Read Ebook: The King's Own by Marryat Frederick

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Ebook has 1946 lines and 123171 words, and 39 pages

"Well, well, Susan, let McElvina wind up the accounts of this vessel, and then I will do as you wish; but I cannot turn him adrift, you know."

"Turn Captain McElvina adrift! No--if you did, father--"

"I presume that you would be very much inclined to take him in tow--eh, Miss?"

"I shall never act without attending to your advice, and consulting your wishes, my dear father," answered Susan, the suffusion of her unusually pale cheeks proving that she required but colour to be perfectly beautiful.

And here the conversation dropped. Old Hornblow had long perceived the growing attachment between his daughter and McElvina; and the faithful and valuable services of the latter, added to the high opinion which the old man had of his honesty--which, to do McElvina justice, had been most scrupulous--had determined him to let things take their own course. Indeed, there was no one with whom old Hornblow was acquainted to whom he would have entrusted his daughter's happiness with so much confidence as to our reformed captain.

But to return. Old Hornblow put on his spectacles , and examined the post-mark, seal, and superscription, as if he wished to tax his ingenuity with a guess previously to opening the letter, which would have saved him all that trouble, and have decided the point of scrutiny--viz., from whom it came?

"McElvina, I rather think," said he, musing; "but the postmark is Plymouth. How the deuce--!" The two first lines of the letter were read, and the old man's countenance fell. Susan, who had been all alive at the mention of McElvina's name, perceived the alteration in her father's looks.

"No bad news, I hope, my dear father?"

"Bad enough," replied the old man, with a deep sigh; "the lugger is taken by a frigate, and sent into Plymouth."

"And Captain McElvina--he's not hurt, I hope?"

"No, I presume not, as he has written the letter, and says nothing about it."

Satisfied upon this point, Susan, who recollected her father's promise, was undutiful enough, we are sorry to say, to allow her heart to bound with joy at the circumstance. All her fond hopes were about to be realised, and she could hardly refrain from carolling the words of Ariel, "Where the bee sucks, there lurk I;" but fortunately she remembered that other parties might not exactly participate in her delight. Out of respect for her father's feelings, she therefore put on a grave countenance, in sad contrast with her eyes, which joy had brilliantly lighted up.

"But what does Captain McElvina say, father?"

"What does he say? Why, that he is taken. Haven't I told you so already, girl?" replied old Hornblow, in evident ill-humour.

"Yes, but the particulars, my dear father!"

"Oh, there's only the fact, without particulars--says he will write more fully in a day or two."

"I'll answer for him, that it was not his fault, father--he has always done you justice."

"I did not say that he had not; I'm only afraid that success has made him careless--it's always the case."

"Yes," replied Susan, taking up the right cue; "as you say, father, he has been very successful."

"He has," replied the old man, recovering his serenity a little, "very successful indeed. I dare say it was not his fault."

The clerk soon made his appearance with the rough balance-sheet required. It did more to restore the good humour of the old man than even the soothing of his daughter.

"Why, father," replied Susan, leaning over his shoulder, and looking archly at him, "'tis a fortune in itself; to a contented person."

But as, independently of McElvina's letter not being sufficiently explicit, there are other circumstances connected with his capture that are important to our history, we shall ourselves narrate the particulars.

For more than two years, McElvina, by his dexterity and courage, and the fast sailing of his vessel, had escaped all his pursuers, and regularly landed his cargoes. During this time, Willy had made rapid progress under his instruction, not only in his general education, but also in that of his profession. One morning the lugger was off Cape Clear, on the coast of Ireland, when she discovered a frigate to windward,--the wind, weather, and relative situations of the two vessels being much the same as on the former occasion, when McElvina, by his daring and judicious manoeuvre, had effected his escape. The frigate chased, and soon closed-to within a quarter of a mile of the lugger, when she rounded-to, and poured in a broadside of grape, which brought her fore-yard down on deck. From that moment such an incessant fire of musketry was poured in from the frigate, that every man on board of McElvina's vessel, who endeavoured to repair the mischief; was immediately struck down. Any attempt at escape was now hopeless. When within two cables' length, the frigate hove to the wind, keeping the lugger under her lee, and continued a fire of grape and musketry into her, until the rest of her sails were lowered down.

The crew of the smuggler, perceiving all chance in their favour to be over, ran down below to avoid the fire, and secure their own effects. The boats of the frigate were soon on board of the lugger, and despatched back to her with McElvina and the chief officers. Willy jumped into the boat, and was taken on board with his patron.

The captain of the frigate was on the quarter-deck; and as he turned round, it occurred to Willy that he had seen his face before, but when or where he could not exactly call to mind; and he continued to scrutinise him, as he paced up and down the quarter-deck, revolving in his mind where it was that he had encountered that peculiar countenance.

His eye, so fixed upon the captain that it followed him up and down as he moved, at last was met by that of the latter, who, surprised at finding so small a lad among the prisoners, walked over to the lee-side of the quarter-deck, and addressed him with--"You're but a young smuggler, my lad; are you the captain's son?"

The voice immediately recalled to Willy's recollection every circumstance attending their last meeting, and who the captain was. He answered in the negative, with a smile.

"You've a light heart, youngster. Pray, what's your name?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how long have you been on this praiseworthy service?"

