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 an ill use of his power, was he allowed to exert it.”
“But some allowance must be made for the disappointment of a spirited young man,” replied Mr. De Lasaux; “though I should despise his mercenary disposition, if it could induce him to treat you with disrespect, or this new-found brother with severity, merely because his claims threatened to be a drawback upon his fortune, by depriving him of a few hundreds.”
“That privation will in a great measure depend upon himself,” said Captain Longford: “I have sufficient for both; but Henry has yet to learn which of them will be my heir; yet this, with many other things of equal importance, must be explained to-morrow: but we are insensibly falling upon business topics, in which the ladies can bear no part.”
Mrs. De Lasaux, smiling, assured him their want of gallantry had been amply compensated by that of his son, who, it was easy to observe, in the handsome compliment he had just paid her daughter, was no way deficient in that modern accomplishment.
Louisa, who excelled in drawing, was finishing a landscape, which Mrs. De Lasaux, to promote conversation, and amuse her young guest, had entreated her to shew him; and, struck with admiration of her performance, he expressed his approbation in terms which at once surprised Mrs. De Lasaux, and shewed a superiority of judgment far beyond what she had given him credit for.
Captain Longford, pleased by her friendly encomiums, replied, that Yamboo’s hitherto secluded situation had left him no opportunity of proving how far he could become sensible of such perfection as he now witnessed; but that, thus encouraged by the attention of his fair friends, he could not fail to become a zealous candidate for their future favour, and was happy to find him not altogether deficient in the requisite passport to it (gallantry), which, when tempered with good sense, gave the easy polish that at once shewed the gentleman.
“And he certainly cannot have a more able tutor,” said Mr. De Lasaux, interrupting him; “for to the polished manners and known gallantry of Captain Longford, the ladies can all testify.”
This well-timed raillery gave a relief to the embarrassment of Yamboo, by turning the laugh against the captain, who jocosely replied—“That remark, friend De Lasaux, is somewhat severe; for you will scarcely persuade these blooming daughters of yours to believe that this mutilated form and meagre visage could ever have any pretensions even to ape gallantry; but they must not put it to the test, lest, while contemplating their faultless forms, I should be tempted to forget the transformation of my own, by making love to them in earnest; and as I could even now ill brook finding myself a discarded lover of either, which would inevitably be the result of my presumption, I shall, on surer grounds, claim from them both what I think neither will refuse me, that esteem which they may feel due to an old and sincere friend of their father’s.”
The ladies bowed; and Mr. De Lasaux, with a friendly pressure of his hand, assured him, it was a sentiment they had been early taught, and the present interview could not fail to confirm it.
The rest of the evening passed no less pleasantly; and having truly enjoyed “the feast of reason and the flow of souls,” they retired for the night, mutually pleased with each other: but the novelty of Yamboo’s little history, which had been in part related to them by their father, excited a degree of interest with the young folks, and made him the topic of their conversation, long after they had retired to their rooms; but, if the singularity of his fate awakened their curiosity to learn more of it, their astonishment at his easy graceful manners exceeded it; while a remembrance of his fine features, of which each had taken a minute survey, left them to regret, with compassionate concern, the sombre hue of his complexion, “and which is doubtless,” said Louisa, “the cause of Mr. Longford’s repugnance to owning him as a brother; but surely, when his many good qualities are better known to him, he will forget that difference of complexion; for Henry must be too good to be biassed by external appearances.”
“You forget,” said her sister, “that they have already lived many years together; of course Henry can be no stranger to what is so conspicuous, even on our short acquaintance with him: true, he considered him as a servant, but even that humble distance could not have totally obscured the superiority of manners so visible in his whole deportment, and which in a domestic must have been even more palpable. I am afraid Mr. Longford’s objections are of a mercenary nature; in which case, the worthy Yamboo’s claims on his affections will be rejected, upon the plea of his becoming a rival in the large fortune he has been anticipating. Perhaps I wrong him, but I have my doubts if pride will not oppose his ever acknowledging as a brother the man who has once served him in the capacity of a servant.”
“You must not, however, be too severe, my dear Mary,” returned Louisa, “for, in justice to Henry Longford, I would believe that, whatever the motive of his present conduct, he has still an excellent heart, and is much too like our Horatio to act ungenerously; indeed, I think you wrong him.”
“Ah! ah! my dear Louisa,” replied her lively sister, “I should hardly have had the temerity to speak so boldly, if I had known you were so warm a champion in the cause: but is your little ladyship quite sure that you defend him thus bravely merely because he is like Horatio? is there no other ground for your good opinion? That blush is amazingly becoming in candle-light, if its reflection could have tinged your cheek.”
“Saucy girl!” she replied with vivacity, “I should have been charitable enough to have taken it as a voucher of your contrition, for having suffered your zeal for one object to make you unjust to another; and, secondly, for thus attacking me, because I vindicated those who, from being absent, had no power to defend themselves.”
“Oh! if you are going to moralize, I have no chance,” said Mary; “but I certainly wish Mr. Longford could know what a fair advocate he has.”
“And as that information must implicate you, I am perfectly safe,” returned Louisa, anxious to change the conversation; “therefore a truce to the subject.”
Henry Longford’s address was much too prepossessing to be daily witnessed with perfect indifference; and, with no other motive than that she appeared to him the finest girl of the two, he had paid her most attention; while, from a conviction that it was alone because he resembled her only brother, she had received those attentions with pleasure. If the human heart is at all times deceptive at the age of fifteen, how easily may we become its dupe! Louisa, with all the native candour of that age, blushed when the indirect appeal to her real sentiments for the first time led her to question them; but they were of too pure a nature to crimson her lovely features with a reproving shade, still less to strew over them the sickly hue of regret for having erred; the conscious rectitude of her peaceful bosom told her, that in vindicating Henry Longford, she had acted impartially; and she trusted that his own conduct would prove she had only done him justice.
On the following morning he joined them at the breakfast-table; but his presence there, so far from realizing her wishes, appeared to throw a damp upon the whole party. Captain Longford was visibly agitated, Yamboo embarrassed, and her father altogether silent; she could plainly see some recent cause of vexation depicted in his countenance, but of what nature she was not able to judge.
After the usual compliments of the morning paid to the ladies on their entering the room, Henry placed his chair near Louisa’s, and attempted to converse with her; but it was ill supported on either side; the prevailing gloom gave a constraint to her manners, while he was evidently absent.
At the conclusion of their unsocial meal, Mr. Longford inquired at what hour of the day he might claim Mr. De Lasaux’s attention to business?
“You have only to name that most convenient to yourself, my dear sir,” replied Mr. De Lasaux, “and I will attend your commands.”
“Be it then three from this,” he said.
“About that time we may expect Colonel Beresford: in the mean while, I would see you sir,” turning to Henry, “in my own room, if I may be allowed to expect that favour.”
“I shall attend you, sir,” he replied, with cool indifference, “provided that gentleman’s presence can be dispensed with for so short a time,” looking contemptuously at Yamboo.
“I have nothing to communicate, or to hear, which renders it requisite for that gentleman to retire,” returned Captain Longford, with some asperity; “but, as you doubtless have reasons for making the request, you have little to fear from his intrusion,” rising from the table.
Without appearing to understand what passed, Mrs. De Lasaux said—“As you are the only disengaged person, Mr. Longford, you must join my party; we are going to inspect a collection of shells, which has been sent for Louisa to copy, and which will help to amuse us, till there is a necessity for our meeting the gentlemen on business.”
“My name, madam, is Mr. Longford,” said Henry, as she ceased speaking; “am I to understand the invitation as designed for me?”
“I stand corrected, sir,” was her reply, vexed at the pointed remark, which she perfectly understood; “’tis true, that in addressing your brother, I considered him the greatest stranger, and incautiously used the term which, in our longer acquaintance with you, has been dropped for that of Henry; however, I shall be more correct in future: but it is nevertheless you, sir,” at the same time extending her hand to Yamboo, “whose attendance I mean to claim on the present occasion.”
Captain Longford bit his lip, in silent vexation, as he quitted the room; and Henry, without deigning to conceal the malicious smile that bespoke his mean triumph, immediately followed him.
CHAP. VII.
“THE period is now arrived, Henry,” said the former, reaching his room, and closing the door, “when it would as ill become you to continue thus openly to insult your brother, as it would me longer to conceal, either from the world or yourself, what it is requisite both should know.”
“And what more have either to learn, sir?” asked Henry, with arrogance; “have you not already told the former that he is your child; and me what I have too long felt, that he is to rival me as well in affection as fortune? the world will give you little credit for thus openly avowing a low intrigue, unless, like me, they believe you to have been imposed upon by a designing favourite; in which case, they may pity your want of resolution, in being thus easily deceived.”
“At least, ungrateful boy,” said Captain Longford, “the world shall do me the justice to believe I can discern merit from hypocrisy, the truly good from the nefariously vicious; and that having drawn the line, I also know how to proportion the rewards. Further than you are instigated by mercenary motives, you dared not disbelieve that Yamboo is my child; but, if you really do so, learn, what is no less equally true, that he is, both by nature, honour, and justice, my heir: say then, do you longer question my word, or will you drive me to an extremity I would avoid, since your more generous, noble-minded brother has given you an alternative?”
Maddened with rage at the discovery of an event which as yet had never occurred to him, namely, their ages, which giving Yamboo still greater advantages, rendered himself a more deadly foe, in faltering accents he demanded what alternative? and Captain Longford, still anxious to catch at the probability of reconciling him, carefully related his recent conversation with Yamboo, and the disinterested affection which had voluntarily resigned every thing in his favour.
For a moment he paused: to possess his idol, wealth—to be even the reputed heir, since he must be such, or none, was a powerful stimulus to his accepting the offer: but the terms; he must own allegiance to this minion of his father, become a dependant on his liberality for a fortune, to his honour for a title which he was to bestow, and which would for ever harrass him with a galling secret, that must keep him in subjection to a man he loathed, and whose death alone could release him; to that period he durst not look: therefore, without farther hesitation, assured Captain Longford, that, as he could never be indebted for favours to those he should ever despise, he rejected alike the offer and the claims which might either now or hereafter be made upon him, by a man who had so deeply injured him, and whose alliance he could but consider as a disgrace. “To you, sir,” he added, “I still feel the respect due to a father, from whose liberality I have derived every thing; but as you have found it requisite to banish me from your affection, I ask only from your fortunes that humble portion which you may think requisite to support a younger brother, in the profession you have yourself chosen for him.”
