The Cruise of the Frolic

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“I know not that he no longer loves me,” she replied.

“Did not his letter convince you?” he asked.

“That letter! No, sir,” she replied, rising proudly from her seat, and a smile of unwonted bitterness curling her lip. “That letter was a forgery.”

“On my sacred word, on my soul, it was not!” he cried, vehemently. “It is you who wrong me and my devoted love. Be mine, and let me enjoy the only heaven I seek. If I speak not the truth, may the Powers above strike me this moment dead at your feet?” Blanche shuddered at his words. At that instant a dark form seemed to rise up between them, and to gaze with threatening aspect at Hernan, while it shielded Blanche from him. Soon it assumed the form of Edward Staunton, and beckoning Hernan to follow, slowly receded from the room. Even the deceiver trembled, and daring not to disobey, followed the phantom.

It led him through dark chambers, beneath roaring waterfalls, along dizzy heights, whence the sea-birds could scarce be seen in the depths below, on the wild shore, where the fierce waves dashed with terrific fury, while the tempest raged, and the lightnings flashed around his head, and then with a derisive shriek which sounded high above the furious turmoil, disappeared amid the boiling ocean.

“Such, traitor, shall be thy fate!” were the words it spoke.

Again Hernan dreamed that Blanche had promised to be his,—a prize bought at the cost of further perjury. Edward for long had been unheard of; he was still a rover in far-off climes. Mr D’Aubigné was satisfied and rejoiced at the thoughts of finding a wealthy husband for his daughter. Hernan was with his intended bride when a messenger arrived, breathless with haste, to summon him to the deathbed of his parent.

He hurried thither to listen to a tale the old man falteringly whispered into his ear; it was enough to freeze up the current in his veins. A stigma was on his birth, and instant precautions were necessary, or the fatal secret would be discovered which would consign him to poverty and disgrace.

“You are my child,” said the proud baronet, “yet for long my wife had borne me none; at length one came into the world and died. You took its place, and my wife believed you to be her own offspring. The change was ill-managed, and the deceit is discovered by one who is my enemy, and will be yours. I fancied that no one knew it, till some years ago he came and convinced me that he was aware of the truth. He then told me that should you be worthy to succeed to my rank and fortune, the secret should die with him; but if not, my first lawful child, whom he insisted on educating under his own inspection, should be declared to have his rights. Though the terms seemed hard, I was obliged to yield to his demands, and have ever since been his slave. By his orders you were sent to sea, and will be compelled shortly again to go; and by his orders I have made you acquainted with the dreadful tale I have now told you. I know him well, and you too must become his slave. He will probably insist on your again going to sea, and you must obey him, or rue the consequences.”

Scarcely stopping to close his father’s eyes, who died shortly after this disclosure, Hernan hurried off to endeavour to propitiate the arbitrator of his destiny. The old man was inflexible. He insisted on his forthwith returning to sea, and refused to sanction his marriage with Blanche. Hernan had good cause to suspect that his character was seen through; he dared not disobey. His appointment to the frigate soon arrived, and framing an excuse to Blanche, he prepared for his departure. Blanche received the account without any regret, for though she was prepared to obey her father, she did not love Hernan, as he well knew. Her heart was still with one whom she had been told was false to her. The frigate on board which Hernan Daggerfeldt was the junior lieutenant sailed for the coast of South America. Hernan felt that he was no favourite with his brother-officers; his fierce temper and overbearing manner was one cause, while his constant scoffs at religion and honour was another. When off Rio, they fell in with a frigate carrying despatches to England. It was a dead calm, and a boat from her was sent on board them to learn intelligence from home. Two officers were in the boat; one was Staunton. Hernan in vain endeavoured to avoid him. Staunton had a thousand questions to ask, which Hernan might be able to answer respecting his beloved Blanche. Was she well? Had she received his letters?—none of hers had reached him. Hernan made the most plausible answers he could invent. They spoke in the presence of two of his brother-officers, and one of them, an old friend of Staunton’s, knew the truth. Accordingly, drawing him aside, he told him at once that he believed Hernan had been speaking falsehoods. Staunton’s indignation knew no bounds, and he taxed Hernan with his duplicity and falsehood, though the sanctity of the quarter-deck prevented him from proceeding to extremities. Hernan defended himself from the accusation, though he felt that he was discovered, and he determined to revenge himself on the man who had unmasked him to Staunton. He, however, bided his time; but he suspected that by some means or other more of his secrets might be known to his shipmate.