Art thou not risen by miracle from death?
Thy shroud is fall'n from off thee, and the grave
Was bid to give thee up, that thou might'st come
The messenger of grace and goodness to me.
Rowe.
The welcome which the young King received from his English subjects did
not answer the sanguine expectations of his friends. Contrary to the
rumours that were industriously circulated, the system of terror which
Cromwell had established prevented any regular levies being made for his
assistance. The means of the old royalists were exhausted; they had now
little but their lives to offer, and the junction of unconnected
individuals afforded but a scanty and ineffectual muster. It was soon
found that Cromwell repassed the Grampian hills with inconceivable
swiftness, and, pouring along with collected forces, dispersed the
scattered troops which the King's friends were endeavouring to collect,
even before they could be trained to arms. The King's army, fatigued by
a long march, destitute of necessaries, but slowly recruiting in
numbers, and virtually diminishing in strength, soon found the design of
seizing London beyond its ability. "The loyal city of Worcester," as it
has the honour of being pre-eminently styled, opened its gates to
refresh its Sovereign, and offered itself as a temporary retreat, where
he might muster his forces, and re-consider his measures. Here the King
was proclaimed, but the events which attended that solemnity augured ill
to the actual duration of his reign. The Earl of Derby, accompanied by a
few faithful friends, posted into the town to bring the intelligence of
his own defeat, and the consequent relapse of the north-western counties
under the yoke of Cromwell. This bad news was rapidly followed by
intelligence, that the enemy was in full pursuit. Alarm and suspicion
were visible in every countenance; divided opinions distracted the royal
councils. Some measures were pursued with rashness; others, more
eligible, neglected from timidity. Many were ready to fight and to
suffer, but a wise, calm superintendence was wanting to prevent valour
and generous loyalty from shedding its precious blood in vain.
The result of the battle of Worcester, the miraculous escape of the
King, the death of many faithful adherents, the execution of others,
especially of the noble Earl of Derby, in the very centre of his feudal
greatness, with every mark of barbarous ignominy, and the reduction of
his heroic Countess and her children to the most extreme state of
poverty and distress are well known. Arthur De Vallance was an actor in
some of these scenes. His plan of quitting England was renounced, when
he knew, that, by remaining, he could be of service to his Prince. He
repaired to the young King at Stirling as soon as Cromwell's victory at
Dunbar had taken him out of the hands of Argyle; accompanied him in his
march to the South, and bravely used his sword in his service at that
fatal overthrow, which seemed to exterminate the monarchy of England
beyond all hope of revival. It is well known that Cromwell, without
giving time to his own army to rest, after their long march from
Scotland, pounced upon the King's troops at Worcester during their first
consternation; and, leaving a part of his forces to contend with that
portion of the King's who fought valiantly, entered the city along with
those flying fugitives whom the terror of his name had dispersed at the
first onset, almost at the same instant that the King, disguised as a
peasant, rushed out at the opposite gate, dismissed all his friends and
attendants, and concealed himself in an adjoining wood. All command
having ceased, and no rallying point being established, it became the
duty of all to consult their individual safety. Jobson continued
inseparably attached to Sedley's service; he again advised a retreat
into Wales, and being well acquainted with the country, they had the
good fortune to reach the principality before the enemy had secured the
passes, though that was one of their first measures, to prevent the
retreat of the King into a part of his dominions where he might be most
easily concealed, as well from the nature of the country as from the
loyal disposition of the inhabitants.
