Maria, who stood ready on the watch, quickly presented him the cordial draught. He made signs to be raised up in his couch: It was providently so constructed as to effect what he wished for without disturbance of his person, or alteration of his posture. The fair hand, that brought it, lifted it to his lips; (it is to female feeling and compassion that we must look for offices like these in our last moments.) Philip felt the kindness—Bless you! he cried, and drank what she bestowed to the last drop: the comfort, that it gave him, was immediate: his eyes, which now he turned upon his son, appeared to brighten, and he thus addressed him—
Oh! now I see you clearly and distinctly: now I perceive that power is mercifully granted me to recollect and tell you my sad story. I will be brief however, for I feel that this reprieve is only for a time: Now listen therefore, and record my words—When that Ap-Owen, that atrocious villain, heard you were coming over, he called upon me, and with furious threats demanded of me instantly to wed the base-born woman, whom he calls his mother, or satisfy the bond. ’Twas then, though much too late, I recollected what was due from a De Lancaster, and shortly told him that his threats were vain; I would do neither: I abhorred a duel, as he well knew, but I would sooner die than stain my name, and stoop to such extortion and disgrace. He raved; he swore, and foamed like one possessed: he sprung upon me, and aimed to seize my throat; I grappled with him, and hurled him on the floor. He rose, and drew his sword; I had drawn mine the whilst in my defence, and my blood boiled within me. Coward, I cried, assassin, I defy you! Here, or elsewhere, I am ready on the moment.—Then follow me, he said, and in a spot, where I’ll conduct you, not two furlongs off, we’ll settle our dispute. I followed him, unthinking as I was; for he had galled me past my power to bear; and in a grove, as I was entering it, some one from behind gave me a blow, that felled me to the ground: There as I lay, but not deprived of sense, the inhuman monster, the unmanly coward, rushed on me as I was in act to rise; and thrust me through the body with his sword: he fled, and left the murderous weapon in me: I bled profusely; could not call for help, nor raise myself from off the ground; I fainted, and thenceforward cannot account how time has passed, till now that I revive to see you and that beauteous form, that sweet benevolence, that gave me drink; and I suppose, is she, whom my dead wife wished you to marry; and, if you are married, may Heaven confirm my blessing on you both.—Ah, I relapse again; all, all is past—farewell for ever.—
This said, his head collapsed upon his shoulder; his eye-lids dropped; he strove convulsively to grasp the clothes that were upon him; his bosom heaved as if about to burst, and one deep sigh, the last he drew, released his struggling spirit, and left him outstretched at his utmost length, a lifeless corpse.
CHAPTER V.
A further Account of what occurred at Lisbon after John De Lancaster’s Arrival at that Place.
Such was the melancholy end of Philip, son of old De Lancaster, and father of our hero. Heaven endowed him with moderate faculties, and indolence conspired to make that little less. The place, which he left vacant in the list of the De Lancasters from earliest time, was scarcely less a chasm whilst he lived, than now when he was dead. Yet weak and dormant as his spirit was, repeated aggravations from Ap Owen roused him at last, and in the moment of his unguarded courage he fell into an artful villain’s snare and was destroyed.
The memoirs of poor Philip’s life would hardly fill a page; but the reflections, that might be deduced from his untimely death would be a lesson of useful warning to those listless idlers, those noneffectives in creation’s roll, who seem destined to live for no worthier purpose, except to turn that vital air to waste, which might have fed the lungs of nobler beings, who either patiently employ their hours over the midnight lamp in learned toil; or, by their country called to unwholesome climes, where the extremes of heat or cold are fatal, go forth and die by thousands.
