YAMBOO.
A TALE.
Lane, Darling, & Co. Leadenhall-Street.
YAMBOO;
OR,
THE
NORTH AMERICAN SLAVE.
A TALE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
THE
BRAVO OF
Fleecy locks and black complexion
Cannot forfeit Nature’s claim;
Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in black and white the same.
COWPER.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED AT THE
MINERVA-PRESS,
FOR A.K. NEWMAN AND CO.
LEADENHALL-STREET.
1812.
YAMBOO.
CHAP. I.
HENRY had no words to express his gratitude, for such he termed the savage joy which glowed in his breast on this double triumph; and Yamboo, satisfied that he had succeeded in his wish of obliging Henry, received Captain Longford’s commands to prepare for the journey with pleasure.
Miss Longford alone regretted her brother’s acquiescence, or, as she termed it, false indulgence to Henry’s whims; for his many foibles had long since considerably diminished the regard she once bore him, and which she felt justified in transferring to the more worthy and deserving Yamboo; but he had done it with the best motive; therefore, having once given her opinion upon the subject, it was named no more, and she endeavoured, by every generous effort of kind attention, to compensate as much as possible the temporary loss her brother had sustained in the absence of his faithful attendant.
But a very few hours sufficed to convince him, that the sacrifice he had made to Henry’s comforts was far greater than he had believed it possible, and his wants appeared to accumulate in proportion to the distance that conveyed Yamboo from him; for he had long since learned to anticipate his most trivial wishes, knew best how to administer his medicines, and prepare the little refreshments, by which alone his emaciated form and fluctuating health were supported; and scarcely could a remembrance of the short period he was to be absent stifle the regret he too late felt for having allowed him to go at all: while Henry, without one drawback on his visionary happiness, turned every thought to the pleasures which awaited him in the gay metropolis.
Captain Longford’s parting benediction was accompanied by a sum of money bordering on extravagance, with full permission to draw upon him whenever he needed a fresh supply, or thought proper to do so, and several letters of introduction to friends of his own in London, independent of that which consigned him to the future care and protection of Mr. De Lasaux: the former faded with the last view of his father’s mansion; the second, he resolved, should prove his own dashing spirit; and the latter, as they might be a means of enlarging his acquaintance, were preserved with care. The length of his journey allowed him sufficient time to arrange some of his plans; and the first step to be observed was the kind of character he meant to support with Mr. De Lasaux, whom he felt it would be his interest to impress with the most favourable opinion of his new inmate. To Henry Longford this was no difficult task—deception was his forte; and having already succeeded in the practice beyond even his own sanguine expectation, he did not despair of duping others as easily as he had done his father. The pleasing smile which played over his handsome features appeared much too easy not to be genuine; that smile had often been his passport to the favour of new acquaintance, and, in his first interview with Mr. De Lasaux’s family, pleaded much in his behalf. Mrs. De Lasaux believed he would be a valuable acquisition to their little society; her two daughters, who were then at home during the school vacation, fancied he resembled a beloved brother, who had been more than two years abroad, and were on this account disposed to regard him with more than common esteem; while Mr. De Lasaux, though equally pleased with his external appearance, hoped a longer and better acquaintance would prove his internal qualifications no less promising.
Henry, in the mean time, had formed his opinion of the whole family; the former he thought a genteel well-bred woman, and as such would be entitled to more attention than he should otherwise have paid her merely as the wife of Mr. De Lasaux, whom he had hoped to have found what he termed a plain, good kind of man; but he saw at one view the polished gentleman, and reluctantly felt, that much as he had ever prided himself on the ease of his own manners, which had always prevented his feeling the aukward kind of embarrassment he had so often observed in others more modest of their own merits than himself, there was a superiority in those of Mr. De Lasaux he was obliged to acknowledge, and before which his own consequence appeared diminished: but of this he alone was sensible; it was the awful difference between dark deception and conscious integrity; the first guarded every avenue to his heart, was the main-spring of all its movements; the second, with its train of relative virtues, glowed in that of Mr. De Lasaux, and gave to his fine dark eyes a penetrating look, that seemed to search beyond exterior views for the hidden beauty or deformity of the human mind; and Henry shrunk from the deep glance, which shewed him the necessity of still greater caution on his part.
Captain Longford, trusting wholly to repeated proofs of his son’s affection for Yamboo for a continuance of it, and his suitable introduction to Mr. De Lasaux’s family, had not named him in his own letter to that gentleman; and Henry having merely spoken of him as a faithful servant of his father, who was to remain with him till he could provide himself with one, Yamboo was of course consigned to the care of the other domestics, and there left without further notice, till the suavity of his manners, as usual, obtained him friends, though of the humble kind.
Henry, in the interim, had found out the residence of his early favourite, Charles Stukely, and the meeting was productive of mutual pleasure; each had much to communicate, and not less to hear; but as it was instantly agreed that as much of their time as possible should be spent together, it was requisite to introduce Charles as a friend and schoolfellow of his own to Mr. De Lasaux, who had no personal acquaintance with Stukely’s father, or indeed any farther knowledge, than that he was said to live retired upon a small independence; but, on Henry’s account, he was received with politeness, and a general invitation given to him, of which he availed himself.
Thus far every thing favoured the wishes of the young men, who at first cautiously embarked on the stream of folly, through which Charles was to pilot the impatient Henry. Already he had announced his arrival to a few chosen spirits, who were prepared to greet the Welsh stranger, and share the pleasures which he was to purchase; but they soon found, that profusely liberal as he was with money, they had no novice to deal with, and that the abilities which placed him above their power to pillage, rendered him every way worthy of being initiated into their society as one of the fraternity, of which Charles had long been a distinguished member; but, previous to this event, it was requisite he should follow the bent of his own inclination, which in every respect favoured their wishes.
Pleasure, unrestrained pleasure, was the first wish of his heart: but there was still another idol, whom pride and interest compelled him to worship—it was reputation.
A very short period sufficed to convince his new associates, there were few among them with whom he would not in time keep pace; while Mr. De Lasaux, on the other hand, pleased with talents which he did not hesitate to pronounce astonishing at his years, ventured to affirm such abilities, with far less perseverance than is in general requisite, could not fail to make him an able lawyer. Misled by his brilliant capacity, he had not yet so minutely examined other parts of his character: it was natural he should be charmed with London, for its busy scenes were suited to a lively disposition like his, and, so far as he believed consistent with prudence, allowed him to partake in all its varied amusements. He was not quite satisfied that Charles Stukely was altogether the companion he would himself have chosen for Henry Longford, yet, as his manners were perfectly characteristic of the gentleman, and as Captain Longford had allowed the acquaintance in Wales, he had no possible plea for disapproving it; added to which, the issue of many important suits, then depending, engrossed so much of his own time, that he had as yet found no leisure to make such inquiries relative to that young man’s connexions, as it was his intention to do at a more convenient season. He had written to Captain Longford, expressing, as far as the short period enabled him to judge, the high opinion he had formed of his son’s abilities, which authorized him to say, were such as promised to do honour to the profession he had chosen for him.
This letter, accompanied by one from Henry, expressive of his entire approbation of Mr. De Lasaux’s family, and the happiness he enjoyed in it, with an assurance of his own and Yamboo’s perfect health, was truly welcome to Captain Longford, and the more so as Henry, previous to the conclusion of his, added, that Charles Stukely, his old school friend, having partly engaged a servant, well known to his own family, for him, he felt happy in being able to restore that faithful creature to him, even sooner than his indulgent goodness had required; but well knowing how much he must need his attendance, and believing that anxious as Yamboo was to contribute to every one’s comfort so dear to him, that he was nevertheless anxious to get back, he could not suffer his own convenience to be put in competition with the happiness of either; and that he would write again in a few days, to name that on which Yamboo would leave London for Wales.
With this arrangement for his departure, Yamboo was also acquainted, and his drooping heart revived as he heard the welcome information. Henry, it was true, treated him with kindness, but it was not the affectionate kindness, or marked attention, he had been accustomed to receive from him when in Wales; for he seldom saw him save when he was dressing, and then he was always in haste. The servants were particularly kind, but they had little leisure; and though in a fashionable part of London, where all was gaiety and bustle, Yamboo found himself a lone, solitary being, and impatiently sighed for the moment which was to restore him to his beloved captain, who it was his only satisfaction to believe would be no less happy to see him; hardly therefore could he restrain the joy he felt, when told by his young master he had engaged a servant, and that he should set out on the following week for his father’s.
Henry saw the satisfaction this intelligence afforded him, and but that policy suppressed his resentment, had probably in some degree removed the mask which had hitherto so well concealed the traitor; but he merely said—“I am not surprised you should wish to leave London, Yamboo, for unfortunately I am so circumstanced here, as to be unable to pay you that attention I wished to have done, and I fear your time has not passed so pleasantly as I wished it should have done; but you cannot feel any apparent neglect on my part more than I do; and I rejoice that in returning to my father, you will in his indulgent kindness soon forget the short period you have sacrificed to my convenience.”
Yamboo could not dissemble he had keenly felt the difference, and only said—“Yamboo know him captain must want him much, therefore he glad to hear masser Henry do without him.” Nor was this a vague conjecture; for the morning which saw the promised letter laid upon his breakfast-table, was the only really happy hour which Captain Longford had known since the departure of his servant. Elated by the idea of his being already on his journey, his every complaint, real or imaginary, was forgotten; he knew the day, even the hour, on which the stage Henry had named would arrive at the post-house in the neighbouring inn, which was situated three miles from his own residence; and to this day all his attention was turned, with even childish impatience.
The welcome period at length presented itself, hardly less desired by Miss Longford and Yamboo’s fellow-servants than it had been by his master, at whose request one of them set out to meet him at the inn, and accompany him to the happy home, and warm welcome, which awaited his return.