It was the design of De Vallance to repair to the isle of Man, and offer
his services to the Countess of Derby, who, it was reported, was able
and determined to retain that insulated spot, and establish it as the
asylum of persecuted loyalty. He journeyed through the most unfrequented
roads, trusting for his support to the hospitality of a brave,
unsophisticated race, who could hardly endure the nominal yoke of
regicides, and preserved the sanctuary of their domestic retreats
unpolluted by the presence of spies and informers. From these, his
occasional hosts, De Vallance learned many woeful particulars of the
miseries of the prisoners taken at Worcester, "who were driven like
cattle to London, many of them suffered to perish for want of food, or
from pestilential diseases arising from crowded prisons, and the
survivors sold for slaves to the plantations." Such was the freedom
these pseudo-friends of liberty afforded to those who dissented from
their opinions; and thus was loyalty (for no other crime was laid to
their charge) punished with a severity, which regular governments
scruple to use against the most atrocious offenders. Nor should these
tyrannous acts be ascribed so much to the rancorous nature of the
victors as to the natural tendency of power obtained by illegal violent
means. They who rise to greatness by insurrection, find themselves
compelled to renounce the principles and violate the promises to which
they owed their exaltation. The greatest tyrants have ever been those
who experimentally know that rigorous coercion is the only way of
restraining popular fury. Fear is the incentive and justifier of
cruelty. Man is rarely disposed gratuitously to torment his
fellow-creatures. The world has indeed produced Roman, Mahommedan, and
Indian, despots, who seemed to receive pleasure from the sufferings of
their victims, abstracted from every other consideration; but these
instances have been too rare to permit us to consider such an infernal
propensity as a just characteristic of human nature. Mercy is more
grateful to the feelings of even bad men than rigorous punishment; but
as it cannot with safety be exercised in unsettled governments, which
must awe the subdued into passive submission, before they can reward the
obedient, some of the most powerful dissuasives against exciting popular
commotions arise from the despotism in which they are sure to terminate,
the malignant passions which they excite, and the horrible atrocities
that often spring from no worse motive than the necessity of securing
ill-acquired pre-eminence.
The melancholy state of the kingdom, added to the general anxiety for
the King's welfare, of whose escape to France no certain tidings had
been received, overpowered the hitherto-heroic patience of De Vallance,
and made him on a public, as well as on a private, account, feel weary
of a world, which seemed left to the misrule of successful guilt and
prosperous hypocrisy. He had now travelled into the county of Flint,
from whence he hoped to gain a passage to the isle of Man, when he
received intelligence that, during his confinement, the Earl of Derby
had signed an order for its surrender, together with all his castles,
with which his intrepid Countess immediately complied; vainly hoping a
sacrifice of the hereditary possessions of the family might be received
as a commutation for her husband's life. Mold and Hope were already
garrisoned by the Parliament; and thus after a long and difficult
journey, during which he had encountered many hair-breadth 'scapes, De
Vallance found himself still surrounded with enemies, destitute not only
of shelter, but nearly of resources, and with no other alternative, than
to be an indigent fugitive, a prisoner, or to try if, by being a
participator in the crimes of his parents, he could, by the influence
which either of them possessed with the government, procure a pardon for
what he deemed the best action of his life, taking arms for his
Sovereign.
It was in a little village near Mold-Castle, that these reflections,
combining with the effects of fatigue and hardship, produced an
indisposition which confined him to the inn, and compelled him to
ruminate deeply on his future prospects. It was now plainly seen that
the European courts were more disposed to form alliances with a potent
Usurper, than to forward the restoration of an unfortunate Prince, to
whose connexions a cold protection and scanty support were reluctantly
afforded, and even the ties of blood sacrificed to intimidation or
ambition. The situation of English Loyalists abroad was in every respect
deplorable. They were studiously slighted by the governments under whose
wing they sheltered, and exposed to the insults of the triumphant
republicans, who, on the contrary, were courted and flattered.
