Kitabı oku: «Roger Kyffin's Ward», sayfa 10
“We’re in for it, Harry,” said Jacob; “keep up your courage, however; if we put a good face on the matter, we shan’t be so much worse off than if we had volunteered. We can tell the first-lieutenant when he examines us to-morrow morning that we intended to do so. I’ll just learn what ship we have been taken for.”
Jacob made the inquiry of the seaman who had charge of him.
“The ‘Brilliant,’ Captain Everard,” was the answer; “he’s a good captain, and you may bless your stars that you have been taken for his ship.”
Harry’s heart sank when he heard this.
He would at once be recognised by the captain.
What account could he give of himself? The boats were in waiting in the harbour. The men hurried down to them immediately. Some resisting were dragged along. A cuff on the head, or a blow with the butt end of a pistol, generally silenced those who cried out in the hopes of being rescued.
Harry and Jacob walked along quietly. Neither were disposed to struggle. As soon as the prisoners were got into the boats they shoved off. In a quarter of an hour afterwards Harry found himself for the first time in his life on board a man-of-war.
Chapter Fifteen.
The Hero’s First Trip to Sea. – The Fate of the “Brilliant.”
Harry and the other pressed men stood for some time on the deck of the frigate, awaiting the appearance of the commanding officer. Harry dreaded his coming, believing that Captain Everard would immediately recognise him. At length an officer appeared from below, accompanied by the master-at-arms, who held a ship’s lantern in his hand. The officer commenced his inspection at the other end of the line. The light not falling on him, Harry could not see his features, but his figure was like that of the captain.
“I must brave it out,” he thought. “What shall I call myself? It must be a name I can recollect. Andrew Brown will, do as well as any other.”
Jacob was standing at a little distance from him. He had just time to step round and whisper, “I shall take the name of Andrew Brown,” before the officer approached. He was greatly relieved on finding it was not the captain. Jacob Tuttle gave his real name. He entered himself as Andrew Brown.
As soon as the inspection was over, the men were ordered down below, being told that they would be entered more regularly the next morning. They were told that they might lie down between the guns on the main deck, sentries being placed over them as if they were prisoners.
Harry was only too thankful to find a quiet spot where he might stretch his weary limbs and finish his slumbers, which had been so rudely broken during the first part of the night. He was too sleepy even to think. He dreamed that the fray was renewed, for the most strange, wild, and unearthly sounds assailed his ears: shrill whistles, hoarse bawlings, fierce oaths, the stamping of feet and rattling of ropes, and shouts of all sorts, creating the wildest uproar he had ever heard.
“Yes, he’s alive, only drunk, maybe,” said a gruff voice in his ear.
“No, he’s not drunk, only worn out pretty well, as you or I would be if we had not had a sleep for three or four nights. He’s young, you see.”
These words were spoken by Jacob Tuttle, who, putting his arm under Harry’s shoulders, helped him to get up, and saved him from knocking his head against the gun-carriage under which he had been sleeping. For some seconds he felt stupefied. The whole ship, which was so quiet when he lay down, was now in a state of what appeared to him the wildest confusion – officers issuing their orders in no very gentle voices or refined language, and men rushing here and there, stamping along the decks with their bare feet, swaying up yards, and bending sails, hoisting in stores, and lowering casks and cases into the hold. Harry, when he saw the number of men and size of the ship, began to hope that he might avoid the recognition of the captain.
“I’ll keep out of his way,” he thought, “and if Mabel does not tell him of my intention of going to sea, though he may think Andrew Brown very like Harry Tryon, he may possibly not dream of asking questions on the subject.”
After breakfast the first-lieutenant went through the usual examination of the pressed men, and entered them under different ratings in the ship’s books. In those days muscle and activity were the qualifications most valued. Harry was able to answer in a satisfactory way the questions put to him, and was at once rated as an able-bodied seaman, and, greatly to Jacob’s satisfaction, was placed in the same watch and mess with him.
“I’ll show you what to do, Harry,” he said, “and you’ll turn out as good a seaman as any on board.”
The following day the ship went out to Spithead.