Captain Longford had seated himself at the window of his library, which commanded a view of the avenue leading from the main road, through his small but beautiful park, and through which Yamboo must pass to the house. The period was suited to meditation, and he insensibly fell into a long train of reflection, which led him back not only to the wonderful event which had brought him acquainted with the faithful creature who at that moment engrossed all his attention, but to many subsequent ones. He had always promised Yamboo to protect him while he lived, but his ruined health made that protection too precarious; he had therefore, during this painful absence, made his will, in the which the most liberal provision was secured to him, and with which he meant to acquaint him on his return. There was a pleasure in anticipating the gratitude he would express, and already he saw the affectionate tear, which ever glistened in his expressive eyes when the feelings of his heart were too big for utterance; his own was softened by the idea, and he mentally exclaimed—“Generous boy, knowing, as I have long done, your inestimable worth, your tried fidelily, and needing, as I do, a friend, why can I not impart to thee the corrosive secret that wrings this erring heart, and at once stifle the pang of remorse, which grows keener by concealment!”
Again he sunk into a deep reverie, in which honour and justice were combated by pride and worldly prudence; nor was the contest decided in his irresolute mind, when Joseph approached the window, slowly, dejected, and alone.
CHAP. II.
STARTING from his seat, Captain Longford threw up the sash, and eagerly exclaimed—“Where is my——where is Yamboo?”
“Indeed, sir,” replied his servant, in a tone of disappointment, “I cannot inform you: the coachman says a place was booked for him by a young gentleman, and that he said his servant would sleep at the house from whence the coach sets out, to be in readiness, but that he never came; and, though they were nearly an hour later than usual before they started, owing to some repairs being done to the coach, there was no tidings of him when they left the inn.”
“Strange! incomprehensible!” said his agitated master; “what is to be done?”
This was a question no one could answer. Miss Longford looked her surprise; and the expectation which had sat so light in every bosom gradually diminished, under the more potent influence of severe disappointment.
Seeing the too visible uneasiness in his master’s countenance, which betrayed the anxiety passing in his mind, and knowing how much even the slightest irritation injured his health, Joseph at length ventured to say—“ ’Tis most likely your honour will have a letter by to-morrow’s post.”
Uncertain as this might be, it was something for hope to rest upon; and desirous of any refuge from the terrors which already assailed him for Yamboo’s safety, he eagerly caught at it—“Yes, he must have been ill,” replied Captain Longford, “and Henry will write; but why not by the coachman, when he must have known how firmly I should expect him on this day? but to-morrow, I trust, the fearful mystery will be explained.” That to-morrow, succeeded by several others, passed on, but brought not the expected relief. For some days he endured all the horror of suspense; for having no longer a reason to assign for the strange detention, imagination sickened at his own dark surmises; and having dispatched a letter to Henry, fraught with the most keen reproaches for his ungenerous silence, he resigned himself entirely to the gloomy predilection which had possessed his mind, that Yamboo was lost to him for ever, an idea that added bitterness to the wound which had so long (as he said) rankled by concealment, and would now descend with him to the silent grave, aggravated by the folly of procrastination, which had hitherto prevented his unburthening his heart to the only being he felt capable of soothing him into a forgetfulness of the guilty error he had committed—the only being calculated to speak peace to that aching heart, which too late, more than ever, panted to lay open its inmost recesses to his pitying eye. He had yet to learn how hardly destiny was dealing with him whom it was his duty to have sheltered and rescued from every ill.
Yamboo had seen the letter deposited in the post-office, which conveyed the welcome intelligence of his return to his captain, had most joyfully packed up his little portmanteau, and with no less pleasure took leave of his London friends, previous to his setting out for the inn, where, as the coachman had said, he was to sleep. Henry had promised to accompany him, and a hackney-coach was called to convey them, in which they had proceeded through several streets, when his master recollected an appointment he had with Charles Stukely, who was to wait his arrival at an hotel they were to pass on their way to Piccadilly; having reached this house, Henry alighted to inquire for his friend, when the coachman, closing the door after him, remounted his box, and, to the utter astonishment of Yamboo, drove off with a velocity which rendered all his commands for him to stop unavailing; the fellow either did not hear him, or obstinately persisted in disregarding his orders. Almost as great a stranger as though he had never been in London, and from the hour of the evening, which produced no light but that issuing from the numerous lamps and shop windows, he was perfectly ignorant of the route he was pursuing; but naturally concluding Mr. Longford had told the coachman, on their first setting out, at what inn they were to stop, his chief concern was the surprise his master would feel on finding the coach gone. These reflections were at last interrupted by its stopping, as he judged, in Piccadilly; and, upon the door being opened for him to alight, he said rather hastily, without looking out—“Why you not stop for my masser?”
“Because I had no orders to do so,” replied the man in a surly tone of voice; at the same time taking up his portmanteau, and making towards the house before which his coach stood.
Hurt at the uncouth answer, Yamboo followed him in silence to a small room, into which a waiter led the way, and which he had no sooner entered than both his attendants retired, without allowing him one moment to speak to either. One solitary candle threw its dim light around the apartment, which appeared to him large and gloomy; the stale vapours of tobacco almost suffocated him; and a chilling sensation insensibly crept round his heart, as he stood silently surveying the shabby furniture, scattered in confusion over it. Something whispered him there must be a mistake, and that this certainly could not be the inn at which his young master had booked his place for the coach; and, for the first time, perceiving the bell, he rung it eagerly, and no less impatiently demanded of the man who obeyed his summons, and was the same he had seen before, if he was in any part of Piccadilly?
“Lord bless you!” he replied, as if astonished at his ignorance, “you are far enough from Piccadilly; why this is Tower Hill; though, for the matter of that, you may find as good accommodation at the Gun Tavern as at some of the houses in Piccadilly.”
“But me no want accommodation,” said Yamboo, vexed at the coachman’s stupidity in mistaking the place; “my masser expect me at the inn, and the coach set off in the morning before me get there, unless me go directly; for masser never think where to find me, but he stay at the White Bear till me go to him.”
“Oh yes,” said the fellow, smiling at the artless harangue, “I’ll get you a coach, and a companion to see you safe to your master.”
“Thank
you,” replied the unsuspicious creature, as he seated himself to wait its
arrival. His own anxiety of mind had hitherto rendered him unconscious of the
tumult which now appeared to reign in the house, and to which he continued
listening with astonishment, when a gentleman in uniform, accompanied by three
sailors, entered the apartment. The former, looking at him very attentively,
said—“Are you the lad who was to have set out for
“Yes, sir,” he replied, rising as he spoke; “but the coachman not wait when my masser stop for a gentleman, and now him make mistake, and bring me to the wrong house.”
“And that being the case,” returned the navy officer, to whom he was speaking, “you must now make up your mind to go with me, instead of your master; your journey into Wales will only be put off for a little while; and, in the mean time, you must go into my ship instead of a coach.”
To the astonished Yamboo every word was unintelligible; but, before he could ask an explanation, one of the sailors, clapping him on the shoulder, said—“Come, my lad, we have no time to lose; ’tis getting late, and you look too good-natured to give us any trouble.”
“What you mean?” he at length faltered, half frightened at the strange appearance and address of these people; “what you mean? Yamboo not stir but to find him masser.”
“As to that,” replied one of the sailors, “you may spare yourself the trouble; masters are not so easily found in London; beside, our captain will make you a much better one than him you have lost; therefore you may as well go quietly, for go you must.”
Terror of he knew not what now roused every faculty, as he eagerly demanded where he was to go?
“Only into a ship instead of a coach,” said the young officer who had first spoken to him.
“And for what me go into a ship?” he again asked.
“To serve his majesty, my honest fellow, and fight for Old England.”
Still unable to comprehend the full extent of that misery which awaited him, but too well convinced he was in danger of being rudely torn from every friend, he resolutely persisted in declaring he would not stir from that house till day-light, when he should take a coach and return to Mr. De Lasaux’s house, where he was sure to find his master, who would severely punish the man that had brought him into so much trouble.
“All that palaver may do for some people,” said a seaman, who had not spoken before, “but we stand no nonsense. Come, captain,” he continued, turning to the officer, “say the word, and let us be off; it wont do to stand shilly-shally here all night, when we must go at last.”
“I have already told you, my lad,” said the young gentleman, again addressing Yamboo, “that you must go with me. I have no time to answer your questions why or wherefore it is so; for your own sake, I hope you will come peaceably; but, if you do not, these men, as well as myself; must do our duty.”
Too late convinced he had nothing to hope for, anger, terror, and resentment, at once actuated him; in vain he told them his master would demand him at their hands; they only laughed at his threats. From their mercy he had nothing to expect: for their callous hearts, deadened by their savage employment to every feeling of humanity, disregarded his pathetic appeal to that kindness they knew not; and he now resisted their attempts to seize him, with a strength almost supernatural; but it could not long avail him; overpowered by the number, and levelled to the ground by a degrading blow from one of the fellows, his agonized heart sunk beneath it; and, as the warm blood flowed from the wound he had received, he fervently prayed it might foretell the death for which only he wished, and which could alone release him from his savage oppressors, who, maddened by the unexpected resistance they had met with, inhumanly enjoyed his sufferings as they dragged him forth from the house. Revived by the fresh air, which blew keen upon his defenceless and wounded head, he threw his aching eyes around him, for that succour of which he stood in need; but he was hurried on, with a haste that ill suited the weak state to which his own exertions and ill treatment had reduced him.
Arrived at the water-side, he was rather thrown than led into a boat, which instantly put off from the shore, and in a short time conveyed him on board a tender, into the hold of which, already crowded with beings as miserable and destitute of relief as himself, was the lost Yamboo thrust, without one hope to sooth the piercing despair which had already entered his soul.
Two days passed on, a mournful blank in his calendar of life, and hardly could he be said to exist. Injured in health, sick at heart, he had no inclination to take the wretched food offered to himself and companions in misery; nor was there any one to urge his acceptance of it. Dejected and sullen, he scarcely raised his eyes from the ground, and if by chance he did so, they encountered only some pale visage, on which the characters of despair were as legibly written as he felt them engraved on his own sad heart; if his ear caught a sound, it was that of lamentation, mingled with horrid execrations on the authors of their misery, or blasphemous denunciations of vengeance from the wretched captives: but Yamboo’s grief was not of this nature; he was only sensible of the cruelty which had so unexpectedly separated him from his fondly-remembered captain, and saw no possibility of making his situation known to those whose power alone could release him.
