black, the first never having quitted
his berth, and the second having retired to his, two hours before,
neither having any thing to do with the business of the ship.
The breeze was brisk, and soon parted them many miles from the Euphrasia.
Henry had, as usual, heated his blood with wine at supper, and in
consequence lay tossing and restless. At length, however, about twelve
o’clock, he fell into a perturbed slumber. Shortly after, he dreamed
that he heard his cabin-door open softly. He started awake, and,
notwithstanding the utter darkness, was sensible that something moved,
though noiselessly, towards him.
The next moment he felt a hand laid, with the fingers spread open, on his
shoulder, and passed from thence to his breast, as if to ascertain his
exact position. He leaped up, grappled with the invisible intruder, and
strove to seize the right arm, which, from its being greatly elevated
above the head, he supposed to wield some deadly weapon. In the struggle
they pushed through the doorway of the little cabin, into the outer one.
Henry felt that, though the figure was tall, and in its proportions
athletic, he was himself, he thought, the stronger, certainly the more
elastic of the two. Still, no effort he could make, could bend the
right arm downwards. If he attempted to use both hands for the purpose,
the left arm of his antagonist tightly encircled his waist, to the
endangering of his footing; in so much that with his left he was obliged
to clasp with equal closeness his invisible assailant. While they thus
wrestled, locked in each other’s embrace, Henry, who had not had presence
of mind, indeed scarcely time, to do so sooner, called out, “On deck
there!” A foot was heard coming below. The vigilance of Henry’s attention
was taken off for a second. The uplifted arm descended with the quickness
of lightning, and a dagger was plunged, up to the hilt, in his side. He
uttered a species of yell, leaped from the ground, fell, and groaned
heavily, muttering from between his closing teeth: “Hell and the Devil, I
am murdered!”
“Henry!” exclaimed a well known voice, rendered terrible by horror,
amazement, and despair.
At this moment, the person who had been heard approaching, entered,
carrying a dark lantern, which, while it left the intruder in shadow,
threw a strong light on the form of Henry, writhing in agony on the
ground; his countenance distorted, and his eyes still wide open. He
turned them, as the light appeared, on the figure of his late violent
assailant, now standing over him, horror-stricken and motionless. A
frightful sort of smile divided the lips of Henry; the eyes fixed, a few
convulsive movements of the limbs followed, and then, one fearful spasm,
evidently the last, closed his mortal career.
“It is my son!” said the murderer.
The man who had just entered, paused and gazed on the scene before him,
with an unmeaning stare. Placing the lantern, while he did so, under his
arm, it glared its light upwards on his own countenance, which proved
to be that of a peculiarly brutal looking black. The balls of the eyes
shone in the partial gleam, and the thick turned-over lips, being spread
by a horrible grin, displayed a wide range of glaring white teeth.
It would have been difficult to have defined exactly the source of this
wretch’s grin; for he was sufficiently in the secrets of his master to
know that the murder of Henry could not have been intended. But, there
was a demoniac glee at the sight of suffering and death; and surprise
at the strange mistake, and curiosity to see what effect it would
have on him most interested. The grin which those mixed feelings had
produced, still remained on his face, and seemed to have been forgotten
there, while stooping, and flaring the light across and across, over
the prostrate figure of Henry, as if to ascertain that life was quite
extinct, he said, as he raised himself and gave his head a knowing nod,
“We must not lose the ship for this though!”
The aroused murderer snatched the lantern from him, and flinging himself
on his knees beside the corse, held the light close to Henry’s pale
face: paused—shuddered—closed the eyes of the dead—then the lips, which
agony had left parted while the teeth were clenched; laid the lantern on
the ground, tore open the breast of the shirt, placed his hand on the
heart, remained for some moments motionless, holding in his breath; then,
perhaps unconsciously, heaved a sigh as deep and tremulous as though it
had issued from the gentlest of bosoms, and proceeded to examine the
wound.
“There are two ribs broken!” he murmured to himself, as he continued the
scrutiny.
“I was quite sure,” interposed the black, approaching a step, “that the
midshipman I told you of, was our prize-master: I saw no other officer
come aboard of us. It was your own order, that I should turn in, and keep
clear of the men, and seem to take no concern in what was going on, till
after the first watch was relieved, and then to be sure to come on deck,
and keep near the cabin-door.”