Harry wrote two letters, no easy task amid the multitude of persons on board, male and female visitors of all sorts, at whose language and conduct Harry’s heart sickened. It was well that it did so. Better be disgusted with vice than witness it unconcerned. Very often our young sailor was interrupted, his paper saved with difficulty from profane hands. Still at last the letters were finished. One was to Mabel. He did not describe the scene by which he was surrounded. He told her simply that he had taken the final plunge, was now a seaman sworn to serve his king and country, but hoped soon to be an officer, entreating her not to mention his name to her father, and sent a message to Madam Everard and Paul Gauntlett. He entreated her to think kindly of him, and assured her that his own heart would be faithful to death.
Poor Mabel! the letter did not give her much pleasure. “As if I should ever cease to think of him,” she said to herself. “Oh, that he had been better guided.”
He wrote also to Mr Kyffin, directing the letter wisely to his private house, for he thought it more than probable that Silas Sleech would otherwise take possession of it. The letter was a long one, tolerably coherent on the whole. He confessed all that had occurred, made no excuses for himself, nor did he accuse Sleech. He dated his letter from the “Brilliant,” begging his guardian to reply to it, in the hope that an answer might reach him before the ship sailed. Day after day passed by, and no answer came.
Harry heard with some considerable trepidation that Captain Everard was expected on board. He saw his gig coming off. The sides were manned, and the captain passed through the gangway to the quarter-deck, touching his hat in return for the salute offered him by the marines drawn up on either side. He glanced his eye aloft, and then along the deck. Everything was in excellent order. Harry, who was nearer than he could have wished, stood his gaze steadily. He spoke a few words of approval to the first-lieutenant, and then went down below. Harry saw at a glance that Captain Everard on shore and Captain Everard in command of a frigate were two somewhat different characters. As the captain disappeared, Blue Peter was run up to the mast-head. It became generally known that the ship was to sail the next day; her destination, the North American Station and the West Indies. Harry’s heart sank when he heard this.
“I may be away then three, perhaps four long years,” he said to himself. “What changes may take place in the meantime! Yet I may have better opportunities of distinguishing myself than on the home station. I ought to be thankful.”
Harry, as he looked round the decks, could not conceive how order could ever spring out of the fearful disorder which had seemed to prevail.
The ship was crowded with visitors. Boats in great numbers hung alongside, in which the boatmen were quarrelling with each other, while eager Jews endeavoured to find their way on deck to obtain payment of debts which they alleged were due to them from the seamen. Harry had little fear at this time of being recognised, the captain being generally employed in the cabin. He was watching what was going forward, when he saw a wherry standing up under sail from the westward towards the ship.
“Is that the ‘Brilliant’?” asked a voice from the boat, in which sat three persons – the boatman, his boy, and a young woman.
“Ay, ay,” was the answer.
The sail was lowered and the boat stood up alongside.
“May I come on board?” asked a gentle female voice, as the boat reached the gangway ladder.
“That you may, and welcome,” was the answer; “but you will not have long to stay, as the ship’s going to sea directly.”
Harry thought he recognised the countenance of the speaker. Assisted up gallantly by the quartermaster stationed at the gangway, the young woman stood on the deck. She looked round with a somewhat scared and astonished gaze, but no sooner did her eye fall on Harry, who was watching her, than she ran towards him.
“Oh! Mr Tryon, is it you, indeed? Can you tell me if Jacob Tuttle is on board? He came away without telling me that he was again going to join his ship, and I only heard just now from a friend of his at Portsmouth that he was on board the ‘Brilliant.’ He would never wish, I know, to go and leave me without one farewell, and so I cannot make it out.”
Harry recognised in the speaker Mary Cull, Mabel’s trim little waiting-maid. Jacob was aloft at the time, engaged in some work on the maintop-gallant yard. He had been too busily occupied to see the different boats coming to the ship. Now, however, the task completed, he happened to cast his eyes down on deck, and even at that distance recognised the figure though he could not have seen the pretty features of Mary. He observed, however, that she was talking to Harry. The knife he was using, which hung round his neck by a rope yarn, was thrust into the breast of his shirt, and quick as lightning he came gliding down the backstay close to where the two were standing. Mary gave a shriek of terror when she saw him, thinking that he was falling. Before even she could utter another exclamation of alarm, he sprang nimbly on deck and stood by her side.