His passion had subsided into that calm which inspired but one wish; it was to lay down the life he felt a painful burden, and to resign into his Maker’s hands the broken spirit, whose only refuge was its God—that God whom Mrs. Beresford had first taught him to know, and whom from that period he had served, worshipped, and adored, with undiminished ardour.
There were moments when a faint hope pervaded his gloomy mind, that Mr. Longford, having missed him on his arrival at the inn, would certainly endeavour to find the coachman, and having done so, might trace him to the house where he had left, and from thence to his dreadful dungeon, which might easily be done, if he remembered the number of the coach; but all depended upon this requisite precaution, which had too assuredly been omitted, as on the third morning of his dreary imprisonment, the miserable captive was removed from the vessel into a much smaller one, which he learned from his fellow-prisoners, who were better skilled than himself in the nature of their confinement, was to convey the impressed men on board the receiving-ship at the Nore, from which they should be again drafted on board different ships, to serve during the war, or the king’s pleasure.
Among this wretched number Yamboo was enrolled, and to this fate consigned, without one effort to rescue him; still his unsuspicious heart, deeply as it was lacerated, dreamed not of treachery; and while he lamented his now cruel destiny, often heaved a sigh, for the sorrow into which it would plunge his captain, and the severe anguish he believed his young master would feel, from having been, though innocently, the cause of all his sufferings, by leaving him as he had done.
On their arrival at the Nore, they were, as he had been informed, conveyed on board the Sandwich; but as several ships were then detained at Portsmouth, waiting for their complement of men, this fresh supply was sent off to join them. Alike indifferent to all that passed, Yamboo had been harassed from one vessel to the other, till he reached that in which he was told he might prepare himself for a long voyage, as it was reported she was going upon a foreign station, and might be absent from England three years—intelligence which served to strengthen the fatal resolution he had made, to take no steps for the preservation of his miserable life, which he rather wished to shorten than prolong: he had hardly tasted food since he left London, and he still obstinately adhered to refusing it.
In his many conversations with the amiable Mrs. Beresford, on the duty and privileges of a Christian, it had never occurred to her, that it was requisite he should be told they gave him no power over his own life; that it must be retained till required of him by his Creator, and that he was not to lay it down at will, and heedlessly, uncalled and unprepared, rush into the presence of his Maker; for never had her generous heart surmised the child of her bounty would be placed in a situation so distressing, that only the dark and silent grave could promise a refuge from the unmerited storm; but this storm had now overtaken him, and remembering only the mercy which he knew to be the first great attribute of Omnipotence, he saw no violation of duty in the rash idea he had formed, of removing the only barrier between him and that state which would at once effectually screen him from the power of his enemies, and place him with his God; the means only was to be determined, for the fatal resolution had been taken: had he been told the nature of the crime he thought of, that it not only militated against his duty as a Christian, but his hopes of salvation, his heart, recoiling from the perpetration of the deed, would have patiently lingered out the remnant of a wretched existence, and stemmed the torrent of increasing misery; but unconscious of the dreadful error into which despair had plunged him, he waited but for the opportunity, which too soon presented itself for the completion of his silently cherished project. Scarcely heeding the harsh mandates which urged him to pass on, he mechanically followed the steps of his no less distressed companions, as they slowly ascended the side of that vessel which was shortly to convey them from every relative tie of duty and affection. Tottering under the weakness of debilitated nature, and totally unmindful of the observation he attracted, Yamboo, on reaching the deck, insensibly clung to a part of the rigging, for that support which his own exhausted strength refused to supply; but he required no advocate to plead his cause, or procure for him that pity he so much needed; it is the natural produce of an Englishman’s heart, and springs spontaneously in every class, equally prolific, from the heart which beats beneath the embroidered vest, to that of the rude unpolished sailor, who passes a perilous life on the uncertain deep. Many of the latter pressed around the patient sufferer, and as they marked the deep characters of silent woe stamped upon every feature, which even his colour could not conceal, they generously bid him take comfort, and in a voice of kindness offered him refreshment. Their commiseration was a soothing balm, for which in his heart he gratefully thanked them; but no entreaties could prevail upon him to swallow more than a little cold water, and which his parched throat required. Believing his sorrow arose solely from the repugnance he felt to serve on board a man of war, they hoped a few days would see him more reconciled; and during that time they endeavoured to amuse and sooth him by repeated acts of kindness and attention; but it was a vain effort; and, as obstinacy is too often attributed to people of colour, they began to suspect he was less worthy their care than they had at first believed, from the impression his interesting countenance had made upon their rough nature when he first joined them; and he was, in consequence of these surmises, again left to his own painful reflections, which still presented the only alternative allowed him, and he determined no longer to delay embracing it.
He recollected, but for the exertion which had been used, how soon his fellow-servant Edward would have lost his life, and the same method promised the speediest termination of his own; the darkness of night would favour his wishes, and he resolved to loiter on deck, till he might unperceived plunge into the fatal waves.
An officer who was quitting the ship on leave of absence for a few days, just as Yamboo entered it, was no less struck by his appearance than many of the sailors had been, and his fixed dejection had occurred frequently to his mind during the visit he was making to some friend near Portsmouth, and on his return to the vessel, he made particular inquiry concerning him. Yamboo, intent on the idea which absorbed every other thought, was as usual pacing the deck with crossed arms, and anxiously waiting the tardy approach of night, which appeared more than ever tedious, when he was summoned to the quarter-deck; dreading nothing so much as an interruption, he reluctantly obeyed, by following the messenger, when the officer, in the mild accents of humanity, questioned him as to his former situation, and by what means he had been pressed into the service, and who and what were his friends and connexions?
Without knowing the purport of these inquiries, Yamboo told his plain, unvarnished story, from the period of his leaving Wales to that which had seen him conveyed on board his present ship; and in his simple narrative of facts, so pathetically described the situation of Captain Longford, in being deprived of a servant whom habit and affection had rendered so essential to him, as also the severe remorse his young master would feel from having so unfortunately, though innocently, deprived his father of a servant whom he valued so much, and had so reluctantly parted from, that it heightened the warm interest his auditor had already taken in his welfare into a determination of relating the whole business to the captain of the ship. There was something in the manner of Yamboo being consigned, as it were, into the hands of a press-gang that appeared mysterious; nor could he in his own mind, though he knew not why, altogether acquit this young man, of whom Yamboo spoke so feelingly, of some knowledge of the transaction; he, however, inquired his address, as well as that of Captain Longford, which Yamboo readily gave him: “And now, my good lad,” said the officer, “having heard your story, the truth of which I cannot for a moment doubt, you must hear my determination: I am given to understand you have hitherto refused all sustenance, and have abandoned yourself to a hapless kind of grief, which account your present appearance corroborates; be assured I will instantly make your case known to those who alone have the power to see justice done you; nor do I hesitate to pronounce you will be permitted to return to Captain Longford; but, in the mean time, it is my express commands that you take whatever nourishment I provide for you; and more, that, relying on my wish to serve you all in my power, you will no longer give way to grief; otherwise I revoke my promise, and will no longer interest myself in your fate, or even write to acquaint your master with your present situation.”
It was not possible to resist such unexpected goodness; and Yamboo having gratefully expressed his feelings, joyfully promised to do whatever he was desired; and soothed by the promised hopes of once more seeing his beloved captain, he became as eager to cherish life as he had lately been intent on destroying it. Health had, during his confinement, been of the least consequence—least wished for, and corrosive sorrow had rendered him insensible of its rapid decline; but returning spirits brought not renovated strength; and the appetite, which he had so long baffled, now refused to relish even the dainties of which he might have partaken.
His kind friend had so far succeeded in interesting the captain for him, that the latter, having seen him on visiting his ship, took him on shore to his own lodgings, where he designed he should remain till he received an answer from the admiralty board respecting him, having already laid the business before their lordships.
The surgeons believed fresh air and gentle exercise would prove more beneficial than medicine towards his recovery, and for this purpose much of his time was spent in walking, by the express orders of his captain, who having written to acquaint Mr. Henry Longford with his situation, advising him, at the same time, to make personal application at the admiralty relative to Yamboo, was no less surprised than himself that his letter was still unanswered; nearly a fortnight had elapsed, and to his eagerly expecting mind it was a wearisome age.
CHAP. III.
RUMINATING on the strange silence, his pensive steps had one
evening carried him so near the ruins of
Hitherto intent on the recovery of his child, Colonel Beresford, for it was himself, had been allowed no time even to observe, much less to reward her deliverer, and his feelings now reproached him for the neglect, as he looked up to him; but the potent spell which had bound every faculty was broken, the name so loved, so reverenced, by confirming his doubts, restored him strength and speech; and throwing himself at the colonel’s feet, and frantically embracing his knees, he exclaimed—“Oh, my colonel! not know him lost, him wretched Yamboo?”
“Heavens!” exclaimed colonel Beresford, scarcely less agitated, “is it possible! Emmeline, my love, look upon your lost favourite. Not know you, my poor boy!” he continued; “only the danger of my child, only such a dreadful moment, could have concealed you from the friend who has so long and anxiously sought you,” at the same time raising him from the ground; while Emmeline impatiently caught his hand, as she said—“ Yamboo, I bless the accident which has led to such a discovery; but I will not now thank you for my life; come with us, that my dearest mother may herself reward you, for she alone can do it. Why have you so long forsaken us, and that too in the same country?”
Looking mournfully in her face, he burst into tears; when the colonel, having partially explained the singular interview to the rest of the party, entreated Yamboo to accompany them home, as he could on no account think of again losing sight of him; but what was his consternation, anger, and surprise, when he was made acquainted with the manner in which he had been brought to Portsmouth, and that he was then only at large on the honour of his captain! but he had no sooner mentioned his name, than the colonel said—“Thus far, then, my poor fellow, the difficulty of your returning with us is obviated; I am personally known to your captain, and must instantly explain my claims to him; at all events, you will go with me, and I shall be responsible to him for your safety.”