Still nature pleaded to the filial heart of John De Lancaster—That mangled corpse, on which you look, gave life to you, and was your father—Keenly he felt the appeal, and, whilst his eyes dwelt on the piteous object, the big tears rolled down his cheeks: nor could he quite abstain from exclamation, or keep his fiery spirit in command, whilst the last words his dying father uttered still sounded in his ears—Never, he cried, bear witness for me, Nature! will I revisit my beloved home, till I have obtained, or executed, justice on the villain, the out-lawed enemy of God and man, who did this murderous deed. This is the second corpse, that he has made, and sent the immortal spirit to arraign him at Heaven’s tribunal. Dreadful wretch, what must the torment of his conscience be.
Whilst these or words like these, burst from his lips, as still he stood, alone, contemplating the dismal scene, Edward, the younger Wilson, came behind him, and embracing him, whilst he spake—Bear up, he cried: remember God allows these trials to improve and exercise our virtue: every sorrow, that may fall on us by his dispensation, may be converted to our use and profit. And now, if what I say required a proof how prompt his justice is, I have it for you—The criminal is seized and in your hands—Aye! that is right: address your praise to Heaven! there fix your thoughts, and cease to mourn for him, whose cause is heard, whose injuries are redressed—But you shall have the matter as it passed.
After you left the ship Devereux obtained intelligence that Owen had been traced, and was suspected to have got on board a certain vessel, which he pointed out, then lying near us, bound to the Western Isles, and ready for a start. The man, who told him this, came from the shore, and was apprised, that orders had been out to search for him, and seize him on suspicion of murder. Upon this information instantly Devereux with Henry and myself, well armed, took to the boat (the master of the pacquet freely granting it) and in a few minutes, claiming our right of search, we were admitted; and rushing to the cabin, there discovered Owen, who, though disguised in the apparel of a common sailor, made no attempt to contradict our charge, such was his terror on the sight of us, and his surprise exceeding all description. We told him that our errand was to seize him—What had he done?—What you must answer for with your life, we replied. Murdered a noble gentleman, your countryman, your friend, Philip De Lancaster.—Is he then dead? he cried, and started with horror, trembling and ghastly pale.—Two or three of the by-standers instantly exclaimed—He’s guilty, he confesses it: Away with him! He sunk down on his chair, and hid his eyes. My brother now addressed him by his name, and said—Sir David Owen, you must come with us. The laws demand you. You know both who I am, and what I am: A Major in the King of England’s army serving in Portugal; and in the right of that commission I arrest you as his subject, on the charge of murder; and I am sure, none in this vessel will attempt to stop me in the due execution of my duty.
None, cried the Captain; pass! Let all stand clear! ’Twas then we saw, in the behaviour of that wretched man, how abject guilt can be: That insolence, which I have witnessed, now was sunk into despondency, and but that pity would in me have been almost a crime, I could have pitied him, when in a melancholy tone, he said—I am your prisoner. Misery beyond mine, man cannot suffer. You have known me, Major Wilson, in better days: I am a gentleman; at least I have been such: Don’t let your people use me ill, I pray you—He was at this time in so helpless a state, that we were obliged to have him lifted into the boat. Henry gave orders to be rowed to the shore: A considerable party of his officers and men were there discovered waiting for his landing: When we approached, they cheered him, and as soon as he had set his foot on shore, the air again rang with their shouts—Comrades! he cried, as they were crowding round us, you will stifle us with your kindness: Form a circle, and give us air; don’t you perceive the prisoner is fainting? He caused his soldiers instantly to make a kind of military litter by taking hands, and in this manner they bore off the wretched criminal by his order to the guard-house. Whilst this was passing I had taken notice of an officer in the same uniform with the others, who had separated himself from his comrades, and stood apart from the circle, not interfering, but much interested, as it seemed, in what was going on. When my brother had given orders for his men to take Ap Owen to the guard-house, he called this young officer to him, and bade him take a party with him to Mr. Devereux’s house in the square, for the purpose of escorting us through the streets, where a crowd was now collecting. This young gentleman is now on guard upon the house, waiting till my brother shall come, and dismiss him: Mr. Devereux invited him to accept of some refreshment; but he declined it on the plea of duty to the special orders of his commanding officer.