at breakfast, which was necessarily delayed on board the aurora, the conversation, as may be supposed, was almost entirely concerned with undoubtedly the most memorable incident—the meeting with nelson—in the lives of captain acton and sir william. the aurora had hauled out of the fleet with a dipping flag, and with wings eagerly straining to the breath of the strengthening blue breeze that gushed with a tropic warmth over the little seas which creamed and purred in heads that would easily grow spiteful and change their fountain-like music into a harsh hissing as of serpents, was heading as true a course as captain weaver could imagine for the barque that captain acton wanted.
nelson's reference to mr lawrence's brilliant action was going to prove an overwhelming memory to the admiral.
"when i think, sir," he exclaimed, as they[pg 405] breakfasted, "what a few syllables of applause signify in the mouth of such a man as the hero of the nile, i feel as if i could spring overboard and drown myself when i reflect that my unhappy son quitted the glorious service under ignoble circumstances, and that by remaining he might have come under the command of nelson, and gained the splendid renown which scarce a sea officer who has served under that great man but has won."
"i for one should not need to meet lord nelson and hear him speak of your son to fully agree in what you say, sir william," said lucy.
her father looked at her with a questioning gaze, but made no remark. nearly all the talk at that breakfast table was about nelson and his ships and his pursuit of villeneuve, but shortly before the three arose the conversation had been deflected by a remark of lucy, on which the admiral said: "if this breeze holds we shall be heaving the minorca into sight the day after to-morrow, or at latest the following day. there can be no doubt that the schooner is fair in her wake. the whitby brig seems to have steered a straight course from her to us; and now, sir, lord nelson's remark comes home: we are unarmed. the barque carries four guns with which she can pelt us without our being able to make a reply.[pg 406] if she wings us she will escape, and since she will very well know who we are that are in pursuit of her, is my son likely to proceed to rio? will he not take advantage of our being crippled to shift his course, and go away to some place, unconjecturable by us, where he will be able to communicate with his scoundrel friend at rio and the don with the long name who is to have the management of the nefarious business?"
"you will know, sir," replied captain acton, "one of nelson's favourite sayings: at sea something must be left to chance. i count upon the crew of the minorca, when they sight the aurora and understand her mission, which they will guess without explanation, backing her main-topsail in defiance of your son's firearms and calling upon us to take possession. if this does not happen, i shall not be at a loss, and meanwhile, sir william, let us get a view of the barque."
after breakfast captain acton and lucy walked the deck, whilst the admiral, with his big pipe, seated himself right aft all alone, for this little ship was steered by a wheel in front of the deck-house; he sat puffing out clouds of tobacco with his eyes fixed upon the glimmering phantoms of the british fleet, which hovered in the north-east quarter in a few dim, waning gleams; and the moods of his mind[pg 407] were faithfully reproduced in his jolly, honest, well-bred, kindly face.
the breeze blew bright and warm, and sang sweetly aloft. the brilliant horizon ahead slided up and down past the prismatic edges of the clear and shapely sails which yearned in steady breasts from mast-head to jibboom and bowsprit ends; the parted water rolled past in wool-white lines of yeast; the heavens were alive with the clouds of the air. nothing was in sight but nelson's fleet, fading.
lucy had related much, but she had much more to tell, and she narrated to her father fresh stories of her madness, and drew several graphic pictures of mr lawrence whilst he laboured under the various sensations her genius as an untutored artist excited. she spoke with contempt of mr eagle, whilst she had little or nothing to say about mr pledge. her narratives were marked by a strong leaning in favour of mr lawrence. her father could not mistake. her prejudice, indeed her fondness, was expressed not so much in her admirable recitals and her references to the dignified and gentlemanly manner with which mr lawrence had treated her, with which he had received her aggravating, indeed her venomous, references to his past and present conduct, as in the pause, the soft, thoughtful smile, the brief exclamation, the sigh, and[pg 408] now and again the little but significant remark.
"but it is impossible, lucy," said captain acton, "to make a hero out of such a fellow as this: a man who forges sealed orders supposed to be written by me! a rogue who not only steals my property, but kidnaps my daughter by a lie!"
"he must have done well, sir, for nelson to have remembered him," said lucy. "and, oh, papa, will not you make some allowance for the misconduct of a man who is tempted by—by——"
"by what, my dear?"
"by love," said lucy, hanging her head, whilst the blush that came into her cheeks was like the revelation of the glory of the red rose to the first delicate light of sunrise. then with a sudden impulse of confidence she added fluently: "he was wasting his time at old harbour town. he fell into vicious habits and modes of getting money which he detested, but the opportunities offered, and strong as he is as a sailor, he proved himself weak as a man."
"as a gentleman!" said captain acton, who followed his daughter's words with mingled impatience and wonder.
"i feel that i am greatly to blame in this dreadful trouble," said lucy. "i am sure that it was his love for me, his desire to gain me as[pg 409] his wife, his horror at the prospect of being an outcast through debt, his resolution to lead an honest life and perhaps a noble life, should i become his wife and should he obtain your forgiveness; these things i am convinced drove him into a sort of madness in which he invented this desperate plot which could never be forgiven in any man who was not as brave and well-bred as mr lawrence, nor as—as——"
"d'ye mean handsome, lucy?" said captain acton. "for the dog is that."
"but what is to happen to him," said lucy, "if you carry him back to england? i would rather hear," she cried, with an emphasis which may have borrowed note and complexion from the impulse of her late impersonations of madness, "of the minorca having sunk and carried him down to the bottom of the sea with her, than live to witness his degradation and perhaps his death and the misery and the broken-heartedness that must come to his dear old father, if you do not prove his friend, and help to reclaim a nature that in its essence is beautiful, and a fulfilment of the purest woman's ideal."
captain acton walked half the length of the extent of deck they were pacing, before he spoke. "your dear mother," said he calmly, "whose genius as an actress i cannot[pg 410] help thinking has descended to you, though never once in all your life have you given me reason for suspecting the existence of a gift, not wonderful by mere power of mimicry, but astonishing by its art of persuading and convincing the beholder that what he sees is the living thing itself: your sweet and blessed mother, though a staunch upholder of her sex, was fond of a saying which she had found in pope:
'nothing so true as what you once let fall,
most women have no character at all.'
she meant by this, as pope, or rather horace, held, that a woman may have a very great genius, and yet be so weak in the significant and quint-essential actions of her life as to prove herself characterless. you have behaved with amazing heroism. you found yourself in the hands of one of the most unscrupulous of men——"
"no, sir," she said.
