Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall England

by Matthew Stanley Kemp

"The drive-way is in better shape than it was in the days of Squire Vivian," said Ande, as the gravel crunched under their advancing steps.

"A careful and neat owner; it will do me good to meet him," said the Major.

Forth through the trees ahead gleamed the twinkling lights of many windows, only obstructed by the passing of forms within and the figures of many great holly wreaths. The great lantern in front of the double doors was gleaming brilliantly through its festoons of evergreen, and from the hall could be heard the sound of ringing festivity and jollification. The door was opened widely at the sound of the great knocker, and the butler footman, bowing low, ushered them into the great hall. Groups of elderly people were engaged at their favourite game, whist, at different tables, and down the long room were others engaged in sundry amusements. The panelled walls had been rewaxed and were glistening with holly and mistletoe. The large picture of Squire Vivian's father still smiled friendly at the picture of King George II on the other wall, and in the great open fireplace roared, cracked, leaped, danced and shouted with all the ecstacy of Christmas jollity the flames of the great yule log.

"Where's the new squire?" whispered the old Major to his son. He had hardly asked the question, before he started back in amazement at a sight he saw over the great, panelled fireplace. Two great oil-paintings, heavy in their rich framings, riveted his attention. He stared at them and then at the crowd of Christmas revellers, who, though now thoroughly quieted, yet had gleams of suppressed merriment on their countenances. What could it mean? Those pictures? Where had they obtained them? Was his mind affected? He knew that he was growing old, and as he dazedly thought of this, he hurriedly passed his hand through his whitened hair, a gnarled, brown bough in the midst of a snowdrift. The folding doors, separating the servants' hall from the apartment they were in, were thrown open, revealing the merry faces of group after group of servants. It was a tableau of suppressed excitement, broken at length by the voice of Parson Trant.

"My friends, we have gathered here not only for Christmas festivity, but to do honour to the dead and to the living." Pointing to the picture on the right, he continued: "Behold the picture of Captain Andrew Trembath. You are all aware of the terrible injustice done his memory. He was the most patriotic and loyal of Cornish gentlemen. His long war record amply testifies the fact. He was wounded at Prestonpans, and at Culloden, and did worthy service under Braddock in America. After that deplorable battle, he was captured by the Indians, escaped from them, slew a French officer, garbed himself in his uniform and for greater security in the enemy's country inserted his name in the dead officer's commission papers. He was accidentally shot by the troops of General Armstrong, the thought of treason penetrated the public mind and the estate of Trembath was confiscated. Yet, after all these years truth prevails. An old snuff-box, found in the wilds of America, reveals the secret, and though dead, Captain Andrew Trembath is once more honoured by the people as a faithful soldier and loyal subject of the King." Then, turning to the other picture, he continued:

"Behold the picture of Major Thomas Trembath, who served the King nobly in the Peninsular campaign, in the War of the American Colonies and in the Canadian War. He disappeared, due to an impression conveyed to him that his family was dead, and for many long years was an exile in the wilds of America. Then as a hunter he lived by the pursuit of game. To the place of his abode came his son, Andrew Trembath, and after a time became known to him, and through the finding of the records of the snuff-box, already mentioned, he is restored to his former honours,—friends and country. His life formerly was sad, now we trust his declining years will be full of sunshine, and I greet and welcome him as Squire Trembath, the rightful master of Trembath Manor."

"Welcome to your own, again, comrade," said old Captain Tom Lanyan, as he heartily shook the squire's hand.

Others crowded around the old squire, among them Dick Thomas, Tom Glaze, and numerous of the parish gentry.

The old squire and his wife were so dazed that they could not speak, and so they were escorted to the great armchairs in readiness for them near the great yule log, and one by one the Christmas guests came near and gave their greetings. When it was all finished, the new squire found his voice.