“Mary,” he said, “have you come to look for me? I would not have come away without wishing you good-bye if I had thought I was not going to be back again pretty soon, but I was pressed aboard this ship, and had no chance of going back to see you and mother. You know I am a poor hand at writing, and I could not ask my friend here to trouble himself about the matter, and so, Mary, that’s the long and the short of it. I love you, girl, that I do, and love you now more than I ever thought I would; but, Mary, I did not think you cared for me, that’s the truth on’t, and now I know you do,” and Jacob took Mary’s willing hand in his, and looked into her eyes with an honest glance which must have convinced her that he spoke the truth, whatever he might before have done.
“Jacob, I did not tell you I loved you before, because you did not ask me, but still I thought you knew I did, and as for Tom Hodson you was jealous of, I never cared a pin for him, and he’s gone and ’listed for a soldier.”
Harry listened to this conversation not unamused. He understood the whole history in a minute. Jacob had left home in a huff, jealous of the attentions Mary was receiving from a rival, and now he was going away, to be parted from her for many years, perhaps never to return. He could not help comparing Jacob’s position to his own. Poor Mary was in tears. Jacob was vowing with earnestness that he would from henceforth ever be faithful to her.
“No, Mary, no, I am going among negresses and foreigners, black and brown girls of all sorts, and do you think I would take up with one of them and leave you?” And Jacob laughed at his own suggestion. “No, that I would not, not to be made port admiral, nor a king on his throne either. Mary, I was a fool to come away and leave you and poor mother, but it’s too late now, I must go this cruise. The king himself could not get me off. There’s no use asking the captain. Why he would only laugh at me. If he was to let me go, half the ship’s company would want to go and marry their sweethearts. I tell you a plain and solemn truth, Mary; but cheer up, dear girl. Never fear, I will be true and faithful to you.”
Mary was too much occupied with her own grief to think much of Harry. However, she at last turned towards him.
“Mr Tryon,” she said, “are you going, too? Surely that cannot be. What shall I tell Miss Mabel?”
“Tell her, Mary, what Jacob has said to you. I trust the time will quickly pass. I hope to do my duty faithfully to my king and country, and to obey my captain.”
Mary was about to ask further questions, but the boatswain’s whistle was heard, uttering the stern order for all visitors to leave the ship. Jacob gave Mary an affectionate embrace, and assisted her down the side, Harry especially being very unwilling to detain her lest she should be seen by the captain. She had come away, Jacob told him, having got a holiday for a week to see her friends. The boatman, who knew Jacob, wished him farewell, for though he stared at Harry, he did not appear to recognise him in the dress of a seaman, so different to what he had been accustomed to wear. In a few minutes afterwards the merry pipe was sounding. Harry and others were tramping round with the capstan-bars, and the anchor was slowly hove up to the bows. The proud frigate, under all sail, stood down the Solent toward the Needle passage.
Harry turned his aching eyes toward Lynderton as the frigate glided by. Though the sea was bright, the air fresh, and everything round him looked beautiful, his heart sank low, and often and often he bitterly repented the step he had taken. He quickly, however, learned his duty as a seaman, and Captain Everard more than once remarked to the first-lieutenant that he had seldom seen a more active and promising lad.
“You speak of Andrew Brown, sir?” was the answer. “Yes, he’s one of our pressed men, but he at once seemed reconciled to his fate. He will make a prime seaman.”
“Curious, I cannot help fancying that I have seen him before,” observed the captain, “or else he is very like a lad I know, of a family residing in my part of the country. However, that is fancy.”
Probably from that moment Captain Everard thought little more of the likeness between Andrew Brown and Harry Tryon.
The frigate met with remarkably fine weather during her passage across the Atlantic. As she neared the American coast, however, thick weather came on – such as is often found in those latitudes. It was night. The starboard watch was on deck – that to which Jacob and Harry belonged. The ship was under easy sail – a fresh breeze but fair. The captain was below. A bright look-out ought to have been kept, but bright look-outs are not always kept, even on board men-of-war.
“How cold it feels,” observed Harry to Jacob. “What’s that white cloud ahead?”
Scarcely had the words left his mouth than there was a fearful crash. Every timber quivered. Down came the foremast. The bowsprit also was carried away.
“She’s on an iceberg!” was shouted out.