How greatly soever Cromwell subdued and oppressed England by his
domestic management, like all other able tyrants, he made the nation he
enslaved great and formidable by his foreign policy, using the energies
with which despotism had furnished him, to extend her commerce, and
support her naval superiority.--Had no peculiar family-circumstances
compelled De Vallance to renounce his home, doubtless he would have
imitated the vise conduct of Agricola, who is justly celebrated "for not
being in that class of patriots, who conceive they gain immortal glory,
when by rashness they provoke their fate; but showed that, even in the
worst of times, and under the most despotic ruler, it is possible for
the man of heroic fortitude to be great and good with moderation." But
De Vallance felt he could not compound for an estate to which he had no
just title, nor reconcile himself to parents, who were stained with
every crime. Could he forget the wrongs and woes of Allan Neville; the
death of Eustace; the mournful seclusion and daily anguish of
Isabel!--Submission to Cromwell must be combined with a sacrifice of
every honest principle, every cherished affection of his heart. England
therefore afforded no rest to the sole of his foot, and if he sought the
continent, it should be as a military hireling, not as a dependent
mendicant; as one who could earn his bread, not as a supplicant, who had
no other claim to support than loyalty and indigence.
There were many gentlemen who had emigrated to Virginia, when
hostilities terminated in 1646, who were now comfortably established as
planters; and he felt he might trust his desire of obtaining a similar
situation to his mental resources, and the energy and perseverance of
his natural character. The new world was unstained by the contaminating
vices of the old. In a society, chiefly composed of Loyalists, he would
not be aggrieved by the sight of low-born insolence, trampling on
hereditary greatness, nor offended by the perversions of sophists, the
cant of hypocrites, and the exaltation of villains. He could there only
endure bodily inflictions. What prevented him from thus exonerating
himself from the severest visitations of adversity, and immediately
transporting himself across the Atlantic? The consideration of that vast
world of waters separating him from Isabel Evellin; for though he might
no more hope to bind her to him by the tie of marriage, or even to share
her dear society, the bond of love was indissoluble. He could not remove
to such a distance from her, as would make it impossible to render her
any assistance. He might not be able to defend or console her; but, by
remaining in England, he could suffer or die for her sake.
Irresolution increased the depression of De Vallance; his bodily
complaints gained ground, and Jobson too, though still an affectionate,
was no longer a cheerful, companion. His spirits sunk while he was with
the King in Worcester; he predicted the loss of that battle, and the
evening before his master acknowledged himself unable to proceed, he
gave him to understand that he had seen a warning of his approaching
death. Instead of rejoicing over their casual comforts, and anticipating
better days as he used to do, he was ever prognosticating evils, and
lessening their humble comforts, by prophesying their impending loss.
Even the full-frothed can and savoury luncheon lost their usual relish;
it was always the last good Welsh-ale, or dried salmon, he should have
in this world; and if he repeated his farewel libation, till he grew
intoxicated, every draught added to his sadness. Instead of roaring out
a joyous song, he fell to crying, and talked of the slaughter incident
to storming a city, instead of the brave sallies of a garrison.
De Vallance repeatedly asked the reason of this change, and as the
increase of his indisposition confirmed Jobson in his opinion of the
truth of his conclusions, the latter thought (since his master must die
soon) he might as well own how he knew that his recovery was impossible.
He then reminded him of his predictions, that the King would lose the
battle, and confessed he had received a supernatural intimation that
England was ruined, and the poor Loyalists quite undone.--"I would not
tell Your Honour," said he, "at the time, because I know you don't
credit such things; but I met Fido in the streets of Worcester the night
before it was taken by Old Noll--Mr. Eustace's own poor Fido, and I then
said the King would be beat."
"I never knew," replied De Vallance, "that the appearance of a dog was
oracular."
"Well, laugh on," said Jobson, "and I wish it may do you good. But I
say, I saw him again, the night before you was taken ill, and I know by
that it is all over with you."
The affectionate Jobson burst into tears as he spoke, while De Vallance
was extremely struck at the re-appearance of the animal. He reminded
Jobson that dogs were often extremely alike, and inquired how he knew
that this actually belonged to Eustace.
"How do I know," replied he, "that I am Ralph Jobson? Why it knew me,
and seemed to wag its tail; nay, made as though it would lick my hand."
"And did you not permit him?" said De Vallance.
