University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

Lear.

The barbarians had done much less injury to the ship
and her contents than under the circumstances could have
been reasonably hoped. The fact that nothing could be
effectually landed where she lay was probably the cause,
the bales that had actually been got out of the ship, having
been put upon the bank with a view to lighten her, more
than for any other reason. The compact, too, between the

chiefs had its influence probably, though it could not have
lasted long with so strong temptations to violate it constantly
before the eyes of men habitually rapacious.

Of course, one of the first things after each individual
had ascertained his own losses, was to inquire into those of
his neighbours, and the usual party in the ladies' cabin was
seated around the sofa of Eve, about nine in the evening,
conversing on this topic, after having held a short but
serious discourse on their recent escape.

“You tell me, John, that Mr. Monday has a desire to
sleep?” observed Mr. Effingham, in the manner in which
one puts an interrogation.

“He is easier, and dozes. I have left my man with him,
with orders to summon me the instant he awakes.”

A melancholy pause succeeded, and then the discourse
took the channel from which it had been diverted.

“Is the extent of our losses in effects known?” asked
Mr. Sharp. “My man reports some trifling deficit, but
nothing of any value.”

“Your counterfeit,” returned Eve, smiling, “has been
the principal sufferer. One would think by his plaints, that
not a toy is left in Christendom.”

“So long as they have not stolen from him his good
name, I shall not complain, as I may have some use for it
when we reach America, of which now, God be praised!
there are some flattering prospects.”

“I understand from my connexions that the person who
is known in the main cabin as Sir George Templemore, is
not the person who is known as such in this,” observed
John Effingham, bowing to Mr. Sharp, who returned his
salute as one acknowledges an informal introduction.
“There are certainly weak men to be found in high stations
all over the world, but you will probably think I am
doing honour to my own sagacity, when I say, that I suspected
from the first that he was not the true Amphitryon.
I had heard of Sir George Templemore, and had been
taught to expect more in him than even a man of fashion—
a man of the world—while this poor substitute can scarcely
lay claim to be either.”

John Effingham so seldom complimented that his kind

words usually told, and Mr. Sharp acknowledged the politeness,
more gratified than he was probably willing to acknowledge
to himself. The other could have heard of him
only from Eve and her father, and it was doubly grateful
to be spoken of favourably in such a quarter: he thought
there was a consciousness in the slight suffusion that appeared
on the face of the daughter, which led him to hope
that even the latter had not considered him unworthy of
recollection; for he cared but little for the remembrances
of Mr. Effingham, if they could all be transferred to his
child.

“This person, who does me the honour to relieve me
from the trouble of bearing my own name,” he resumed,
“cannot be of very lofty pretensions, or he would have aspired
higher. I suspect him of being merely one of those
silly young countrymen of mine, of whom so many crowd
stage-coaches and packets, to swagger over their less ambitious
fellow-mortals with the strut and exactions of the
hour.”

“And yet, apart from his folly in `sailing under false
colours,' as our worthy captain would call it, the man
seems well enough.”

“A folly, cousin Jack,” said Eve with laughing eyes,
though she maintained a perfect demureness with her beautiful
features—“that he shares in common with so many
others!”

“Very true, though I suspect he has climbed to commit
it, while others have been content to descend. The man
himself behaved well yesterday, showing steadiness as well
as spirit in the fray.”

“I forgive him his usurpation for his conduct on that occasion,”
returned Mr. Sharp, “and wish with all my heart
the Arabs had discovered less affection for his curiosities. I
should think that they must find themselves embarrassed to
ascertain the uses of some of their prizes; such for instance,
as the button-hooks, the shoe-horn, knives with twenty
blades, and other objects that denote a profound civilization.”

“You have not spoken of your luck, Mr. Powis,” added
Mr. Effingham; “I trust you have fared as well as most
of us, though, had they visited their enemies according to

the injury received from them, you would be among the
heaviest of the sufferers.”

“My loss,” replied Paul mournfully, “is not much in
pecuniary value, though irreparable to me.”

A look of concern betrayed the general interest, for as
he really seemed sad, there was a secret apprehension that
his loss even exceeded that which his words would give
them reason to suppose. Perceiving the curiosity that was
awakened, and which was only suppressed by politeness,
the young man added,

“I miss a miniature that, to me, is of inestimable value.”

Eve's heart throbbed, while her eyes sunk to the carpet.
The others seemed amazed, and after a brief pause,
Mr. Sharp observed—

“A painting on its own account would hardly possess
much value with such barbarians. Was the setting valuable?”