“_Damnation! Damnation! Damnation!_” muttered the still kneeling
murderer, without withdrawing his eyes from the face of the corse, and
grinding, as it were, each utterance of the word beneath his clenched
teeth, ere he suffered it to pass. Then, starting up, he hastened on
deck, (followed by the black,) strode towards the steersman, held a
pistol to his head, and swearing he would blow his brains out if he made
the slightest resistance, tied him down with cords. The same threat was
used by the black, to the man who had the lookout, and whom they also
tied. The desperate pair of ruffians then proceeded to the hatchways
which they had previously fastened down, and ordering the remainder of
the crew to come up, one by one, bound each, as he appeared, with the
exception of two foreigners, who volunteered to assist them in taking
the ship into a French harbour.
They then altered the course of the thus recovered prize, and stood
towards Brest.
The storm which Fitz-Ullin had foreseen, had been for some time gradually
rising; it soon became so high as to render the privateer with so few
efficient hands, very unmanageable; there was also distant thunder, and
occasional flashes of lightning. The wind, however, being favourable for
the French coast, they allowed the vessel to drive before it, and seemed
resolved to perish rather than yield to their prisoners; for this, from
the superiority in numbers of the latter, must have been the alternative,
had they let them loose to obtain their assistance.
After some hours, but while it was still quite dark, they ran foul of
another vessel. On board both ships, some moments of the most awful
suspense followed: neither crew could be at first aware, what degree
of injury their vessel had sustained; nor was it immediately possible,
in consequence of the darkness, to ascertain whether their dangerously
near neighbour were friend or foe. They were endeavouring, through the
din of the elements, to hail each other, when a peculiarly vivid flash
of lightning struck and shattered the upper half of the main-mast of
the privateer, while the lower part of the mast continued standing, but
took fire and instantly became a blazing torch of gigantic dimensions,
illuminating, from end to end, with perfect distinctness, the decks of
both vessels. That of the frigate presented the usual crowd and bustle
attendant on the circumstances; while that of the privateer was nearly
desolate, rendering the more remarkable the figure of the murderer and
that of his black assistant, standing in the glare of the burning mast,
and, with looks of dismay, recognising in the vessel alongside of which
their own lay, their late captor, the Euphrasia.
The privateer could offer no resistance: she was of course retaken. It
would be difficult to describe the horror of those who now boarded the
thus twice captured prize, on finding what had happened, and discovering
the body of Henry. Still less would it be possible to paint the feelings
of Fitz-Ullin, when the account of the murder was brought to him.
The Euphrasia having received some injury, (being lying-to when the
privateer ran on board of her,) a homeward course became desirable.
As soon, therefore, as wind and weather would permit, Fitz-Ullin took
Henry’s body on board, and proceeded to Plymouth. From thence he
instantly wrote to Mr. Jackson with the melancholy intelligence, that he
might break it to the family with proper caution.
The prize, which was very valuable, was also brought safe into port, the
burning mast having been extinguished in time to prevent the spreading of
the fire.
Having sent the murderers to Exeter gaol to be tried for their lives at
the assizes, which were to commence in a day or two, and made whatever
arrangements the duties of the service required, Fitz-Ullin set out for
Lodore, whither, according to instructions received from Mr. Jackson,
he gave orders to have the body of Henry conveyed. So contradictory and
unsearchable are often the movements of the human heart, that, melancholy
as were these duties, it is certain that our hero performed them with
an activity and energy of spirit, to which he had long been a stranger.
Whether it was, that tired of his self-imposed banishment, he was glad
of even this mournful excuse, to renew the affectionate intercourse of
early life with a family so long and so justly regarded, by offering his
services on the present occasion, and giving his necessary assistance in
prosecuting the murderers to conviction; or, whether any other, and more
mysterious springs of thought and feeling were set in motion, it would be
difficult to determine.
However this was, in a few days after his landing, he was to be seen,
with a countenance of seriousness, certainly, but not of despair, leaning
back in a travelling carriage which rolled along the north road as fast
as the united strength of four good horses could give the impetus of
motion to its wheels.
He arrived at Keswick, drove through it, and shortly after a turning in
the road presented Lodore House to his view.