The terrified trooper turned pale, and his teeth chattered with horror.
"I did not say that it was Fido's living self," exclaimed he; "and what
would have become of me, had I been touched by a ghost? why my arm would
have withered directly. I knew a man in village that had his nose beat
flat to his face, only for peeping into the belfry, while a ghost was
dancing among the bell-ropes.--No, to be sure, I flung a stone at it,
and it ran away setting up a howl."
De Vallance now laboured to convince Jobson, that admitting the reality
of spectral appearances in the human form, animals were not endowed with
a vital principle, capable of existing distinct from their bodies.
Jobson was shocked at his master's presumptuous neglect of warnings, and
he vehemently urged the impossibility of a living dog being at Worcester
in September, and in Wales at Christmas. He stated the privilege of
spirits to take any shape; and not nicely attending to the question of
identity, shewed from oral testimony, that they sometimes appeared as a
glazed pipkin, and sometimes as the skeleton of a horse's head. The
exertion of endeavouring to enlighten wilful absurdity increased the
debility of De Vallance. Jobson's forebodings were turned into
certainties, and he walked into the church-yard to see in what spot he
should bury his master, and hoping to hear the death-watch, as a sign
that he should rest beside him.
The landlady at the little inn, where the forlorn Arthur languished,
pitying the sufferings of her interesting guest, and the inactive grief
of his attendant, requested she might be permitted to send for an
excellent gentleman, who was come to live in the neighbourhood, and had
done many extraordinary cures.--"You need not," said she, "fear
troubling him, he takes no pay but the blessings of those he heals; and
he is said to be as useful to a wounded spirit, as he is to a diseased
body." De Vallance was weary of life; but the soldier must not quit his
post, till his discharge be duly signed by his Commander; he yielded
therefore to the proposal. Jobson had a rooted dislike to all doctors;
but reluctance to his master's employing one was changed into
consternation, when he saw in the benevolent volunteer-Esculapius, the
Doctor Lloyd against whom he had conceived an inveterate antipathy,
verily believing him capable of poisoning a patient for the sake of
converting him into an anatomy. He rushed into his master's chamber to
announce his identity, and when he found the intelligence only increased
his eagerness to see him, he resolved however to prevent his taking any
of his medicines.
The diseases brought on by fatigue and distress are seldom obstinate,
when resisted by youth, a good constitution, a clear conscience, and a
calm judgment. Dr. Lloyd dealt in potent cordials. He possessed the
essential qualities of a true friend; and the behaviour of De Vallance
soon induced him to exert his talents in that capacity. He had hardly
felt his pulse, before he pronounced that little was necessary besides
tranquillity and generous support. Arthur's heart panted with impatience
to commence a confidential intimacy; but he recollected he must inspire
confidence, before he could venture to require it. A sick stranger,
languishing at a village-inn, was as likely to be the enemy as the
friend of a cause it was now dangerous to espouse. Strongly
pre-possessed in favour of a man, who courageously ventured among a
multitude of hostile and infuriated soldiers, avowed his attachment to
the victim they had just slaughtered, and bestowed on his corpse the
decent sepulture they meant to deny, De Vallance felt no apprehension at
trusting his own life ta such tried fidelity. He spoke of himself as
friendless, distressed, and in the utmost need of advice and protection.
He declared himself to be a Loyalist, who, having engaged in the King's
last attempt, would be excepted from the expected amnesty. By this means
he drew Dr. Lloyd into a guarded communication of his former residence
at Pembroke, and his acquaintance with Eustace Evellin. De Vallance
owned himself to be a friend to that family. He even used the word
brother. Dr. Lloyd turned on him a significant glance, when, to justify
the claim, De Vallance drew from his bosom the letter of Isabel, and
explained the hopes that had been defeated by the death of Eustace. "You
will not wonder," added he, "that I have a painful eagerness to know
every circumstance of that lamentable event."