Irritated by such unprovoked insolence, Captain Longford replied, that if it was however proportioned to his deserts, it would perhaps fall infinitely short of his present desires, humble as he wished to make them appear; but that, having finally determined in his own mind how he meant to act in the distribution of a property over which he had an uncontrouled command, a few hours would see it adjusted; after which, he must answer to himself for any alteration that might take place, as on his own conduct it would alone depend.
Coolly bowing, he asked if he had any further commands with him, as he had already exceeded an appointment of some importance to himself?
“If you mean that as an idle compliment,” said Captain Longford, “you are certainly at liberty to leave me; otherwise, it was my wish that you should have been present when Colonel Beresford arrived.”
“It is probable I may return before that period,” he replied; “but as my absence can in no way retard the business on which you meet, I have reason to believe that gentleman will not regret it.”
“But you may,” returned his father; “for I am certainly in no instance obliged to make even the smallest provision for the ingrate who can thus unfeelingly insult a parent, and openly oppose his wish of doing justice.”
Without
deigning to reply, Henry left the room, and shortly after the house, which he
did not again enter, till a few hours preceding that in which his father
proposed to set out for
Colonel Beresford had been punctual to the time he named; and in the presence of Mr. De Lasaux, heard a further elucidation of Yamboo’s affinity to Captain Longford, who stated the period he had spent in New Brunswick, and many of the follies which marked his residence there; as also, that more just to the claims of Henry, he had brought him from the same place to England with him, while the injured Yamboo, unthought of, unprovided for, was left to want; but ample atonement was now made; and the colonel witnessed, with satisfaction, the arrangement of a property which insured to his deserving favourite a fortune worthy the possessor, at the death of his respected father; nor was the ample provision made for Henry, as his second son, less liberal; for a few minutes’ reflection had determined Captain Longford to act thus, that at least, if by so doing he could not make Henry the friend of Yamboo, he might have no plea for becoming the avowed enemy, which his present unrestrained violence of temper threatened to make him.
Colonel Beresford having taken a respectful leave of the whole party, and an affectionate one of Yamboo, left London, highly gratified by the singular change in his destiny; and Mr. De Lasaux, persuaded that time and reflection was alone requisite to make Henry Longford more reasonable, promised not only to acquaint him with his father’s future wishes, but the liberal allowance he had made for his present wants; and having no further inducement to remain in town, Captain Longford prepared for his immediate departure; when Henry, with whom Mr. De Lasaux had had a previous interview, entreated a conference; it was joyfully acceded to on the part of his father, who heard, with astonishment surpassing his own belief, the so late haughty spirit of his son entreating that forgiveness for which he owned himself unworthy; and still farther, his wish of being reconciled to Yamboo, whom he no longer hesitated to call brother: delighted with this early and unexpected change in his sentiments, which was alone requisite to his present happiness, and which he ascribed wholly to the influence of Mr. De Lasaux, Captain Longford looked no further for an elucidation, and as readily pardoned the offender, whom he led, with an approving smile, to Yamboo, who, in extending his friendly hand, opened also his affectionate heart, to admit the welcome stranger. Mrs. De Lasaux and her daughters also witnessed the desired reconciliation, which wanted nothing but reality; for, of all present, there was but one who pierced the veil of deception, so artfully adopted; it was Him from whom no secrets are hid, and who but a few hours before had witnessed the solemn compact made by Henry with an associating vice, for the completion of a deep-laid plan of villainy, to which this reconciliation and feigned repentance was a master-key: elate with this new design, he had returned; and as what Mr. De Lasaux had to impart helped still farther to gild the bitter pill it was requisite he should swallow, its efficacy had a visible effect upon his spirits, for nothing could be more pleasant, more attentive, than Henry Longford; and, delighted with her fancied triumph, Louisa ventured, in a whisper, to ask Mary if she was not justified in her opinion?
The hour for their departure was named, which Henry wished to have postponed; but Captain Longford thought it most advisable to part in the present disposition of things; and was some miles on his road to Alvington, when Henry returned to give Stukely and his old companions an account of his success; and nothing now remained but to commence upon the well-projected scheme, to facilitate which the handsome deposit left for Henry in Mr. De Lasaux’s hands was thought an admirable stroke of fortune in their favour; but dreading nothing so much as the impatience of Longford, who, stimulated more by revenge than even his thirst of money, and who had already, by his open violence, made them tremble for the total loss of that property of which they had each promised themselves a share, the first object was to reconcile him to the period which must of necessity pass before any new steps could, or at least ought to be taken; “for shall we not have the gentleman under our eye at Alvington secure enough?” said Stukely.
“And it will be but fair,” said a no less eager dependant upon Longford’s bounty, “to let him flutter a short time in his new plumage before he is finally plucked, since he will have a harder task to slip through my hands than his last proved.”
“That may be as it turns out,” said a third gentleman, who having been a principal performer in the circumstance alluded to, felt the severity of this remark. “However,” he continued, “perhaps to-night’s success will prove there are few more valuable members than myself in the club, as I will have all the honour of plucking the pidgeon we expect, or the shame of being myself defeated.”
“Of that,” returned Stukely, eager to encourage him, “there is but little chance, for he is said to be a thorough novice in the game, and we all know your play; therefore we will drink to his gold, and your success. Gentlemen, fill your bumpers.”
Such was the honourable society of which Longford was a distinguished member, such the commencement of his career in that dissipation, which could but render him a dangerous inmate in a family altogether so amiable as Mr. De Lasaux’s, who, unconscious of his insidious guest, treated him with paternal kindness, and only regretted they had less of his company than they wished; this he sometimes ventured to hint; but as Henry was only absent at those hours over which he had no controul, he was not desirous of appearing inquisitive: but when a relaxation from business, at the close of some important suits, left him more leisure to scan the conduct of Henry, he was less satisfied with it, and even more alarmed at the late hours he constantly kept, than at the frequent permissions he obtained, on various excuses, to be absent for days together with different parties; the object of these parties, and of whom composed, was his first inquiry; the former he found to be such as the fashionable youths of the present age are allowed to enjoy unrestrained; the latter, a class of young men who, with a genteel appearance, contrive, beneath the garb and manners of a gentleman, to conceal those vices which make them pests of society, and the more dangerous, because hidden: as only the first part of their character, therefore, was visible, the danger of these associates was not known; and Henry still continued to pursue the bent of his vicious disposition, till the nightly revels and midnight orgies at length gave to his heavy eyes and altered looks an incontestible proof that his health demanded a cessation from them; and it was on this authority that Mr. De Lasaux ventured, not only to remonstrate, but threatened no longer to conceal from Captain Longford in what manner he was injuring his constitution, and to which his own false indulgence, in a great degree, contributed, by the boundless liberality with which he supplied his purse.
Henry, who was really ill, and found that his strength needed recruiting, promised to abide by advice which was indeed given with the warmth of sincerity, and for a short time confined himself to the house; but it was more from the want of power to leave it, than inclination to do so.
During his temporary confinement, Charles Stukely was a daily visitor, and occasionally others of the party, who having in some degree a character to support, dared to face the light of day, though it often obliged them to affect blindness in passing others of the fraternity, who were only their dearest friends when more welcomed darkness veiled the mutual villany: but his evenings were wholly devoted to Mrs. De Lasaux and her daughters; to them he read, accompanied their music, and was in turn as tenderly nursed by them; for a violent cold, which appeared to have settled on his lungs, for some weeks threatened a decline; but a naturally strong constitution, and the earnest desire to live, which made him studiously attentive to the recovery of his health, soon effected the desired changed, which, however, brought with it no change of sentiment; the wish of returning to the gaming-table was only rendered more keen by the short privation; and the society of virtuous females had but given a keener zest to his enjoyment of that composed of the most abandoned, to which he again resorted with avidity, even more culpable than before he quitted it, since in that short period he had intentionally destroyed the peace which innocently rested on him for a return it was not in his nature to make, as though it would have been uniting the serpent to the dove: to that union, however remote, the artless Louisa was taught to look; in the softest accents he had dared to say he loved, and a thousand tender offices confirmed the declaration; for in those offices he was an adept; and though, with all the native delicacy of that early age, she hesitated in making the same avowal, the soft blush which tinged her lovely cheeks told him she did so—it was the extent of his wishes, and he left her to sigh over a remembrance of those evenings when he alone constituted all her pleasure, or, what was even yet worse, to drink still deeper of the fatal draught, when an occasional evening spent at home gave her added proofs of tenderness, which were, nevertheless, as cautiously concealed from the rest of her family, who were merely sensible that, if Mr. Longford had a favourite, it was Louisa; but now and then, a lively attack from Mary, on her slyness in thus monopolizing Henry’s attention—“But as it is only because he resembles Horatio, you know, Louisa,” she would add, “it does not prevent my setting my cap for conquest, which I most certainly shall in due time.”
CHAP. VIII.
HITHERTO Mr. De Lasaux had not written to Captain Longford, on the subject of Henry’s inattention to that advice which he now began to fear was of no avail; yet, fearful of giving him uneasiness, he still hesitated to do so; therefore nothing had transpired at Alvington to interrupt the peaceful retirement of its inhabitants.
Yamboo,
received with pleasure, both by Miss Longford and the old domestics, was as
readily acknowledged and treated as the newly-recovered son of their good captain,
whom they revered too much, and were besides in themselves too ignorant, old,
and honest, to make any comments on the difference of complexion. Peter once
said—“God bless him! if his mother was as comely as he
is, ’tis no such great wonder master should take a liking to her.”
Captain Longford’s bad state
of health, and distance from any of his neighbours upon equality with himself,
had rendered him quite a recluse; therefore he had little to fear from the
impertinent remarks, or officious inquiries of his fashionable acquaintance,
who were indeed few in number, and but rarely visited him, a circumstance which
left him more leisure for the improvement of Yamboo’s
mind, and which he now set about, with his usual eagerness to accomplish
whatever he undertook. He had for some years proportioned his instruction to
the sphere in which he moved, and had already taught him what was most useful;
but he now determined to add the polish, which was alone wanting to complete
his early labour; and never was pupil more docile, more desirous for
improvement, or tutor more interested in his success.