Yamboo, engrossed by the various sensations that agitated him, had no longer a will but his colonel’s, by whose side he continued to walk, while his eager eyes gazed alternately on him and his lovely daughter, almost doubting if what he saw was indeed reality; while they, in turn, no less astonished at the unexpected recovery of their long-lost favourite, and that at such a moment, continued anxiously surveying the altered appearance of their faithful Yamboo, whom they had no sooner conducted to the gentleman’s house where they were then visiting, than Colonel Beresford, impatient to regain his long-sought and deeply-regretted servant, left him in charge of Emmeline, while he waited upon his captain.
Satisfied of his colonel’s safety, Yamboo’s first eager inquiry, on reaching the house, had been for Mrs. Beresford; but he was disappointed on hearing she was then at Chichester with her youngest daughter; that the colonel and Miss Beresford had been only two days in Portsmouth, and intended leaving it on the following one; “but now that you are to accompany us, my good Yamboo,” said the delighted Emmeline, “I shall think that to-morrow an age, so impatient am I to assure my beloved mother of your safety: but you have not yet inquired by what means dear papa was restored to us.”
“Oh, Miss Emmeline,” he replied, “Yamboo have so much to ask, he not know what him must say first.”
“And I too,” said she, interrupting him, “am desirous of knowing where you have been, and what doing, since we lost you.”
“Yamboo know only sorrow since then,” he answered, “and now him very wretched; but he have seen him colonel, and he will die happy.”
“But you are not going to die now, my good boy,” she returned, with the sweet affability which had made her his favourite when a child; “we shall take you away from the people who have made you so wretched, and you will again be as happy with us as before that dreadful voyage to the East Indies.”
At that moment Colonel Beresford rejoined them, and with a countenance expressive of his benign feelings, said—“Again, my good and worthy Yamboo, I am enabled to promise you freedom; you are at liberty to return with me to your benefactors, and in the bosom of my grateful family, you shall forget your unmerited hardships; for I have learned from your excellent captain what you have suffered, and my heart is yet pained by the recital: but we will cease to remember the past, or only remember it to make our future happiness more valuable: an order from the admiralty for your discharge this day reached Captain Tomlinson, who only waited your return to apprise you of the welcome intelligence; judge then how joyfully I undertook to communicate it. He has also received a letter from a Mr. Longford relative to you; but eager as I am to learn farther particulars respecting that name, I shall suppress it till we arrive at my own house. I have, in the mean time, given my address for that gentleman with your captain; and if he is really as anxious to see you as his letter expresses, he will think a ride of seven miles a small addition to his trouble for attainment of that satisfaction.”
“Oh, he will soon be here,” said the delighted creature; “masser Henry once know where him poor Yamboo be, and he make much haste to find him.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Colonel Beresford coolly, and not quite so satisfied in that point as the generous Yamboo; “at all events, I shall have an opportunity of personally asserting my claims to become your future protector, and his, or his father’s, must be powerful indeed, if they can supersede mine; for I would not willingly believe that even this long separation, my poor boy, has weakened the strong attachment you once evinced for my family, who with myself have never ceased to regret your loss, and which, together with the situation I found you in, has contributed to strengthen the regard we have ever felt for you. But why this sorrowing countenance?” he continued, observing Yamboo’s pensive eyes fixed on the ground, as if lost in thought; “have you still any doubts of your freedom being secure, or have you a cause for grief beyond that with which I am already acquainted, and which exists no longer?”
Yamboo’s heart was heavily oppressed; he had much to communicate, but knew not where to begin: he saw before him the kind benefactor, for whose fate he had so long sorrowed, for whose restoration he had so often prayed; yet, now that it was effected, there were powerful drawbacks upon his expected joy: that kind benefactor was still his friend; his family, in which alone he had ever enjoyed perfect happiness, were again anxious to receive him; Mrs. Beresford, the excellent Mrs. Beresford, would welcome his return, and beneath their roof he might forget every past sorrow; but there was a barrier to that return, which he wanted resolution to explain. In the first moment of extatic joy, on beholding his long-lost colonel in safety, he forgot the world contained one being of equal value to him; but Captain Longford, and all the train of powerful obligations which bound him to that no less deserving friend, now passed through his imagination, and almost taxed him with ingratitude, for hesitating to make known those claims which must of necessity divide his future attentions; both he could not serve. Ill, helpless, and relying upon him for the very few comforts he could enjoy, was it possible to forsake his captain? and to tell Colonel Beresford he must resign the offered protection, was a task from which his grateful heart recoiled with horror; and it was these reflections which occupied his mind when the colonel’s address obliged him to speak—“Yamboo have much to make him sad,” he said mournfully; “but to-morrow him colonel hear him whole story, see him heart; then he no longer wonder Yamboo no smile.”
Vague and unsatisfactory as was this answer, Colonel Beresford suppressed the anxiety he felt to know more till he reached home; and having named an early hour for their setting off on the following morning, Yamboo was dismissed for the night, to enjoy undisturbed his own reflections, and comment on the various occurrences of the evening, among which his own release from a disgraceful confinement was least thought of: again he reverted to the second separation from his colonel; but he endeavoured to persuade himself, that having once more seen Mrs. Beresford and her daughter, and witnessed their returning happiness, he could tear himself from them, because then he alone would be the sufferer, as he was no otherwise necessary to their comfort than as their generous hearts felt a gratification in contributing to the happiness of a being they had rescued from oppression, and reared by their bounty; while, on the other hand, Captain Longford had taught him to believe his presence was even requisite to his existence, and he knew how much he depended upon his attentions to him: but less interested in the fate of Captain Longford, as a stranger to them, would they not deem this preference vile ingratitude? how should he clear himself from the foul charge? how explain the tumultuous feelings of that heart so devoted to each? yet so strangely situated, it was a painful conflict, which his pillow had not enabled him to decide, when the rosy morn called him from its embrace, and for a while suspended the painful reflection by the more pleasing one, which promised an interview with his benefactress; and he met the colonel and Miss Beresford with a placid smile, which heightened the satisfaction they already felt in returning home, with such a pleasing and unhoped-for addition to their little party.
The colonel, during the night, had, like Yamboo, ruminated on the incidents of the evening with no common feelings. That he should have recovered his lost favourite, at a moment so replete with danger to his child, seemed a second interposition of that Providence which, in imminent danger, had so graciously restored him to his sorrowing family. With part of the promised story he was already acquainted, as far as it related to the singular preservation of Captain Longford’s life, and Yamboo’s return with him to England—circumstances which were communicated to satisfy his eager and anxious inquiries: his own emancipation from a dreadful confinement enabled him to set them on foot for the recovery of his faithful servant; for, during that confinement, neither bribes or entreaties could procure the only consolation he dared to expect, and which might in some degree have mitigated the hopeless misery to which he was consigned by a tyrant, whose heart was ever callous to the suffering captive.
During the eventful night when the allied armies first attacked the sultan’s lines, Colonel Beresford fought with distinguished bravery, till a severe wound, which at the moment he believed a fatal one, unhorsed him. Such was the general confusion of that critical moment, that a party of the enemy, who were retreating, seeing his situation, and actually mistaking him for an officer of Lally’s brigade, who, from wearing a similar uniform, had effected their escape in a singular manner through the lines, raised him from the ground, and conveyed him into Tippoo’s fortified camp; but the mistake was no sooner discovered, and his rank made known, than the sultan gave orders that the strictest attention should be paid to his recovery, till his future pleasure respecting him should be made known; and these orders were so punctually fulfilled, that, though he had been previously conveyed into close confinement, his wounds were skilfully healed; and returning health again enabled him not only to feel more keenly the horrors of his own situation, which promised an almost certain, though protracted death, but also the despair of his amiable family, and the painful remembrance of his faithful Yamboo, whose unfeigned sorrow he could well surmise. He heard that a treaty of peace had been signed, and that Tippoo was again left in quiet possession of his immense territories; but this intelligence was conveyed but with a view of heightening his despair, by a conviction that he had now no hope of release; and it was the only information allowed to reach the interior of the miserable dungeon, to which, on his perfect recovery, he had been removed, and where, tortured with chains, whose iron bondage pierced his soul, he lingered out revolving years, uncertain of to-morrow’s fate; till the restless ambition of the tyrant again brought on his own devoted head that scourge, which was to avenge the sufferings of those whom he had sacrificed, with unprecedented cruelty, to his unjust and lawless measures; again, by violating the treaties he was bound to observe, he braved the power which he secretly dreaded; and again saw collected round his magnificent, great, and wealthy capital, an army, from whose mercy he in turn had nothing to hope: all that his own arm, nerved by desperation, and aided by innumerable troops, could achieve, was done; but all was ineffectual; the fiat was gone forth, which doomed to certain death a monarch, whose talents, rightly applied, might have rendered him a brilliant star in the Eastern hemisphere, where he only shone a dreadful meteor of terror and distrust: in one instant plunged from the high pinnacle of abused power, and his proud honours levelled with the dust, he was destined, if sensible of his wretched fate, at the awful moment of closing existence, to breathe the last sigh of convulsive nature in a vile ditch, surrounded by the murdered corses of his meanest vassals, between whom and himself there was no longer a distinction.