Dr. Lloyd regarded his patient with scrutinizing attention. "You know,"
said he, "that the resolute defence of Pembroke-Castle provoked the
parliamentary General to adopt measures that were intended to strike
terror into the King's party; and from the particular manner in which
you apply to me, you possibly also know that, influenced by compassion,
I removed the body of Eustace, and performed those offices which
friendship required."
The undefined, unacknowledged hopes which had floated in the mind of
Arthur vanished at this reply, and as they disappeared, convinced him,
that he had cherished a vain romantic illusion. A long pause ensued; De
Vallance heaved a deep sigh, and asked if the noble youth was resigned
to his fate.
"Life was very dear to him," answered Dr. Lloyd, "and no
wonder.--Talent, personal beauty, lively and generous feelings, the
purest sense of honour, and the noblest aspirings after fame, were
combined in his character. He loved too, and he knew himself beloved.
You seem, Sir, about his age; my sensibility has been blunted by time;
but I will appeal to your own susceptibility, to conceive the sensations
of his impassioned heart, when he found himself suddenly arrested in the
bloom of manhood, by a summons to an ignominious death. This, too, at a
distance from all his kindred, and after having sustained for many
months the most severe warfare, and the cruellest privations. But if you
ask me if he discovered any unmanly weakness at this awful moment--I
answer none. He looked and moved like a hero going to mount the car of
triumph. The lustre of his dauntless eye appalled the musketeers, who
were drawn up in the court. 'Take sure aim,' said he; 'Your commander
spares not youth and loyalty; therefore be like him, pitiless.'"
"Detestable act, infernal massacre!" exclaimed De Vallance.--"Retributive
Heaven, I own thy justice! That murderous volley, Bellingham, slew thy
son!" Dr. Lloyd clasped the clenched hands with which he seemed prepared
to beat his own bosom, and requested an explanation.
"Do not, do not," said the tortured Arthur, "believe me capable of
repaying your kind commiseration with ingratitude, if I own myself
descended from the most cruel and treacherous of men. The murdered
Eustace was rightful heir to the title and fortunes which, as the son of
Bellingham, I might claim. Shall I own, though my heart recoils at the
confession, that I strongly fear a base private motive urged my father
to select this victim, as a sacrifice to what he called public
expedience.--Oh! Dr. Lloyd, had I never been born, had my ambitious
parents laid no base projects for my aggrandizement, the noble Eustace
had still lived."
"My good Sir," returned the kind physician, "we must debate this point a
little. In the first place, let me assure you the lots were fairly cast.
I do not justify, indeed I severely reprobate the cruel policy which
required the sacrifice of three victims; but it was resolved on in full
council, the blame therefore is divided among all the officers. I also
know that Lord Bellingham committed his own safety by endeavouring to
preserve the life of Eustace."
An overwhelming load of infamy seemed, at this assurance, removed from
the oppressed De Vallance. "Speak it again, dear worthy man, again
repeat that my father would have saved him. You know he would? You can
swear to the fact? But soft--was not he supreme commander? What, then,
prevented him from signing his pardon?"
Dr. Lloyd replied--"The limited power which a general possesses over
troops, who, in obeying him, have cancelled the previous obligations of
duty and conscience. He who accepts the command of a revolutionary army
is ever fearful of being sacrificed by his own soldiers. His office
makes him the ostensible champion of liberty; but his army claim a
greater licence than consists with the requisite exercise of discipline
and authority. His subordinate officers envy his supremacy; for the
chain of prescriptive gradation is dissolved by the pretext of
preferring merit; and what soldier of fortune is there who does not
think himself equal to the highest posts which his machinations and
enterprize can procure. We Loyalists (for such, Sir, I now in confidence
own myself to be) have often said that Lord Bellingham was only half
wicked. He retained too much of the gentleman to practise extortion, or
to connive at the rapacity by which his subalterns tried to make the
most of their brief authority. He enforced discipline without
condescending to that familiarity and occasional indulgence which make
severity palatable. He was an agent of the new system, trying to
introduce the manners of the old. He saw his own danger when it was too
late. He discovered that he served villains who, despising honest
praise, renounced every honourable bond of amity, to whom treachery and
cruelty were become habitual; and that he commanded desperadoes, who,
setting no value on their own lives, kept his in their power. Such, Sir,
was the state of your father's army, and such the secret hostility of
those for whom he fought. You may condemn his embarking in their cause,
his timidity, his irresolution, his fluctuating variableness, but not
his deliberate cruelty or private malice. After Eustace had drawn the
lot of death, the power of the general could not save him from an army
lost to every generous feeling, and thirsting for revenge."