Peace of mind had brought renovated health, and Captain Longford could either walk or ride round his demesne, with less fatigue than he had done since his return to England, a circumstance that gave much pleasure to the humble neighbours by whom he was surrounded, and who had often shared his bounty, through his constant almoner, Yamboo, who was not less beloved than his captain, when considered only as his domestic; for often had the evening fire, in the lowly hamlet, given a more grateful heat from the effects of his liberality, and often the lisping tongue been taught by the humble cottager to pray for Mr. Yamboo, who had given the loaf from which they had made their wholesome supper. It was now in his power to do still more, and he neglected no opportunity of doing so.
The silver
locks of age were put aside, that the dim eyes might better discern him when he
entered the rude-built hut, and talked with its long-remembered tenants;
industry would stop the wheel to answer a thousand kind inquiries after the
little family; and the youthful peasants, as they climbed the mountains to
collect their brousing flocks, ran, if happily he
appeared in sight, with their infant offering of early flowers. Beyond these
mountains his thoughts would sometimes stray, with sentiments new to himself;
nor did he dare to question their import; and would check the truant thought,
that told him nothing was wanting to his happiness but the residence of Colonel
Beresford’s family in that neighbourhood, or persuade himself that he wished it
only on his father’s account, to whom the society of such a friend as the
colonel would, he thought, be invaluable: but Captain Longford had become so
habituated to the want of society, beyond that which composed his own fireside,
as to be insensible of the privation; and, after enjoying his evening walk,
accompanied by his sister or Yamboo, and occasionally both, would take his
early supper, and retire to his pillow, perfectly satisfied with the happiness
he enjoyed. In one of these rambles, they had stopped at a low hedge, which
surrounded one of the little plots appropriated to the use of a garden; its
peculiar neatness attracted Captain Longford, who, with some surprise, inquired
of his companion how long
Yamboo replied, he believed it still owed him little, as the alteration was occasioned by an inmate, whom he had lately taken in, and who, it should seem, was somewhat fonder of work than himself, as the appearance of both cottage and garden indicated, for both had undergone a visible change.
While they
were talking,
Captain Longford, who till then had not heard of this his neighbour, returned the bow, and began a conversation, by remarking his little crop looked well.
The man replied—“Tolerable, your honour; but it is early days, for I found it in a bad plight, and have but little time to attend to it; nor can I persuade master Darwin to take any share in the labour.”
“That I can readily believe,” replied Captain Longford, “for he is much too slothful; ’tis true, he is an old man; but a little exercise would, nevertheless, be good for his health. I suppose you did not find his hut much better, for I understand you reside with him?”
“Much
alike,” returned the man; “but my wife took upon herself the management of
that, and has contrived to make it habitable; at any rate, it must do till we
can better ourselves; and we feel thankful to master
“You are a family man, then,” said the captain; “do you mean to remain in our neighbourhood?”
“As long as I can procure work, your honour,” was the reply; “for where a labouring man can get employment, must be his home; and at present I have been fortunate enough to find it at farmer Thornton’s; ’tis true, I have a good way to go, and am sometimes late home, which prevents my attending so much as I could wish to this piece of ground; but I am strong, and not afraid of work.”
“Darwin at least has been fortunate in getting such an inmate,” returned Captain Longford; “and I hope, for his sake as well as your own, that you will be equally so in getting employment, honest man; good-night to you.”
The man returned the salute, and began to weed.
“A
sturdy-looking labourer that,” said Captain Longford, as they left the spot;
“how long has he been among us?”
“A few weeks only, sir,”
Yamboo replied; “as, from what he understood, they had returned with Darwin
from *****, when he last visited his son and daughter; as having one evening remarked,
among a group of the village children, a face he did not know, he was told,
upon inquiry, that the little stranger had come home with master Darwin, and
lived with his father and mother at the cottage; and a beautiful boy he is,”
added Yamboo.
The following morning, as Miss Longford was sitting at the window which faced the nearest road to the village, she observed to Yamboo, who, with Captain Longford, was reading in a distant part of the room, that she believed the child he had admired so much was coming to the house, as his companion, Winifred Williams, had already made her best curtsey, and was trying to make him sensible that he was to be no less polite.
Yamboo confirmed her supposition, by asserting it was really him; and she immediately gave orders for their being admitted. Winifred, shortly after, entered the room, leading in the rosy stranger, who engrossed so much of her attention as to have rendered her altogether unmindful of her own errand, till Captain Longford having asked his name, which he boldly answered was William Forrester, with several other trifling questions, his sister inquired of Winifred what had brought them so early to the manor?
“’Twas to tell her good ladyship that neighbour Darwin was very sick,” she said; “that his mother had made him posset, but he was not able to take it, and only begged she would send to madam at the manor, as the sight of her ladyship would do him more good, for he had a favour to beg of her; that she should have been there before, but William would come with her, God bless his little heart! and he could not run so fast as she did.”
Miss Longford promised to be at the cottage immediately; and having hastily prepared some light nourishment for the invalid, dispatched Winifred and her young companion, who, delighted with the notice of the two gentlemen, with whom he would have willingly staid, very reluctantly obeyed her summons to depart. He was at first somewhat shy of Yamboo, but the gentle accents in which he spoke banished every apprehension; and though he still continued to fix his eyes upon him, the artless inquiry of—“Shall I come and see you again, if I go away now?” proved his doing so was more from an impulse of childish surprise at his colour, than fear. An invitation to do so, with a slice of cake, made him no less alert than Winifred, who, having shared the bounty, tripped after him with a light heart.
Miss
Longford shortly followed them, and, upon inquiry, found
Her appearance at the cottage revived the old man, who, blessing her for the trouble she had taken, said, that, as he felt he should never get over it, he wished first to tell her how grateful he was for all her kindnesses to a poor old man, who had nothing to give her in return but his prayers; secondly, he begged, as she had long paid the rent of his cottage, she would promise him to prevail on the landlord to let Forrester have it when he was dead; for, as they were strangers, he might turn them out, though for certain he could never get a better tenant; “for see, madam,” said the feeble creature, “how mainly neat it looks since they came to live with me; and they have, besides, been very kind indeed.”
Miss Longford was sensible of the difference on looking around her; for her visits to the old man had of late been less frequent, merely on account of that want of cleanliness which she now witnessed, and as highly commended.
Mrs. Forrester, however, said, though it was a little more decent than she found it, ’twas still very far from deserving the kind compliments her ladyship paid; but observed, she hoped master Darwin would recover, for his own sake as well as theirs, as they should be badly off, if obliged to turn out, which they feared would be the case if he died.
Miss Longford, much pleased with the stranger’s respectful manner and appearance, promised not only her own interest, but that of Captain Longford, with the landlord; which promise fully satisfied the old man, who again addressing her, said, he had but one thing more to ask of her ladyship—if she would entreat Mr. Longford to spend half an hour with him, he should die in peace, as it was he alone that made goodman Watkins’s deathbed happy, by talking to him, as nobody else could do; “and I am much more in need of such comfort than he was,” added Darwin, “for I have never been so good a man; but his honour will tell me what I ought to do to find God. I have not gone to church so often as I ought to have done, and used to stay away because my clothes were not so good as I formerly used to wear; now, if I was well, I would go, even in rags,” in saying which, he wept bitterly.
Miss Longford, pleased to see this conviction of his penitent state, assured him Mr. Longford would be happy to give him every comfort; but, as he required a little strength to enable him to converse with him, he must promise her to take some nourishment, which she left Mrs. Forrester to prepare, while she returned to urge the necessity of Yamboo’s immediate presence, as the old man’s dissolution was apparently not very remote: he was certainly very seriously ill, and against such an attack, the age of ninety-five could make but feeble resistance.
Yamboo was literally the good Samaritan, to whom the virtuous part of their humble community flew for succour in the hour of sickness; he was their friend and counsellor in health, their anchor of hope in the closing scene of their obscure existence; but in proportion as the truly good man sought his favour, courted his slightest notice, so eagerly did the less worthy shrink from his observing eye; and among that number, though habitual indolence was his greatest foible, Darwin had ever dreaded his just reproof—“Why you not go to church?” Yamboo would say to him, when he was himself a domestic of Captain Longford.
“Because,”
replied
“But my face not like other people’s,” returned Yamboo, “yet me not ashamed to go in church. God only want the heart; he not look at your coat, or Yamboo’s face.”
Since wealth had privileged him to speak more freely, he had not spared Darwin; but he soon found it was want of inclination, and not the coat, which had so often caused his absence: his ill health, feeble state, and the length of the road, were pleas not to be obviated; and though, in the natural goodness of his heart, which allowed every thing for the failings of his fellow-creatures, Yamboo always returned Darwin’s humble obeisance with a kind inquiry after his health, and sometimes dropped a shilling in his doft hat, he was far less noticed than the deserving many, who were more observant of their moral and religious duties; and this conviction lead him to fear Mr. Longford would withhold from him that comfort which he had seen many of his neighbours derive from his pious exhortations. He knew not that this faithful steward in his Master’s cause, following his divine precepts, never failed to seek those who, being sick, needed the physician more than those who were whole, till seated by his bedside, regardless of the poverty with which it was surrounded, he laboured to convince him how far the penitent sinner could triumph in the expiring saint; and Darwin lived to feel the conviction, to see death robbed of its fearful sting, the yawning grave less certain of its boasted victory, in the which Yamboo saw him laid with decency, and where, among the unlettered monuments of rude cut stone, that told the simple annals of the poor, Darwin’s was seen, graced only by the plain inscription that bespoke his name, and the years he had numbered in his earthly pilgrimage.