His death gave freedom to many a weary prisoner, whom even hope had forsaken, and among that number Colonel Beresford; his dungeon-doors were thrown open by the British soldiers, who, on their first entering Seringapatam, generously sought in every prison the victims, which a long knowledge of Tippoo’s character induced them to believe were dragging on a wretched existence in them; but with such secrecy had the fate of Colonel Beresford been kept, that nothing could be more unexpected than his appearance among the wretched captives, who hailed their deliverer with shouts of gratitude; and scarcely had he received the unfeigned congratulations of the British officers upon his release, than he eagerly sought among them some one who might be enabled, distant as was the period, to give him some clue to the destiny of poor Yamboo. The story of Captain Longford’s wonderful escape from death, and the means by which it was effected, were still remembered, though the regiment to which he belonged had left India; and the story was now communicated, as also his having returned to England, accompanied by his preserver. Thither Colonel Beresford soon followed, and without any impediment reached a small villa he possessed in Sussex, to which, and not into Scotland, as was represented to Yamboo, Mrs. Beresford had retired a short time after their departure for India, and where she still cherished, in silent anguish, the memory of a beloved and lost husband, unconscious of the happiness which awaited her, for of his return she had no longer a hope, when a friend, who had accompanied him from London for that purpose, announced not only his perfect safety, but his impatience to embrace the objects of his fondest affection, who, in that welcome, unhoped-for embrace, forgot all but gratitude for the mercy which had so long protected, and again restored him to them. Their eager inquiries relative to his mysterious and long concealment from them, included Yamboo; and their disappointment could only be exceeded by his own, when the colonel assured them, that, having traced him to England, he had expected to find him beneath their roof; naturally concluding that he would have returned to his family for that protection, of which his own uncertain fate had deprived him; but it was evident he had not attempted to do so, as in that case he would have made inquiries for Mrs. Beresford, at the house in which they had resided previous to his leaving England, and where her address in Sussex was well known; of course it was easy to trace her. Many and various were the conjectures as to his destiny, and unsuccessful every inquiry, the short period of Colonel Beresford’s return had allowed them to make, when Providence enabled him to repay that debit of gratitude which his generous heart so delighted in acknowledging, by preserving the life of a daughter so dear to his first and kindest benefactor, who feeling in turn his debtor, nobly resolved to reward the deed, by marked attention to his future comfort, unconscious that a second separation was to frustrate his generous design.
There was an evident embarrassment in Yamboo’s manner; but, far from suspecting the real cause, he attributed it wholly to the mingled sensations of joy and surprise, which their unexpected meeting might well have occasioned in a stronger mind; and the manner in which he had been pressed into the navy, as related by Captain Tomlinson, having sown the seed of suspicion in his own breast relative to Mr. Longford’s knowledge of the business, he conjectured that he should find from Yamboo’s little account, that he had experienced treatment previous to this transaction which had stung his feeling soul, and given him cause for sorrow. No sooner, therefore, was the affecting interview between Mrs. Beresford, Matilda, and the faithful creature over, than the colonel kindly entreated him to terminate their painful suspense to know what had befallen him, by a minute detail of the leading events since the moment of his own supposed death, on the night so fatal to the happiness of both; “but as mine is perhaps the shortest story,” he continued, “and you have expressed no less anxiety to hear it, I will first tell you by what means I escaped death, and was, as you see, restored in health and safety to my family.” He then explained, in as few words as possible, all that related to himself: and Yamboo, in turn, became his own narrator, while his deeply-interested auditors lost not a word of his simple and affecting story; for his sufferings the tear of sympathy fell unrestrained; and as, in artless language, he proved the strength of his unabated attachment to them, they rejoiced that, having again found him, they could, by contributing to his future happiness, share the remembrance of every past trial; but, as he continued to expatiate upon the unbounded generosity of Captain Longford, and repeated instances of his affection, with that he acknowledged for him in return, they were prepared to consider him as a powerful rival, who would perhaps wean him from them, when the attention of each was more strongly called forth to the singular incident of his being separated from Mr. Longford; and Colonel Beresford interrupted him, to ask several questions relative to that gentleman, the answers to which served more fully to convince him that he could see much farther into the whole transaction than the unsuspicious Yamboo had done; but these conjectures were confined to his own breast, for he had already determined not to bias his future conduct with respect to Captain Longford, who, he could plainly perceive, would not fail to assert his claims to the future protection of a servant so essential to his comfort and convenience; they were interested motives, but he had too much honour to prove them such to his prejudice. When, therefore, Yamboo had ceased speaking, he merely said—“Then to this new-found friend we must resign you, my poor boy; perhaps I ought to congratulate you upon having gained such a protector, but I must own I shall reluctantly resign that title to a stranger; however, it is to your future advantage we make the sacrifice, and that alone can reconcile us to your loss: remember, Yamboo, you are no slave; and now you will derive a comfort from what was once your greatest affliction.”
“Oh, no,” he replied with eagerness; “Yamboo but slave, then him know what to do, for him duty leave no choice; now him own heart deceive him; it say,” looking anxiously at Mrs. Beresford and her daughters as he spoke, “it say Yamboo must stay here, here only him happy; in a moment it travel far off, see Captain Longford, sick, lame, unhappy; no one do for him what Yamboo do, and then him think Yamboo not live for himself, and he must go to him poor captain: when Yamboo have one masser, him know but to be happy; now him two, love both, and him miserable. Say,” he continued with encreasing agitation, “say, my colonel, what him must do, and Yamboo not trust him own heart.”
“Such a heart as you possess,” replied Colonel Beresford, overcome by the excess of his own feelings, “can never, Yamboo, lead you into error; follow its dictates; and be assured, though I should again lose you, in me you have still a friend, whom you can never lose; at all events, the prospect of a future separation must not mar our present happiness: I shall write to Captain Longford myself, and, till I hear from him in return, you will remain with us; probably his answer will save us both the trouble of deciding how we ought to act on the present occasion.”
CHAP. IV.
THIS arrangement, and the having unburdened his full heart, gave a happy relief to the feelings of Yamboo, who, once more reinstated in his good colonel’s family (his return to which had been warmly greeted by his old friend Edward), was sometimes tempted to believe every incident, not immediately connected with them, must have been an illusion of the mind, till the arrival of Henry Longford interrupted his tranquillity, by awakening every anxiety for his captain, whom he represented as seriously ill, “which alone, sir,” he said, addressing Colonel Beresford, “prevents his personally expressing those acknowledgments he feels due to the protector of his faithful servant, of which, however, I am the bearer; ’tis true, they were consigned to Captain Tomlinson, as, from his friendly letter, my father was prepared to find Yamboo in his charge; but his joy at having him again restored, which is already inexpressible, cannot fail to be augmented, when he shall have learned at whose hands I received him; for he has too often regretted the mysterious fate of the gallant Colonel Beresford, not to rejoice in his return to England; and will more seriously regret the confinement which, by preventing him from accompanying me to Portsmouth, has deprived him of an interview with an officer so long and generally regretted; for I fear, however anxious to do justice to his feelings on the occasion, I shall but ill express his sentiments, or my own thanks, for this recent instance of your goodness to our poor Yamboo.”
Neither the elegant deportment of Mr. Longford, the well-turned compliment, or the easy confidence with which it was delivered, tended to remove a certain charge with which the liberal mind of Colonel Beresford had taxed him; and, though he determined still to suppress an opinion in which he had never yet wavered, there was an expression in the eye, which he fixed upon Henry as he spoke, that created a sensation on his part which the accompanying speech had scarcely power to do away.
“On the score of obligation, my dear sir,” said Colonel Beresford, “it is I who am a deeply-interested debtor to Captain Longford, for his long and kind protection of my valued servant; a series of his goodness, as related by that faithful creature, demands my warmest acknowledgments, and leave me to regret that the period of our better acquaintance must be procrastinated, and the more so, as ill health is the cause. On the mysterious incidents which have combined to terminate my hitherto fruitless search after Yamboo, I forbear to make any comment, since they have been a means of restoring him to me; save that his unmerited sufferings have determined me to trace, if possible, the man who conveyed him to that house, or, rather, I should have said, den, where, from his subsequent treatment, it should appear as if he had been expected.”
“That is an expedient,” said Henry, with his usual self-command, “to which we have already vainly resorted; and, in that point, my own negligence is my constant accuser; for having omitted to take the number of the coach, the villain who drove it has hitherto escaped with impunity: on my first discovering he had left the door of the house at which I stopped to inquire for my friend, with whom I remained but a few minutes, I instantly procured another coach, conjecturing that having mistaken my orders, which were for him to wait, he had proceeded to Piccadilly, and would reach the inn before I could possibly do so; judge then my consternation, to find, upon my arrival, that no such person had been seen: still I waited an elucidation of the mystery, till my impatience becoming insupportable, and endeavouring to persuade myself that I should find him at Mr. De Lasaux’s, I returned to that gentleman, who had, however, no account to give me. The following day, succeeded by another, passed in all the horrors of suspense, still leaving me irresolute how to act, dreading the effect it would have upon my father, in his impaired state of health, and yet hoping, by whatever singular occurrence he was still detained, that Yamboo would eventually either return to me, or find some means of communicating the place of his residence, I deferred, from day to day, confirming those fears, to which I knew his non-appearance at Alvington Manor would give rise: but farther concealment was not possible; and no sooner had my letter reached Wales, than Captain Longford set out for London, a journey to which his present indisposition proves him to have been every way inadequate, as I was summoned to attend him at an inn within twenty miles of London, from which place he found himself incapable of proceeding, and in that period Captain Tomlinson’s letter arrived: it was several days before we reached town, during which time my servant had neglected to name the circumstance to Mr. De Lasaux, and coolly delivered the letter to me on my return, unconscious of the welcome intelligence it conveyed, and which had an almost instantaneous effect upon my father’s health and spirits; the latter deceiving him into a belief that his strength was sufficiently recruited to allow of our commencing, without delay, a second journey, since it was to be rewarded by the recovery of the desired object: but the attempt served only to render him more sensible of the weakness which altogether prevented his doing so; and relying on my promise that I would not return without Yamboo, I was allowed to proceed alone: Captain Tomlinson obligingly gave me every information in his power, accompanied by your address; but the evening was too far advanced for me to set out for your hospitable mansion; and my impatience to see Yamboo in safety, and relieve my father’s anxiety, will, I trust, plead an apology for my early intrusion this morning.”
