Edward Barnett, a Neglected Child of South Carolina Part 4

To proceed with our tale. Day was now fast breaking; and as the cortege moved away with their prisoner, two hors.e.m.e.n appeared on the cliffs above, and dismounting, watched the party with eager but disappointed looks. They were the old seaman and Edward Barnett, the village landlady's eccentric nephew.

'A plague upon my awkward riding,' said the seaman, 'we are too late!

They have taken him, and that rascal too with him! Fool that he was to place any confidence in such a hound.'

'He had been kind to Tom's mother,' said Edward, 'and he supposed that grat.i.tude.'

'Bah!' said the sailor; 'when you have buffeted as many of the storms of life as I have, you will learn that grat.i.tude is rarely found on earth--least of all in such a brutified nature as that fellow's. But why do I blame him? He was but what the law made him. Punished for a venial fault--sent to herd with hardened malefactors, is it wonderful that he should become schooled in crime? And now the law will punish the criminal it made. We can do no good here--we had best proceed to Erith.

I have much to say to you, and much to do. But fear not; Hunter shall not perish without an effort, even if I tear him from the gallows.' So saying, he remounted, and the two slowly pursued their way towards Erith.

CHAPTER VI.

THE BEGINNING OF RETRIBUTION.

The seaman and his young companion were seated together in a little room overlooking the sea, on the evening succeeding the events we have related. It was one of those calm, lovely evenings when summer, seeming loth to give over her reign to the approaching fall, exerts herself to display her utmost beauty, and withholds her scorching heat. The declining sun gave a rose colored tint to the landscape, and the vessels pa.s.sing to or from the modern Babylon added animation to the scene. The mariner was gazing at the distant horizon, lost in thought. That memories of other days were recalled to his mind, was evident from the working of his features; that it required a strong effort to restrain his emotion, was perceivable from the compression of his lips. There was a ma.s.sive grandeur in his aspect as he sat, well befitting the scene.

His young companion had his thoughts also, and they were not the usual ones of his age. The meeting with the seaman and subsequent events had roused him from his usual listless, wayward fancies, and he was going back in memory to past scenes--shadowy and indistinct--but all in some way mixed with the locket he wore suspended, unseen, around his neck.

That the time had now arrived when he was to receive an explanation of the past, he felt sure; for his aunt had often told him that when Walter arrived he should know all: and from the seaman's manner he conjectured that the long wished for hour was come.

'Edward,' said the mariner, 'I wish you to tell me all that you recollect--not of your life at your aunt's, but before that.'

'And then,' said the boy, 'in return you promise to tell me of my parentage?'

'You shall know all.'

The boy paced the floor for a few moments. His figure was slender, but lithe and active, of medium stature; and there was a restlessness about his movements that told of a wild spirit within. His face was remarkably handsome; features chiselled in a form that would have served a Grecian sculptor for a model--and his long dark hair fell in glossy locks even over his shoulders. He stood holding the back of a chair, and looking more to seaward than at his companion, began:

'It was not in this country, I am sure, that I first recollect myself, in a handsome house, but built different from these. There were cocoa-nut trees growing near it; and other trees that do not grow here; but I have seen something like them in the Earl's green house. There were luscious fruits, but not English ones--oranges and bananas I am sure. The people around us too were black. I remember I was frightened when I came here first at seeing so many white people and no blacks.'

Walter regarded him steadily--but the young man's eye was seaward. He seemed to see before him the scenes he was depicting.

'There was a piazza round the house, where I used to play, and a sweet lady, very like poor Mary, but dark-haired, whom I used to call mother.'

There was powerful emotion depicted on the listener's face, but he said nothing. 'I remember a handsome gentleman, but he was not there often.

He wore a uniform, but not like the officers here. I think now he must have been in the navy. I used to call him papa. I am sure he must have been my father, and he was a sailor; for my mother was always looking out to sea when he was absent, and he took me onboard a man of war s.h.i.+p once, where, from the deference every one showed to him, I judge, now that I am older, that he must have been the Captain of. These things seem to me like shadows, for I was not more than five years old then.'