The Forresters were allowed to remain, as he had requested,
tenants of the cottage; though no more was known of them than that provisions
having materially increased in price, and work becoming scarce in his own
place, which was stated to be near Bristol, he had left it in hopes of getting
employment in Wales, where he was given to understand he could live much more
moderately, and had set out for *****, to which town he was directed with his
family, consisting of his wife, a brother, who had, since the death of his
parents, lived with him, and his own little boy, William; that, having failed
in his inquiry for work at this place, and wishing rather to live in the
country, where he might get employment as a husbandman, they were continuing
their journey for this purpose, and on the road overtook Mr. Darwin, who
entered into conversation with him, and hearing their intention, kindly offered
to take them in, till they could provide a better habitation for themselves;
telling them, at the same time, his was a sorry one, but in that neighbourhood
he knew of no other; that however, he believed, if willing to work, he would,
for the matter of that, find plenty: this was the chief object, and they
accompanied him home to his solitary hovel, which indeed wanted every comfort
to render it a desirable abode; and Mrs. Forrester had ventured to entreat her
husband, in a whisper, not to remain in so miserable a place, as they were by
no means so distressed as to compel them to do so; but she was silenced by an
assurance, that it was of all others the neighbourhood he most wished to reside
in; and having reasons for it, which it was not necessary she should know, or
at least that he thought proper to conceal, he added, by way of encouragement,
“A little of your good management, Mary, with the help of clean water and
whitewash, will make it quite another thing.” Having no alternative, she set to
work; and, as her husband had predicted,
During Yamboo’s charitable visits, and which continued while its original possessor lived, little William had grown much into favour with him, constantly attaching himself to his side, when permitted to escape from his mother, who, fearful of his intruding, restrained him as much as possible; but he was sure to meet him some distance from the cottage, always accompanied him part of his road back, and never failed to be an interesting companion to his new friend, who delighted in the society of children, particularly at his age; the mother of whom, in these frequent calls, he had seen much, appeared a respectful, kind creature; nor could he help observing that she was uncommonly pretty, and had a form no less perfect than her face; Edwin, the brother, he had also occasionally seen at work in the little garden; but of Forrester he knew little, having only once met him on his return from labour, near the gate of Alvington park, from which spot he appeared to be taking a minute survey of the house and grounds; but on Yamboo’s approach, he bowed and walked on; he had, however, expressed himself grateful for permission granted him to rent the cottage, and was spoken of in the neighbourhood as an industrious man; but there was a reservedness in his manners, which ill accorded with the plain simplicity of his Welsh neighbours; and as he expressed no wish of associating with them, they were in turn equally careless of his acquaintance: neither was his wife or brother better known among them; the former, busied in her domestic concerns, seldom left her cottage, and the latter mixed very little with the young men of the village: but William, who shared in all the pastimes of the younger peasants, lost nothing of the interest his first appearance among them had created; in all their juvenile assemblies, his guileless laugh was sure to be heard; he had learned to climb with them the mountain's height, fearless of danger, and would bound over the craggy steeps, agile as the bearded tenants that broused upon their shelving sides; in all their youthful sports, he was a distinguished leader of the infant train; in short, William Forrester was the standard round which they rallied, and his laughing face among them the sure signal for that glee which ever marked their harmless meetings and rustic feasts; for Mr. Longford’s frequent bounty, in the form of a large cake, or basket of fruit, of which William was in general the bearer, so far from creating a jealousy of the preference given him, only made it more acceptable at the hands of their mutual favourite; while the liberal donor, neither less happy, or less innocent, than these children of nature, glided sweetly down the stream of life, much too grateful for the blessings he was permitted to enjoy to anticipate a future evil.
CHAP. IX.
A LETTER from Mr. De Lasaux to Captain Longford, in which he regretted the necessity there was for saying Henry’s conduct had of late given him some uneasiness, was the first drawback upon the felicity of the inhabitants of Alvington.
“I have,” said that gentleman, “fearful of alarming the too keen sensibility of your feelings as a father, perhaps concealed, longer than I ought in justice to have done so, a change which has nevertheless been visible almost from the time of your leaving London; but I flattered myself I knew Henry’s heart, and still hoped every thing from that advice which I gave him with disinterested sincerity; nor should I even now despair of success, but that he has other counsellors, those whom he falsely terms friends, who continue to counteract that I daily give him, and who will, I fear, in time subvert those principles which can alone carry him through life with honour and integrity. He is certainly much less attentive to business than formerly; but so great are his abilities, that his perseverance, when he does attend to it, would leave me less reason to complain of this, than his frequent absence, and incessant bad hours, by which his health has already suffered. In vain I have remonstrated, in vain assured him it was incompatible with the duty I owed his father, who had consigned him to my care, longer to conceal from him my opinion of his conduct, or my apprehensions that his friends were not such as you would approve.”
‘I had his word,’ he replied, ‘that they were gentlemen and men of honour; and in what instance had he ever given me reason to doubt his veracity?’
‘True,’ I returned; but ventured, as delicately as possible, to hint, that there were gentlemen, whose thirst of inordinate pleasure, to say nothing of the fatal one of playing, might make them dangerous friends to a young man so inexperienced in the world as himself.
‘While his expences were regulated by his father’s munificence,’ he said, ‘it remained with him to restrict them, when he was dissatisfied; but that, hitherto, he had been much too indulgent to express any disapprobation or reproving for extravagance.’
“This at once,” added Mr. De Lasaux, “chained my tongue, but not my pen; and thus far I have acquitted myself, by revealing the necessity there is for your giving him that advice you may yourself think expedient, for which he will be prepared, as I have named my determination of writing to you upon the subject; and a father’s counsel, of course, will have more weight.”
This Captain Longford almost doubted, from a thorough knowledge of his son’s disposition; but the evil appeared of less magnitude to him than Mr. De Lasaux had supposed it; he saw no great error in a young man sporting his money freely, provided it was spent in the society of gentlemen, which, from Henry’s answer to Mr. De Lasaux, and the latter’s letter, he had reason to suppose was the case: he had himself, through life, known too little of its value, even now rightly to appreciate it; and as Henry’s demands had always been strengthened by Yamboo’s entreaties that he would not refuse him, the former had never asked in vain; and, while this was the case, he continued frequently to favour them with inquiries after their health, together with added assurances of his being perfectly happy, and daily more pleased with London. Still, in justice to Mr. De Lasaux’s anxiety for his welfare, which he knew arose from the purest motives of friendship to himself, he determined, in his next letter, gently to remonstrate against his keeping late hours, to the certain prejudice of his health; but to carefully avoid any reflections, either upon his inattention to business, or encreasing expences, conscious that Henry’s temper, ill brooking contradiction, would instantly charge his brother with having meanly instigated him to curtail his income, a step to which he would consider his letter a prelude: but, whatever Henry’s sentiments might be upon the subject, he did not choose to answer it for some weeks, during which, an accident happened at Forrester’s cottage, which gave incontestible proofs, not only of Yamboo’s intrepid firmness, but his humanity also: he had a favourite walk, in a small road contiguous to the park, and to which he usually, when alone, took his book, because, though communicating with the village, he was still, from its retired situation, seldom interrupted, unless occasionally by the children, when in search of a kid that had by chance wandered from their shaggy flock; and this appeared one evening to have been the case, when he was seated on his accustomed bank, as the sound of their voices, sometimes near, and then retreating, led him to suppose some of the little intruders would shortly discover his retreat; and in this expectation he continued reading, till a confused scream, mingled with the sound of an approaching team of horses, whose bells were furiously ringing, made him dart from the spot with an arrow’s speed to the centre of the road, in which several children were flying in wild disorder, and among them his favourite William, who ran towards him for protection, at the moment their cause of terror appeared in view: the horses, who had evidently taken fright, approached without a driver, and scarcely allowed him time to collect the affrighted group, who rallied round him for safety on an adjoining bank, when they passed the spot; and finding it impossible to attempt stopping them, he watched, in fearful anxiety, an angle of the road, which he trusted would check their speed, and was not disappointed; for either finding they were not pursued, or exhausted by their exertion, the horses made a halt, and then proceeded on their usual pace towards the village; while the children, relieved from their own apprehensions, began to express their fears for Edwin’s safety, who, they all agreed, was sitting on the shafts of the waggon when they first saw it from the hill, and before the horses took fright, “which must have been after they got into the road,” said the eldest boy, “for they were coming very quiet till we heard their bells louder, and Ned Gwyn saw them turn the corner full gallop, when we all ran as hard as our legs could carry us; but poor Edwin, where can he be, sir?”
Their artless account had awakened more fears for Edwin’s safety than Yamboo dared to express; therefore, taking William by the hand, and bidding the boys, who still trembled with terror, accompany him, they set out in quest of the thoughtless lad, who had risked, if not actually lost his life, in sitting upon the shafts. The turning Ned Gwyn had pointed out, shewed them, at no great distance, the object of their search stretched on the ground, and whom the children, renewing their cries, pronounced dead; but Yamboo, on approaching him, found there was still life; and having, with the assistance of the strongest boy, raised him up, and, with some difficulty, laid him upon the narrow pathway, he shortly after began to revive; but a deathlike paleness still spread over his face, and a large cut on his cheek gave him a terrific appearance to the children, one of whom was instantly dispatched to the village for assistance, and a second to farmer Thornton’s, who owned the team, and where Yamboo supposed it most likely Forrester was to be found; but his first messenger presently returned with several people, who, alarmed by seeing the team unattended, had left the village, to satisfy themselves of the driver’s fate, whom they supposed either to have been Forrester or his brother; and humanely forbore expressing their fears to his wife, whom the intelligence had not yet reached.
The poor boy was now able to speak; but either through fright, or the injury he had sustained, it was in a disordered strain; and Yamboo’s first care was to settle some plan for conveying him to the cottage; this was easily done, by forming a litter of boughs, on which they carefully laid him; while Mr. Longford hastened, first, to prepare Mrs. Forrester for the melancholy procession, and afterwards to procure a surgeon to examine his bruises; the wound on his cheek was found to have been occasioned by a stone, on which he had been thrown with some violence; but his right arm, on which, at the same time, he had fallen, was broken in two places; and he still continued insensible, when Forrester entered the cottage, and found Yamboo, like a ministering angel, assisting the surgeon in the performance of his duty; but the latter was too much engrossed to observe his entrance; and, having seen every thing done that was required, retired with the surgeon, after saying to Mrs. Forrester he would shortly return, but begged she would carefully observe the injunctions she had received, to keep the patient very quiet; for which purpose, he said, William should go with him to the manor. She gratefully acknowledged her sense of his goodness; and then related to her husband the active part he had taken, not only on Edwin’s account, but in the preservation of their child, whose escape, as related by the children, together with their own, was, she thought, little less than miraculous.