Thus far Henry had been accurate in his account of the events which had succeeded Yamboo’s departure, save that his servant had received particular orders to keep any letter which might arrive during his absence till his return; and scarcely could he suppress his rage, when the man, unconscious that they were to be delivered in secret, hastily produced the only one in his possession in the presence of Captain Longford, who, eagerly anticipating information, anxiously watched the expression of Henry’s countenance as he perused the contents; but the latter had too much command of his feelings to betray what passed in his own mind; and he congratulated his father upon Yamboo’s safety with well-dissembled joy, only because he had no alternative, no means of concealing intelligence, which, unexpected as it was, stung him to the soul: he had thought it probable Yamboo would contrive some means of conveying a letter to him, and had therefore given his directions accordingly; but the channel through which that letter had reached him was not to be treated with impunity, even had it been given him in private; and no sooner had Captain Longford glanced it over, than he exclaimed with friendly warmth—“Shall I not set out immediately, my dear sir, for Portsmouth, to relieve the anxiety of our poor Yamboo?”
“Certainly,” he replied; “but I shall be sufficiently well to accompany you at a very early hour in the morning.”
This decision threatened at once to frustrate most effectually every future plan Henry had in contemplation, and, with an affected kindness, he ventured to remonstrate against such a step, in the present state of his health, in which he was most powerfully supported by Mr. De Lasaux, who, while he expostulated with Captain Longford on the impropriety of such a journey, secretly wondered at the uncommon interest he so evidently felt in the welfare of a servant.
Henry, on his first arrival in London, had slightly touched upon the chance which had enabled Yamboo to rescue his father in the moment of extreme danger; but he had never revealed the real worth of that excellent creature; and although many of his good qualities spoke for themselves, during his short stay in Mr. De Lasaux’s family, still he was treated only as a well-disposed good young man; but, in Captain Longford’s manner, there was a restless impatience and agitation, for which he could in no way account; nor did the united efforts of himself and Henry avail to dissuade him from the journey, till the effects of a bad night’s rest obliged him on the following morning to resign to his son the entire charge of his favourite, which he did with the following emphatic words—“Henry, I decline proceeding to Portsmouth, because I feel that my life may be the forfeit of my perseverance, and for Yamboo’s sake I am anxious to preserve it: go then, my son, and, as the peace of a father is dear to you, return not without him, or delay that return one moment beyond the period in which the journey may be completed.”
Wholly unable to comprehend the meaning of his father’s words, but determined they should in nowise interfere with his own plans, he replied, that he trusted his speed would prove the zeal with which he entered on the cause: but it was not possible to leave London without acquainting Charles Stukely of all that had passed; and, as much was to be arranged, his able counsellor agreed to accompany him part of the journey, and, having done so, to wait his arrival at the house where they were to part, for his return.
Many were the illiberal invectives bestowed on Captain Longford’s (as they deemed it) unnatural partiality for Yamboo, and many the curses poured on the devoted head of the innocent victim, whom Henry resolved should no longer continue such a powerful rival to his interests; and with this determination he waited upon Captain Tomlinson, who, to his utter astonishment, related the singular event which had restored Yamboo to Colonel Beresford.
Fate could not have raised a being more dreaded, since the very name of such a powerful protector threatened to annihilate all his hopes, as he might even refuse to resign him to his care, or allow him to return at all to his father, who would, nevertheless, he well knew, hold himself bound to provide for him, in the future arrangement of that fortune which Henry had secretly vowed he should never share; and again he passed a sleepless night, for the vicious cannot rest: Nature, when she wraps the busy world in darkness, withholds from the guilty mind that solace enjoyed only by the healthy, the virtuous, and the happy; Longford was neither; restless anxiety and licentious pleasure already threatened to sap the first; the second he had never been; and, with the destruction of a fellow-creature in contemplation, it was not possible he could be the latter: and, on the following morning, he set out for Colonel Beresford’s, still trusting to chance for his future success, to his well-feigned expression of past uneasiness for Yamboo’s fate, and joy at finding him not only safe, but with his excellent colonel: that faithful creature listened with ecstatic pleasure, while his affectionate heart throbbed with the fervent gratitude which he felt due to him, for the trouble he had taken, even in coming that far to rescue him.
Colonel Beresford also heard the account with marked attention, for he was deeply interested in the recital; but, as he always spoke the dictates of an upright mind, he was not long preparing a suitable answer to the demand which Mr. Longford had indirectly made of Yamboo—“I have,” he said, when Henry had ceased speaking, “no claim upon this worthy creature, farther than that which his affection may give me. I rescued him as a fellow-creature, not a slave, and promised him my protection, while he had a wish to retain it: a singular coincidence of events has given him another master, not less disposed to serve him; a grateful interest, doubtless, binds Captain Longford to the preserver of his life; as the child whom I snatched from misery, perhaps destruction, I also feel more than common interest in his fate—feel that I am responsible for his safety, his comfort; and yet one of us must resign him. Captain Longford does not know that he has found his first, his early protector; it is therefore requisite we should meet; and, as he is an invalid, I will have the honour of waiting upon him.”
Staggered by a proposal altogether unexpected, Henry replied, he should communicate his intention with much pleasure; and felt justified in saying, his father would anticipate the honour of his visit with no less satisfaction.
“Pardon me, sir,” returned Colonel Beresford, interrupting him, “if I trespass still farther, by stating my intention of accompanying you to town, as the sooner this matter is adjusted, the better; for I still consider Yamboo my servant; and as he alone must decide the business, by choosing his future master, it must be done in the presence of both.”
Henry had no alternative; and having, with forced politeness, acknowledged the justice of his proposal, and urged the necessity of their early departure, again named the promise exacted by his father. Colonel Beresford was equally anxious to set out; and Yamboo, agitated by the wearied emotions in his own breast, could only clasp the extended hands of Mrs. Beresford and her daughters in silence, as he threw himself into the carriage, which was to convey him once more to his still fondly remembered captain.
On alighting at the inn where Stukely waited by appointment, the well-feigned surprise of his friend at meeting him there, showed at once some derangement in their plan; and having accounted for his appearance, by asserting that his eager desire to know how far Longford had succeeded in emancipating Yamboo had induced him to take the ride, he was introduced by the former, not to Captain Tomlinson, as he was from his own suggestion prepared to expect, but to Colonel Beresford; it was the last name he wished to have heard, for it threatened, in his opinion, to place Yamboo far beyond the power of his illiberal friend, in whose views he was an interested abettor; for money was an essential article to their party, and Captain Longford’s impaired health promised an early and glorious harvest, in which he might be no inconsiderable gleaner: equally mortified, therefore, he returned with the trio to town; where Yamboo’s affectionate reception at one moment convinced Colonel Beresford he must prepare to meet a powerful rival in Captain Longford, who, on again seeing the ardently-desired object of his search in safety, for an instant forgot that the purport of Colonel Beresford’s visit might be to assert his prior claims; these he knew, and was prepared to combat: but no sooner was the mutual introduction over, and Captain Longford’s surprise at the unexpected and equally unwished-for interview somewhat subsided, than a new conflict arose in his own breast: the almost certain loss of Yamboo had, by proving how dear he was to him, at once decided a long-contested point; and he hastened to London, determined to recover him, if money or interest could do it; and having done so, to remain no longer the self-devoted victim of that secrecy to which a mistaken policy had so long doomed him: but that Colonel Beresford, whose exemplary character would make his own base injustice more glaring, should witness his humiliation, was a stab from which his already wounded pride recoiled, nay, refused to submit to: ever the slave of that passion which ruled the moment, and, in the present instance, allowed no time for deliberation, he proudly resolved to acknowledge the colonel’s claims more powerful than his own, and in consequence to yield up Yamboo, although this act would erase every just and laudable one which had stamped the last years of his life with honour and comfort; for to Yamboo was he indebted for both: when, therefore, Colonel Beresford said—“I have waited on you, Captain Longford, to restore in part the faithful creature, in whose fate we have each too deep an interest to decide impartially, I fear, which of us must resign the satisfaction of providing for him in future,” he replied, with an eagerness that shewed the internal struggle—“I acknowledge your claims, sir, and submit to them.”
“But that
must not be,” returned Colonel Beresford with more calmness, “for our claims
are mutual: he has, through divine
“Be it so,” Captain Longford returned with energy, while he looked anxiously at Yamboo for his determination; but it was not so easily made.
CHAP. V.
CLASPING his hands in agony, he exclaimed—“Why not Yamboo die long since? can him leave him colonel, because he find another friend? Never. Can he say to him captain, Yamboo wish to leave you? No. He have but one heart; there him colonel, him captain, both live: Yamboo no choose; if no one say who him stay with, him own heart never tell.”
“In that,” said Colonel Beresford, “a new plan must be adopted. You, sir,” turning to Captain Longford, “have generously allowed my claims to precede your own; am I at liberty to act accordingly, or do you still hesitate to decide, since longer to tax Yamboo’s feelings were both cruel and unjust; I have already stated my pretensions, and added my determination only to part with him for his own advantage: pardon me if I go still farther; should he, in the event of this doubtful arrangement, remain with you, I shall not lose sight of his safety: on your honour and attachment to him I can rely; but I am not yet reconciled to the mysterious transaction which has been the means of leaving him a choice; and, since gratitude will not allow him to shew a preference, we must decide for him: let us, therefore, no longer argue who ought to have that preference, but who shall.”
So wholly absorbed in his own reflections had Captain Longford remained for some minutes, that he either had not heard, or did not rightly comprehend the pointed remark, of which Henry lost not a word; but, unable longer to endure his own feelings, he exclaimed, with an eagerness of manner bordering on insanity—“Hear, Colonel Beresford, for the struggle is now over, hear me, and be yourself my judge. To that boy,” he added sternly, “I owe my life; he will tell you how far I rewarded him for the deed; I soothed his just sorrow for your loss, brought him to England, provided for him, cherished, loved him; all this his grateful heart has told you, will tell the world, and they, like you, will say I acted nobly; but I will tell you how much more I did for him; I threw a helpless, deserted being, nameless and unknown, upon that world whence your humanity rescued him; I it was who consigned him to the unmerited cruelty of a man far less savage than the father who gave him life; to me he is indebted for the scars which tell the miseries of his infant years; I alone condemned him to chill penury and helpless wretchedness. Oh! I know all; I have heard his sad story, wept over his past agonies, would have clasped him to my penitent heart, and told him who he was; but the world triumphed over gratitude and nature’s claims; and still I cherished the consuming secret, nor dared to own I—I was his father! Say, Colonel Beresford, for now you proudly feel the difference, what are my claims to yours? you gave to pity what I refused to nature; you cherished as a father the little wretch, whom I, his father, abandoned; you he venerates; me, yes, me he will henceforth curse!”