'True,' said his auditor, 'your memory is good.'

'There was a party. I think my father was not there, but I was handsomely dressed, and ladies caressed me, and the negroes were dancing. I think it must have been my birth-day. I remember a servant bringing in a letter, and my mother fainting, and talk about a great fight at sea, and my father's name mentioned--I have forgotten it--but ladies told me not to cry, and I knew that he was dead; but I did not know what it meant. After this another gentleman used to come there, very handsome too, but not like my father, for he had a dark face and dark hair, and my father's hair was light. I did not like him, for he spoke very stern to my mother, and she used to weep, and was very much frightened by him. It was some paper he wanted from her, and he offered her gold once. I saw him, for I hid myself and watched him. Then my mother got sick--they said she was getting better, and I remember being much surprised one morning, when the old nurse came down and told me she was dead. She had died suddenly in the night, they said, and yet she had been better the evening before.'

A deep groan burst from the seaman's lips, and his face was ashy pale.

The young man trembled as he proceeded.

'The dark gentleman came and took me away from the house, and I never saw it again. My old nurse went with me. I was six years old then, and I lived with her, in a poorer place than before, and not close to the old house, for we went a long way in a carriage to reach it. We lived together so till I was near eight years old. The dark gentleman never came near us--but one day a man came, and said he had bought her, I think, and she must go with him; and they took her away from me. I clung to her, but they beat me away. Unseen by them she tied this ribbon with the locket to it round my neck, and telling me never to part with it, for it had been my mother's, and would one day bring me rank and fortune, she went with her new master. A kind old colored woman, who used to say she was free, took me to her house, and I remember nothing more until you found me there, but that I hid the locket even from her, for I was afraid she would take it away, and that the man who took Nurse away, said, looking at me, "What a pity he is white!"'

The youth had been so intent upon collecting the reminiscences of his childhood, that he had failed to perceive the effect it had upon his companion, and the darkness now prevented his face from being seen--but the agonized sobs that broke from him now and then told that the fountains of his heart were stirred, and his very soul harrowed up, and memory had conjured up a series of terrible recollections. Lights were brought into the room, but all traces of agitation had disappeared, and his countenance bore only the look of stern, implacable resolve.

'Edward, tell me one thing more. Have you ever seen the dark-haired man since?'

'Daily, for these ten years almost. I knew him instantly.'

'His name?'

'De Montford! It was by accident I discovered the secret of the picture in the justice-room, and I have availed myself of it to play spirit to him and his base agent sometimes.'

'It was a boyish trick--but you have sterner work now in hand than playing ghost--you have to avenge a murdered mother!'

'Ah! then my mother's sudden death, when she was recovering--'

'Was the work of poison!'

'I see it all!' said the young man. 'The papers he wanted, and she refused--but I will kill him!' He started up, and was rus.h.i.+ng to the door. The iron grasp of the seaman arrested him.

'You must be calm, Edward. He shall die, but he must not perish by your hand. He is your uncle. But he shall first be stripped of his a.s.sumed rank and t.i.tle, and his proud spirit humbled. Then he shall answer in a court of justice for the murder of your mother.'

'Who, then, was my father?'

'The eldest lawful son of the late Earl De Montford!'

Edward gazed proudly around him for a moment, then sank into a chair, and burying his face in his hands, burst into tears. Walter did not disturb him, but sat regarding him with a look in which affection was strangely mingled with his stern resolve. At length Edward raised his head.

'I am composed now,' said he, 'and will be guided by you, for I am convinced you have been a true friend to me. But there must be no reservation--you must tell me all.'

'Or you will doubt me. It was never my intention to keep you in the dark or in leading strings longer than necessary. I am above the petty spirit which, to magnify its importance, keeps to itself half a secret, to be told at another time. You shall know all, and we will concert our measures together as man and man, for I can easily guess from this moment you have put off the boy for ever.'