“It was of gold, of course, and had some merit in the
way of workmanship. It has probably been taken as curious
rather than for its specific value; though to me, as I
have just said, the ship itself could scarcely be of more account—certainly
not as much prized.”

“Many light articles have been merely mislaid; taken
away through curiosity or idleness, and left where the individual
happened to be at the moment of changing his mind,”
said John Effingham: “several things of mine have been
scattered through the cabins in this manner, and I understand
that divers vestments of the ladies have found their
way into the state-rooms of the other cabin; particularly a
night-cap of Mademoiselle Viefville's, that has been discovered
in Captain Truck's room, and which that gallant
seaman has forthwith condemned as a lawful waif. As he
never uses such a device on his head, he will be compelled
to wear it next his heart. He will be compelled to convert
it into a liberty-cap.”

“Ciel! if the excellent captain will carry us safe to New
York,” coolly returned the governess, “he shall have the
prize, de tout mon cœur; c'est un homme brave, et c'est
aussi un brave homme, à sa façon.”

“Here are two hearts concerned in the affair already,

and no one can foresee the consequences; but,” turning to
Paul, “describe this miniature, if you please, for there are
many in the vessel, and yours is not the only one that has
been mislaid.”

“It was a miniature of a female, and one, too, I think,
that would be remarked for her beauty.”

Eve felt a chill at her heart.

“If, sir, it is the miniature of an elderly lady,” said Ann
Sidley, “perhaps it is this which I found in Miss Eve's
room, and which I intended to give to Captain Truck in order
that it might reach the hands of its right owner.”

Paul took the miniature, which he regarded coldly for a
moment, and then returned to the nurse.

“Mine is the miniature of a female under twenty,” he
said, colouring as he spoke; “and is every way different
from this.”

This was the painful and humiliating moment when Eve
Effingham was made to feel the extent and the nature of
the interest she took in Paul Powis. On all the previous
occasions in which her feelings had been strongly awakened
on his account, she had succeeded in deceiving herself as
to the motive, but now the truth was felt in that overwhelming
form that no sensitive heart can distrust.

No one had seen the miniature, though all observed the
emotion with which Paul spoke of it, and all secretly wondered
of whom it could be.

“The Arabs appear to have some such taste for the fine
arts as distinguishes the population of a mushroom American
city,” said John Effingham; “or one that runs to portraits,
which are admired while the novelty lasts, and then
are consigned to the first spot that offers to receive them.”

“Are your miniatures all safe, Eve?” Mr. Effingham
inquired with interest; for among them was one of her mother
that he had yielded to her only through strong parental
affection, but which it would have given him deep
pain to discover was lost, though John Effingham, unknown
to him, possessed a copy.

“It is with the jewellery in the baggage-room, dearest
father, and untouched of course. We are fortunate that
our passing wants did not extend beyond our comforts,

and luckily they are not of a nature to be much prized by
barbarians. Coquetry and a ship have little in common,
and Mademoiselle Viefville and myself had not much out
to tempt the marauders.”

As Eve uttered this, both the young men involuntarily
turned their eyes towards her, each thinking that a being
so fair stood less in need than common of the factitious aid
of ornaments. She was dressed in a dark French chintz,
that her maid had fitted to her person in a manner that it
would seem none but a French assistant can accomplish,
setting off her falling shoulders, finely moulded bust, and
slender-rounded waist, in a way to present a modest outline
of their perfection. The dress had that polished medium
between fashion and its exaggeration, that always denotes
a high association, and perhaps a cultivated mind—certainly
a cultivated taste—offending neither usage on the one hand,
nor self-respect and a chaste appreciation of beauty on the
other. Indeed Eve was distinguished for that important
acquisition to a gentlewoman, an intellectual or refined
toilette; not intellect and refinement in extravagance and
caricature, but as they are displayed in fitness, simplicity,
elegance, and the proportions. This much, perhaps, she
owed to native taste, as the slight air of fashion, and the
high air of a gentlewoman, that were thrown about her
person and attire, were the fruits of an intimate connexion
with the best society of half the capitals of the European
continent. As an unmarried female, modesty, the habits
of the part of the world in which she had so long dwelt,
and her own sense of propriety, caused her to respect simplicity
of appearance; but through this, as it might be in
spite of herself, shone qualities of a superior order. The
little hand and foot, so beautiful and delicate, the latter just
peeping from the dress under which it was usually concealed,
appeared as if formed expressly to adorn a taste
that was every way feminine and alluring.