Forrester heard her with visible agitation; a gloomy thoughtfulness pervaded his brow, as he sullenly exclaimed—“How unlucky!”
This vague and singular answer excited her surprise; but the situation of Edwin left her no time to construe it; and Forrester having, as she thought, too harshly reproved his brother’s folly for running such a risk of his life, again left the cottage; to which Yamboo, as he had promised, returned in the evening, accompanied by a servant, who had brought whatever Miss Longford believed could contribute to the comfort or convenience of the invalid. He was still, though very low, quite sensible; and Yamboo, having satisfied himself that all was going on well, and repeated his injunctions that he should be kept undisturbed, took his leave for the night; but succeeding days saw no diminution of either his visits or kindness, from which Edwin had reaped every advantage, when a second accident, more fatal in its tendency, again proved to Forrester’s family the value of their benefactor.
Mr. Longford, who had been calling upon a gentleman in the adjoining town, was, by the latter’s entreaties, prevailed on to stay much later than, on leaving home, he had intended to have done; but having only a few miles to ride, and the evening proving uncommonly warm, his horse was permitted to choose his own pace, while its rider, ever sensible to the divine works of creation, contemplated at leisure those beauties which a fine night, in the midst of summer, presented to his admiring eye; all around him was serenely still; the trees, as if tenacious of disturbing their feathered tenants, scarcely moved their leafy foliage; in the scattered hamlets, as he passed them, all was hushed to peace, since even the shepherd’s dog, fearless of approaching danger in this retired spot, slept securely at his master’s door.
Yamboo was delighted, and his eyes wandered from earth to heaven, as if in search of the pure Spirit whose hand had formed the scene, when it caught, at no small distance, a black column of spiral smoke, ascending high in the already heated atmosphere; for a moment he gazed attentively, to ascertain its probable direction; but the blaze which instantly followed left him no time to deliberate; and spurring his horse, he stopped not till the blazing thatch presented Forrester’s hut to his aching sight; no one saw its too certain destruction but himself, for all within and around it was profoundly silent, when dismounting from his horse, with his usual presence of mind, he tapped gently at the door, lest the too sudden alarm might prove fatal to Edwin; but every moment’s delay teemed with danger; and as no one answered, he repeated his blows with greater violence, at the same time calling upon the name of Forrester, who, unconscious of his danger, somewhat rudely demanded the cause of so much haste, as he approached to open the door; but the wide-spreading flames, which threatened to envelop the whole cottage, needed no explanation; and, while Yamboo rushed in to arouse his sleeping family, the former stood transfixed with terror, totally incapable of giving that assistance the helpless inhabitants demanded: happily, the glare of increasing light penetrating the windows of an adjacent hut, gave the alarm, and the awful cry of “Fire!” soon rang through the so late peaceful village, while every one ran to tender their services; but not before Yamboo had alone, and unassisted, conveyed Edwin from the smoking building, followed by Mrs. Forrester, franticly clasping the still sleeping William to her bosom, and who had but that morning returned home from the manor: every attempt made by their willing neighbours to rescue the devoted cottage was unavailing; nor did there remain a doubt of its having taken fire by lightning, of which, in the early part of the evening, there had been a great deal, as the thatch, independent of a long drought, was so dry with age, as to render the general supposition more than probable; but that the fire had commenced at the roof, Yamboo was convinced, from his first observation of it; and the slender rafter having given way, the whole soon fell in with one dreadful crash, while Forrester, in mute dismay, looked upon the blazing ruins, from which the humane and generous Longford could scarcely move him, when, having promised them a present asylum at Alvington, he urged him to assist his neighbours in seating Edwin on his horse, while he should himself conduct Mrs. Forrester and William hither.
Forrester’s gratitude, if he really possessed any, was neither expressed in his reply or action; the former being merely a movement of his lips, the latter too sullen and careless to pass unobserved by the surprised rustics; but, as Yamboo never estimated a praiseworthy deed by the return he was to receive, Forrester’s uncouth manners were not regarded; for his charity arose from that pure fount, which, conscious only of performing its duty, looks for no reward; and in feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and comforting the sick, he was alone insensible of the merit to which so many objects of his bounty raised the altar, whose grateful incense rose to heaven: he was now providing for the houseless wanderer, and gratitude for possessing the means to do so, was the only sensation which actuated his liberal mind, during their short walk to the manor, whose hospitable doors were as readily open to receive, as were its owners to sooth the terrors which neither Mrs. Forrester, Edwin, or William, had as yet surmounted. But this was not the extent of their bounty: at the extremity of the park, embosomed in trees, there was still, though in a ruinous state, a small building, which had once been fitted up in the style of an hermitage, and in which Captain Longford’s father devoted much of his time to books and retirement, for both were his passion; but as Miss Longford, during her deeply-rooted sorrow for the death of her lover, had made it almost a constant residence, it was thought a dangerous nursery for grief, and, in consequence, stripped of all its furniture, and for some time totally shut up; of late years, it had occasionally been used as a tool-house; and now the quick imagination of Yamboo offered as a no contemptible residence for the Forresters, undertaking himself to have it rendered hospitable.
Captain Longford approved the plan, and a few days saw them in quiet possession; for, though Forrester had partly refused the offer, on the plea of his intention to leave that part of the country, as the only means he could assign for doing so was his want of an habitation, and unwillingness to become troublesome to any one, it was shortly over ruled by the captain, who bid him remember, that, as rolling stones gathered no moss, he had much better remain where he was sure of employment for himself. “As to that poor boy, Edwin,” he added, “when he is well enough to work a little in the garden, I shall take him to assist Peter, who will be glad of such an helpmate.”
Yamboo was delighted with his father’s proposition; and Forrester having thanked him for favours of which he hinted he was unworthy, left the room, to prepare his new habitation.
“Either that man,” said Captain Longford, when the door was closed, “is much too proud for his situation in life, or he has a most ungracious manner of receiving the favour; for the present obligation evidently oppresses him.”
Miss Longford was observing that appearances were often fallacious, when a servant entered the apartment, followed by a gentleman, who introduced himself as the friend of Mr. Henry Longford, from whom he was the bearer of a letter to his father.
Captain Longford assured him, that, though such a passport left him a still greater debtor for the honour of his visit, it was nevertheless unnecessary to insure his welcome, since every friend of his son’s would be received with pleasure at Alvington.
The stranger returned this compliment with politeness; and, at the entreaty of Miss Longford and her brother, promised to spend a few days at the manor, from *****, to which place he was then journeying; and, after partaking of a slight refreshment, took his leave; when Captain Longford, who had hitherto suppressed his impatience to know Henry’s sentiments upon his last letter, eagerly broke the seal; but Henry was altogether an altered being; the temper, over which he formerly appeared to have no controul, that neither submitted to reproof, must become the first to acknowledge his errors, and first to lament that his inexperience of the world had hitherto made him regardless of Mr. De Lasaux’s kind counsels, whose real value he now learned to appreciate, and which, had he sooner done so, would have enabled him to avoid the fatal error into which he had fallen, and from which a father’s known goodness could alone rescue him.
Captain Longford started.
Henry went on to say, that, having been induced to play, on a conviction that he knew his friends, and could depend upon his own discretion not to exceed the bounds of prudence, he had continued to do so, till the uncommon success of one evening induced him to stake higher than was his usual practice, lest it should be suspected that he had placed too high a value upon the sum he had obtained, and the result was the final loss of the whole; but that, encouraged to believe this was only a trick of fortune, who would again smile, he hazarded not only all that he possessed, but a sum far exceeding what he dared to name, since, too late, he found it was sharpers, practised in gaming, and not gentlemen, to whom he had sacrificed both his fortune and peace, as he yet trembled to think what might have been the consequence of his rashness, had not Mr. Leviston, a gentleman of known integrity, and who had undertaken to deliver his letter in person, generously saved him from the disgrace which would have attended his non-payment of a debt of honour, by settling it for him, since to Mr. De Lasaux he never could have acknowledged an embarrassment he would have condemned with severity; “for never playing himself, it is with him,” he added, “a heinous crime; nor would I even now risk his too just reproof, should he by any chance discover the fatal truth, which I have hitherto carefully concealed from him, much less the accusing glance of his lovely daughter, whose esteem I am perhaps too sanguine of possessing; for how shall the thoughtless and ruined Henry Longford acknowledge he has dared, though hitherto in silence, to adore the artless Louisa De Lasaux? Yet this,” he continued, “is my situation: true, the disinterested friendship of Mr. Leviston, resting wholly on my honour, has rescued me from present distress; but who shall promise me a father’s forgiveness, what pitying angel whisper to this self-accusing mind, that, pardoning my error, he will release me from the oppression of this fatal debt, and plead with Mr. De Lasaux in behalf of the penitent gamester.”
“Thy father needs no advocate after such sincere contrition,” said Captain Longford, closing the letter, “or thou hast a faithful one in the best of brothers;” to whom, with Miss Longford, he communicated the contents of an epistle, which had both pained and pleased him. That Henry had continued still to disregard the admonitions of such a friend, hurt him much; and the extent of the embarrassment, which he had to learn, was also a source of much uneasiness; but his own fatal passion for play recurred to his mind, and conscience, that unceasing monitor, whispered how often his own heavy demands, for the same purpose, must have agonized a father’s feelings. Henry’s had hitherto been trivial, in comparison of his own; but he felt also that his power to answer them was more limited than his father’s had been: yet the intimation of his partiality for Louisa De Lasaux, and the prospect of an alliance so consonant to his wishes, at one moment determined him, whatever the amount of Mr. Leviston’s debt might be, to cancel it; still farther, to hide the secret from Mr. De Lasaux, who, however otherwise inclined to favour the union, might hesitate to bestow his daughter upon a young man whom he had reason to suspect was fond of play.
Miss Longford, who knew nothing of the amiable girl alluded to, and who had long since become very indifferent to Henry’s concerns, merely said, she was little qualified to give her advice in the business; and, was she to risk her opinion, it might displease; therefore, she declined giving it. Satisfied, however her brother acted, it would be from the best motive, she hoped it would answer his expectation.