"you are placed in the most helpless situation a woman could find herself in: at sea, locked up in a cabin, and all the crew, who might otherwise have helped you, believing that you were running away with mr lawrence, and that your imprisonment and your representations and your madness were part of a programme preconcerted between[pg 411] you and your lover. you realise the horrors and peril of your position, and by virtue of the mother's genius that came to your help, you decided upon a behaviour which you magnificently conducted. so much for the better part of you: but what remains? to be wooed—shall i say won?—it is necessary for your sweetheart to act the part of a scoundrel. he must steal my ship and kidnap my only child, and heap lie upon lie, and then, to be sure, he is a very pretty gentleman, a noble, gallant rogue, at root a man of a lordly soul, of a most chivalrous and fighting spirit to be made much of—in short, to fall desperately in love with."
lucy bit her under-lip, but certainly the general expression of her face was not one of displeasure.
"so, my dear, you see that your mother was right in putting faith in her quotation, 'most women have no characters at all.'"
whether lucy would have replied to this cannot be known, for just then the hand stationed aloft sung out: "sail ho!"
"where away?"
"right ahead, sir."
but the stranger remained so long invisible from the deck whilst she could be easily distinguished from the height of the fore-topgallant and then from the fore-topsail yard,[pg 412] and then from midway the altitude of the fore-shrouds, that it was not before the afternoon had passed into a golden brightness of westering sunlight that the ship right ahead revealed her canvas to the quarterdeck of the aurora.
from the moment the ship in sight was reported expectation aboard the aurora sprang and grew. was she the minorca? she was undoubtedly square-rigged, but the lenses of the comparatively feeble telescopes of those days could not determine before it fell dusk, whether she was rigged aft with square yards or merely with the mizzen and gaff topsail which made the minorca a barque.
the admiral was restless; he paced the deck with unwearied legs, and when the sail ahead had hove her canvas into view, he sent endless searchings of her through his telescope, but never could arrive at an opinion. captain acton was self-possessed, and his manner was marked by contemplation as though the possibilities the ship in sight suggested filled him with earnest and bewildering considerations.
lucy was of opinion that the ship must prove the minorca. she well understood that the two vessels could not be far asunder, and quite rationally concluded that the sail ahead was the barque. it would have needed, however, a keener gaze than either captain acton[pg 413] or the admiral was capable of bringing to bear, to penetrate to the girl's thoughts. whilst the distant vessel leaned like a small orange flame gently blown sideways by the wind upon the early evening purple of the horizon, lucy would overhang the rail with her brooding, beautiful eyes dwelling upon that far-off vision, and the expression of her face was in these intervals of motionless posture and steadfast regard, as though she was asleep and dreamt, and that her dream was partly sweet and partly vexing and bitter, so that her whole look was that of one who slumbers, through whose sealed lids a vision of sleep slides to the heart to trouble its pulse.
captain weaver believed that the vessel was the minorca: because, first, she carried royals; next, because she happened to be where she was; third, the leisureliness with which the aurora rose her seemed to prove that her pace was that of the barque. but the dusk drew round; the gloom of night came along in that thickness of shadow which under such heights as the aurora was then sailing, seemed swift to persons accustomed to the northern twilights. and at the hour in which the shades of the coming night had with their viewless fingers effaced the stranger from the sight of the aurora, and shaken some stars into their places, the sail had been risen by the aurora,[pg 414] till on the heave of the swell her hull to the height of her bulwarks from the edge of the sea was visible. and then she was steeped in darkness.
the moon was without power until shortly after midnight; her light silvered the sails of the ship ahead, and she grew out of the gloom into a fairy-like fantasy that might have been some symmetrical form of moon-touched mist fleeting down the wind, or some snow-robed height whose base lay behind the horizon.
the admiral was on deck, and so was captain acton, and captain weaver had also stepped out of the deck-house to take a look round. the stranger was now sufficiently near to be determinable by the glass even in moonshine; and so soon as she sprang into being under the magical flourish of the wand of the moon, it was known for a surety that she was not the minorca. she was square-rigged aft, and made a big, broad cloud as she rolled along under topgallant, topmast, and lower stun-sails. the breeze that had blown throughout the day still blew, and the circumstance of the stranger having kept ahead of the aurora for many hours was proof of her nimble keel.
"she sails faster than the minorca, gentlemen," said captain weaver.
"she has the appearance of a frigate," said[pg 415] captain acton, working away at her with his glass.
"is that your opinion, sir?" captain weaver asked the admiral.
after a pause, during which he carefully scrutinised the vessel, "she has every appearance of being a frigate," the admiral answered.
of what nation, if an armed ship? a wide berth was to be given to the tricolour or the spanish flag. after much debate the order was given for sail to be reduced that the aurora's pace might not outmeasure that of the stranger, until break of day should yield a better idea of her character. meanwhile she must be closely watched, and at the first shift of the stranger's helm the aurora must out with all wings and slide away from gun range with the despatch the wind could give her.
the dark moonlit hours thus passed, and the aurora followed the stranger, but at a distance that was out of cannon reach.
at daylight the vessel proved to be a frigate; she was painted black, with red gun-ports and red tompions. but this was no evidence of her nationality, for it was only comparatively recently that nelson had caused ships under his command to carry white bands which the portholes for the guns[pg 416] chequered with black squares. and many ships of the state in 1805 were black in hull and some of them yellow.