That prediction at once aroused the torpid faculties of the astonished Yamboo, whose whole frame, palsied by what he heard, scarcely allowed him power to throw himself at the feet of Captain Longford, who, exhausted by the exertion, to which he was unequal, had ceased speaking—“Never, never,” said the grateful creature; “when Yamboo hungered, cold, and wretched, he no curse him father; now, if he find him father indeed, him heart too full to say what him feel for him; it always call him colonel father, for Yamboo owe him every thing; and still it say he no leave him captain; yet him not know why he love him so much till now.” A sudden recollection prevented his saying more; for his eyes at that moment encountered those of Henry Longford, and the scornful glance at one moment chased the delightful vision, which was beginning to dawn upon his affectionate heart, and told him they never could be brothers; that perhaps even his captain, having owned the humiliating truth, would banish him where the secret was not known; in which case, the unacknowledged Yamboo, as the servant of either master so beloved, was a happier being than he now felt himself.
The sudden pause he made left an opportunity for Colonel Beresford to reply to that part of Captain Longford’s speech addressed to himself; and so totally unexpected, so singular, and to him altogether so distressing, was the confession he had heard, that surprise still kept him silent; when Mr. De Lasaux, who had been no less an astonished witness of what passed, observed the increasing agitation of his friend, and fearing the result, calmly said—“Having fully, Captain Longford, proved by this candid confession of a past error that you intended nobly and generously to atone for it, it is not requisite to adjust in one day what remains to be done; and as I trust Colonel Beresford will so far honour me as to become my guest during his residence in town, I propose that we defer what is further to be said upon the subject for the present.”
“De Lasaux,” he returned, “you know me not: I have been through life the slave of my own passions; governed by the impulse of the moment, I performed the deed by which I was actuated, whether meritorious or dishonourable; alas! too often, in my early days, ’twas the latter. Had I died on that memorable night when the fate of war numbered me with the slain, what an account should I have rendered up of unrepented sins! but I was rescued from destruction, nay perdition, for why should I hesitate to own it, and by whom? the child who owed me life, but whom I refused to own, had never seen! who, with its distressed and wretched mother, I basely neglected, only because they differed from me in complexion; but her injured offspring was destined to revenge their mutual wrongs, by innocently planting in the breast of his unpitying father the keen barbed arrow of remorse. At my own request, he told his artless story. How, Colonel Beresford, shall I avow it, that, when that story left me no longer an excuse to doubt, strange as it may appear, that he was my child, this proud rebellious heart refused to acknowledge what it dared not to disown; and I determined, by heaping innumerable favours upon his grateful heart, to compensate for past injustice, and at the same time attaching him to myself; for I soon found him essential to my happiness, and dreaded a separation. Still I was wretched; the rankling secret preyed upon my health; yet I obstinately adhered to keeping it, believing the ample provision I had made for Yamboo by my will, in which I acknowledged him as my natural son, would be considered ample amends; but he had no sooner left me, to accompany Henry Longford on the fatal journey which has so nearly destroyed me, than I found his influence on my affection unbounded—found that it was no longer possible to conceal the tie that bound me to him, and impatiently I counted the close of every day that protracted his return: the rest you know, save the resolution I had formed, in the moment of parental anguish for his loss, faded before the humiliating eclaircissement, when I found you were to be a witness of it; again I wavered, again pride and nature contested the point; but my child has conquered, and his repentant father, now fearless of the world’s unfeeling sarcasms, dreads only the reproving glance of just men; and of that number you, Colonel Beresford, and my friend De Lasaux, can but judge me with severity, for both are fathers.”
“And therefore more inclined, my dear sir,” returned the colonel, “to extend that lenity due from one fellow-creature to another, conscious that if happily we have escaped the errors into which you have fallen, we are ourselves, as men, equally fallible: for my own part,” he added, willing to relieve as much as possible the agitated feelings of Captain Longford, “I have been so wholly absorbed in tracing the wonder-working hand of Providence throughout the whole business, that I have hitherto neglected to congratulate the kind and worthy being, who, I proudly assert, richly merits the distinction you are about to give him; nor will he be found less deserving the friendship which his affinity to you will entitle him to expect from Mr. Longford, who is also, I understand, your son.”
This appeal to the feelings of Henry was made by Colonel Beresford, from his having marked the varying expressions of that young man’s countenance, as he continued a silent but interested spectator of what passed.
“For myself,” he continued, “since it is not permitted that he should need my further protection, I most sincerely rejoice in his having found those whom nature will render so much more worthy the task. Thus then, Captain Longford,’ he said, taking the hand of Yamboo, “I resign to you every claim upon the child of my adoption, save that affection due to his known worth, his spotless integrity; he is calculated to fulfil every filial duty, and can but prove a blessing to your declining years: you may, therefore, safely brave the sarcastic remarks of the inconsiderate few, who, with faces more fair, want the heart of purity that beats in his breast.”
Encouraged by the conciliating manners of Colonel Beresford, and the no less expressive look of kindness that, beaming in the eyes of Mr. De Lasaux, bespoke the philanthropy which taught him rather to soothe the self-reproving mind than add to its condemnation, Captain Longford exclaimed —“Generous men, you only could reconcile me to myself: rescued from the dreadful bondage of an oppressive secret, and encouraged by your unexpected, undeserved lenity, to solicit pardon from my offended God, I will henceforth endeavour to prove the penitent, erring mortal, who, in the spring of life, dared to trample upon his sacred laws, and to violate those of nature, may yet, in the vale of years, become an exemplary father. For you, Yamboo,” he said, raising him from the ground, where astonishment still chained him prostrate at his father’s feet, “promise that the discovery of what I am to you, and the disclosure of my past cruel neglect, shall not rob me of the grateful affection I have hitherto experienced; say only that you will not, in turn, desert the parent, whose very existence now depends upon the child he once condemned to slavery, and my happiness is complete.”
Yamboo tremblingly pronounced, “Never!” it was the only word which burst the confines of his full heart, where a thousand sensations struggled for utterance; he would have added, my father; but an awful reverence of that name, a sentiment amounting to adoration for the author of his being, thus wonderfully revealed, left him no faculty but sight, and he continued gazing upon him in silence, when Captain Longford, looking round him, said—“Henry, I will now speak with you:” but Henry was no longer present. The scene, so highly interesting to those who witnessed it, was to him insupportable, and he had left the room in agony, bitterly inveighing against his own folly, for having suffered it to take place, and secretly denouncing future vengeance upon the usurper of his rights, for so he basely termed the artless Yamboo.
No one had noticed his departure but Colonel Beresford, who, deeply as he was interested in the eventful fate of his favourite, had marked with no less attention the evident emotion in Mr. Longford’s mind; and the inference he drew from these observations were by no means favourable to the latter: that, believing himself the heir of Captain Longford, he should dread a rival, was natural; it was, perhaps, an aggravation of his cruel disappointment, that one should present himself so unexpectedly, and still more humiliating, that it should be found in the character of a negro; but knowing so well the worth of that character, the affection which he himself felt for him, and which rejoiced to see his elevation, he believed some motive more powerful than disappointed pride had caused the agitation so ill concealed.
Captain Longford had long since dreaded the effects of such an explanation on the disposition of his son, and felt most keenly for a disappointment, which he had meant to render less acute by first preparing him for it; but subsequent events had rendered this design abortive, and left him to regret that the explanation, so requisite to all parties, should, from concomitant circumstances, have been so abrupt; but, totally divested of the suspicions which lingered in Colonel Beresford’s mind, he entreated Yamboo to seek his brother, that he might at once fully satisfy every doubt, and effectually prevent the seeds of jealousy from engendering, by an assurance of his ample power, and firm intention, of providing liberally for them both.
Yamboo obeyed, and mechanically sought the room which Henry had been accustomed to inhabit in Mr. De Lasaux’s house, and, had he been there, would doubtless have remembered he was the herald of his father’s wishes; but he found himself in the apartment alone; it offered a relief to his overcharged feelings, and he instantly followed the first and ruling principle of his mind—gratitude; fervently clasping his hands, and with no less fervour bowing himself to the ground, he silently ejaculated those prayers which, though nature’s purest dictates, expressed his grateful sense of the mercies he had received, and gave the praise where only it was due—to the God whom he served, who alike heard and answered his petition; for who that ever bowed the knee in prayer but felt its benign influence pervade the heart, or arose from the sacred office unsupported, unrefreshed? Yamboo was both: he had entreated strength of mind not only to bear the wonderful change in his destiny, but still more to act worthily in it, and already felt that the arm which had supported him under every trial would not forsake him then; for though new sensations crept round his heart, and fondly whispered the once lone, deserted negro, without one natural claim in the world’s wide expanse, had now a father and brother, it whispered also, that the presence of him who had given both was not less essential to his happiness, than when his untaught lips first acknowledged him, first hailed the divine precepts which he had inculcated from Mrs. Beresford; and rising from the ground with a countenance animated by a conviction of having performed his duty, he was leaving the room, when Henry, with a mind far differently occupied, entered it. Rudely demanding his business there, with his natural diffidence he replied—“Yamboo came to tell masser Henry him father wish to see him.”
“Fawning hypocrite,” he returned, “say rather thy father; I have no longer one, since thy pretended meekness has robbed me of him; but, as it can never put us upon an equality, learn, sir, to remember, when you enter an apartment which belongs to me, to remember also you have hitherto been accustomed to knock for entrance; and tell Captain Longford I have at present engagements, which will prevent my attending his summons.”
