 | CHAPTER V. Black Ralph, or, The helmsman of Hurlgate |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
Nearly opposite the Chateau de Fernay, on
the English shore, there stood, at the time of
our story, a stately country house, which
commanded a wide prospect of the channel
with a glimpse of the coast of France, and
far to the cast of the towers and battlements
of Dover Castle. The morning of the day of
the terrific tempest whose power and effect
we have attempted to describe, and a few
hours before we introduced Louise de Vernay
to the reader in the balcony of his father's
chateau, anxiously watching for the appearance
of the Minerve, whose loss we have recorded,
a gentleman stood in the south window
of this villa, looking abroad upon the
channel. He was about forty-five years of
age, tall and dignified in his person and carriage,
and with the air of a high-bred English
gentleman.
A fine schooner hove in sight, when she
fired a gun from a stern chaser, at some object
out of sight behind the headland, which
was instantly returned by a heavy canonading
from an invisible source. The shot struck the
water around the schooner whitening the surface
with paths of foam, and her fore-top-gallant-mast
went over the side, carrying top-gallant
sail and royal with it. The schooner
broached to, and for a moment lost her steering
way, while around the point appeared the
flying jib and then the head sails of a large
English brig of war in full chase, and keeping
up a constant firing at the schooner from
her bow guns. The gentleman saw at once
that it was a smuggler escaping from a King's
cruiser. He became intensely interested in
the exciting scene and looked with admiration
at the smuggler as recovering from the momentary
effect of losing his fore-top-gallant
sail, he continued on his course, gallantly returning
the fire of his pursuer.
`There was a good shot,' suddenly cried the
English gentleman, as a ball from the schooner's
stern gun struck the heel of the brig's
bow-sprit and carried it away, leaving both
her jibs flying loose to the winds. The brig
instantly yawned, the helmsman lost all command
of her, and before the braces could be
manned to bring the other sails to aid her
steering way, she fell off broadside to the
schooner.
`It is unfortunate! The fellow will now
escape,' said the gentleman. `Ah, the brig is
unmanageable, and there is the Backbone reef
within half a cable's length of her, and she is
driving right upon it! They've brought her
up! No; there goes another gun from the
smuggler, and—oh God! the shot has penetrated
her magazine!' suddenly cried the gentleman
clasping his hands together, and nearly
falling to the floor.
With an explosion that was felt many miles
inland, the cruiser blew up, filling the air with
a dark volcano-like discharge of fragments of
the brig, fire, smoke and human bodies. High
and wide they ascended, and then falling on
every side into the water, all was still. The
surface of the water was covered with innumerable
objects and the atmosphere sulphurous
and murky with smoke. These were all
that met his eyes when he looked a second
time. Where a moment before he had seen a
stalely brig of war, now none was visible.
The schooner immediately run up at her
mast-head a green flag, and firing a gun, instead
of putting out to sea to secure her escape
so singularly favored, altered her course
suddenly, and stood in towards the shore.—
The gentleman from the villa watched her at
first with surprise, and then with a look of
painful suspicion and alarm. As she came
nearer, his brow grew troubled, and, when at
length he could see the device on the flag, he
beat his forehead with a look of anguish and
a cry of execration, in the mutterings of which
the words, `brother' and `outlaw,' could be
heard. He watched the schooner, and saw
her come to, opposite the window, and a boat,
containing one person besides four oarsmen,
put off from her, and rapidly approached the
shore. The individual in the stern he seemed
to recognize, and was overcome at once by the
intensest alarm; not such as would arise from
fears of pillage, but the expression of his
face showed it to be one in which the affections
were the movers. He fled from the
window and clasping his son to his heart, took
him in his arms and fled with him from the
room. He pursued his way through a hall
that terminated in a flight of steps, which he
reached and ascended with his still sleeping
burden. At the top of the stairs was a door,
which led into a small oratory, which he entered.