“It is one of the mysteries of the grand designs of Providence,
that men should exist in conditions so widely distant
from each other,” said John Effingham abruptly, “with a
common nature that can be so much varied by circumstances.
It is almost humiliating to find one's-self a man, when
beings like these Arabs are to be classed as fellows.”

“The most instructed and refined, cousin Jack, may get
a useful lesson, notwithstanding your disrelish for the consanguinity,
from this very identity of nature,” said Eve,
who made a rally to overcome feelings that she deemed
girlish and weak. “By showing us what we might be ourselves,
we get an admonition of humility; or by reflecting
on the difference that is made by education, does it not
strike you that there is an encouragement to persevere until
better things are attained?”

“This globe is but a ball, and a ball, too, insignificant,
even when compared with the powers of man,” continued
the other. “How many navigators now circle it! even you,
sir, may have done this, young as you still are,” turning
to Paul, who made a bow of assent: “and yet, within these
narrow limits, what wonderful varieties of physical appearance,
civilization, laws, and even of colour, do we find, all
mixed up with points of startling affinity.”

“So far as a limited experience has enabled me to judge,”
observed Paul, “I have every where found, not only the
same nature, but a common innate sentiment of justice that
seems universal; for even amidst the wildest scenes of violence,
or of the most ungovernable outrages, this sentiment
glimmers through the more brutal features of the being.
The rights of property, for instance, are every where acknowledged;
the very wretch who steals whenever he can,
appearing conscious of his crime, by doing it clandestinely,
and as a deed that shuns observation. All seem to have
the same general notions of natural justice, and they are
forgotten only through the policy of systems, irresistible
temptation, the pressure of want, or the result of contention.”

“Yet, as a rule, man every where oppresses his weaker
fellow.”

“True; but he betrays consciousness of his error, directly
or indirectly. One can show his sense of the magnitude
of his crime even by the manner of defending it. As
respects our late enemies, I cannot say I felt any emotion
of animosity while the hottest engaged against them, for
their usages have rendered their proceedings lawful.”

“They tell me,” interrupted Mr. Effingham, “that it is

owing to your presence of mind and steadiness that more
blood was not shed unnecessarily.”

“It may be questioned,” continued Paul, noticing this
compliment merely by an inclination of the head, “if civilized
people have not reasoned themselves, under the influence
of interest, into the commission of deeds quite as much
opposed to natural justice as anything done by these barbarians.
Perhaps no nation is perfectly free from the just
imputation of having adopted some policy quite as unjustifiable
in itself as the system of plunder maintained among
the Arabs.”

“Do you count the rights of hospitality as nothing?”

“Look at France, a nation distinguished for refinement,
among its rulers at least. It was but the other day that the
effects of the stranger who died in her territory were appropriated
to the uses of a monarch wallowing in luxury.
Compare this law with the treaties that invited strangers to
repair to the country, and the wants of the monarch who
exhibited the rapacity, to the situation of the barbarians
from whom we have escaped, and the magnitude of the
temptation we offered, and it does not appear that the advantage
is much with Christians. But the fate of shipwrecked
mariners all over the world is notorious. In countries
the most advanced in civilization they are plundered,
if there is an opportunity, and, at need, frequently murdered.”

“This is a frightful picture of humanity,” said Eve
shuddering. “I do not think that this charge can be justly
brought against America.”

“That is far from certain. America has many advantages
to weaken the temptation to crime, but she is very
far from perfect. The people on some of her coasts have
been accused of resorting to the old English practice of
showing false lights, with a view to mislead vessels, and of
committing cruel depredations on the wrecked. In all
things I believe there is a disposition in man to make misfortune
weigh heaviest on the unfortunate. Even the coffin
in which we inter a friend costs more than any other piece
of work of the same amount of labour and materials.”

“This is a gloomy picture of humanity, to be drawn by
one so young,” Mr. Effingham mildly rejoined.

“I think it true. All men do not exhibit their selfishness
and ferocity in the same way; but there are few who do
not exhibit both. As for America, Miss Effingham, she is
fast getting vices peculiar to herself and her system, and,
I think, vices which bid fair to bring her down, ere long, to
the common level, although I do not go quite so far in describing
her demerits as some of the countrymen of Mademoiselle
Viesville have gone.”