Yamboo left the room; but, firm in conscious integrity, he felt at that moment the situation of Henry was far more humiliating than his own; and from this conviction suppressed the reply due to such unmerited treatment, and which his heart, proud only under indignity at the moment it was offered, would have dictated. It was not requisite to remind him of the existing barrier to their equality; nature had made it too palpable; but their complexions, opposite as was the extremes, bore no comparison to the difference of their principles; of that external difference Yamboo was too keenly sensible; but the equity which governed his truly noble mind had never surmised that a hidden deformity could exist in so perfect a model of his Maker’s power, as he had ever conceived Henry Longford to be; but the veil which his own liberality of soul, more than Henry’s caution, had hitherto rendered so impenetrable, was partially withdrawn, and threatened to reveal an implacable enemy, where he expected to have found a friend, a brother; and his disappointed heart sighed, as he mentally exclaimed—“No one see Yamboo’s heart, but every one him face. Ah, why it black? but for that, even Mr. Longford call him brother!”
CHAP. VI.
AT that moment Mr. De Lasaux meeting him, said, taking his hand, which he pressed with friendly warmth, “My good boy, Captain Longford is waiting for you in his own room.”
Yamboo, thanking him for the information, passed on to attend his father’s summons; but the reverie into which he had so insensibly fallen rendered him unmindful that he had himself been the bearer of a message, which he was by no means prepared to answer, or at least in such a way as he felt authorized to do, since it could not fail to displease, if not to pain him for whom it was intended: therefore, on entering the apartment, he merely said—“Mr. Longford would be there as soon as the business which then detained him would allow of his doing so.”
Captain Longford was alone; for Colonel Beresford, with a promise of seeing him again, had taken his leave; and Mr. De Lasaux believing that his spirits, after such a trial, must require rest, had prevailed on him to retire for a few hours to his room, where he promised to send Yamboo to him, and where he then enjoyed the full luxury of openly avowing that affection which had for so many years struggled with his pride, but which now made him as proudly acknowledge Yamboo for his son; and again he expressed a wish for Henry’s presence, that he might witness the fraternal embrace, which was alone necessary to his present happiness. “The affection which he has of late shown for you,” he added, “proves how powerfully the ties of nature plead, and will doubtless soften the disappointment of resigning to an elder brother privileges he has so long enjoyed: his fortune would have been a handsome one; neither will he have reason to complain of that portion which will still, as a younger brother, fall to his share.”
Yamboo waited only till his father had ceased speaking, and, in the grateful effervescence of his generous heart, declined every pretension to that fortune Henry had always been taught to expect unrivalled—“Yamboo not want money,” he said; “he find a father,” and his voice again faltered as he pronounced the name with awful respect: “Gracious Heaven! such a father! then what him want more? he have all, every thing he ask in him father: when Yamboo poor and destitute, he know not to want money; now him rich in friends, money less use; but masser Henry no do without it, Yamboo can.”
“Not so, my poor boy,” said his father, “for alas! Yamboo, you have yet to learn that our merits in this world are too frequently estimated by our wealth: you will need few friends while I am spared to you; but that period may be short; at best, it is an uncertain one; to your fortune you must be indebted for those who will supply my place; and though I acknowledge Henry’s ambitious views, and different pursuits, will need much more than will suffice to procure you every comfort, every rational pleasure, consistent with your present ideas of happiness, still you are his elder brother; and the cruel injustice you have so long sustained demands ample atonement; nothing short of full restitution of your natural rights can satisfy, nor shall I feel at rest until all is settled; for that reason, I am anxious to see Henry, who has yet to learn your superior claims; for both nature and justice demand I should acknowledge you as my heir, by revealing the period of your birth.”
“Oh, never, never!” exclaimed the impatient Yamboo, interrupting him; “if no one know it, masser Henry never will; him always think him oldest; he must think so still; then him keep all him fortune, and the world no ask how it is. If Yamboo must buy him friends,” he added, with a sigh, “very little money will do.”
“And this,” said Captain Longford, striking his clenched hands against his forehead, “this is the creature whom I abandoned to every species of hardship and misery—this the treasure I thrust from me, unconscious of its worth! and why? because, when blushing for his colour, I never examined my own heart, else had I known how much blacker its shade. Yamboo, you have unmanned me; I could have borne the test of your affection, but this unprecedented proof of your generosity, this liberality of soul, is too much; I can only say, may Henry Longford learn to justly appreciate its worth! and He, who alone can guide the erring heart, teach me how I ought to act. A few hours rest, and the silent reflections of my pillow, I feel requisite, and I will try their efficacy, unless your brother should wish for admittance; in which case, let me see you together.”
Yamboo promised to obey his commands, but could scarcely suppress the sigh, which reminded him how little reason he had to expect such an interview; yet the delightful recollection that it was a parent, a kind, indulgent father, whom then he was assisting, and with whom he was allowed to converse, soon banished every less pleasing subject from his mind, to leave room for those more connected with his present happiness; and as Colonel Beresford had hitherto through life been too closely allied with that happiness to allow of his being excluded at so important a period, he anxiously inquired when they were to see him again?
“At least once more,” replied Captain Longford, “before he quits London, which he intends doing in a few days; and I mean that our departure shall follow his very closely, for I am impatient to regain my peaceful retirement, and no less so to satisfy the painful anxiety of my sister, which hitherto no letter has relieved, since I have been incapable of taking my pen for that purpose; to-morrow, however, I will write; at present, my weary eyelids require rest.”
Yamboo entreated him to take it; and feeling no place of so much consequence to him as that which held his newly-found father, calmly seated himself to watch his slumbers, and ruminate more largely upon the wonderful changes in his destiny—“Heavenly God!” he silently ejaculated, “have Yamboo found a father, a brother?” the monosyllable, “no,” involuntarily rose to his lips, and told him Henry Longford would never own his claim, while it painfully revived a remembrance of his late unkind, unmerited treatment; but having attributed it solely to the effects of a disappointment, which he determined to soften by every means in his power, he endeavoured to hope that Henry, convinced of his disinterestedness, would in time allow that sweet communion of souls, which he already felt must be the result of fraternal love.
Not so did Henry argue. The sole possessor of that fortune he expected one day to derive from Captain Longford, he would have wanted no tie of nature or affection to augment his happiness—it was centered solely in wealth, because that alone could enable him to gratify every wish, and he lived but for himself. Of his mother he had long since lost every recollection; policy and interest only attached him to his father; and any relation he might have given him, unless rich and independent of himself, would have been objects of his jealousy—Yamboo was more; the sentiment he felt for him amounted to detestation, and the resolution he formed, not to cherish as a brother, but to persecute, nay, even to destroy the barrier which nature opposed to avarice. Stukely, the confidential Stukely, was again sought, and again entrusted with the accumulated trials which his wayward destiny had to encounter; and on his sage counsel he depended for that advice which his distempered mind so greatly needed.
Charles urged the necessity of patience, because deliberation would be no less requisite than caution in their future proceedings; but patience was a virtue Henry had seldom studied, and it ill accorded with the present state of his feelings.
“I have already, sir, had too much,” he said, with an asperity of manner, which his friend in turn resented.
“Do you come then, sir, to consult me as a friend, or to employ me as a tool? in the first capacity, I believe you have seldom found me wanting, but the latter you shall never make me; however, as there are doubtless many who may be proud even of that honour, I shall leave you, till having found the latter, you may in your cooler moments need the former.”
On saying which he left the room, before Henry’s astonishment allowed him power to reply; not aware of the harshness which had provoked it, he believed the whole world was conspiring against his peace, for never had Stukely shewn such determined spirit; and, for the first time, he felt, that he had placed himself too much in his power openly to defy his resentment; and, irresolute how to act, he returned to Mr. De Lasaux’s, just at the moment Yamboo met him at the door of his apartment, an interview that served but to aggravate the keenness of his feelings, and gave rise to the bitter sarcasms which passed his lips. For some minutes he continued to pace the room, during which he formed several resolutions, but they were far from satisfactory; and finding that Stukely was essential to his plans, inasmuch as that without his assistance he could determine nothing, he again set out for his friend’s residence, regardless of his father’s wishes to see him. The short interval had been of service to them both; it showed Longford the consequence of a friend, whom he could not do without, and whom it would be rashness to offend; while Charles, on the other hand, saw the folly of discarding a friendship, which, though likely to be more limited than he wished, still promised too much to be dispensed with.
In this disposition they met, and a few minutes sufficed to settle the past difference, which was soon forgotten in the arrangement of new plans, and totally obliterated in the dissipation with which they afterwards closed the night, in the society of beings despicable as themselves.
Captain Longford’s sleep was long, and brought with it that refreshment his sickly frame required. The faithful Yamboo, his now affectionate son, was still near his pillow, intently reading, and at first perceived not that his father was awake, till a half-suppressed sigh called his attention. Captain Longford was at that moment contrasting the character of his two children; but not meaning to explain the motive, smiled as Yamboo drew near him, and assured him he was already sufficiently recruited to anticipate spending a very pleasant evening with his friend De Lasaux’s amiable family—a proposal no less pleasing to that worthy man than Yamboo, who eagerly assisted him to rise, and having attended him to the sitting-room, received the friendly congratulations of Mrs. De Lasaux and her daughters, who, partially acquainted with the discovery that had taken place, and already prepossessed in his favour, begged him to be seated, in accents of kindness that Yamboo’s heart most gratefully acknowledged.
“But where is Mr. Longford,” said Mr. De Lasaux, looking round him; “our family party is not yet complete.”
“Nor will it, I fear,” said Captain Longford, “if it depends upon his presence; for I have some hours since signified my wish of seeing him, but he disregards it. Henry is trifling with his own interests, and deceives himself; however, unless he comes very shortly, it will be his turn so sue for the interview he has dared to refuse a father. This conduct must not mar our evening’s pleasure, which must be devoted to friendship. To-morrow Colonel Beresford will call on us, when I have a farther discovery to make, of the magnanimity of soul evinced by that long - deserted being,” pointing to Yamboo: “would that Henry Longford knew his worth, for then he could have no plea for spurning from his heart such a brother; at present, he little merits such disinterested goodness; but to-morrow every thing must be settled relative to the future distribution of my fortune, that Henry may have no cause for his ungenerous conduct, or Yamboo any chance of becoming in any respect dependant upon the caprice of a man who would make