"we must take our chance," said captain acton to weaver, "and end our doubts in the only possible way. see that our ensign blows clear for the eyes aboard of her."
as the ship ahead was almost stern on, they ran the british ensign to the aurora's mizzen-mast head whence it streamed, a "meteor flag," in the silver-white glory of the sun. in a few moments the english colours were hoisted aboard the stranger, on which the admiral delivered a british cheer, which was caught up and re-echoed by a few of the crew forward.
immediately every stitch of canvas that the schooner carried was set, and bending to the pressure of the fine breeze that was now flashing from right abeam, gracing the multitudinous run of the surge with the various splendours of the morning's light; the three-masted american-built clipper aurora thrashed through it in her pursuit of the black british frigate at a rate of sailing that within three hours brought her within speaking distance of the man-of-war.
before this happened, however, captain acton had called a council of his daughter and the admiral, and a resolution had been[pg 417] arrived at of which the nature will appear in a few moments.
the frigate seemed unquestionably of foreign build; but the name phœbe, written in large characters upon her stern over which from the peak of the mizzen-gaff streamed the flag of our country, was a warranty that whatever nationality her builders had boasted, she was now a british ship. she was somewhat old in years, as was manifested by her fore-mast that was stepped too far forward to please a critical eye, whilst her main-mast stood too far aft, its nearness to the mizzen-mast offending the gaze by an appearance of crowding. but she was very spick and span: as fresh as though just launched; her glossy, black sides trembled with the lustre of the sea; her canvas was spacious and superb in cut and set. the white line of hammock cloths delightfully contrasted with the gilt rope of beading which ran the length of her below the wash streak, and which terminated on the stern in a flourish of gilt scroll amid which the windows gleamed darkly like those of old harbour house duskily shining amidst the foliage of creepers.
the regular enquiry was made from the frigate's quarterdeck by an officer, and the regular information was supplied by captain weaver.
[pg 418]
"i will send a boat aboard of you!" was the shout which immediately followed weaver's response. "shorten sail, or shake the way out of her as you please!"
"just what could have been wished!" exclaimed captain acton to the admiral. "she suspects us. 'twill save a world of bawling."
sail was at once shortened aboard the schooner and the helm put down, which held the canvas shuddering in smart ripplings of shadow, whilst on board the frigate the lower stun-sail was taken in, the other stun-sails boom-ended, the main topsail yard backed to the wind and the ship's way arrested, all with the alacrity and quietude which are to be found only in a british man-of-war in perfection.
down sank a boat from the davits with a lieutenant in the stern sheets, and six sailors to pull her, and in a dozen strokes of the blades feathering in fire to the sunlight and dropping jewels of brilliant dyes ere they were buried for the next foaming impulse, the boat was alongside the schooner. the lieutenant mounted the short length of steps which had been flung over through the open gangway and saluted the little ship as all sea-gentlemen do, or should, when they step aboard a vessel, even though she should be as mean as an irish hooker.
[pg 419]
the admiral, captain acton, and captain weaver stood in the gangway to receive the officer, a man whose portrait should be painted by the caricaturing brush of a michael scott. he was this side of forty, and a great roman nose stood out like a flying jib between two gaunt cheeks whose hollows when he was silent made you think he was sucking in his breath. he wore a pigtail under a very old, tarnished cocked hat. his uniform coat was scarcely held together by the tailor's thread, and appeared to have travelled a score of times round the world in an age when a voyage round the world was regarded as something more prodigious than we should now consider a voyage to the moon, if such a journey were practicable. his shoes were rusty; his hose had gone into mourning over an absence of soap that was all the same as the death of his laundress. yet despite a garb that made a travesty of the human figure there was something distinguished and even noble in the man's bearing. it was to be seen at once (and no masterful capacity of penetration was needed) that in this officer was the gentleman of old blood, poor and proud, a loyal subject whose heart's life was at the service of his king and country.
it might be thought that the first person[pg 420] in the group this gentleman's eyes fastened upon was lucy. she would be held to appeal in her sweetness, colour, freshness, and youth to a sailor as a nosegay of lovely flowers to a lover of flowers who for months has lived forlorn in a desert of sand. but instead of looking at lucy, the lieutenant stared at the admiral with a very great deal of visible speculation in the screwed-up cock of his eye, till his face relaxed with these words: "pray, sir, did you ever hear of billy lawrence?"
"who commanded his britannic majesty's sloop merlin?" cried sir william. "my dear fellowes, this is indeed an unexpected meeting. and you knew me before i should have known you!"
they grasped hands.
"acton, let me introduce an old shipmate—lieutenant fellowes. captain acton—miss lucy acton."
"of the norfolk fellowes?" enquired captain acton, after bows and smiles had been exchanged.
"ay, sir," exclaimed the admiral; "and as a man of norfolk myself i am proud of the family whose records do honour to the dear old county."
"pray, what is your ship, sir?" asked captain acton.
"the phœbe."
[pg 421]
"who's her captain?"
"lord garlies."
"ha!" said captain acton. "he was at st vincent."
"as a spectator only, i think, sir," answered mr fellowes.
"his lordship evidently suspects us," said captain acton, laughing.
"why, to be sure," said the lieutenant, laughing also, "you have a very slaving, piratical look. who would expect to find a british admiral aboard so rakish a craft?"
"but unarmed, fellowes, unarmed!" exclaimed the admiral. "you won't want to see our papers, will ye?"
and the worthy old sailor chuckled heartily from his throat to the bottom of his waistcoat.
"will you step into the deck-house, sir," said captain acton, "and learn our strange story, which shall not detain you long."
mr fellowes bowed with a smile which charmed lucy by its good-nature, and by the light it kindled in the man's face, where she witnessed that sort of breeding which her heart, as the hearts of most women who are ladies at heart, delight in. the party of four entered the structure, and the cabin servant was ordered to put refreshments on the table.
"this is the yarn, fellowes," said the admiral, who, it had been pre-arranged, was[pg 422] to tell the story. "my friend acton is the owner of this schooner; he is also the owner of another ship, called the minorca. now, this ship, of which my friend was good enough to give the command to my son——"
"a fine fellow," interrupted mr fellowes. "how is he?"
"pretty well—pretty middling, i thank ye," answered the admiral. "but just now in a bit of a fix. it has come to our knowledge that there has been a mutiny on board the minorca, and that the crew are navigating the vessel to rio de janeiro——"
"the phœbe is bound to that port," again interrupted mr fellowes.
"good!" cried the admiral, with an expressive look at captain acton—"instead," continued sir william, "of kingston, jamaica, to which place her cargo is consigned. we are following her in this clipper, which outsails her by two to one, and we have reason to know that she is now about two days in advance of us. the minorca is armed: we are not. and your captain will be conferring a very great favour upon us if, seeing that the phœbe is almost as swift as this schooner, he will allow us to keep him company, so that if we jointly fall in with the minorca, her crew may be overawed by the guns of the frigate."
"lord garlies, i am sure, will be happy to[pg 423] oblige you, sir william, and your friend, in any way he can," said the lieutenant. "pray, how did you happen to hear of the seizure of the ship and her shift of course to rio?"