Yamboo was more interested in the cause; his sympathizing heart entered into all the trials of his undeserving brother; and eagerly entreated his father, whose fortune he believed unbounded, so little was he acquainted with money concerns, not to delay the payment of Henry’s debts; “for only that,” he said, with an affectionate eagerness, “only that little matter stand between him and happiness. Ah! how happy,” he continued, while the sincerity of his joy at the idea was visible in his expressive countenance, “Henry must be when him marry that sweet girl!”
Captain Longford smiled, as he reminded him how much was to be accomplished before such an event could take place. “I own,” he said, “with what pleasure I shall anticipate such a step, because I think nothing will so effectually reclaim Henry from a thousand errors as a virtuous attachment, and no where could he have made a choice I was so sure to approve; neither must his prospect of entering into such a deserving family be marred: but this unnamed sum may exceed even my fears of its amount; and the more I reflect upon Henry’s forbearing to name it, the greater are my apprehensions that it must be large.”
This suspense was, however, shortly relieved by the return of Mr. Leviston, who, prepared for the anxious inquiries a father would naturally make, coolly replied, it was only five hundred pounds, but which, he hoped, Mr. Longford had not urged the payment of, as it was perfectly immaterial; that he was happy to have had it in his power to relieve the anxiety of his young friend by the trifling accommodation of such a sum, but that he considered the obligation of too vast a magnitude.
Captain Longford, though startled by the amount, had too much pride to allow Mr. Leviston becoming sensible of it; and having assured him, that in acknowledging himself no less obliged than his son by the advancement of the sum, he was only left to regret it had not been applied to a more honourable purpose; “for though,” he continued, “I have never restricted Henry’s expences, while they contributed to support his consequence as a gentleman, I lament that the money, which might have been appropriated to more noble ends, should, through his propensity for play, have been consigned to men whose character every honest man, every gentleman, must reprobate.”
Captain Longford, while speaking, had unconsciously looked at Mr. Leviston, on whose countenance he fancied an expression of embarrassment; but that gentleman, aware that the feelings he could ill suppress would need an explanation, as the only means to avoid detection, seized the moment of silence to express, with apparent concern, his fears that Captain Longford had thought him premature in answering such demands, which only the urgent necessity Mr. Longford had declared for the money, and his dread of Mr. De Lasaux’s coming to the knowledge of it, between whose family and his friend, he understood, there was a connexion of a delicate nature, could have induced him to do; he was not privileged to ask to whom Mr. Longford had lost that sum, he merely learned he had done so; and, having as much by him, had tendered the loan till it might be convenient for him to replace it; neither should he have had the honour of the interview with his family, but that Mr. Longford, knowing he was to pass within a few miles of his father’s, had entreated him to do so, probably from knowing the sincerity of his friendship would enable him to do away any little surmises that might be formed relative to the unpleasant business.
“I am perfectly satisfied of your good intentions, sir,” returned Captain Longford; “I have only to regret that, in thus freely censuring my son’s conduct, I should have unintentionally wounded your feelings; however, when you know me better, which will, I trust, be before we part, you will find I have at least gratitude to appreciate your kindness to Henry.”
Mr. Leviston was aware that he had already done so, much too highly, and had only to fear his promised pleasure of spending a few days, which could alone lead to that better acquaintance, might be abridged, as it depended wholly on a letter, which he had ordered to be forwarded, and which would either allow him to gratify his earnest wish of staying that period, or oblige him to return to London without delay; but, as the little he had as yet seen could not fail to excite a wish of exploring it farther, he must solicit permission to ramble over the grounds, which he could not sufficiently admire.
Captain Longford was seldom more gratified than by a compliment paid to his paternal residence, which he venerated with that high sense of family pride so predominant among the Welsh, even to the lowest class; and though he did not feel his strength adequate to the exertion of becoming his companion, gaily observed Yamboo would prove a more suitable one, since he could point out the beauties of both hill and dale, while his infirmities confined him to the latter, “which, though often picturesque, nevertheless needed that pleasing variety to be seen,” he added, “from our lofty mountains, by those who, having agility and perseverance to climb their heights, cannot fail to discover;” with which prospects Mr. Leviston either was, or professed to be delighted, and was lavish in his encomiums upon the surrounding scenery, as they turned to the park.
With Yamboo’s history he was perfectly acquainted long before his introduction to him by Captain Longford; and having a much deeper interest in the acquaintance than any one at the manor suspected, he was particularly attentive to all that passed; and had, for the purpose of learning his real sentiments, pointedly led to the subject of his brother’s late embarrassment, soon after they commenced their walk, lamenting that, though he had not said so much to Captain Longford, he much feared Henry was not going on well; that he was both thoughtless and extravagant; and, if he might judge from report, he was known to keep improper company; “a circumstance,” he added, “I relate to you in confidence.”
“Oh, how much Yamboo thank you for not saying so much to him father!” he replied, “because he know some one tell you wrong. Henry much too often quick tempered; then he think he must do what seem right to him, and not like advice; but then him heart so good, he first see himself do wrong, and then no one so sorry: if he spend much money, that too not him own fault; Captain Longford always say, he must live like a gentleman, for he hath plenty; and ill-natured people, who not know him liberal spirit, saying him extravagant: just now he much in trouble, but him father will settle all; and when he marry Miss De Lasaux, no one so kind husband, or better man, than Henry Longford: but Captain Longford must never know what you hear, sir, because it not true, and only make him unhappy. If you see Henry’s letter, then you know him heart; for sorrow always shows the heart.”
Satisfied that at least no suspicion lurked in his, Mr. Leviston said—“I may have been deceived, and hope I have; but whatever my friend’s failings are, I am happy to find he has so warm an advocate with his father, who certainly has too much reason to be vexed at his present demand.”
Yamboo answered, his father was too fond of him, and too kind to need any; and the conversation dropped just as they passed the gate which led to the hermitage: struck with its romantic and secluded situation, Mr. Leviston stopped to examine it, while Yamboo was relating the accident which occasioned its being occupied, when William, thrusting his rosy face through the half-closed casement, first discovered him, and in the next moment ran out to meet him; but seeing a stranger, timidly held down his head: “And who are you, sir?” said Mr. Leviston, putting back the luxuriant curls from his little forehead; “have you a name?”
“Yes, sir,” was the bashful reply; but at that moment his mother, who had followed him to bring him back, having nearly reached them, tottered against a neighbouring tree, round which she appeared to cling for support.
“Are you ill, Mrs. Forrester?” said Yamboo, approaching her with his usual kindness; “you look faint; let me help you.”
“Thank you, sir,” she replied, “the air will revive me;” and then, recovering herself, she added, “I have been very busy to-day, but did not think I had tired myself.”
“Oh, you always work great deal too much,” said Yamboo; “why Forrester let you do so? Where him now?”
“Indeed, sir—I don’t know, sir,” she answered, whilst the deepest scarlet suffused her so late pale cheek.
Attributing this to the appearance of a stranger, and seeing her take William’s hand to return to the house, he inquired after Edwin; and wishing her a good evening, walked on with his companion, who remarked, with an expression of countenance which Yamboo did not exactly understand—“That lonely as was the situation of the hermitage, it could boast a very fair recluse.”
He replied—“Mrs. Forrester only very lately come to reside there;” and then continued the sequel of the account, which William’s presence had interrupted.
“And who is this Forrester?” asked Mr. Leviston, though he could perhaps have better answered that question than the man to whom he put it, and who could only tell him what is already known: “a pretty woman, and this lone situation, are, however,” returned the other, “strong temptations to a man of your age; and her husband has doubtless too much gratitude to suspect so kind a friend.”
Yamboo looked at him with astonishment; he had too much penetration to be longer entendre; but at a loss how to answer the base insinuation, he could only look; while his more fashionable companion, smiling at his simplicity, gaily remarked, he must pardon him for having ventured to judge him by those who moved in the great world, where such things were much too common to excite the surprise which he had expressed, but which, he added, somewhat ironically, fully proved his innocence.
Yamboo admitted the apology; but it materially lessened his opinion of the man who, whether moving, as he had said, in the great world, or inhabiting a desert, was, he thought, unworthy that title, when he could speak thus lightly of injuring a poor man's peace, whose honour was, no doubt, equally sacred, and his wife no less dear, than if wealth and affluence had presided at their board.
CHAP. X.
ON the following morning, Yamboo, ever accustomed to early rising, was a little surprised, on his return from a long walk, to meet Mr. Leviston coming in a direction from the hermitage, and the evening’s conversation forcibly occurred to his mind—“Surely,” he thought———but the nobleness of soul which disdained suspicion checked the idea; and, to repair the injurious supposition, substituted the generous conviction, that, hearing of their late loss by fire, his charity had been laudably exercised, and that he had risen thus early to prevent his donation being public: therefore, without appearing to notice the path he had taken, he greeted him with the compliments of the morning, and hoped he had enjoyed a pleasant walk.
Mr. Leviston acknowledged to have done so; but concluded, by the time he had been abroad, it must be nearly the family breakfast-hour; of which also his own appetite reminded him, sharpened, he believed, from the fine air of the Welsh mountains.
Yamboo politely said, he was happy it had given him such a zest; and accompanied him to the breakfast-room, where Captain and Miss Longford waited their arrival, as did also the expected letter, which, addressed to William Leviston, Esq. Alvington Manor, laid upon the table; its contents, which he apologized for reading before them, appeared short, but sufficed, he said, to prove the necessity of pursuing his journey towards London, where he was to meet a gentleman, previous to his leaving England, with whom he had business that admitted of no delay—a circumstance he nevertheless regretted, as it prevented his taking advantage of the opportunity, which might never again occur, of seeing a country with which he was so much pleased, or a family on whose hospitable kindness memory would often rest with pleasure.
Captain Longford, who began to perceive their guest was rather too much a man of the world to be quite sincere in all these professions, less regretted the shortness of his visit, therefore did not urge a continuance of it; and Yamboo, who was still less pleased with his manners, almost rejoiced that he was so soon to leave them, which he proposed doing that evening, intending to sleep at the adjoining town, from which he should proceed on the following morning.