Dismay seized the hearts of the stoutest. In an instant all was confusion and disorder. In the midst of it, a voice sounding above even the wild uproar ordered the men to their stations. The ship had bounded off, and now glided by, leaving the iceberg on the starboard side. Still the sea drove her against the base. Twice she struck with fearful violence. The mainmast followed the foremast, speedily carrying the mizenmast with it. The gallant frigate lay a helpless wreck on the dark tossing waters. The captain ordered the carpenter and his mates to sound the well. In a few short minutes he reported ten feet of water in the hold, increasing fast. Starboard bow stove in, many planks alongside ripped off! The ship must inevitably founder.
In an unskaken voice the captain announced the dreadful fact.
“Remain calm and collected, and do your duty to the last, lads,” he cried.
Orders were given to get out the boats.
Rafts also must be made, though there was short time for building them. The crew worked with a will. Had they been wearied out with pumping they might have given in. They had good reason now for working hard. The ship laboured heavily. The officers and many of the older seamen knew well, from the slow heavy movements, that she had not long to float. The carpenter by another report confirmed their fears. Harry, with other seamen, was engaged in making a raft on the quarter-deck. It was smaller than the rest, and nearly completed. The captain’s voice was again heard ordering the boats to be lowered without delay. While the men were engaged in obeying the order the stern of the frigate seemed to lift up. Down sank the bows, and with one awful plunge the proud frigate rushed downward into the ocean depths. A wild cry arose, such as even the bravest utter in a moment of extreme peril. Jacob and Harry leaped on the small raft. The grey dawn had just before broke. Some of the larger rafts, not yet completed, were sucked down with the sinking ship. Several boats suffered the same fate. Others were swamped. The small raft was whirled round and round, a few men clinging to it, Harry and Jacob among them keeping their hold. Here and there were despairing faces gazing their last at the sky ere they sank beneath the water. Now and then an arm was seen uplifted grasping at air. Broken spars and planks escaped from the unfinished rafts, drowning men clinging to them, though many of those who clung there soon dropped off.
Harry and Jacob had helped three shipmates to climb up on to the raft. Not far off a man was struggling to gain a spar which floated near. Even by that light he was seen to be an officer.
“It’s the captain!” cried Harry; “I must save him.”
Springing from the raft, he swam out towards the captain. The officer was close to a spar, but his hand failed to clutch it, and he sank. Harry dived rapidly. His hand grasped the captain’s collar, and with an upward stroke he returned to the surface. He looked around. The spar was not an arm’s length from him. Placing the captain across it, he pushed it towards the raft. The captain was saved from immediate death. But what prospect had those poor fellows, on that small raft out on the stormy ocean, of being saved? No sail was in sight. One boat only had escaped destruction. She was already at some distance. Those in her did not perceive the raft. Already, probably, she was overloaded. Soon a sail was hoisted and she stood away to the westward. The saddest sight of all was to see the poor fellows clinging to the pieces of wreck one by one dropping off. The sun rose, the mist cleared away. Six men on the raft alone remained on the waste of waters.
Chapter Sixteen.
A New Claimant for Stanmore
Colonel Everard lay on his bed propped up with pillows. The window was open. He gazed forth over the green lawn, the bright blue sea and the Isle of Wight smiling in the distance. Three persons were in the room. Near his head stood his faithful attendant and old companion-in-arms; on the other side was his sister. Tears were in her eyes, while Mabel stood near the foot of the bed with her hands clasped, gazing on that venerated countenance. The sand of life was ebbing fast, a few grains alone remained.
“Paul, we have fought together. We have served our country well when we had youth and strength,” whispered the old officer, holding the hand of his faithful attendant. “You don’t forget that day when our brave general fell. Ere he died he heard that the enemy were put to flight, the victory won. Sister, he died happy, and so do I; for I may say with all humbleness, I have fought the good fight. I have tried to do my duty, but I trust in One mighty to save.” Then returning to old recollections, “You remember that day, Paul; that battle, the most glorious of our many fields. And now, Paul, we shall never fight again. You must look after these two here, sister Ann and my sweet Mabel. They want a trustworthy protector. I never knew you to fail me, Paul.”
His voice as he spoke was sinking lower and lower. A few more words he spoke expressive of the Christian’s hope. Then his hands relaxed their grasp, and those who watched him knew that the noble old man was dead.
