CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
That which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have. SHAKESPEARE.
But we must return on shore, that we may not lose sight of thegrandfather of our hero, who had no idea that there was a being inexistence who was so nearly connected with him.
The time had come when that information was to be given; for, about sixweeks previous to the action we have described, in which Adams thequarter-master was killed, Admiral De Courcy was attacked by a painfuland mortal disease. As long as he was able to move about, hisirritability of temper, increased by suffering, rendered him moreinsupportable than ever; but he was soon confined to his room, and theprogress of the disease became so rapid, that the medical attendantsconsidered it their duty to apprise him that all hopes of recovery mustnow be abandoned, and that he must prepare himself for the worst.
The admiral received the intelligence with apparent composure, and bowedhis head to the physicians as they quitted his room. He was alone, andleft to his own reflections, which were not of the most enviable nature.He was seated, propped up in an easy chair, opposite the large Frenchwindow, which commanded a view of the park. The sun was setting, andthe long-extended shadows of the magnificent trees which adorned hisextensive domain were in beautiful contrast with the gleams of radiantlight, darting in long streaks between them on the luxuriant herbage.The cattle, quietly standing in the lake, were refreshing themselvesafter the heat of the day, and the deer lay in groups under the shade,or crouching in their lairs, partly concealed by the underwood and fern.All was in repose and beauty, and the dying man watched the sun, as itfast descended to the horizon, as emblematical of his race, so shortlyto be sped. He surveyed the groups before him--he envied even thebeasts of the field, and the reclaimed tenants of the forest, for theyat least had of their kind, with whom they could associate; but he,their lord and master, was alone--alone in the world, without one wholoved or cared for him, without one to sympathise in his sufferings andadminister to his wants, except from interested motives--without one tosoothe his anguish, and soften the pillow of affliction and disease--without one to close his eyes, or shed a tear, now that he was dying.
His thoughts naturally reverted to his wife and children. He knew thattwo of these individuals, out of three, were in the cold grave--andwhere was the other? The certain approach of death had alreadyhumanised and softened his flinty heart. The veil that had been drawnby passion between his conscience and his guilt was torn away. The pastrushed upon his memory with dreadful rapidity and truth, and horribleconviction flashed upon his soul, as he unwillingly acknowledged himselfto be the murderer of his wife and child. Remorse, as usual, followed,treading upon the heels of conviction--such remorse, that, in a shortspace, the agony became insupportable.
After an ineffectual struggle of pride, he seized the line which wasattached to the bell-rope, and, when his summons was obeyed, desiredthat the vicar might be immediately requested to come to him.
Acquainted with the admiral's situation, the vicar had anxiously waitedthe summons which he was but too well aware would come, for he knew thehuman heart, and the cry for aid which the sinner in his fear sendsforth. He was soon in the presence of the admiral, for the first timesince the day that he quitted the house with the letter of theunfortunate Peters in his possession. The conversation which ensuedbetween the agitated man, who had existed only for this world, and theplacid teacher, who had considered it (as he inculcated) as only, apreparation for a better, was too long to be here inserted. It will besufficient to say, that the humbled and terrified wretch, the suffererfrom disease, and greater sufferer from remorse, never could have beenidentified with the once proud and over-bearing mortal who had so longspurned at the precepts of religion, and turned a deaf ear to the mildpersuasions of its apostle.
"But that letter!" continued the admiral, in a faltering voice--"whatwas it? I have yet one child alive--Oh, send immediately for him, andlet me implore his forgiveness for my cruelty."
"That letter, sir, was written but one hour previously to his death."
"His death!" cried the admiral, turning his eyes up to the ceiling."God have mercy on me! then I have murdered him also. And how did hedie? Did he starve, as I expressed in my horrid--horrid wish?"
"No, sir; his life was forfeited to the offended laws of his country."
"Good God, sir!" hastily replied the admiral, whose ruling passion--pride--returned for the moment, "you do not mean to say that he washanged?"
"Even so; but here is the letter which he wrote--read it."
The admiral seized the letter in his tremulous hand, and devoured everyword as he perused it. He let it fall on his knees, and said, in asubdued voice, "My God!--my God!--and he asked forgiveness, and forgivesme!" Then, with frantic exclamation, he continued: "Wretch that I am,--would that I had died for thee, my son--my son!" and clasping his handsover his head, he fell back in a state of insensibility.