To know that his father had rather been guilty of the transgressions of
frail man than of the horrible enormities of a demon, was an invaluable
consolation to De Vallance. But still Eustace had fallen under the
sentence of Bellingham, and himself consequently been banished from
Isabel. Dr. Lloyd interrupted his mournful reverie by inquiring what
were his future views.
"When you described Eustace going to execution," returned he, "you
appealed to the sympathy of a heart eternally separated from the object
of a pure, cherished affection. Read that letter. Conceive it written by
a woman whose beauty is her smallest praise, and then advise me how to
bestow the unvalued remnant of a life which must be spent in exile from
her."
Dr. Lloyd perused Isabel's farewel, and inquired if her brother's death
was the only obstacle to their union.
"Yes," replied De Vallance. "I had renounced the principles in which I
was educated, abjured the aggrandizement and affluence which my parents'
crimes had purchased; I had her promise, sanctioned by her father's full
consent, as a reward for services I was so fortunate as to render them.
We were to have fled to Holland, rich in the possession of domestic
happiness and decent competence, when that fatal intelligence----"
"Come, young gentleman," interrupted Dr. Lloyd, "you meditate too
deeply. I see you want society. The hardships you have undergone have
overwhelmed you. I must remove you to my own cottage. I keep a cordial
there which I never trust out of my own custody. I see your disease, and
know my remedy will complete your cure."
"Sir," returned De Vallance, "we are talking of something infinitely
more important than life. I know my disease is at present trifling, the
effect of anxiety acting too forcibly on a fatigued body. I could say it
consoles me, as a proof that my constitution will not be always
invincible to the attacks of these mental agonies; and you answer the
communications which your sympathy has extorted from me on the
soul-piercing subjects of my honour and my love, by telling me you have
a nostrum that will relieve my head-aches, and ease my frame of this
debilitating languor."
Dr. Lloyd rose, and examined the apartment to see that there were no
witnesses; he then drew his chair close to De Vallance, and gazed on his
emotion with the delight of a healing angel commissioned to alleviate
the woes of virtue, and, grasping his hand, told him "he should see
Eustace--the living Eustace," continued he. Seeing Arthur look
incredulous, "Eustace Evellin is alive, and resides with me. Hush!
suppress that burst of ecstacy; all our lives are at stake. Not even
honest Jobson must know he lives, lest his intemperate rapture should
betray him."
De Vallance was rapt in pious exultation. Exonerated from such a load of
paternal guilt, he seemed to pray with more assured confidence of Divine
protection. His gratitude to the worthy physician exceeded the powers of
language. Enfeebled by indisposition, he sunk upon his bosom, called him
a second father, and thanked him for a renewed and valuable existence.