The interior wes a chapel, such as
formerly, and frequently still, were in use in
the mansions of the Catholic gentlemen of
England. It was filled with a rosy light from
a stained window above the altar, yet it was
dim and shadowy, from the heavy cornices
and drapery hanging around the sides. It was
silent as the tomb! The father threw himself
upon his knees before the altar, and offered
up a short prayer for the safety of his son
the heir of his name and house—his only born
and beloved child! The boy still slept on his
father's bosom. Not the earthquake like explosion
of the cruiser, the cry of anguish of
his father on seeing the device upon the smugler's
flag, nor the burried motion of his
strange and sudden flight with him in his arms,
had wakened him from the deep sleep into
which invalids so often fall; as if the senses
in extreme debility were less alive to external
infirmities.
The father then rose from his knees and
laid the sleeping boy upon a velvet cassock
beside it, kissed his cheek, and stood up to
listen. The door of the oratory by which he
had entered, he had closed and barred. He
was in a corner tower of the building, and was
in the securest part of the massive pile.—
Therefore, he had fled hither for refuge. But
of his household within call? Why then,
should be fly thus timidly from the occupants
of a small boat?
The history of a few years prior to this period
will explain. Sir Walter Horsley was
the father of the gentleman now introduced
to the reader, the grandfather of the boy
Walter, for whom he has exhibited such extraordinary
solicitude. Old Sir Walter was
descended from a Roman Catholic general,
who distinguished himself in the service of
the `Bloody Mary,' and from whom he received
knighthood, and the gift of a fine domain.
His descendant, Sir Walter, married
the daughter of an Irish baronet, who presented
him with twin boys, and in giving them
life, gave up her own. The boys grew up together,
and were greatly attached the one to
the other, and a delightful affection marked
all their intercourse. Sir Walter was proud
of them, and resolved to set aside the law of
primogeniture—for Ralph was a few minutes
older than Edward—and divided his estate between
them. In disposition, these twins
were very dissimilar. Edward was docile,
gentle, and had a kindly feeling towards every
thing that had life. Ralph was bold, combative,
and at times, vindictive. At the age
of twelve they were seat to Eton, where one
won all hearts by his amiable and noble points
of character, and the other made himself unpopular
by his overbearing pride and impatience
of spirit. The same effects followed
them through Oxford, Edward leaving the
halls with friendship of all who had known
him, Ralph only remembered for his haughtiness
and viciousness of character, love for
pleasure, and a reckless career of expensive
dissipation. Yet in their intercourse with
each other, these two young men were all affection
and love, and neither knew a fault in
the other. Edward, had been a hundred times
Ralph's champion, both with blows and words
of eloquence, though Ralph had few occasions
to show his own ready spirit to act in
defence of his brother's name or fame.
At length at the age of twenty-three, they
returned to Horseley Hall to enter upon life.
Sir Walter was not long in discovering and
appreciating the differences of character in
his two sons. He loved them both, but Edward
shared the profoundest place in his affection.
He admired the bold character and
lofty independent spirit which Ralph exhibited,
but he loved the gentler qualities of his
brother. The two young men had been at
home nearly a year, Edward passing his time
principally in the library among the treasures
of science and philosophy, occasionally visiting
London to select rare and new books, and
for the purpose of enjoying the society of the
learned and eminent men of the kingdom.
Ralph on the other hand, devoted himself to
the sports of the field and the society of men
of pleasure. He was also attached from boy-hood
to the water, and had always been remarkable
for his venturesome spirit as a boatman;
having at the age of seventeen crossed
the channel alone, in a small sail boat which
his father had given him. He now divided
his time between his horses and hounds, and
a beautiful yacht, of a hundred and twenty
tons, which rode at anchor beneath the cliff,
when he was not coasting in her. He called
her `The Steel Arrow;' an arrow of steel
being the crest of the Horsley coat of arms.
This device he also displayed upon a flag,
with a green ground, at her peak.