The colonel’s will was opened. By his express desire no funeral pomp attended him to the grave. Paul, with eight of his older tenants, simple cottagers, several of whom had been soldiers, bore his coffin.
Seldom, however, has a longer line of mourners attended a plume-bedecked hearse than than which followed on foot the remains of Colonel Everard. Not only did all the inhabitants of Lynderton join the procession, but vast numbers of persons from the surrounding districts came to show their respect to the memory of one who had so long dwelt among them, and whose many virtues had won their love.
The estates were entailed on the next heir-at-law, while such property as the colonel could leave was given to his well-beloved sister, Madam Everard.
He had not, however, been a saving man; indeed, the expenses of his position had been considerable, and the sum was but small. Mabel and her aunt were to remain in possession of Stanmore Park till the return of Captain Everard from sea.
The funeral was over, and once more the household settled down into their usual ways. Paul was more active than ever: his eye was everywhere, feeling that he was obeying his master’s behests in watching over the interests of the captain and his daughter.
The same coach which a few months before had brought Harry Tryon southward, had now among its passengers no less a person than Mr Silas Sleech. He was in deep mourning – a proper respect to the memory of his late uncle, Colonel Everard. Yet his countenance bore no signs of grief. On the contrary, some pleasant thoughts seemed to occupy his mind, as he frequently rubbed his hands together and smiled complacently.
He was received with cordiality by his respected parent, the elder Mr Sleech, though the rest of the family, consisting of several brothers and four fair sisters, welcomed him apparently with less affection. Silas had brought but little luggage, but he held a tin case of considerable size which he had never allowed to quit his hand. The family greetings over, he and his father retired to the inner office. With intense interest they examined the contents of the case.
“It’s all right, father, I tell you,” exclaimed Silas. “Stanmore is ours, as sure as fate. My mother was the elder sister next to the colonel, and the captain’s father never had any marriage lines to show. I tell you the captain has no more right to the name of Everard than old Pike the mace-bearer. If the captain has a certificate, where is it? Let him show it; but he has not; and that little jade Mabel, who looks so proudly down upon me especially, must now be brought down a peg or two herself. She will be humble enough before long, or I am mistaken.”
“Silas, you ought to be Lord Chancellor,” exclaimed his father; “you have managed this affair with wonderful acuteness and judgment. I always thought there was a screw loose about Tom Everard’s foreign marriage, his wife dying suddenly, and he coming home with a small baby and a strange nurse, who could not speak a word of English or tell anybody what had happened. However, now we have got the law on our side, the sooner we take possession of our rights the better. You and I will see to that to-morrow. We will behave handsomely to Madam Everard. Indeed, I rather suspect that she won’t be so badly off, and whatever she has will go to Mabel, so there’s no use falling out too much with them. However, if your mother’s husband and children ought to be at Stanmore, why to Stanmore we will go, so that is settled.”
“Don’t tell the rest of them, though, father,” said Silas. “They will be blabbing it out, and Madam Everard will be getting wind of it, and we shan’t have the pleasure of giving them the little surprise I long for; come, you must not baulk me in that, daddy. A Lord Chancellor knows what’s what, and if I don’t kick up a pretty shindy in Stanmore Park before long, my name’s not Silas Sleech.”
Madam Everard and niece were seated in the study after breakfast. It had been the colonel’s sitting-room, and they occupied it with fond affection, no one, however, making use of his arm-chair. It seemed as if his spirit was often there, come down from the realms of the blest, while they talked of him and their lost Lucy.
The servant entered, and Madam Everard heard with no small dissatisfaction the names of her little-esteemed brother-in-law and his eldest son. They entered the room not with quite so much confidence as might have been expected.
“Why, Ann, you look somewhat solemn this fine morning,” observed the elder, as he took a seat, not very close to Madam Everard. Silas drew somewhat nearer to Mabel, but rising, she placed herself on the sofa near her aunt, and continued the embroidery at which she was working, scarcely looking up. The elder Sleech turned his hat about several times. He did not look as if he felt himself a member of the Everard family.
Silas had more impudence than his father, and this enabled him to overcome a certain feeling which would intrude, in spite of his assumed confidence.