Dr. Lloyd then briefly related the circumstances of Eustace's
preservation. Either his magnanimity intimidated the executioners, or
his gallantry and beauty inspired compassion. He refused to have his
face covered, saying he feared not to look on death. The power of the
human eye, in such circumstances, has been owned to be invincible. The
volley was fired with unsteady aim. His fellow-sufferers fell dead. He
stood unwounded; but a momentary impulse induced him to drop beside
them, and to lie apparently lifeless, bathed in their blood. At the same
instant his faithful spaniel rushed forward, licked his extended hand,
and, with dreadful howlings, seemed to guard his remains; and the
mutiny, excited by the agitators, broke out among the soldiers, who were
drawn up to witness the horrid spectacle. While they clamorously accused
the General of depriving them of their lawful right, the plunder of the
town of Pembroke, and attempting to save the cavaliers, Lloyd heroically
and adroitly took advantage of the tumult; and, though he had no other
design than giving his corse decent internment, he had the transport to
be instrumental in preserving the life of his friend. He took every wise
precaution that his miraculous escape should be a profound secret.
Endeared to each other by these extraordinary circumstances, they agreed
never to separate; and Dr. Lloyd removed to a spot where he was unknown,
supported by the income of a small inheritance, and declining the
practice of medicine, except gratuitously among the indigent. Eustace
cut off his redundant hair, stained his complexion, and otherwise
disguised his appearance; and he passed as the son of a gentleman, who,
being afflicted with mental derangement, was obliged to be kept in close
retirement. Dr. Lloyd rented a neat secluded cottage; and the friends
lived in decent privacy, waiting for happier times.
De Vallance now required an explanation of Fido's being seen at
Worcester; and Dr. Lloyd owned that, finding it impossible to restrain
the loyal impetuosity of Eustace, he went to that city to learn the
situation of the King, since, if there were any hopes of a prosperous
issue, he had consented that they should both join the royal standard.
The Doctor further added, that he feared their present comforts could
not long continue. The surrender of the Earl of Derby's Castles had
introduced the rebel troops into the neighbourhood; and he dreaded lest
Eustace should be discovered and recognized. They therefore meditated a
voyage to Virginia; and the plan was now suspended by the anxiety of
Eustace to hear some tidings from his kindred, and to acquaint them with
his situation. The impossibility of sending intelligence of such
importance by a public conveyance, in times when the letters and actions
of royalists were subjected to the most vigilant scrutiny; and the
hazard and difficulty of forwarding it by a private hand had long
prevented him from having any correspondence with his family; nor did he
know the anguish his supposed murder had cost them. In those times of
civil contention the dearest relatives were often long ignorant of each
other's fate. So numerous were the instances of cruelty, so multiplied
the tales of wo, that they wearied and confused the reciter. Many
parents believed their sons safe in a foreign country, who, at last they
found, had long since perished in some obscure skirmish, where valour
bled unshaded by its deserved laurels. Others, who had lamented the
death of their dearest relations, received them back at the King's
restoration, as if they had risen from their tombs. The necessity of
extreme caution, the frequency of assumed names and personal disguises,
and the insecurity and infrequency of written communications,
obliterated the traces of identity. Among the less evils of civil war,
dividing the ties and preventing the connecting intercourse of social
life must be enumerated; and what opinion must those who rejoice in the
conversation of a present friend, or open, with trembling delight, a
letter from an absent one, form of a nation convulsed by furious
discord, when the privation of these blessings is ranked only among its
smaller calamities!
De Vallance had, that evening, the infinite transport of folding Eustace
to his heart, in the comfortable asylum where the worthy Doctor Lloyd
concealed the hope of an illustrious house, the noble victim of adverse
fortune. The generous youths pledged the vows of mutual and perpetual
friendship. Conversing with all the confidence of brothers, Arthur
acquainted Eustace with the early history of their family, and his own
determination never to reap the fruits of his parents' misdeeds. He told
him how Isabel had preserved his life; related the gradual change of his
political principles--their mutual attachment--her heroical devotedness
to her proscribed father--the meek magnanimity and active piety of Dr.