During the day, Captain Longford wrote to Henry, as Mr. Leviston had offered to convey his letter, or any commands with which he might favour him. In this letter, after slightly touching upon an error that was now irremediable, and for which he tendered his entire forgiveness, he admonished him, with all the warmth of parental solicitude, to desist from future play, before its baneful influence had subverted every good and laudable principle, which never failed to be the sacrifice, independent of the peace of mind, which, once lost, could never be regained: “but for that fatal propensity, Henry,” he added, “your father would now be spared the pain of confessing that his fortune, though adequate to all our reasonable wants, sufficient to support the style in which you have always lived, is by no means equal to answer the uncertain demands which a thirst of gaming may oblige you to make upon it; but it will suffice, if you stop here, to make you a suitable match for Miss De Lasaux; and, with such a partner in view, you can have no plausible excuse for resorting to that dangerous shoal, on which so many young men, inexperienced as yourself, have been wrecked: urge, therefore, your pretensions to the favour of that lovely girl, strive to merit her tenderest regard, and if happily you have a prospect of success, rely on my warmest interest with her father, which I will enforce upon the grounds of our long friendship, and my wish of seeing the desired union before I quit this world, for that which, I trust, I am preparing for.”
“And to which, my old boy, I heartily wish you a safe and speedy journey!” was the generous sentence pronounced by his ungenerous son, as he threw down the unfinished letter, which was followed by the word, “Amen!” delivered in a style truly ludicrous, by his no less illiberal colleague, Mr. Leviston, who having waited the conclusion of what he termed the pious sermon, prepared to give him an account of his well-concerted journey into Wales, with its ultimate success, to which Henry listened with avidity, and had the satisfaction of hearing, that the generous old buck, an epithet Mr. Leviston chose to favour him with, had given him a check upon his banker for the money he demanded, “and which will at least, my lad,” he said, “stop a few gaps for the present.”
“But Yamboo?” returned Henry impatiently.
“Yes, he is another of those fine fellows, between whom and ourselves, Longford, there is a devilish great gulph,” replied the minion of vice, Leviston, who, awed by the force of virtue, had more than once unwillingly contrasted the happy state of Yamboo with his own; “and but for the compact,” he added, “which binds our honourable fraternity for ever to each other, and a conviction that I was too far gone in sin to be seized with a fit of contrition, a longer visit at Alvington might have seen me a convert to this black brother of yours.”
“Damnation!” said Henry, with his usual impetuosity, “are his virtues eternally to be held up as a mirror to reflect my vices? You, at least, Leviston, might have spared my feelings, instead of gorging me with his perfections, which, after all, are dissimulation, when my ears waited for the welcome intelligence that some one, more friendly to my interest, had adopted a plan which was to give him a chance of going to a place more suited to his great goodness, and me a prospect of possessing the worldly goods which he affects to despise.”
“Nor do you know but that plan is already carried into execution; at least, I have taken the most effectual measures for its completion.”
Again Henry’s features brightened with expectation; he smiled his approbation, and again listened as Leviston pursued his account, by reciting the untoward circumstances which had made Yamboo the unwearied friend of Forrester’s family, “the weight of whose obligations,” he added, “wrought miracles upon even that consummate villain; at whose compunction I laughed most heartily, though I had just before given him a severe lecture on his supine indolence in the business which he had undertaken, or rather, he said, been sent upon, and which he now more than half repented, alledging, as an excuse, that Mr. Longford’s general character in the village was so excellent, and himself so beloved, that the whole county would revenge his death, if it was supposed he came unfairly by it; in short, that he knew not how to lift his hand against a life which gratitude bade him preserve. This was a hopeful confession; and having listened very coolly to this fine harangue, I replied, ‘Mark me, Mr. Forrester, no gratitude is of course due to the man who once saved your life from the gallows; at least, you have told me, in pretty plain terms, that I have none to expect: but of this be assured, if you are so easily duped as not to see the meaning of all this boasted kindness to yourself and family, you are but ill qualified for the performance of a promise, which it equally suited you to make as me to obtain from you; therefore had much better resign it to those who, more faithful to their employers, and having no wife to be thus easily seduced, will have fewer qualms of conscience.’
‘What do you mean, sir?’ he asked, trembling with passion (for that Forrester loves Mary I have no doubt, who is still looking very pretty, and who would, by the bye, had I been equally unguarded as herself, discovered, at a very unlucky time, that we were no strangers to each other); ‘would you have me understand that Mary, that——’ he stopped short, in evident confusion.
‘Not Mary,’ I returned, ‘but your exalted benefactor, who, from his very complexion, is more prone to admire beauty in women; I know his passion for her, and it is but generous to judge Mary’s gratitude by your own. The lone hermitage, your frequent absence, are all favourable circumstances to its indulgence; and Edwin’s removal to the manor, which is, I know, eagerly expected on the part of Mr. Longford, will leave them still more at liberty.’
‘Never!’ exclaimed the exasperated Forrester, whose rage it was now requisite to calm, lest his exalted tone of voice should arrest some curious ear; for we had met at a place of his own appointing on the evening I quitted Alvington, and whose eagerness now to complete what he had been so tardy in before, it was now requisite to restrain; but the seeds of jealousy were completely sown; and I congratulated myself upon the happy stroke of invention, first, because it renders the blow more secure; for the rankling fiend will brace the arm which compunction had enervated: and, secondly, because the deed, which was to have been performed by proxy, will now become his own, carrying with it, in the face of day, some extenuation of the crime, as the commiserating multitude, regardless of Yamboo’s past virtues, will detest him as the base seducer of a poor man’s wife, and pity the injured husband, who was driven to the deed.”
“Bravo!” said Longford, shaking Leviston heartily by the hand, “now art thou indeed deserving my best thanks; now hast thou removed a burden which makes Longford thy friend for ever. Yamboo must, will die, and suspicion never whisper Henry was privy to it. Kind Leviston, thine be the reward. Now to play the penitent, and sue for pardon at Louisa’s feet, whose tender glances speak her sweet reproof of past neglect.”
“But you do not mean to sue in earnest?” said Leviston, somewhat alarmed; “for if De Lasaux suspects it, the terms must be honourable.”
“And so they shall, as far as love and appearances can make them,” replied the former; “the first will be requisite to secure my prize; the second to keep my father in good humour; for, while the prospect of my marrying (which, by the bye, I never intend to do,) holds good, he will not be sparing of his cash; and it is time enough to look into futurity.”
Thus argued these cotemporaries of vice, these destroyers of family peace, of whom too many throng the crowded city, infest the peaceful village, and lurk in the domestic circle.
Longford, high in spirits, sanguine in guilt, was, however, little prepared for the disappointment which awaited him at Mr. De Lasaux’s, for whose evening party he had made the due arrangement. In addition to Mrs. De Lasaux, Mary, and her father, he found a second family, who were in habits of intimacy at the house, with two gentlemen, whom he did not recollect to have seen before; nor were they then introduced to him by Mr. De Lasaux, a circumstance of which his wounded pride was fully sensible; but, as general cheerfulness prevailed through the party, he joined in the common topics of conversation with his usual ease of manners, still in expectation of Louisa’s appearance, and for whose unexpected absence he could in no way account; but she came not; and the evening was far advanced before he had any favourable opportunity of inquiring from Mary, in a low whisper, why the room was divested of its fairest ornament, her lovely sister?
“Having thanked you, sir,” she said, with her accustomed gaiety, “for your flattering compliment to myself and friends, be it known unto you, that the fair ornament for which you inquire is, probably, gracing a much larger party, where, though she may be less distinguished as a decoration, the goodness of her heart can never be overlooked.”
There was too much meaning in this reply, notwithstanding the good-nature which accompanied it, to suit Henry’s present feelings; the evasion chagrined him, and the certainty of not seeing Louisa for the night, added keenness to the disappointment.
Mr. De Lasaux had entirely engrossed the two strangers during the evening, and Henry had more than once caught their eyes fixed on him; but they were too far removed from him to allow of his ascertaining if he was also the subject of their conversation. He had frequently addressed Mrs. De Lasaux; but though she was, as usual, all attention, affable, and pleasant, he fancied it was assumed towards him, and that he could discern there was something which she appeared as strenuous to conceal.
The following morning brought no relief to his suspense. Louisa was still absent, Mrs. De Lasaux uniformly polite, Mr. De Lasaux, he thought, reserved, but Mary had lost nothing of her vivacity; and to her, therefore, he ventured to express his hopes, that her sister was not suffering any inconvenience from the pleasure of the preceding evening, or the effects of a large party, as it was not customary to miss her at the breakfast-table: but his astonishment was visible, when he learned that the object of his inquiries was in the country on a visit, from which her return was uncertain, “and depends altogether on fortuitous circumstances,” said Mr. De Lasaux, taking up the discourse; “for unless my son, of whose return I am in expectation, should arrive very shortly, she will extend her journey beyond what she proposed on leaving home.”
Henry looked at him as he ceased speaking, and involuntarily shrunk from the eye, which had not so unintentionally been stedfastly watching his varying countenance: an effort on his part was requisite; and, with as much seeming indifference as it was possible to assume, he replied, whatever the purport of Miss De Lasaux’s journey, he trusted pleasure would be the result.