Thus Ralph Horsley gave himself up to
pleasure and dissipation, spending far more
than his allowed income. At length his expenses
became so great from heavy losses on
the turf and at the faro table, that he was
forced to mortgage his yacht and horses to
raise money to meet them. When extracted
from these embarrassments he speedily fell into
others, when fearing to draw on his farther
and brother's liberality, both of whom had from
time to time advanced him money, he forged
his father's acceptance and also afterwards
that of Edward s to large amounts. For some
time his crime was undiscovered, and he hoped
to keep it so by winning enough at betting
to take up the bills before they should be presented
to his father—the delusive hope of all
who are tempted to commit this crime. But
fortune did not favor him and the acceptances
were presented to Sir Walter and Edward and
pronounced forgeries. They however did not
expose the crime of the brother and son to
the Bank but paid them in silence, assuming
the signature, thus hoping to shield from ignominy
their proud family name, and by this
indulgence win Ralph to virtue and honor.
He expressed his gratitude for this clemency
when his surprise on hearing of it had subsided
and promised them both they should
never hear again of his departure from integrity.
Ralph Horsley, however, was too fondly
wedded to his pleasures and vices to be
broken from them by a mere passing promise
based on no reformation of the heart of principle.
Rejoiced at his escape from exposure
(though he had from the first secretly believed
his father and Edward would not expose
him) he now plunged more deeply into his
dissipations. Soon the same difficulties he
had resorted to forging, to escape from, became
his lot again, and as he found writing
his father's and brother's name a very easy
and brief affair,—a mere scratch of the pen—
he did not hesitate to forge them a second
time, as might have been foreseen. They were
at short date and he was unable to meet them
and was forced to let them be presented to
those whose name he had forged. The sums
were very large and Sir Walter after his surprise,
grief and indignation would let him
speak, unable to pay them, openly pronounced
them `forgeries.' Edward did all in his
power-offered
to his father to make every
sacrifice to save the exposure of his brother,
but all in vain. He was forced to confess the
draft on himself a forgery or screen his brother
by a falsehood. The bank officer after his
astonishment was over, said he disliked to
prosecute and would take Sir Walter and Edward's
first acceptance at a long date instead
of the money and keep the affair a secret. To
consented; the bills were jointly given and
the banker returned to them the forged name
which bore testimony to the crime that had
been committed. Edward consigned the papers
instantly to the flames, and, with a heavy
heart mourned over his brother's direliction
from the paths of honor, he sought his library
in his books to forget his sorrow and disgrace.
Sir Walter, however, in whose breast anger,
shame, and grief were mingled for his guilty
son, returned to his chamber and sending
for his legal adviser made his will, devising
all his estate, real and person, to `his well beloved
son Edward,' and cutting off Ralph with
a shilling.
Ralph kept himself secreted until he knew
that his father had settled with the banker and
that he had nothing to fear, and then made his
appearance at home with great show of penitence
and contritione-well-acted remorse.—
This produced no effect upon Sir Walter, who
treated him with cold civility only; but it
touched Edward's more sensitive nature and
he forgave him all his errors so far as they affected
himself, restored him to his confidence
and affection and loaned him one thousand
pounds `to prevent the necessity of resorting
to dishonest means of replenishing his purse.'
At length Sir Walter Horsley grew sick
unto death, for the conduct of his son daily
preyed upon his heart and dried up the springs
of life. He died and was placed in the tombs
of his fathers beneath the chancel in the little
chapel of the tower. Ralph was present
at the ceremony of interment and retired with
Edward and the witnesses and others allied to
the family to hear the will read; all present
(including the twins themselves) except those
who drew it up and witnessed it, believed that
it was only the decision, in writing, of Sir
Walter's well known and repeatedly expressed
intention to divide Horsley manor equally
between his two sons, though Ralph was the
elder twin.
Ralph's indignant surprise—his fierce wrath
may easily be conceived when the brief will
was read by the solicitor and the full intention
of the deceased testator known. For a few
moments he was silent with rage, shame and
disappointment. He then strode up to the
lawyer, and snatching the will from his hands
keenly examined his father's signature which
he had given such proof of being familiar
with. It was Sir Walter's writing. He then
cast the will in the face of the solicitor and
strode fiercely towards Edward.