“And what may that have been?” asked the governess
eagerly, in English.

“Pourrie avant d'être mûre. Mûre, America is certainly
far from being; but I am not disposed to accuse her yet of
being quite pourrie.”

“We had flattered ourselves,” said Eve, a little reproachfully,
“with having at last found a countryman in Mr.
Powis.”

“And how would that change the question? Or, do you
admit that an American can be no American, unless blind
to the faults of the country, however great?”

“Would it be generous for a child to turn upon a parent
that all others assail?”

“You put the case ingeniously, but scarcely with fairness.
It is the duty of the parent to educate and correct the child,
but it is the duty of the citizen to reform and improve the
character of his country. How can the latter be done, if
nothing but eulogies are dealt in? With foreigners, one
should not deal too freely with the faults of his country,
though even with the liberal among them one would wish
to be liberal, for foreigners cannot repair the evil; but with
one's countrymen I see little use and much danger, in observing
a silence as to faults. The American, of all others,
it appears to me, should be the boldest in denouncing the
common and national vices, since he is one of those who,
by the institutions themselves, has the power to apply the
remedy.”

“But America is an exception, I think, or perhaps it
would be better to say I feel, since all other people deride
at, mock her, and dislike her. You will admit this yourself,
Sir George Templemore?”

“By no means: in England, now, I consider America to
be particularly well esteemed.”

Eve held up her pretty hands, and even Mademoiselle
Viesville, usually so well-toned and self-restrained, gave a
visible shrug.

“Sir George means in his county,” drily observed John
Effingham.

“Perhaps the parties would better understand each other,”
said Paul, coolly, “were Sir George Templemore to descend
to particulars. He belongs himself to the liberal school, and
may be considered a safe witness.”

“I shall be compelled to protest against a cross-examination
on such a subject,” returned the baronet, laughing.
“You will be satisfied, I am certain, with my simple declaration.
Perhaps we still regard the Americans as tant soit
peu rebels; but that is a feeling that will soon cease.”

“That is precisely the point on which I think liberal
Englishmen usually do great justice to America, while it is
on other points that they betray a national dislike.”

“England believes America hostile to herself; and if love
creates love, dislike creates dislike.”

“This is at least something like admitting the truth of the
charge, Miss Effingham,” said John Effingham, smiling,
“and we may dismiss the accused. It is odd enough that
England should consider America as rebellious, as is the
case with many Englishmen, I acknowledge, while, in truth,
England herself was the rebel, and this, too, in connexion
with the very questions that produced the American revolution.”

“This is quite new,” said Sir George, “and I confess
some curiosity to see how it can be made out.”

John Effingham did not hesitate about stating his case.

“In the first place you are to forget professions and
names,” he said, “and to look only at facts and things.
When America was settled, a compact was made, either in
the way of charters or of organic laws, by which all the
colonies had distinct rights, while, on the other hand, they
confessed allegiance to the king. But in that age the English
monarch was a king. He used his veto on the laws, for instance,
and otherwise exercised his prerogatives. Of the two,
he influenced parliament more than parliament influenced
him. In such a state of things, countries separated by an

ocean might be supposed to be governed equitably, the common
monarch feeling a common parental regard for all his
subjects. Perhaps distance might render him even more
tender of the interest of those who were not present to protect
themselves.”

“This is putting the case loyally, at least,” said Sir
George, as the other paused for a moment.

“It is precisely in that light that I wish to present it. The
degree of power that parliament possessed over the colonies
was a disputed point; but I am willing to allow that parliament
had all power.”

“In doing which, I fear, you will concede all the merits,”
said Mr. Effingham.

“I think not. Parliament then ruled the colonies absolutely
and legally, if you please, under the Stuarts; but the
English rebelled against these Stuarts, dethroned them, and
gave the crown to an entirely new family,—one with only
a remote alliance with the reigning branch. Not satisfied
with this, the king was curtailed in his authority; the prince,
who might with justice be supposed to feel a common interest
in all his subjects, became a mere machine in the hands
of a body who represented little more than themselves, in
fact, or a mere fragment of the empire, even in theory;
transferring the control of the colonial interest from the
sovereign himself to a portion of his people, and that, too,
a small portion. This was no longer a government of a
prince who felt a parental concern for all his subjects, but a
government of a clique of his subjects, who felt a selfish
concern only for their own interests.”

“And did the Americans urge this reason for the revolt?”
asked Sir George. “It sounds new to me.”