“I have come about business, Ann,” at last said Mr Sleech the elder, “Silas and I. We wish to do everything pleasant and to give no annoyance; but you must know, Ann, when your elder sister married me, she married the family lawyer that was. You have always supposed that Tom Everard – the captain’s father – had married abroad; at all events the captain was brought home as a baby by Tom, who said he was his lawful child. Now it turns out that either Tom was mistaken, or else he told a fib – I don’t like to use strong language. If a man cannot prove his marriage he is not married; that’s what the law says. Now Tom to his death never had any marriage certificate to exhibit. It follows, therefore, in the eye of the law, that he was not married, and so you see your sister Jane became heir-at-law of her late brother, and I, as her representative, am – or rather my son Silas is – the rightful possessor of Stanmore Park. It’s as clear as a pike-staff, Ann, and so there’s no use making any ado about it.”
While Mr Sleech, senior, was speaking, Madam Everard had maintained a perfect composure. Poor Mabel’s colour came and went. She felt a choking sensation in her throat. Not for herself did she care, she was thinking of her gallant father, away from home fighting his country’s battles – when he returned to find himself disinherited. It would be a grievous blow. She felt, too, that she could no longer, when she gave her hand, endow her husband with the wealth she thought she should value more for his sake than for her own.
“You say you called on a matter of business,” said Madam Everard, with becoming dignity. “As a man of business we will treat you. I will send for Mr Wallace, my late brother’s solicitor, and should he be satisfied that you are the rightful owner of Stanmore, and that Captain Everard has no claim on it, my niece and I will quit the house. Till then I must request you to leave us at peace. You must be aware that the information you bring us is not pleasant.”
Mabel kept her lips pressed together. She dared not trust her voice, she simply bowed her assent to her aunt’s request.
“Well, well, Ann, I am not surprised that you are annoyed,” said Mr Sleech, rising from his seat; “that is but natural. Of course, we are gentlemen, and wish to treat you as ladies. We will just take a look round the park and grounds. I have a notion a good many trees should be cut down. The colonel was over-squeamish about felling timber; and Mabel, my dear, I wish you would not look so glum. Perhaps if you play your cards well, you may still be mistress of Stanmore, eh? Silas, you rogue, you used to admire your pretty little cousin.”
Silas rolled his round eyes and gave a glance at Mabel which she, at least, thought bespoke very little affection, for she turned a way from him with a feeling of loathing, not deigning to make any remark.
“You know your way,” said Madam Everard; “you must do as you think fit. We cannot interfere.”
Without putting out her hand, she gave a stately bow to her brother-in-law and nephew. A chuckle reached her ears as the door closed behind them.
“Jane, Jane, what have you brought upon us?” she exclaimed, apostrophising her deceased sister.
The marriage had been a hateful one from the first. Old Sleech had, even as a young man, been almost as odious as his son, and no one could account for Jane Everard’s infatuation and bad taste when she insisted on marrying him.
Madam Everard rang the bell, and begged that Paul Gauntlett would come to her. He obeyed the summons, and was soon afterwards trotting off on the horse with which he always accompanied the colonel to Lynderton. Mr Wallace was at home, and very quickly made his appearance at Stanmore, escaping an encounter with the Sleeches, who were still making their round of the park, notching trees which they agreed might come down to advantage and clear a pretty penny.
Mr Wallace heard Madam Everard’s statement with a grave face.
“I do not see much that is hopeful about it, but we will try what the law can do. If the law decides that Captain Everard is not the heir, we have no help for it. I will look over all the deeds deposited with me, but to my recollection I have no certificate or copy of certificate of Mr Tom Everard’s marriage. He must have been very young at the time, at all events. An older man would probably have taken more care of so important a document. However, I will see Mr Sleech, and endeavour to persuade him that he cannot justly at present push his claims. We must proceed cautiously, for although you are in possession, I fear that he can prove himself to be heir-at-law.”
Mr Wallace had left the house some time before the Sleeches returned. They came in by the garden entrance, and walked without ceremony into the study, where Mabel and her aunt were still sitting.
“Well, we have had a good look round the grounds, Ann, and I have come to the conclusion that the colonel did not make half as much of the property as he might have done. Why, I can tell you, eight thousand pounds’ worth of timber might be cut down – Silas says ten thousand, but I think that he is a little over the mark – without doing any harm to the place, and there are no end of improvements he and I have been proposing.”