The vicar, much affected with the scene, rang the bell for assistance,which was obtained; but the wretched man had received a shock whichhastened his dissolution. He was too much exhausted to sit upright, andthey were obliged to carry him to the bed, from which he never roseagain. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to be able to converse,he waved the servants from the room, and resumed in a faltering voice--
"But, sir, he mentions his child--my grandchild. Where is he? Can Isee him?"
"I am afraid not, sir," replied the vicar, who then entered into arecital of the arrangements which had taken place, and the name of theship on board of which our hero had been permitted to remain, under thecharge of Adams, the quartermaster.
The admiral listened to the recital of the vicar without interruption,and, as soon as it was finished, to the great joy of the worthy pastor,expressed the most anxious wish to make every reparation in his power.Aware that difficulties might arise, from the circumstance of our hero'sexistence not being suspected by his collateral heirs, who had for sometime considered as certain their ultimate possession of his largeentailed property, he directed a will to be immediately drawn up,acknowledging his grandchild, and leaving to him all his personalproperty, which was very considerable; and praying the vicar to takeupon himself the office of guardian to the boy--a request which wascheerfully complied with. The admiral would not listen to the repeatedrequests of the vicar, to take the repose which his excited and sinkingframe required, until the necessary document had been drawn out, signed,and duly witnessed. When all was complete he fell back on the pillow,in such a state of exhaustion as threatened immediately to terminate hiscareer. It was late when the vicar took his leave, after havingadministered some little consolation to the repentant and dying man, andpromised to call upon him early on the ensuing morning.
But the vicar had other duties to perform, which induced him to deferhis visit until the following noon. Others were sick, others weredying, and needed spiritual consolation; and he made no distinctionbetween the rich and the poor. The physicians had expressed theiropinion that the admiral might linger for many days, and the vicarthought that advantage might be derived from his being left for a shorttime to his own reflections, and to recover from the state of exhaustionarising from the communications of the preceding evening. When hearrived at the hall the windows were closed--Admiral De Courcy was nomore.
Reader, you shall hear how he died. It was about two o'clock in themorning that he awoke from an uneasy slumber, and felt his endapproaching. The old crone who had been hired as a nurse to watch atnight, was fast asleep in her chair. The rushlight had burned low downin the socket, and, through the interstices of its pierced shade, threwa feeble and alternate light and shadow over the room. The mouth of thedying man was glued together from internal heat, and he suffered fromagonising thirst. He murmured for relief, but no one answered. Againand again he attempted to make his careless attendant acquainted withhis wants, but in vain. He stretched out his arm and moved the curt
ainsof the bed, that the noise of the curtain-rings upon the iron rods mighthave the effect, and then fell back with exhaustion, arising from theeffort which he had made.
The old beldame, who, for money, was willing to undertake the mostrevolting offices, and who, without remuneration, was so hardened, byher constant familiarity with disease and death, that she was callousand insensible to the most earnest supplication, woke up at the noisewhich the curtain-rings had made, and opened the curtain to ascertainwhat was required. Long experience told her at once that all would soonbe over, and she was convinced that her charge would never rise or speakagain.
This was true; but the suffering man (his arm lying outside of thebedclothes, and his elbow bent upwards) still pointed with his finger tohis parched mouth, with a look of entreaty from his sinking eyes. Theold fiend shut the curtains, and the admiral waited with impatience forthem to reopen with the drop of water "to cool his parched tongue"--butin vain. Leaving him to his fate, she hobbled about the room to securea golden harvest, before others should make their appearance and shareit with her. His purse was on the table: she removed the gold which itcontained, and left the silver; she chose that which she imagined to bethe most valuable of the three rings on the dressing table; she detachedone seal from the chain of his watch. She then repaired to the wardrobeand examined its contents. One of her capacious pockets was soon filledwith the finest cambric handkerchiefs, all of which she first took theprecaution to open and hold up to the light, rejecting those which werenot of the finest texture. The silk stockings were the next articlesthat were coveted; they were unfolded one by one, and her skinny armpassed up, that the feet might be extended by her shrivelled hands, toascertain whether they were darned or not--if so, they were rejected.
The wardrobe was on the opposite side of the bed, and on that side thecurtains had not been closed. The dying man had still enough sight leftto perceive the employment of his attendant. What must have been hisfeelings! He uttered a deep groan, which startled the old hag, and sherepaired to the bedside, to examine the state of her charge.
Again he pointed with his finger to his mouth, and again she returned toher employment, without having rendered the assistance which herequired. His eyes followed, and his finger still pointed. Havingransacked every drawer, and secured all that she dared take, or that herpockets could contain, she rang the bell for the servants of the house;then pulling out her handkerchief, ready to put to her eyes in token ofsympathy, she sat down on her easy chair to await their coming.