“They quarrelled with the results, rather than with the
cause. When they found that legislation was to be chiefly
in the interests of England, they took the alarm, and seized
their arms, without stopping to analyse causes. They probably
were mystified too much with names and professions
to see the real truth, though they got some noble glimpses
of it.”

“I have never before heard this case put so strongly,”
cried Paul Powis, “and yet I think it contains the whole
merit of the controversy as a principle.”

“It is extraordinary how nationality blinds us,” observed
Sir George, laughing. “I confess, Powis,”—the late events
had produced a close intimacy and a sincere regard between
these two fine young men,—“that I stand in need of an
explanation.”

“You can conceive of a monarch,” continued John Effingham,
“who possesses an extensive and efficient power?”

“Beyond doubt; nothing can be plainer than that.”

“Fancy this monarch to fall into the hands of a fragment
of his subjects, who reduce his authority to a mere
profession, and begin to wield it for their own especial benefit,
no longer leaving him a free agent, though always
using the authority in his name.”

“Even that is easily imagined.”

“History is full of such instances. A part of the subjects,
unwilling to be the dupes of such a fraud, revolt
against the monarch in name, against the cabal in fact.
Now who are the real rebels? Profession is nothing. Hyder
Ally never seated himself in the presence of the prince
he had deposed, though he held him captive during life.”

“But did not America acquiesce in the dethronement of
the Stuarts?” asked Eve, in whom the love of the right was
stronger even than the love of country.

“Beyond a doubt, though America neither foresaw nor
acquiesced in all the results. The English themselves,
probably, did not foresee the consequences of their own
revolution; for we now find England almost in arms against
the consequences of the very subversion of the kingly
power of which I have spoken. In England it placed a
portion of the higher classes in possession of authority, at
the expense of all the rest of the nation; whereas, as respects
America, it set a remote people to rule over her,
instead of a prince, who had the same connexion with his
colonies as with all the rest of his subjects. The late English
reform is a peaceable revolution; and America would
very gladly have done the same thing, could she have extricated
herself from the consequences, by mere acts of congress.
The whole difference is, that America, pressed upon
by peculiar circumstances, preceded England in the revolt
about sixty years, and that this revolt was against an

usurper, and not against the legitimate monarch, or against
the sovereign himself.”

“I confess all this is novel to me,” exclaimed Sir George.

“I have told you, Sir George Templemore, that, if you
stay long enough in America, many novel ideas will suggest
themselves. You have too much sense to travel through the
country seeking for petty exceptions that may sustain your
aristocratical prejudices, or opinions, if you like that better;
but will be disposed to judge a nation, not according to pre-conceived
notions, but according to visible facts.”

“They tell me there is a strong bias to aristocracy in
America; at least such is the report of most European travellers.”

“The report of men who do not reflect closely on the
meaning of words. That there are real aristocrats in opinion
in America is very true; there are also a few monarchists,
or those who fancy themselves monarchists.”

“Can a man be deceived on such a point?”

“Nothing is more easy. He who would set up a king
merely in name, for instance, is not a monarchist, but a
visionary, who confounds names with things.”

“I see you will not admit of a balance in the state.”

“I shall contend that there must be a preponderating
authority in every government, from which it derives its
character; and if this be not the king, that government is
not a real monarchy, let the laws be administered in whose
name they may. Calling an idol Jupiter does not convert it
into a god. I question if there be a real monarchist left in
the English empire at this very moment. They who make
the loudest professions that way strike me as being the
rankest aristocrats, and a real political aristocrat is, and
always has been, the most efficient enemy of kings.”

“But we consider loyalty to the prince as attachment to
the system.”

“That is another matter; for in that you may be right
enough, though it is ambiguous as to terms.”

“Sir—gentlemen—Mr. John Effingham, sir,” interrupted
Saunders, “Mr. Monday is awake, and so werry conwales-cent—I
fear he will not live long. The ship herself is not
so much conwerted by these new spars as poor Mr. Monday
is conwerted since he went to sleep.”

“I feared this,” observed John Effingham, rising. “Acquaint
Captain Truck with the fact, steward: he desired to
be sent for at any crisis.”

He then quitted the cabin, leaving the rest of the party
wondering that they could have been already so lost to the
situation of one of their late companions, however different
from themselves he might be in opinions and character. But
in this they merely showed their common connexion with
all the rest of the great family of man, who uniformly forget
sorrows that do not press too hard on self, in the reaction
of their feelings.