'Or you will doubt me. It was never my intention to keep you in the dark or in leading strings longer than necessary. I am above the petty spirit which, to magnify its importance, keeps to itself half a secret, to be told at another time. You shall know all, and we will concert our measures together as man and man, for I can easily guess from this moment you have put off the boy for ever.'
It was true. Even in that short time a marked change had come upon him, and it was with the resolved air of a man prepared to hear, determine, and to act, if need be, with firmness and deliberation, that he pushed his chair from the table, and folding his arms upon his chest, sat waiting for the mariner to proceed in his tale. That burst of tears which followed the announcement of his rank was a last farewell to boyhood, and his firm attitude and handsome features looked worthy to uphold the proud motto of his house, "Nulli Secundi."
CHAPTER VII.
THE SEAMAN'S STORY.
'I was little more than twelve years of age when I entered the British Navy as a midshipman, much against my good father's will, for I was his only child, and my mother died the day I first saw the light. But I was a wayward, unruly boy, and he feared I might take to bad courses if restrained. It was a time of stirring action, and before I was twenty years of age I bore upon my shoulder the epaulette of a lieutenant, earned in many a bloody fight. The naval service was then in high favour, and many sprigs of nobility condescended to walk the quarter-deck as captains and commanders, though they seldom knew as much about a ship as the ship's boys. One of these was the late Earl de Montford—He had the haughty courage of his race; few of them were deficient in that; but he had disdained to learn his profession, and when he was appointed to command a corvette, I was sent on board as first lieutenant, but in fact as what is called a nurse—to do the work, while my incapable but titled commander reaped the glory. We were anchored in the bay of Naples, having borne despatches to the fleet then stationed there, and were under orders to sail the next morning, when he sent for me into his cabin, and with more familiarity and kindness than he had ever used to me before, he confided to me that he was in love, and wanted my assistance to rescue her he loved from a convent. Fond of adventure, I consented, and we succeeded, so they were that very evening united by the chaplain on board the corvette. She was very beautiful, and he was both proud and fond of her. His father was alive, however, and as the old Earl had negotiated for him a marriage with the daughter of some proud Marquis in England, he did not dare to acquaint him of it—for though the title and the estate could not be alienated, yet the enormous personal property could, and even his love for the fair Italian could not reconcile him to risk the chance of enduring what he would have called poverty. He purchased a villa at Leghorn, and leaving the ship almost entirely at my command, lived for the time at least as though there was nothing on this earth to care for but love and beauty. The chaplain had been sworn to secresy, and the other officers of the ship thought it was merely some amour of their commander's, and whatever they thought of his morals, they of course took good care to say nothing. The chaplain died soon after, and I remained the sole living witness of the marriage. The birth of a son, however, instead of linking their hearts closer together, became the apple of discord between them. She pressed him to acknowledge her as his wife to the numerous English families who were settled around Leghorn, and who refused to associate with one in her equivocal position. She had borne their slights patiently when only directed against herself, but the feelings of a mother were aroused when the finger of scorn was pointed at her child. It was too evident, also, that his affection for her was on the wane. He was absent from her more frequently—spoke of the necessity of attending to his duty—his duty! oh, the ready excuse man finds to do evil. Better far for that poor girl would it have been to have been buried in the deepest recesses of the cloister, than to have attracted the notice of that vile unprincipled nobleman. It was about this time the old Earl died, and he quitted the service. There was no bar now for his acknowledging her as his wife—but he was satiated—his fleeting passion had evaporated. He had visited England in the interval, and seen the bride destined for him by his father: and her beauty, the enormous addition to his wealth and power which would accrue from the marriage, tempted him, and he now regarded the woman who had surrendered to him the most sacred of man's earthly trusts—her young heart's first affections, her hopes of earthly happiness—as a barrier to his pride and the vile passion he dared to dignify with the name of love: and when she now asked him to do her the justice which he could no longer plead his father's anger for denying—O God, where were thy thunderbolts!—he told her that their marriage was a sham one, that the chaplain was but a servant in disguise, and that in truth she was only his mistress. I had been dismissed the service through him—I will speak of that anon—the chaplain was dead—she did not even know his name or mine—how could she help herself? She never held up her head after this. She refused all support from him, though he offered to settle upon her a considerable pension. For five years she supported herself by teaching music at Florence, whither she removed with an attendant whom her gentle manners had attached to her, and from whom, years after, I learned these particulars. She never would, however, consent to sign any papers which would affect her own or her son's rights, nor would she part with the certificate of marriage the chaplain had given her, though he tried hard to obtain them, as also the letters he had written to her from the ship at different times in which he had always addressed her as his wife. But her constitution had received a shock from which it never recovered, and at the expiration of that time she died. His agent, who had been secretly watching her by his orders, took the boy to England, where he was sent to a distant school for education under a feigned name, and at the age of fifteen sent to sea—where, as he was believed to be a natural son of the Earl, and the latter favored that assumption, his advancement was rapid; not more so, however, than his gallantry and good conduct deserved, for I often heard his name mentioned with applause, though I little dreamed then who he was, or how closely the fortunes of those I loved the best were connected with him. He was your father, Edward, and the proud man who now usurps your title and your fortune is a bastard!'