"the news was communicated to us," said the admiral, "in a letter which had been written before the ship sailed by a conspicuous member of the crew. a copy of this letter fell into captain acton's hands on the very day the minorca left old harbour town, and my friend immediately arranged to pursue his ship in this smart schooner when she could be got ready."
the admiral spoke with a steady face and with a steady voice. he was giving a version of the story which to all intents and purposes was true, and there was nothing in the relation, as previously devised, to alarm his conscience as a gentleman and a man of honour by inaccuracy.
"i see," exclaimed mr fellowes. "but are you sure of the situation of the chase?"
"why, sir, yes, as sure as we can be of anything at sea," said captain acton, who thought it judicious and proper to join in. "yesterday we spoke the brig louisa ann of whitby, who reported that three days before, she had asked for some provisions from a ship named the minorca whose rig was that of my barque. there is no doubt that my ship[pg 424] is just ahead of us, and that our superior sailing will enable us to overhaul her within a week. the effect of the frigate's presence will be to rescue the capture from the trouble of bloodshed. when your guns are seen, sir, and the character of your ship distinguished, the mutineers will back their topsail yard and leave us to quietly take possession."
the lieutenant politely nodded his agreement with this view, and finished his glass of brandy and soda-water. at long intervals, to compare the lapses with the short time he spent on board, he directed a look at lucy; but the glance was that of a man who knows that women do not admire him, and do not want him, a poor, plain, and elderly man: and whose policy, resolved long ago, was to give the marriageable part of the sex a very wide berth.
the conversation at the admiral's instance, and to his own and the relief of captain acton and his daughter, was now changed into a few questions and answers which have nothing whatever to do with this narrative; and after a visit that had lasted about twenty minutes, mr fellowes took his leave, cordially and with a hearty handshake bidding his old captain god-speed and farewell, and bowing with dignity and much respect and a pleasant kindness of expression of face to captain acton,[pg 425] and the sweet girl whose story, had the admiral or captain acton thought fit to relate it, would no doubt have exchanged his light, superficial, uncritical regard into a gaze of admiration and astonishment.
"i suppose that is lord garlies whom he is addressing," exclaimed captain acton, on the arrival of the lieutenant at his ship.
the question was answered by the person thus referred to coming to the ship's side after receiving mr fellowes' report. the preliminary hail having been bawled—the two vessels lay close together, and those aboard one might hear the wash of the waters alongside the other, in the falls of silence—the person referred to by captain acton shouted: "i shall have much pleasure in complying with your request."
"we beg to thank you most cordially," replied the admiral, who, in response to captain acton's desire, was acting as spokesman in this passage. "may i venture to ask if i have the honour of addressing my lord garlies?"
his lordship bowed: upon which the admiral and captain acton paid him the homage of their hats in a well-accentuated flourish of courtesy, for not only was lord garlies a brave man and a fine seaman: he was the son of an earl and heir to a title which made a[pg 426] claim that in its way was not less irresistible in 1805 than it may be found a hundred years later.
"the best course we can adopt," cried lord garlies, "is to keep the width of the horizons between us. i will take the western and you the eastern seaboard. this from aloft will enable us to command a large surface of sea. the rig of the vessel you are chasing will determine her for us. if i sight such a vessel on the starboard bow, i will hoist a large red flag at the mizzen-royal-masthead; if on the larboard bow, a white flag at the same place. you will hoist your answering signal and manœuvre to close us; but that shall be as the wind may prove. if you sight your ship, it will suffice if you hoist your ensign at your mizzen topmast head, and an answering signal will tell you that we intend to close with you in chase."
this was deliberately delivered and clearly heard, and, with a flourish of his hand, lord garlies stepped back.
in a few minutes sail had been trimmed on both vessels, and when each had measured a distance that gave the other no more than a sight of her bulwarks upon the sea line, the helm was put amidships and the frigate and the schooner were steered along that course in which they hoped in a few days to overhaul the minorca.
[pg 427]
they were sailing in bright latitudes where the weather is warm, where often the sea rolls in a languid silken swell like the gentle heavings of a carpet of the sheen of satin under-blown, where the stars shine with brilliance and the moon at her full has an almost sun-like power. and very fortunately the two ships were favoured with fine and sparkling days vital with favourable winds. throughout the daylight hours the two ships held each other steadily in view, the schooner under slightly reduced canvas, and the frigate under a press, and at night each signalled her place by rockets discharged at intervals, so that always when day broke the brace of pursuing structures were found to be either abreast, or almost so, each sunk from the sight of the other to the line of her bulwarks.
came a fine, glittering morning towards the middle of june. it was about half an hour after daybreak: the sun had risen, and the flood of brilliance lay broad upon the sea in the east. captain acton was dressing in his cabin, when his door was rapped upon, and captain weaver, whose manner was full of excitement, reported a sail in sight, right in the centre of the horizon betwixt the two ships.
"the frigate has hoisted her signal, sir," he said, "and we have made ours."
[pg 428]
"i'll be with you in a minute. she is too far off, i suppose, for the glass to resolve her."
"i guess she is the barque, sir, if the frigate's signal is right. they command a greater height aboard of her than we can, and i fancy they have twigged something fore-and-aft on the mizzen-mast."
it was two bells in the afternoon watch—one o'clock—at which hour the frigate and the schooner had closed each other. by this time the ship ahead had been raised to a full sight of her hull. but long before this she had been made out as the minorca, by that unmistakable signal of her character—the fore-and-aft canvas on her mizzen- and top-masts. the breeze was steady. all three ships heeled to it. the frigate foamed bending under studding sails, the schooner under all the canvas she could set, and the barque leaned under the heavy strain of every cloth she carried.
it would be impossible to describe the feelings, sensations, passions of three of the principal actors in this story. who can analyse human emotion when its state is one of almost chaotic conflict? sir william lawrence being satisfied that the sail ahead was captain acton's barque, fixed his face in a mask iron-hard with resolution to endure, come what would. his answers were short, and to the[pg 429] point. he had little to say. his tendency to the garrulity of old age had temporarily withered; he was as grim and reserved as though he commanded a line-of-battle ship, whose stern-walk was exclusively his promenade. he was an old sailor and a gentleman: he prided himself upon his descent; he greatly loved honour and loyalty, which is the spirit of honour, and above all, he loved truth. yonder was his son in charge of a ship he was endeavouring to steal from his benefactor; he had by a base stratagem kidnapped the sweet and beautiful daughter of his friend; he had proved himself a liar, a thief, a scoundrel in the most voluminous sense of the word. the people of the frigate commanded by lord garlies might, doubtless must, come to hear all about his wrongdoing, and through them the story would leak with plenty of colour and plenty of exaggeration, into every ward-room and gun-room and cockpit in his majesty's service. these were thoughts and considerations to hold the admiral austerely silent, and keep him to himself whilst the chase continued.