In the meanwhile, the eyes of the unfortunate man gradually turnedupward; his vision was gone, but his agonising thirst continued to thelast; and when the retainers of the family came in, he was found dead,with his finger still pointing in the same direction.
With ordinary minds, there is something so terrible in death, somethingso awful in the dissolution of the elements of our frame, something sohorrible in the leap into the dark abyss, that it requires all thepowers of a fortified spirit, all the encouragement of a goodconscience, and all the consolations of religion and of faith, to enableus to muster any degree of resolution for the awful change. But ifaught can smooth the pillow--can chase away from the terrified spiritthe doubt and depression by which it is overwhelmed, it is the beingsurrounded and attended by those who are devoted and endeared to us.When love, and duty, and charity, and sympathy hover round the couch ofthe departing, fainting hope is supported by their presence, and thefleeting Spirit, directed by them, looks upward to the realms from whichthese heaven-born passions have been permitted to descend on earth, tocheer us through our weary pilgrimage.
What, then, had Admiral De Courcy to support him in his last moments?--Agood conscience?--faith?--hope?--love?--duty?--or even sympathy?--Wanting all, he breathed his last. But, let us--
Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all; Close up his eyes, and draw the curtains close. And let us all to meditation.
The vicar affixed seals upon the drawers, to secure the remainder of theproperty (for the example of the old nurse had been followed by manyothers), and, having given directions for the funeral, returned to hisown home.
The second day after the admiral's death, a carriage and four drovefuriously up the avenue and stopped at the entrance door. The occupantsdescended, and rang the bells with an air of authority; the summons wasanswered by several of the male domestics, who were anxiously lookingout for the new proprietor of the domain. A tall man, of verygentlemanlike appearance, followed by a mean-looking personage in black,walked in, the latter as he followed, proclaiming the other to theservants as the heir-at-law, and present owner of the property. By thistime the whole household were assembled, lining the hall for thevisitors to pass, and bowing and curtseying to the ground. The vicar,who had expected the appearance of these parties, had left directionsthat he might be immediately acquainted with their arrival. On receiptof the information, he proceeded to the hall, and was ushered into thelibrary, where he found them anxiously awaiting his arrival, that theseals might be withdrawn which had been placed upon the drawers.
"Whom have I the honour of addressing, sir?" said the vicar to thetaller of the two, whom he presumed, by his appearance, to be thesuperior.
"Sir," replied the little man, in a pompous manner, "you are speaking toMr Rainscourt, the heir-at-law, of this entailed property."
"I am sorry, truly sorry, sir," replied the vicar, "that from not havingbeen well informed, you should be subjected to such severedisappointment. I am afraid, sir, that, the grandchild of Admiral DeCourcy will have a prior claim."
The two parties started from their chairs and looked at each other inamazement.
"The grandchild!" replied the little man--"never even heard that therewas such a person."
"Very probably, sir; but I have long known it, and so did Admiral DeCourcy, as you will perceive when you read his will, which is in mypossession, as guardian to the child--and upon the strength of whichoffice I have put seals upon the property."
The parties looked aghast.
"We must inquire into this," replied the legal adviser, for such he was.
"I am ready to give you any information you may require," replied thevicar. "I have here copies of the marriage certificate of the parents,and the register of baptism of the child, the originals of which youwill find in the parish church of ---, not five miles distant; and I canmost satisfactorily prove his identity, should that be necessary."
"And where is the grandchild?"
"At sea, on board a man-of-war, at the dying request of his father, whodetermined that he should be brought up for the service. Would you liketo see the late admiral's will?"
The tall gentleman bowed assent, and it was read. Having been carefullyexamined by the lawyer, as well as the other documents in the vicar'spossession, all appeared so clear and conclusive, that he unwillinglyacknowledged to his employer, in a whisper, that there was no chance ofsetting the will aside. Pallid with the revulsion of feelings from hopeto despair, the pretender to the estates ordered the horses to bebrought out, and, on their being announced, with a slight bow to thevicar, retired from the library.
But outside, the state of affairs was altered, by the servants havingoverheard the conversation. No one was attentive enough to open thedoor to let out those whom they had so obsequiously admitted: and one ofthe postilions was obliged to dismount, to shut up the chaise after theyhad entered it. Such is the deference shown respectively to those whoare, or are not, the real heirs-at-law.