"Ever since, sir," replied our hero, who had little idea of its impropriety.

"Well, Mr Seymour, you have seen a little service, and your captain gives you a high character, as an active and clever lad. As you have been detained against your will, I think we may recover your time and pay. I trust, however, that you will, in future, be employed in a more honourable manner. We shall, in all probability, be soon in port, and till then you must remain as you are, for I cannot trust you again in a prize."

"About eighty; and as good seamen as ever walked a plank."

That which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have. SHAKESPEARE.

But we must return on shore, that we may not lose sight of the grandfather of our hero, who had no idea that there was a being in existence who was so nearly connected with him.

The time had come when that information was to be given; for, about six weeks previous to the action we have described, in which Adams the quarter-master was killed, Admiral De Courcy was attacked by a painful and mortal disease. As long as he was able to move about, his irritability of temper, increased by suffering, rendered him more insupportable than ever; but he was soon confined to his room, and the progress of the disease became so rapid, that the medical attendants considered it their duty to apprise him that all hopes of recovery must now be abandoned, and that he must prepare himself for the worst.

The admiral received the intelligence with apparent composure, and bowed his head to the physicians as they quitted his room. He was alone, and left to his own reflections, which were not of the most enviable nature. He was seated, propped up in an easy chair, opposite the large French window, which commanded a view of the park. The sun was setting, and the long-extended shadows of the magnificent trees which adorned his extensive domain were in beautiful contrast with the gleams of radiant light, darting in long streaks between them on the luxuriant herbage. The cattle, quietly standing in the lake, were refreshing themselves after the heat of the day, and the deer lay in groups under the shade, or crouching in their lairs, partly concealed by the underwood and fern. All was in repose and beauty, and the dying man watched the sun, as it fast descended to the horizon, as emblematical of his race, so shortly to be sped. He surveyed the groups before him--he envied even the beasts of the field, and the reclaimed tenants of the forest, for they at least had of their kind, with whom they could associate; but he, their lord and master, was alone--alone in the world, without one who loved or cared for him, without one to sympathise in his sufferings and administer to his wants, except from interested motives--without one to soothe his anguish, and soften the pillow of affliction and disease-- without one to close his eyes, or shed a tear, now that he was dying.

His thoughts naturally reverted to his wife and children. He knew that two of these individuals, out of three, were in the cold grave--and where was the other? The certain approach of death had already humanised and softened his flinty heart. The veil that had been drawn by passion between his conscience and his guilt was torn away. The past rushed upon his memory with dreadful rapidity and truth, and horrible conviction flashed upon his soul, as he unwillingly acknowledged himself to be the murderer of his wife and child. Remorse, as usual, followed, treading upon the heels of conviction--such remorse, that, in a short space, the agony became insupportable.

After an ineffectual struggle of pride, he seized the line which was attached to the bell-rope, and, when his summons was obeyed, desired that the vicar might be immediately requested to come to him.

Acquainted with the admiral's situation, the vicar had anxiously waited the summons which he was but too well aware would come, for he knew the human heart, and the cry for aid which the sinner in his fear sends forth. He was soon in the presence of the admiral, for the first time since the day that he quitted the house with the letter of the unfortunate Peters in his possession. The conversation which ensued between the agitated man, who had existed only for this world, and the placid teacher, who had considered it as only, a preparation for a better, was too long to be here inserted. It will be sufficient to say, that the humbled and terrified wretch, the sufferer from disease, and greater sufferer from remorse, never could have been identified with the once proud and over-bearing mortal who had so long spurned at the precepts of religion, and turned a deaf ear to the mild persuasions of its apostle.

"But that letter!" continued the admiral, in a faltering voice--"what was it? I have yet one child alive--Oh, send immediately for him, and let me implore his forgiveness for my cruelty."

"That letter, sir, was written but one hour previously to his death."

"His death!" cried the admiral, turning his eyes up to the ceiling. "God have mercy on me! then I have murdered him also. And how did he die? Did he starve, as I expressed in my horrid--horrid wish?"

"No, sir; his life was forfeited to the offended laws of his country."

"Good God, sir!" hastily replied the admiral, whose ruling passion-- pride--returned for the moment, "you do not mean to say that he was hanged?"

"Even so; but here is the letter which he wrote--read it."

The admiral seized the letter in his tremulous hand, and devoured every word as he perused it. He let it fall on his knees, and said, in a subdued voice, "My God!--my God!--and he asked forgiveness, and forgives me!" Then, with frantic exclamation, he continued: "Wretch that I am,-- would that I had died for thee, my son--my son!" and clasping his hands over his head, he fell back in a state of insensibility.

The vicar, much affected with the scene, rang the bell for assistance, which was obtained; but the wretched man had received a shock which hastened his dissolution. He was too much exhausted to sit upright, and they were obliged to carry him to the bed, from which he never rose again. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to be able to converse, he waved the servants from the room, and resumed in a faltering voice--

"But, sir, he mentions his child--my grandchild. Where is he? Can I see him?"

"I am afraid not, sir," replied the vicar, who then entered into a recital of the arrangements which had taken place, and the name of the ship on board of which our hero had been permitted to remain, under the charge of Adams, the quartermaster.

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