Beaumont--the arrival of Jobson--the agony of Colonel Evellin--and the
deep anguish of Constantia; concluding with his own banishment from
Ribblesdale, and the apparent extinction of his dearest hopes. To know
that his youthful errors were not only pardoned, but that he was so dear
and constant an object of regret to those he fondly adored, gave the
heart of Eustace those alternations of exquisite delight and painful
anxiety which distinguish generous and exalted minds from the cold
equanimity of selfish apathy. Misery had often made him wish to be
forgotten by all he loved; but no sooner did his misfortunes wear a less
sombre hue, than his expanding heart cherished the hope that others
beside himself rejoiced in the suspension of his misfortunes. He could
not endure the thought of suffering these beloved objects to languish in
despair on his account; and he determined to trust to his disguise, and
immediately pay a visit to Lancashire. But Dr. Lloyd was too chary of
the treasure he had so faithfully preserved, to intrust him to his own
keeping. De Vallance and Eustace were both obnoxious to the ruling
powers by having borne arms for the King; and he insisted on their
continuing concealed in his Welsh cottage, while himself went to consult
Dr. Beaumont upon their future measures. Emigration to America was a
favourite project with all. It was hoped means might be found to remove
Colonel Evellin; and the lovers allowed their imagination to form a
transatlantic paradise, where, with their Constantia and Isabel, they
might enjoy the halcyon blessings of domestic happiness, after having
been so cruelly harassed by the storms of war. De Vallance did not now
think it impossible to be reconciled to his father, or unlawful to use
his mother's interest with Cromwell to procure a pardon for Colonel
Evellin, whose incurable infirmities prevented his being an object of
terror. Sometimes, with the sanguine confidence of a mind raised from
absolute despair, he fancied a family-reconciliation might be effected;
but he submitted to the prudence of Dr. Lloyd's advice, that every step
must be taken with extreme caution, and dispositions sounded before
discoveries should be hazarded.
The affectionate heart of Eustace would not allow that any one should
suffer the misery of suspense on his account; and he pleaded so
earnestly that Jobson might be allowed to see him, that Dr. Lloyd
yielded, on the condition that the honest trooper should go with him to
Lancashire, knowing that his exuberant transport might not be trusted in
the neighbourhood where Eustace was concealed. The terror of Jobson at
De Vallance's removing to the house of the supposed indefatigable
anatomist was hardly relieved by seeing him return, next morning,
looking well and happy. But an invitation from the Doctor to visit his
cottage and see his curiosities absolutely petrified him; and he vowed
he had rather see Old Noll charge at the head of Hazlerig's lobsters
than dead men rattling their own bones, or poor innocent children
swimming in pickle like witches in a pond. Winking on De Vallance with a
look of significance, he said, "You do not know so much of this Doctor
as I do; for though the whole country talks of his cures, they own he
shuts himself up as if he dealt with the devil, and walks about with a
melancholy gentleman who is haunted with a familiar spirit." Arthur
engaged him in conversation till they imperceptibly approached the
Doctor's cottage, when he first assured him of the actual existence of
Fido, whom he was to be permitted to take to Constantia; and then
changed incredulous astonishment to frantic joy, by pointing out the
living Eustace advancing to embrace him. Jobson screamed, capered,
tossed his cap into the air, clung round his former master's neck, then
dropped on his knees, prayed, sobbed, and laughed, almost in the same
instant. His gratitude and affection for Dr. Lloyd was somewhat allayed
by his envying him the happiness of preserving Eustace, whom, he
acknowledged, he loved the best of all his masters, begging De Vallance
to pardon him for saying so. Yet his regard for the amiable physician
was mingled with some degree of terror; and it was not till he was
assured that he did not travel with any stuffed monsters, or relics from
a gibbet, that he could heartily rejoice at the prospect of telling Mrs.
Isabel that her lover and brother were sworn friends, of drying the
tears of pretty Mrs. Constance, and of seeing the old Colonel without
being hated as the bearer of ill news. But on carefully examining the
wallet which Dr. Lloyd prepared for the journey, and ascertaining that,
instead of astrological calculations and scalping knives, it contained
only comforts and necessaries, Jobson, with renewed courage and joyous
expectations, set out to accompany him on a delightful errand to
Ribblesdale.