captain acton and lucy often walked the deck deep in talk. the captain had decided in his own mind to place eagle in charge of the minorca, with orders to proceed to kingston, providing there was no disaffection[pg 430] amongst the crew, and mr lawrence would be transferred to the aurora and conveyed to england. what excuses would he plead? what apologies would he offer? what sort of a figure would he make in the sight of his father? in the thoughts of the girl whom in the sacred name of love he had used with such reckless cruelty, as to deprive her of her reason, as he supposed? in the opinion of the kindly gentleman whose confidence he had grossly abused? would he, when landed in england, consent to ship as a sailor before the mast, and conceal himself for the remainder of his life in a distant land? if not, what would he do? what must be his fate?
but though father and daughter talked these matters over whilst they stepped the white planks and whilst the ship ahead slowly enlarged, the topics which engaged them did not contain all, indeed they did not contain even a very little, of the thoughts which crowded lucy's mind and gave a dozen varying expressions to her beauty in as many minutes.
at about three o'clock in the afternoon the frigate fired one of her bow guns apparently at the minorca, a stern, laconic message to her to heave to; for hours ago it was perceived that the chase was the vessel captain acton and the admiral were hunting; and for hours[pg 431] it must have been known aboard the barque that one of the pursuing ships was a frigate heavily armed, and the other a fabric perfectly familiar to every man in the minorca, as the three-masted schooner aurora, the property of the owner of the barque.
indeed the chase was now so near that with the unaided vision her men might be seen moving upon her decks, and the admiral's telescope was levelled at a tall figure that stood solitary and apart upon the barque's quarter, surveying with folded arms and erect carriage the ships which were following him with foam to their hawse-pipes.
when the phœbe's cannon suddenly thundered, the admiral dropped his telescope to look at the frigate, and when he again directed the glass at the minorca, the tall figure, that he well knew to be his son, had vanished.
scarcely had the ball of satin-white smoke, belched from the cannon's mouth, been shredded by the wind and carried low over the heads of the breaking seas in rags and lengths like pieces of a torn silk veil, when the helm of the barque was put down, stun-sail halliards were let go, all in such a hurry that the sails fouled the booms and yard-arms, and painted a scene of confusion aloft, that might have stood as a perfect picture of panic[pg 432] at sea; the yards on the main were laboriously hauled around and the main topsail backed and the barque was at rest, rolling and tumbling very uncomfortably with a great deal of flying and flapping aloft, one man at the wheel, two men standing close beside him in a posture of waiting, and the fore-part of the bulwarks from the gangway to the fore-rigging lined with the heads of the crew.
the barque was swiftly neared by the pursuing ships, and when they were within easy oars' range or hailing distance their way was arrested, and immediately down sank a boat from the frigate's side with mr fellowes steering her and six sailors, as before, rowing her. the boat made directly for the schooner.
"before we board the minorca," said captain acton to the admiral, "we must hear what fellowes proposes, or what instructions he comes with from lord garlies."
but as he said these words one of the two figures on the minorca who stood close to the wheel, bawled, with his hand protecting his mouth from the sidelong sweep of the wind: "the ship's at your sarvice, your honours; and right glad we are that you've overhauled us, as it is about time we was under lawful government."
"that's eagle!" said captain acton. "'tis[pg 433] clear that the crew have not mutinied against my interests."
he flourished his hand in token that mr eagle's words had been heard, and that the rest was to come. the man-of-war's boat swept alongside, and mr fellowes, received by captain acton and the admiral, stepped through the gangway.
"can i put you on board your ship, gentlemen?" he said. "my crew are armed, and their presence alongside may calm the passions of the turbulent among that lot," he added, with a nod at the barque.
the invitation was accepted with many thanks.
sir william lawrence was very grave, his looks were stern, almost fierce, as he entered the boat. captain acton was cool and thoughtful. his brow was knitted; his lips were set. his demeanour was that of a self-possessed man confronted by a condition of things rendered complex by features extraneous to the main trouble or difficulty, yet confounding it by their existence. lucy watched the scene from the after-part of the aurora's quarterdeck. she stood alone in that part of the ship leaning upon the rail, and once or twice her gaze followed the boat that was bearing her father and the admiral to the minorca; but it was chiefly directed at the[pg 434] barque whose length she explored for a sight of the tall figure whom she had immediately recognised as mr lawrence, whilst sir william was surveying his son through his glass. she mused upon the amazing passage of her life that had filled the interval between the time of her going on board yonder ship, believing her father to be lying dangerously injured in her, down to the hour of her transference to the whitby brig. never was her pensive beauty more fascinating than now, whilst her soft dark eyes brooded upon the ship that had been her floating prison. what would mr lawrence say or think when he came to understand that her madness was feigned, a dramatic stratagem to obtain liberty and restoration? how would he—but how could he—face his father whom he had degraded, and her father whom he had robbed and wronged?
she sighed; the distress of her heart saddened her face with a meaning as of tears.
mr eagle stood at the head of the side ladder when captain acton and the others stepped on board. at his elbow was mr pledge. some of the crew were grinning, and all seemed to be hugely delighted by what was happening.
"we have followed and found you, sir," were captain acton's first words to mr eagle.
"s'elp me, your honour, it's no fault of any[pg 435] man aboard saving the party you gave the command of this ship to," answered mr eagle in a profoundly respectful, obsequious, yet sour and protesting manner and voice as though he had been wounded in a very delicate part of his honour.
"i'm here to witness to that, sir, and so's the men," said mr pledge.
"reserve what you have to say for my private ear!" exclaimed captain acton, with a severe look and in a stern voice. "where is your captain?"
"he left the deck when the frigate fired a gun," replied mr eagle, "and i haven't seen him since."
"i believe he's done for himself," said mr pledge, addressing nobody in particular; "i fancied i heer'd a shot fired in the cabin."