`Sir, this is your doings!' he said in a loud
menacing tone, `you set him up to this. Sir
Walter never would have disniherited me for
such a womanly spirited, book worm as you
are. I despise you! I hate you! I have
only pretended to love you that I might use
you. So, Sir, Edward Horsley; you shall
rue this day, nor long enjoy honors so basely
won.'
`Brother,' said Edward calmly, after desiring
the rest to quit the room, `I am as greatly
surprised as you are, at this reading of the
will. I have done you no wrong, I wish you
no wrong. You may have the estate—if you
give me but my books. The title I would give
you also if I could divest myself of it, but as
it descends by a peculiar law with the estate,
I must wear it.'
`You add insult to wrong, sir! you would
make me the offer of being your tenant at
will; a sort of overscer of your estates, while
you enjoy all the dignities and honors! No,
sir! you have by art and duplicity won from
me my heritage. Keep it.'
`This quarrel is deeply painful to me brother.
Can nothing move you to make peace?'
Ralph remained standing a few moments in
deep thought and then said—
`There is no help for it. It is done. I
must have money in some way! know you
that I am secretly married to an Earl's daughter!
I have a daughter three years old. We
must live and cannot do it without money.
Mortgage your estates and raise for me fifty
thousand pounds, and I will let you enjoy
your ill-got patrimony.'
`It shall be done tomorrow, brother, if the
money can be raised,' answered Edward
promptly, and offering his hand, which Ralph
took coldly and then walked moodily away
from him, to gaze upon his mortgaged yacht,
which lay anchored beneath the window.
In a few days the mortgage was effected,
and the fifty thousand pounds paid by Edward
over to his brother; who then took leave
of him saying that he was going to reside on
the continent until the death of his wife's father,
when fortune would again smile on him.'
`Never, brother, while honor and virtue
frown upon you, `answered Edward kindly,
but with dignity. `Farewell, and may heaven
bless you, and restore you to honor and usefulness.'
Ralph took no notice of his brother's words,
save by suffering a proud expression of scorn
to settle upon his lip, as he parted from him to
meet him no more for years. Sir Edward's
grief at his departure—for with all his errors,
he was deeply attached to him—was considerably
modified, by receiving soon after a line
from a banker, notifying him that his acceptance
for five thousand pounds, in favor of his
brother Ralph Horsely, was shortly due; accompanying
which note, was another, addressed
to him as the representative of Sir
Walter Horsely, notifying him of the near
maturity of a bill, endorsed by Sir Walter, in
favor of his son Ralph, for the sum of nine
thousand pounds.
Sir Edward paid these bills by making great
sacrifices, knowing they would be the last
from this source. About two years afterwards,
he married the daughter of a neighboring
baronet, who the following year, presented
him with a fine son, whom he named Walter,
after his father. By the time Walter had
reached his eighth year, his father had cleared
the estate he looked forward for him to inherit,
from the heavy incombrance of Ralph's forged
bills, and of the mortgage of fifty thousand
pounds in his behalf. During all this time, he
had no certain word of his brother, though rumors
reached him of a nature, which led him
wickedness of a deeper and grosser character.
Young Walter at length reached his thirteenth
year, when his father was satisfied that
deeply laid plans were in operation from some
unseen source, to deprive him of his son.—
Once he had been carried off by a Gipsey man
and woman, and rescued in time. Once he
had been decoyed from his attendant and
would have been taken off in a boat, but for
his loud cries, and the appearance of the
latter with aid, his shouts fortunately bronght
to the spot. A third time his sleeping apartment
had been invaded and his bed, from which
he had that night chanced to sleep, turned
down and examined by a man, whom his attendant
distinctly saw from his own couch,
but was too greatly terrified to move or to
speak until he moved away muttering words
of disappointment. Other incidents occurred
which led the parent to see that if he would
not be childless, he must watch over his
child's safety every moment. His mother,
Lady Horseley, at length become so anxious
and nervous, that her health suffered, and after
lingering a long time in consumption, she
died. Sir Edward's whole soul was now absorbed
in his child, and he gave himself up to
his protection. Young Walter, himself, from
being a bold, fearless and spirited lad, caught
the infection of fear, and grew nervous and
timid, and his father saw with anguish, that
his health was suffering.