It was true. Even in that short time a marked change had come upon him, and it was with the resolved air of a man prepared to hear, determine, and to act, if need be, with firmness and deliberation, that he pushed his chair from the table, and folding his arms upon his chest, sat waiting for the mariner to proceed in his tale. That burst of tears which followed the announcement of his rank was a last farewell to boyhood, and his firm att.i.tude and handsome features looked worthy to uphold the proud motto of his house, "Nulli Secundi."

CHAPTER VII.

THE SEAMAN'S STORY.

'I was little more than twelve years of age when I entered the British Navy as a mids.h.i.+pman, much against my good father's will, for I was his only child, and my mother died the day I first saw the light. But I was a wayward, unruly boy, and he feared I might take to bad courses if restrained. It was a time of stirring action, and before I was twenty years of age I bore upon my shoulder the epaulette of a lieutenant, earned in many a b.l.o.o.d.y fight. The naval service was then in high favour, and many sprigs of n.o.bility condescended to walk the quarter-deck as captains and commanders, though they seldom knew as much about a s.h.i.+p as the s.h.i.+p's boys. One of these was the late Earl de Montford--He had the haughty courage of his race; few of them were deficient in that; but he had disdained to learn his profession, and when he was appointed to command a corvette, I was sent on board as first lieutenant, but in fact as what is called a nurse--to do the work, while my incapable but t.i.tled commander reaped the glory. We were anch.o.r.ed in the bay of Naples, having borne despatches to the fleet then stationed there, and were under orders to sail the next morning, when he sent for me into his cabin, and with more familiarity and kindness than he had ever used to me before, he confided to me that he was in love, and wanted my a.s.sistance to rescue her he loved from a convent. Fond of adventure, I consented, and we succeeded, so they were that very evening united by the chaplain on board the corvette. She was very beautiful, and he was both proud and fond of her. His father was alive, however, and as the old Earl had negotiated for him a marriage with the daughter of some proud Marquis in England, he did not dare to acquaint him of it--for though the t.i.tle and the estate could not be alienated, yet the enormous personal property could, and even his love for the fair Italian could not reconcile him to risk the chance of enduring what he would have called poverty. He purchased a villa at Leghorn, and leaving the s.h.i.+p almost entirely at my command, lived for the time at least as though there was nothing on this earth to care for but love and beauty.

The chaplain had been sworn to secresy, and the other officers of the s.h.i.+p thought it was merely some amour of their commander's, and whatever they thought of his morals, they of course took good care to say nothing. The chaplain died soon after, and I remained the sole living witness of the marriage. The birth of a son, however, instead of linking their hearts closer together, became the apple of discord between them.

She pressed him to acknowledge her as his wife to the numerous English families who were settled around Leghorn, and who refused to a.s.sociate with one in her equivocal position. She had borne their slights patiently when only directed against herself, but the feelings of a mother were aroused when the finger of scorn was pointed at her child.

It was too evident, also, that his affection for her was on the wane. He was absent from her more frequently--spoke of the necessity of attending to his duty--his duty! oh, the ready excuse man finds to do evil. Better far for that poor girl would it have been to have been buried in the deepest recesses of the cloister, than to have attracted the notice of that vile unprincipled n.o.bleman. It was about this time the old Earl died, and he quitted the service. There was no bar now for his acknowledging her as his wife--but he was satiated--his fleeting pa.s.sion had evaporated. He had visited England in the interval, and seen the bride destined for him by his father: and her beauty, the enormous addition to his wealth and power which would accrue from the marriage, tempted him, and he now regarded the woman who had surrendered to him the most sacred of man's earthly trusts--her young heart's first affections, her hopes of earthly happiness--as a barrier to his pride and the vile pa.s.sion he dared to dignify with the name of love: and when she now asked him to do her the justice which he could no longer plead his father's anger for denying--O G.o.d, where were thy thunderbolts!--he told her that their marriage was a sham one, that the chaplain was but a servant in disguise, and that in truth she was only his mistress. I had been dismissed the service through him--I will speak of that anon--the chaplain was dead--she did not even know his name or mine--how could she help herself? She never held up her head after this. She refused all support from him, though he offered to settle upon her a considerable pension. For five years she supported herself by teaching music at Florence, whither she removed with an attendant whom her gentle manners had attached to her, and from whom, years after, I learned these particulars. She never would, however, consent to sign any papers which would affect her own or her son's rights, nor would she part with the certificate of marriage the chaplain had given her, though he tried hard to obtain them, as also the letters he had written to her from the s.h.i.+p at different times in which he had always addressed her as his wife. But her const.i.tution had received a shock from which it never recovered, and at the expiration of that time she died. His agent, who had been secretly watching her by his orders, took the boy to England, where he was sent to a distant school for education under a feigned name, and at the age of fifteen sent to sea--where, as he was believed to be a natural son of the Earl, and the latter favored that a.s.sumption, his advancement was rapid; not more so, however, than his gallantry and good conduct deserved, for I often heard his name mentioned with applause, though I little dreamed then who he was, or how closely the fortunes of those I loved the best were connected with him. He was your father, Edward, and the proud man who now usurps your t.i.tle and your fortune is a b.a.s.t.a.r.d!'