"you didn't run down to see?" cried captain acton. "come, sir william! will you kindly follow, mr fellowes?" and attended by the two he had named, he hastened to the companion-hatch and all three ran below.
the cabin—the "great cabbin," as it would have been called by our ancestors—was empty of everything but its furniture. captain acton knew his ship. he walked straight to the door of the captain's berth or cabin—that compartment in which mr walter lawrence[pg 436] had locked up miss lucy acton—and threw it open. the sight that met their eyes caused an instant arrest in the movements of the three gentlemen from one of whom, the admiral, an exclamation in the note of a groan escaped.
on his face stretched along the cabin floor, his arms extended, his right hand grasping the butt-end of a pistol, was the body of mr lawrence. that the pistol had quite recently been exploded might be known by the smell of the gunpowder that lurked in the atmosphere. by the side of this motionless figure lying prone, knelt the distorted shape of paul, the steward, who, on the door being flung open, and on catching sight of captain acton and the admiral, sprang to his feet and recoiled into a corner of the cabin, with his face blanched by terror which had immediately visited him on top of the wild, uncalculating passion of grief which commonly besieges vulgar persons of this man's mental calibre who are likewise freaks of nature.
after a moment or two of hesitation due to the consternation excited by the unexpected spectacle upon the cabin deck, captain acton and mr fellowes ran to the prostrate man, and acton cried: "he has shot himself!"
"help me to turn him over, sir," said mr fellowes. "i don't think he is dead."
[pg 437]
they gently rolled the dead, or dying, man on to his back, and the nature of his injury appeared. he was clothed in white trousers, a light blue coat, and a shirt the front of which was ornamented by some light tracing like flowers. he was without a cravat, and his head was uncovered. the left side of his shirt was soaked in blood, and the singed hole through which the bullet had passed from the weapon whose muzzle he had pressed to his breast, was visible in the thick of the dark crimson dye. his face was marble-white. it wore an expression of torture. his lips were parted and grey. the eyelids were half-closed, and the whites of the eye only were visible.
the admiral stood looking as though petrified. all the wrath that was in him, all the fierce and terrible thoughts which had raged in his heart and prepared his tongue for a delivery desperate and fearful in the mouth of a father, melted, vanished, faded as smoke in the air, as a shred of mist torn from a cloud in the sky, and his face wore an expression of unutterable grief, of horror beyond expression in words, every passion and emotion it displayed being irradiated by the light of a father's love which had seemed to be waning and expiring in its socket, but which found life and power in that mute, irresistible prayer addressed to him as a father by an only son whose valour[pg 438] he had honoured, whose beauty he was proud of, whose life appealed to him more deeply in that his career had been halted by an act of folly when his reputation stood high for heroic daring. he went to the side of the body; he looked down upon the face with tearless eyes, and with that same dry sob in his throat which captain acton had heard when the poor old gentleman spoke after mr greyquill's visit, then sank upon his knees beside his son, muttering: "walter, oh, walter, that it should have come to this! i loved you, my son—may god pity me, and have mercy upon you!"
captain acton, deeply affected by his friend's distress, concealed his face by turning his head. mr fellowes, who had grasped mr lawrence's wrist, cried out: "i feel a thread of pulse. he is not dead. i'll away for our medico, and shall be back with him in a jiffey."
he ran out of the cabin. the admiral pillowed his son's head with his arm, and gazed at the marble-still features. never could any man appear more stricken, though 'tis hard to tell by posture or by expression of face the depth of human sorrow, the pang of the wound that death alone can heal. his only son—whom he had cursed for his wickedness—whose professional life, extinguished by an act of drunken madness, had swelled the eyes of the father with the unshed tears of the spirit of[pg 439] a man—lying dead or dying on his arm—self-slain!
"were you here when mr lawrence shot himself?" exclaimed captain acton to the hunchback paul, who cowered in his corner with white cheeks and terrified looks.
"no, your honour," howled the wretch; "i heard the shot and ran in. i'd have asked him to shoot me instead—i loved him, your honour—i worshipped him, kind gentlemen—he was good to me, he was the only friend i ever had in the world. i'd have died over and over again for him."
the hunchback broke down, and roared in tears.
"he lives, acton," said the admiral in a low voice. "some brandy and water might bring him to."
captain acton told paul to fetch some, and the wild, deformed creature of the forest, as lucy had called him, sped from the cabin on the errand.
it proved as the admiral had said. after a little brandy and water had been poured between the ashen lips, mr lawrence opened his eyes. they opened full upon his father, whose face was stooped close to him. consciousness was tardy in her awakening, but on a sudden the prostrate, bleeding man recognised his father, and with that look of[pg 440] recognition there must have come to him some vision of memory presenting scenes of his past. he frowned, sighed, turned his eyes upon captain acton, and closed them, but not as though he had fainted, for the lids were firm set.
whilst they waited for the arrival of the frigate's surgeon, captain acton asked paul some questions which the hunchback answered as though when the examination was over the captain would send him to be hanged forthwith at the yard-arm. in an agony of impatience the admiral awaited the arrival of the medical man, who, considering that there was a space of blown and running sea for the boat to cross and re-cross, returned with mr fellowes in a space of time that was the expression of the habitual and disciplined promptitude of everything in which time finds a place, that is carried on aboard a british man-of-war.
he had been told what had happened, and presented himself equipped with wool, lint, and bandages. he speedily discovered that the pistol had been discharged at the place where mr lawrence supposed his heart to beat. the unfortunate man imagined that the heart is on the left side of the body, whereas it is nearly in the middle, and is well protected by the breast-bone and ribs, so well indeed that only a small portion is unprotected. the bullet[pg 441] had passed clean through the chest and left lung, and come out just below the left blade-bone of the shoulder. the surgeon, on removing mr lawrence's shirt and vest, found the bullet, which had not pierced the vest. the wounds of entrance and of exit were easily seen, and the former was bleeding freely.
when the wound had been dressed, during which mr lawrence kept his eyes shut and his teeth set—he was in mortal pain—the admiral asked him gently if he suffered much. mr lawrence opened his eyes and looked at his father, and smiled slightly. faint as the smile was, mingled as it was with the distortion of anguish, it had in it the charm of a manly beauty which only the decay of the grave could destroy, and in it also were remorse and gratitude. his lips parted in the words, "no, sir," and again his eyes closed.
captain acton, the surgeon, and mr fellowes went into the cabin, leaving the admiral and his son to themselves.
"will he live?" asked captain acton.