He reached his fourteenth year, and for several
months there having been no further occurrence
of an alarming nature, the vigilance
with which he was watched over, had somewhat
abated, and he was permitted to walk
upon the beach in front of the dwelling, with
two attendants well armed. One morning a
fishing boat, which they had been watching,
dancing over the waves came near to the land
where they were standing. In the boat was
an old woman and a boy. The woman got
out and approached them with a basket on
her arm. One of the attendants asked her if
she had fresh fish, when she came up to them
and opened her basket. It contained a large
bouquet of flowers.
`I am not a fish woman, but a flower woman
from the opposite coast,' she answered
with a foreign accent. `I bring my French
flowers to Dover. You have none like them
in England. Will my lord purchase?' she
asked, glancing towards the Hall, and then
fixing a keen and peculiar gaze upon the boy's
face.
`I will buy, woman,' said Walter, admirthe
flowers. `My father doesn't care for flowers,
and I love them.'
`Are you my lord's son?' she asked in a
careless tone, evidently assumed, to conceal
the sudden joy that sparkled in her dark
eyes.
`Yes, if you call Sir Edward Horsely `my
lord,' said Walter, smiling. `What do you
ask for this fine, large bouquet?'
`It is twelve francs.'
`I think it dear; but I will purchase it,'
said Walter. `But what is that beautiful
plant in the little vase with the scarlet flower?'
`That I have brought to make a present of
to whoever bought my bouquet. It is your's.
If you smell the flower every morning with
the dew upon it, it will restore health to the
invalid and impart its own hues to the cheek.'
`Then it is more valuable than all. You
shall be paid for it.'
`No. I sell you the bouquet and give you
this. It is a simple flower and of little value.
I see your cheek is pale and I hope it will restore
you to health.'
Thus speaking the woman took her leave,
saying to herself, `I have done mine errand
quickly, for fortune has most kindly favored
me. This flower will insure success.' She
got into her boat, the boy set the sail, and
steered along the land towards Dover; but
when the boat had got out of sight behind the
headland, she took her way across the rippled
waters of the channel in the direction of the
French coast.
Walter placed the flower in his window,
and each morning inhaled its pleasant fragrance.
Instead of returning health, he grew
each day more and more ill, while his face became
scarlet with a hot fever. Sir Edward at
length was informed about the flower, which
Walter had kept from him, hoping soon to
surprise him with full and vigorous health.
He instantly sent for it and knew at once that
his child had been poisoned. It was the utoe
lily—a plant of the most subtle poison, found,
though rarely, in Auvergne. To inhale its
odor is noxious to human life, and if repeated,
often destroy it.
The poison had taken possession of the
youthful victim's system. Delirium followed
the earlier symptoms, and for several weeks
Walter's life hung upon a thread. Medical
skill and the careful nursing of his father,
subdued the disease, and he became slowly
convalescent. But it was found that the poison
had affected his joints and limbs, and
that he was unable to walk when he got
up. His legs were distorted from their
symmetry and drew up, and his shoulders
grew deformed. He had become a cripple,
purchasing life at the expense of deformity.
Slowly, however, did his health improve, and
it was plain that he would never again be well
though he might live for years. With what
tenderness—what intense affection and benevolent
sympathy did Sir Edward watch by
his son day and night. He never left him.
His place was forever by his side, and in his
was his own life wrapped up.
Such was the state of affairs up to the
morning that we have introduced Sir Edward
Horsley to the reader, gazing from his library
window upon the waters of the channel, and
subsequently flying on the approach of a boat,
with a strange alarm for shelter to the oratory,
bearing his son in his arms.
He now looked around the chapel with an
anxious and bitter glance. In his hand he
held his side sword which he never went without.
His whole attitude was that of fear, expectation
and desperate resolution.
`No, if it be he—he can never enter here.
if the fear of sacrilege will not keep him out,
bolts and bars will. Could it have been my
brother. I thought I recognized his form
even after seventeen years absence. He alone
would carry the device of the Steel Arrow.'