The look of high reserve that flashed in the young man's eyes as he listened to the tale, contrasted well while it agreed with the stern, implacable, expression of the mariner's countenance, which deepened, if possible, as he proceeded.

'It was many years afterwards that I learned these particulars, but I must now speak of my dismissal and its cause. From the day that your grandfather's love for his young bride began to decline, he hated me, yet he feared me--and took good care to conceal it: I was young and unsuspicious, and when he procured my appointment as first-lieutenant in a frigate bound to the West Indies, I thanked the man who was plotting my ruin. The commander of the frigate was one of the meanest wretches that ever disgraced a command--an impoverished rake who gained the means of continuing his excesses by flattering the vanity and aiding the schemes of his richer companions in vice, and duping the more inexperienced. He had received his directions evidently, and every studied insult, everything that petty spite and malice could inflict was tried to provoke me, but the contempt I felt for the reptile restrained me full as much as the iron bands of discipline. We arrived at Jamaica and cruised about the Bay of Mexico for some time, when the daughter of a rich planter, in South Carolina, (then one of his Majesty's colonies, now one of the brightest stars in the flag of the Great Republic,) took a pa.s.sage with her governess in our s.h.i.+p to New Orleans, whither we were ordered on service. The Captain tried to make himself agreeable to her, but she treated his advances with coldness so marked as to enrage him.

She saw through, with ease, the flimsy veil he attempted to throw over his vices. It was my happy fortune to save her from a watery grave. In landing, she incautiously stepped from the ladder before the boat was sufficiently near to receive her, and fell, into the sea. I dashed over the taffrail, the tide was running strong, but I caught her in my arms, and bore her up, until the boat came to our relief. Her father, who awaited her arrival, was unbounded in his expressions of grat.i.tude, and invited me often to his hotel, he also gave me a cordial invitation to his plantation in Carolina. The Captain made many unseemly jokes upon the affair, but I bore them all,--for now I felt I loved and I hoped, who does not hope at twenty-three? I hoped I was beloved in return.

Annoyed by my patience, galled and mortified by his rejection, he lost his usual prudence, and one day boasted before a knot of loose companions in my presence, of favors he had received from her,--from her who was purity itself, and had scarcely deigned to exchange the common courtesies of life with him. I struck him to the deck for his detested lie, and gave myself up as prisoner. I was tried by a Court Martial and declared incapable of serving his Majesty again. I had expected death, and his powerful friends did their utmost to procure a sentence, but the Admiral was a just though a rigid man, and well knew the character of my accuser,--the provocation was taken into consideration, and the services I had rendered during eleven years in storm and battle. I was dismissed.

Mr. Elliott, the planter, offered me a home. I had saved considerable prize money. I was disgusted with England, and I loved. He, himself, offered me his daughter, and she did not refuse me. We lived together three happy years, when she died in giving birth to a daughter. Oh! she was beautiful,--most beautiful, but linked to my wayward fate, she perished.'

There was a softened shade over the seaman's face, and the stern expression had gone,--he brushed some moisture from his eyes with his strong hand, and turned aside for a moment; the young man was deeply moved.