"i don't see why he shouldn't, sir; the wound is not mortal. but he will require to be very carefully nursed," answered the surgeon, with the coolness and manner of indifference which are a characteristic of the official medical man who is unburdened with stimulating considerations of practice and fees.
[pg 442]
"there'll not be much nursing to be got out of this shipful of rough sailors," said mr fellowes. "what a fine, manly, gallant young officer was lost to the service in walter lawrence! what made him shoot himself?"
"do you think, sir, that he could with safety be transferred to the aurora?" asked captain acton, with an appearance of anxiety that seemed to render his evasion of mr fellowes' question undesigned. "we could nurse him there. we are a comfortable little ship, better found—certainly in the way of the cabin—than this vessel."
the three on this hint fell into a brief and earnest conversation, and in a few minutes sir william was called to participate in the discussion and deliver his views, whilst the surgeon re-entered the berth to consider afresh the condition of the patient.
meanwhile lucy acton watched and waited on the quarterdeck of the aurora. the hour was about half-past four. the breeze was sinking with the sun; it still blew with weight enough to keep the sails of the three ships steady. but the dance of the sea was growing languid, the rolling foam of the breaking head was wanting in brilliance of flash and friskiness of somersault; the blue of the deep was darkening, and spread in violet shot with light blue and purple gleams to the margin of[pg 443] the reflected glory of the sun where the lines of light steeped into the richer colour.
lucy had watched the sailors of the barque gather in the confusion of studding-sails until the vessel looked as trim and fit aloft as need be; she had also watched the passage of the phœbe's boat to the frigate, and its return to the barque with one man more, whose position on board she could not imagine, neither that nor the reason for his being fetched. the man-of-war lay near, rolling languidly, lifting her copper sheathing on fire with wet sunshine, pointing her guns at the sea as the bright buttons of her trucks described arcs upon the blue sky like the flight of meteors in the velvet deeps of night. but now at half-past four the girl seemed to witness a commotion on board the barque. a man went aloft to the main-yard arm, and another to the fore-yard arm, and some one standing upon the quarterdeck of the minorca, in a voice by which she guessed him to be mr fellowes, hailed the schooner, and requested captain weaver to send whips aloft to hoist a sick man in a litter aboard.
lucy, having sought in vain for any signs of mr lawrence or her father, or the admiral on board the minorca, ran to captain acton's cabin and tried to see the barque through his glass. unfortunately she could not use both[pg 444] hands; she needed one to keep her eye shut; therefore, when she balanced the glass upon the rail, the rolling of the schooner caused the object she tried to see to slide up and down in the lens like a toy monkey on a stick in the hands of a child. however, with her unhelped vision, she presently saw a something resembling the short stage which is slung over a ship's side for men to stand upon to paint, or do carpentry work, float from the deck of the barque to a certain elevation between the fore and main-yard-arms, where tackles or whips had been rigged; she then perceived this something slowly descend into the man-of-war's boat alongside, into which, immediately afterwards, some figures tumbled from the flight of steps at the gangway, and the boat made for the schooner.
as the little craft rapidly approached, swept onwards by six powerful oarsmen, lucy quickly began to distinguish the inmates who, in the stern sheets or aft, consisted of the admiral, mr fellowes, and a stranger. she could also see what resembled a stretcher lying with its head upon the aftermost thwart and the heel upon an unoccupied space in the stern sheets. the girl trembled, and wondered, and stared. where was her father? who was the sick man? where was mr lawrence?
the boat drew alongside, but not until the[pg 445] arrangement of plank and mattress upon which lay mr lawrence had been swayed over the rail of the schooner, and softly and tenderly lowered on to the deck, did she know that the sick man in the ship's litter was the lover whose passion for her had defied the gibbet in its unscrupulous, reckless, daring, headlong determination to achieve.
she ran to the side of what may be called the litter, and looked down upon the face that rested upon a bolster. she clasped her hands. she compressed her lips. no exclamation escaped her, but one saw in her beautiful face the expression of that deep pity which is ever the attendant of love where sorrow is or suffering.
mr lawrence's eyes were open. they looked straight up at her; tormented as he was, his pain had no influence over the composition of his feelings. it was a stare rather than a gaze: and in that stare was profound astonishment at the sight of her, likewise amazement at the sanity of a face, which, when he had last seen it, was deformed, as he had believed, by the madness his behaviour had wrought in her; but before all, and stealing into and illuminating the complicated emotions conveyed by his eyes, was the love which had ever beamed in them when he turned them upon her, a light not to be lessened or obscured by any conflict of passion.
[pg 446]
the admiral, mr fellowes, and the surgeon had come on board when the litter was being lowered, and stood in momentary pause beside it, whilst men were summoned to convey the wounded man to his father's cabin. lucy swept round to the admiral, and with her hands still clasped, cried to him softly: "oh, sir william, it is your son—i could not imagine—is he dying—will he die?"
the surgeon who stood close, and who had been gazing at the young lady with admiration of her face and charms of figure and wonder at finding so beautiful a girl in a little schooner at sea, exclaimed: "i am surgeon of yonder frigate, madam. this gentleman will not die, provided he is carefully and judiciously nursed."
"i will nurse him," cried lucy.
a faint smile lighted up the features of mr lawrence, who slightly moved his head to cast his eyes upon her.
"oh, madam, my dearest madam," exclaimed the admiral in a voice broken with feeling, "how am i to thank you? what words do your angelic goodness leave me for the conveyance of my gratitude?"
"you will tell me, sir," said lucy, addressing the surgeon, "what i am to do, and i will do it. where is he wounded?"
"near the heart. he shot himself!" said the admiral.
[pg 447]
some men were now arrived. they picked up the litter with careful hands, and in a sort of procession mr lawrence was conveyed into the deck-house, lucy walking beside him, whilst behind stepped the admiral, mr fellowes, and the phœbe's surgeon. once only did lucy speak in that solemn march from the quarterdeck into the little interior. she looked back and asked: "where is my father?"
"he is remaining on board the minorca to see after affairs there, madam," answered the admiral. "i believe captain weaver is to take charge of the barque, and captain acton will himself sail the schooner home."
the litter was carried into the admiral's cabin, and lucy and the surgeon followed.