I have learned too surely that he has taken to
the seas against the revenue, and is now a
lawless chief of desperate smugglers, himself
the wickedest of them all. I have feared this
visit, I have been expecting him daily since
he left me, and now he is come. I could not
mistake that tall form which I used once to
admire and take pride in as he was my twin
brother. Alas, for the days when we loved
each other—when he was dear to me as my
own soul. But now he has only my pity, and
inspires me with horror. Crime has made a
wide gulf between us, as it will do in the next
world between the evil and the good. My
suspicions have long told me that he is the
author of my child's attempted abduction
and assassination. Horror that a brother
should seek the life of a brother's child.—
Does he hope by his death to become inheritor
of these estates? then my death must also
follow. Oh, God, can a brother lift his hand
against a twin brother!'
`Wert thou seven times my brother, Edward
Horsley, I would lift my hand against
thee if you stood between me and my desires,'
said a deep, vindictive voice near him.
Sir Edward startled at the sound of the
well known and terrible voice, and with a cry
of wild alarm caught up his son in his arms
and stood with his drawn sword upon his defence.
There was a desperate determination
in his eyes and attitude. Ralph Horsley, who
was now a tall, stout, dark complexioned man,
in seaman's dress, armed with pistols and a
short sword, gazed upon his brother a few
moments as if observing the change in his
apperance, and then said in a careless, half-laughing,
though coarse tone,
`Well, brother, you have something changed
in sixteen years; and so have I! You
have always stood in my way, and this moment
hold my titles and estates. I have come
for both of them.'
`Monster! you take them both with my
life,' cried Sir Edward, shuddering, yet wanting
nothing in the courage and firmness the
moment called for.
`Thy life I want not now. If that brat be
removed, whom I take to be thy son, I am
content. I have a daughter I would marry
and have a fancy to give her Horsley Hall as
her portion.'
`This boy is the true heir before Heaven,
and no earthly power shall make me resign
his sacred right.'
`Thy boy stands in my way.'
`He is my son, and the true heir of Horsley.
Harm him not, brother! You have
sought his life thrice! Oh, think not of pursuing
that life farther, which has been miraculously
spared.'
`He shall die. If Heaven will save him
let her make another miracle in his behalf.'
`Demon! brother! stand off!' cried Sir
Edward, as his brother approached him menacingly,
to seize the poor boy who had awaked
to all the terrors of his situation.
The muscular strength of the smuggler
was too great for that of Sir Edward, who
with natural repugnance at taking his brother's
life, let him draw near till within his
sword guard, which he beat to the ground and
then wrested the boy from his grasp.
`Spare, oh! spare his life, and I will surrender
to you all—titles, estates and all!—
Nay, I will enter a monastery for life. You
shall never hear of me more. Spare, oh
spare, brother!' he cried in agony and anguish,
as Ralph, after suspending the boy
over the low altar a moment, laid him upon
it, and held his short sword to his breast.—
Walter had fainted and lay insensible like a
lamb waiting the sacrifice.
`He shall die!' answered the smuggler,
fiercely. `I will have my rights back again.
I have tried secretly to get his life without
success long enough; I will now ensure it.
He dies!'
`Then God forgive me! die thyself' cried
Sir Edward, striking his glittering sword at
his heart. The blade encountered a mailed
shirt, and bending, broke to the hilt it his
grasp. With a loud laugh the outlaw brought
the point of the sword close to the boy's heart.
`Save his life and take mine! oh spare him,
brother; Let him live and I will die!' cried
the agonized father. `Remember the place!
It is holy!'
`So much the better.'
`It is an altar of God upon which you have
lain him.'
`So much the better for a sacrifice. He
dies!'
The sword of the assassin was raised above
his head high in the air—Sir Edward sprung
at the same instant upon the altar, and covering
his son's heart with his own, the sword of
the fratricide penetrated the living bodies
both of father and son at one blow!
| CHAPTER V. Black Ralph, or, The helmsman of Hurlgate | |