“And as that is the only object of it,” returned her father, “there is little doubt but your good wishes will be realized, since both Louisa’s party and route promise to be productive of much.”—In saying which he quitted the room, with a mind agitated and irresolute how to act. A simple incident had revealed what he had not even suspected, but which the more penetrating eye of a fond mother had discovered—the persevering fortitude of a beloved child struggling with a painful secret. Louisa had continued to receive occasional proofs of Henry’s affection, but, with a delicacy truly feminine, determined strictly to guard her own knowledge of his preference, till authorized by her father’s approbation of it, to own it was not less pleasing to herself, an event she was from day to day taught to expect; during which, she had cherished a passion pure as her own nature; but the explanation, so essential to her peace, was still procrastinated; and what added much to her solicitude, was a conviction that Henry’s interest with her family diminished in proportion as her affection for him hourly increased: she often heard her father express, in pointed terms, his disapprobation of his conduct; her mother was, she fancied, less attentive to him than formerly; and Mary did not hesitate to say, she thought him quite an altered creature: still timidity, not art, for she knew not how to practise it, chained her tongue; and patiently waiting for an explanation that would empower her openly to defend his cause, she meekly heard them join in condemnation of faults to which she was herself wholly blind; when Mrs. De Lasaux having, in the absence of her two daughters, occasion for some muslin, which she had left in Louisa’s room on the preceding day, went thither to find it; it was lying on a small work-table, and, on her removing it, a corner proved to have been shut in with the top, which she raised gently to prevent tearing it, and in so doing, observed a book turned down, in which Louisa had been recently reading; it was Faulkner’s Shipwreck; and Mrs. De Lasaux, ever interested in the fate and sufferings of Palemon, continued to read till, having turned over the page, a small miniature, neatly folded in silver paper, caught her eye. Had it been possible to doubt that Louisa was the artist, she would willingly have done so; but her surprise at the inimitable performance could only be equalled by that which she gazed upon—the resemblance of Henry Longford; for, till this moment, she could hardly be said to have suspected what this little drawing could not fail to confirm—a secret attachment; and, having carefully restored it to its place, she retired to her own apartment, to reflect more fully upon a circumstance which had sensibly awakened her maternal anxiety, and to counsel with her own heart what steps she ought to take, for decidedly upon them depended the happiness of this beloved and amiable child. There was a period when she would have thought Henry Longford a desirable match for either of her daughters; but there was now an air of mystery hanging over his conduct, which Mr. De Lasaux was then endeavouring to penetrate, and which threatened not only to render him an improper husband for Louisa, but even unworthy the farther notice of her family. Fame, ever a more assiduous herald of our bad than good actions, had already whispered Henry’s great propensity for play, and still more his connexion with a party, from whose society and example he could not fail to be vitiated. A nephew belonging to one of the gentlemen who had appeared to notice him in so particular a manner at Mr. De Lasaux’s, was the young man whom Stukely and his companions were so sanguine in stripping of his money, from the knowledge they had gained of his inexperience at the gaming-table; and his loss was so great, as to render a confession of the whole transaction requisite to his anxious family. Satisfied he had been duped of his fortune, and equally so that he had no chance of redress, his uncle generously forgave him his error, and in part replaced the sum he had lost: but having one day cursorily inquired if the men with whom he had played (for to the term gentlemen, he added, they have no pretensions,) were all strangers? his nephew answered in the affirmative; nor did he recollect any of their names, except that of a young gentleman, who, like himself, played a losing game, and to whom one of the party had said—“Why, Longford, this is not your usual luck;” a remark to which he replied, by rather sharply observing, he had very seldom any other. This name forcibly struck his uncle as being in some way familiar to his ear; and, after a moment’s recollection, it occurred to him that he had heard Mr. De Lasaux repeat it, at whose office he had lately been several times on business; and the inquiries he had made of that gentleman, together with reports which had indirectly reached him, determined Mr. De Lasaux not only to obtain the truth, but, on a conviction of Henry’s having, contrary to his advice, plunged himself into the vortex of fashionable dissipation, to write immediately to Captain Longford on the subject, and decline his longer residence in his house.
Such was the declining state of Henry’s interest in this worthy family, when Mrs. De Lasaux discovered his portrait in the possession of her daughter, from whom she resolutely determined no longer to conceal the knowledge already obtained of Mr. Longford’s proceedings; and, having done so, to leave the rest to the virtuous principles of Louisa. For this purpose, she first revealed to her father the incident of so much importance to them both, and the plan she meant to adopt: the former alarmed his tenderness, for never was father more devoted to his children; the latter he could not hesitate to approve, because his confidence in Mrs. De Lasaux’s rectitude was justly founded, as on her judicious conduct alone he relied for the perfect restoration of that peace, which was, for the first time, on his children’s account, shaken.
On the following morning, seated in the boudoir with her daughters, Mrs. De Lasaux, in the sweetest accents, said, fixing her eyes upon them both—“I was thinking how fortunate my children are, in being thus happily placed beyond the reach of chill poverty, and its consequent miseries, to which so many lovely females of their own age, amiable as themselves, are too often exposed; and not less happy the mother, who, in daily becoming more sensible of their increasing merits, their attachment to her, and unbounded confidence in her affection, lives but for their happiness.”
A soft blush mantled on Louisa’s cheek, as Mary replied—“And where, my ever honoured mother, could your children find a friend so deserving of their confidence? when Mary has one to whom her heart is better known than you, ah! where will be her mother?”
The tears which overflowed her fine eyes fell on Louisa’s neck, upon which she had reclined her head, to conceal the truant drops; and the precious tribute to a mother’s worth gave the latter that fortitude which wanted only exertion: raising her’s, equally suffused in tears, to the benign countenance of her parent, she said, timidly—“But are there not subjects, my ever dear mamma, on which, however anxious to speak, the lips will refuse to obey the heart’s dictates? it is only such a one could possibly make your Louisa feel unworthy of the kind opinion you have just expressed of our candour.”
“There are subjects, my child,” replied her mother, with increasing kindness, “which a too keen sensibility, natural to your ages, would deem it indelicate to reveal; and it is therefore then that the soothing voice of friendship should act for us, by leading to the subject, before concealment, like a cankering worm, has preyed upon the mind’s purity, by infusing its sickly poison. For instance, on a supposition that either of my beloved girls had become sensible, in their own minds, of a preference, to which they had every probable reason to expect a return, I am satisfied a natural delicacy would restrain the avowal, even to the sacred confidence of a mother, until they felt justified in the acknowledgment, from the honourable overture made for their hand by the favoured object. It then behoves a parent, whose anxious fears are never lulled, carefully to watch the symptoms of an infant passion, to seek, by every laudable and gentle means, the timid confidence, which waits but for the soothing encouragement to unfold itself; and, having obtained it, to administer that advice which experience and affection best enables them to impart.”
“And of which your own Louisa stands so much in need at this moment,” said the generous girl, tenderly embracing her mother; “and thus kindly encouraged, will no longer hesitate to solicit.”
Willing to owe the desired confidence all to her own sincerity, Mrs De Lasaux determined to conceal her knowledge of the picture; and kissing her blushing cheek, assured her, the rectitude of her own heart could not fail to convince her a mother’s bosom, while it was the most proper, must also be the safest repository for her dearest secrets: and Louisa, thus supported, ventured to impart that so long treasured in her own to this exemplary parent, to whose counsels she promised implicit obedience.
“But that must not be,” said Mrs. De Lasaux; “having acted thus nobly, you are capable of judging for yourself. Was I,” she added, “addressing a love-sick girl, wholly absorbed in a romantic passion, and who, in the attainment of her wishes, heeded no probable consequences, I should perhaps assume the prerogative of a parent. Behold me now the kindly interested friend, who having told you what it is requisite you should know, and given you her advice, would rather trust to your own excellent judgment, than enforce a command. Know then, Louisa, there was a period when I would have sanctioned, with my warmest interest, the prospect of your union with Henry Longford, for at that time I esteemed him; his person was certainly unexceptionable, his manners every way those of a gentleman, his abilities doubtless great, his prospects in life promising; added to which, as the son of your father’s friend, we were prepared to regard him in no common light; and Henry Longford, when he resembled this picture, you were justified in believing could not be rejected by your parents.”
“And this,” said Louisa, tenderly taking her mother’s hand, “this was the Henry Longford whom I dared to love.”
“Hear me,” returned her mother,
“and mark the contrast: the principles which we are yet willing to believe he
once possessed, are, there is every reason to suppose, entirely subverted.
Regardless of your father’s admonitions, he has selected a society of despicable
gamesters, to whom he is sacrificing, with thoughtless extravagance, the money
with which Captain Longford so liberally supplies him; and has already made
such rapid progress in the ruin which must inevitably overtake him, that your
father is now only waiting for the confirmation of certain intelligence, which
he has received from authority, not indeed to be doubted, before he writes to
acquaint Captain Longford with the proceedings of his ungrateful and dissolute
son. Say then, is the abandoned, vitiated Henry Longford, the ruined gamester,
the
“Nor has your child, my beloved mother, any longer a wish to obtain her family’s approbation to such a union,” she replied with firmness; “she loved Henry Longford only while she believed him generous, just, and honourable—only while she could not doubt her parents’ approval of her choice, and waited but for their approbation to acknowledge how long she had cherished a secret affection for him. In forfeiting your esteem, and that of my honoured father, he has no longer a claim upon their daughter’s; and, from this moment, pity for his errors must be the only sentiment with which I remember him.”
“Then I am not deceived,” said Mrs. De Lasaux, rising from her seat with emotion, “and my Louisa is even more than I had dared to expect. But are you sure,” she added, “this is not an exertion of fortitude that may shrink from the test of reflection? Left to yourself, will not the account you have just heard appear exaggerated, and Henry less culpable?”
“What testimony,” she replied, “can I need beyond yours? and, to prove the sincerity and strength of my resolution, to you I resign this resemblance, which must no longer remain in my possession,” taking the miniature from her work-table; “it may remind me what he once was.”
Thus far Louisa proved to what the female mind is equal; and, in the reward of an approving conscience, found that solace which the less sensible, and more romantic part of her own sex, would have sought in solitude. On the contrary, rising superior to the weakness which might have induced her to lament this early disappointment, she rather wished to avoid every opportunity for reflection, till satisfied the state of her mind, firm as the resolution she had expressed, would enable her to see Henry Longford without a pang; and, for this purpose, herself proposed visiting a favourite relation of her father’s, who resided a few miles from London, in whose family, which was large, and much respected in their neighbourhood, she hoped to find amusements calculated to strengthen her own laudable efforts for the total suppression of her early attachment—a plan to which Mr. and Mrs. De Lasaux acceded with pleasure, mutually congratulating each other on the possession of a daughter so deserving their fondest solicitude; while the former, having an added inducement to ascertain the extent of Henry’s increasing vices, lost no time in pursuing the thread of those discoveries which he had already made; by the description given of his person by the young man who had been so great a sufferer from the schemes of his base associates, his uncle did not hesitate to pronounce it must have been the same, on the evening they met at Mr. De Lasaux’s; and that gentleman, aware how little was to be expected from any farther remonstrance on his part, at last came to a determination of declining his longer residence with him; and, though still reluctant to state all he knew in his letter to Captain Longford, advised his immediately recalling Henry into Wales for a short time, as the only effectual means of rescuing him from too certain destruction; but Captain Longford’s mind was too painfully occupied on its arrival to pay that attention it demanded.
END OF VOL. II.
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