* * * * * * * *
lucy acton's ardently uttered exclamation, "i will nurse him," cannot fail to an intelligent and imaginative reader to immediately reveal the end of this plain yarn of old harbour town. but many may desire that a specific character should be given to the conclusion of this narrative, and they shall have it.
it would exceed the bounds of possibility to suppose that any charming girl of great sensibility whose heart was disengaged, whose feelings were fresh and sweet, could nurse for the space of five weeks so fine, manly, and[pg 448] handsome a gentleman as mr lawrence without falling in love with him. this may be true of ninety young ladies in every hundred. but what was lucy acton's case? she was secretly but deeply in love with mr lawrence when his own overmastering passion for her impelled him into the perpetration of an outrage upon her person, and a criminal offence against her father. she had loved him with a passion deep and concealed in her spirit long before her abduction, and aunt caroline had guessed the truth. she had loved him with an increasing fervency, even after she had been cruelly abstracted from her home, when she knew that her kidnapper's intention was to rob her father of his ship, and the freighters of their goods, and the crew of their wages. and never had she loved him so well as when she was feigning madness with the aim of being transhipped and sent home by him, and when at every interview his eyes reposed upon her with adoration in their expression and his bearing towards her was as gentle, appealing, respectful, and dignified as though he was courting her in hours of health and content, with her father's sanction, and under her father's roof.
but the contradictions of the female heart! what mental physiologist shall attempt more, without certain failure, than to describe [pg 449]without addling his brains by trying to explain? you might call lucy an impossible character whose presentment may find a fit frame in a novel, but for the like of whom the ranks of women, warm, living, with clear minds and perceptions, must be searched in vain. if this is what shall be thought, let the objection stand: it shall not be reasoned in this place. enough, if actual facts are recorded.
the schooner occupied five weeks in reaching england from the hour of her parting company with the frigate and shortly after with the minorca. all that time mr lawrence lay upon his back; but the wounds slowly healed, and he gradually recovered his strength. and when the schooner brought up off falmouth mr lawrence was nearly well.
he had been nursed by lucy from the time of his being slung over the side. the wounds were dressed by her hands. day after day, hour after hour, she sat beside him in his cabin. she carried his tray of food into his little sea-bedroom, and fed him, or helped him to feed himself. and though at night he was watched by his father, the instructions given were that if the patient expressed a wish for her presence, lucy was to be summoned, no matter the hour of the night in which the call was made.
what could such an association as this end[pg 450] in, but in such a love between the two as must prove irresistible sooner or later as an appeal?
another element of admiration supplied increase of vitality to his passion when he gathered, from her own confession, that she simulated madness to rescue herself from a voyage whose issue threatened lifelong misery to her, and death by the hangman to the other.
captain acton easily perceived what was happening, and might as easily have guessed what was to come. the admiral was as perceptive as his friend, and as reserved.
captain weaver had been sent on board the minorca to take charge of her; mr eagle remained as the barque's first mate, and captain acton himself navigated the aurora to the english channel. he had overhauled mr lawrence's cabin in the minorca and found the "secret instructions" he was supposed to have written, and this paper he would have shown to sir william lawrence but for the circumstance of the envelope being sealed with the acton crest, which signified that mr lawrence had taken an opportunity of borrowing a large silver seal which stood upon the library table in old harbour house, and replacing it, after using it for a nefarious purpose: captain acton[pg 451] had himself used that seal the day before he followed in pursuit in the aurora.
the schooner having touched at falmouth, proceeded to old harbour, where her unexpected arrival aroused great excitement, and provoked much wonderment, and started every tongue into a passion of gossip and conjecture. the crew gave the populace the news that the admiral and his son, mr lawrence, had gone ashore at falmouth, but whether to stop there or whether to make sail from that port to foreign parts, the jacks were unable to affirm.
captain acton and lucy were strictly reserved—in some directions rigidly silent. even aunt caroline, who had looked carefully after the home, and particularly lucy's little terrier mamie, and who swooned away in a bundle of flowered gown and hoop at the sight of her niece, was kept in ignorance of many essential features of this story—where it begins when she steps off the stage—for fear that her tongue should betray more truth to outside ears than it was expedient or desirable they should be made acquainted with.
in the course of a few weeks the admiral arrived at his little cottage. he was without his son, of whom no news could be obtained. gossip had ceased to flow when the minorca[pg 452] returned, and the tongues of her crew once again opened the flood-gate of talk. but what could they declare that should convict mr lawrence of piracy? they said that the minorca had sailed under secret instructions from captain acton which, mr lawrence had gathered, imported the sale of the barque at a place named. these instructions were never read to the crew, because she was overhauled by the frigate and the aurora before the defined parallels of latitude and longitude had been reached. captain acton never denied that he had given secret instructions to mr lawrence. there was therefore no case against the admiral's son. and from the statements made by the crew, confirmed by mr eagle and mr pledge, it was generally held by the honest gossips of old harbour town that between you and them and the bedpost, miss lucy acton had eloped with mr lawrence, had so acted as to persuade the crew that she had been abducted, and had been recaptured by her father, whose sole motive in pursuing the barque was to regain his child.
six weeks after the arrival of the aurora, the worthy, the excellent, the benevolent caroline acton, sister of the captain, departed this life. about a month later news filtered into old harbour town that mr lawrence,[pg 453] who had perfectly recovered his health, had obtained, through influence, which was subsequently traced to captain acton, the command of a small indiaman. some weeks later old mr greyquill was considerably astonished and gratified by the receipt of a draft for three hundred pounds from rear-admiral sir william lawrence, with a request that he would credit mr walter lawrence with the sum, and rule his name off his ledgers. it was understood that much about this time other troublesome, but not very formidable, debts incurred by mr lawrence were discharged by the admiral; but as it was generally known that he was a poor man, it was confidently assumed, and not perhaps without good reason, that captain acton, influenced by lucy, had supplied the money.
it is certain, anyway, that about nine months after the return of the aurora, captain acton, sir william lawrence, and miss lucy acton, left old harbour town, for the neighbourhood of london, where after an interval, the exact period of which being uncertain, is not of historic value enough to demand research, old harbour town received the news, this time in print, in the annual register or la belle assemblée, or some such publication of the period, that mr walter lawrence, late of his majesty's royal navy,[pg 454] only son of rear-admiral sir william lawrence, k.c.b., was on such a day united in the bonds of holy matrimony to lucy, only daughter and co-heiress of captain acton, r.n. (retired).
and thus ended the yarn of old harbour town.
printed at the edinburgh press
9 and 11 young street