The look of high reserve that flashed in the young man's eyes as he listened to the tale, contrasted well while it agreed with the stern, implacable, expression of the mariner's countenance, which deepened, if possible, as he proceeded.
'It was many years afterwards that I learned these particulars, but I must now speak of my dismissal and its cause. From the day that your grandfather's love for his young bride began to decline, he hated me, yet he feared me—and took good care to conceal it: I was young and unsuspicious, and when he procured my appointment as first-lieutenant in a frigate bound to the West Indies, I thanked the man who was plotting my ruin. The commander of the frigate was one of the meanest wretches that ever disgraced a command—an impoverished rake who gained the means of continuing his excesses by flattering the vanity and aiding the schemes of his richer companions in vice, and duping the more inexperienced. He had received his directions evidently, and every studied insult, everything that petty spite and malice could inflict was tried to provoke me, but the contempt I felt for the reptile restrained me full as much as the iron bands of discipline. We arrived at Jamaica and cruised about the Bay of Mexico for some time, when the daughter of a rich planter, in South Carolina, (then one of his Majesty's colonies, now one of the brightest stars in the flag of the Great Republic,) took a passage with her governess in our ship to New Orleans, whither we were ordered on service. The Captain tried to make himself agreeable to her, but she treated his advances with coldness so marked as to enrage him. She saw through, with ease, the flimsy veil he attempted to throw over his vices. It was my happy fortune to save her from a watery grave. In landing, she incautiously stepped from the ladder before the boat was sufficiently near to receive her, and fell, into the sea. I dashed over the taffrail, the tide was running strong, but I caught her in my arms, and bore her up, until the boat came to our relief. Her father, who awaited her arrival, was unbounded in his expressions of gratitude, and invited me often to his hotel, he also gave me a cordial invitation to his plantation in Carolina. The Captain made many unseemly jokes upon the affair, but I bore them all,—for now I felt I loved and I hoped, who does not hope at twenty-three? I hoped I was beloved in return. Annoyed by my patience, galled and mortified by his rejection, he lost his usual prudence, and one day boasted before a knot of loose companions in my presence, of favors he had received from her,—from her who was purity itself, and had scarcely deigned to exchange the common courtesies of life with him. I struck him to the deck for his detested lie, and gave myself up as prisoner. I was tried by a Court Martial and declared incapable of serving his Majesty again. I had expected death, and his powerful friends did their utmost to procure a sentence, but the Admiral was a just though a rigid man, and well knew the character of my accuser,—the provocation was taken into consideration, and the services I had rendered during eleven years in storm and battle. I was dismissed. Mr. Elliott, the planter, offered me a home. I had saved considerable prize money. I was disgusted with England, and I loved. He, himself, offered me his daughter, and she did not refuse me. We lived together three happy years, when she died in giving birth to a daughter. Oh! she was beautiful,—most beautiful, but linked to my wayward fate, she perished.'
There was a softened shade over the seaman's face, and the stern expression had gone,—he brushed some moisture from his eyes with his strong hand, and turned aside for a moment; the young man was deeply moved.
'A life of inactivity gave no balm to my wounded spirit, and I burned for action. Mr. Elliott saw it; "Side with us," said he, "there has been a Tea Party in Boston harbor that will bring thunder ere long, and I will procure you a command;" he did so. I joined the Navy of the United States, and bore the stars and stripes aloft through many a scene of peril and of death. Mr. Elliott doted on his grandchild, and she remained with him. Those were times that tried men's hearts, and my father-in-law was chivalrous as he was generous—he gave the bulk of his fortune to his country's need, and confiding my daughter, then a child some two years old, to a distant relative, carried his grey head and feeble limbs to join the ranks of those who fought for liberty. He fell gloriously in battle, and when, after years of active service, peace was declared, and I came home to seek my daughter, the lady who had her in charge had died of fever, and my child had been taken away, no one could tell me by whom or where:—all traces of her were lost. I now longed to see my father, peace was declared, the Independence of America admitted, and as I had fought under an assumed name, I anticipated no danger. I was received as one from the grave. I never mentioned my marriage, even to my father, but accounted for my absence and my silence, by saying that, ashamed to come home after being dismissed, I had gone in a merchant vessel to India, and had there been taken prisoner by the Lootees, a species of banditti, while on an excursion inland. My tale was easily believed; to please my father, I married again. The sister of good Mrs. Ally, my second wife, was a good and kind woman, and after the birth of my daughter Mary, I again hoped for happiness. Vain hope. The malice of the De Montford family was again let loose upon me. Your grandfather was dead. I knew nothing of the events that had occurred during my absence, and supposed that his first wife had died in Italy, and her son also. But the countess had found among her husband's papers, so I suppose, at least, for on this point I am uninformed, something which threw light upon the past, and, supposing that I knew of the existence of your father resolved on removing me. I was fond of shooting, and one day shot a hare in a distant part of the manor. I had been watched, by her orders, and a charge of poaching was instituted against me. Her son was absent then, upon his murderous errand, as I afterwards knew. I was tried on a charge of poaching; the game laws were severe; the justice was her creature, and despite the entreaties of my father, and the tears of my wife, I was condemned to transportation for seven years.'