Chapter V

_A further Account of what occurred at Lisbon after John De Lancaster’s Arrival at that Place._

Such was the melancholy end of Philip, son of old De Lancaster, and father of our hero. Heaven endowed him with moderate faculties, and indolence conspired to make that little less. The place, which he left vacant in the list of the De Lancasters from earliest time, was scarcely less a chasm whilst he lived, than now when he was dead. Yet weak and dormant as his spirit was, repeated aggravations from Ap Owen roused him at last, and in the moment of his unguarded courage he fell into an artful villain’s snare and was destroyed.

The memoirs of poor Philip’s life would hardly fill a page; but the reflections, that might be deduced from his untimely death would be a lesson of useful warning to those listless idlers, those noneffectives in creation’s roll, who seem destined to live for no worthier purpose, except to turn that vital air to waste, which might have fed the lungs of nobler beings, who either patiently employ their hours over the midnight lamp in learned toil; or, by their country called to unwholesome climes, where the extremes of heat or cold are fatal, go forth and die by thousands.

Still nature pleaded to the filial heart of John De Lancaster--That mangled corpse, on which you look, gave life to you, and was your father--Keenly he felt the appeal, and, whilst his eyes dwelt on the piteous object, the big tears rolled down his cheeks: nor could he quite abstain from exclamation, or keep his fiery spirit in command, whilst the last words his dying father uttered still sounded in his ears--Never, he cried, bear witness for me, Nature! will I revisit my beloved home, till I have obtained, or executed, justice on the villain, the out-lawed enemy of God and man, who did this murderous deed. This is the second corpse, that he has made, and sent the immortal spirit to arraign him at Heaven’s tribunal. Dreadful wretch, what must the torment of his conscience be.

Whilst these or words like these, burst from his lips, as still he stood, alone, contemplating the dismal scene, Edward, the younger Wilson, came behind him, and embracing him, whilst he spake--Bear up, he cried: remember God allows these trials to improve and exercise our virtue: every sorrow, that may fall on us by his dispensation, may be converted to our use and profit. And now, if what I say required a proof how prompt his justice is, I have it for you--The criminal is seized and in your hands--Aye! that is right: address your praise to Heaven! there fix your thoughts, and cease to mourn for him, whose cause is heard, whose injuries are redressed--But you shall have the matter as it passed.

After you left the ship Devereux obtained intelligence that Owen had been traced, and was suspected to have got on board a certain vessel, which he pointed out, then lying near us, bound to the Western Isles, and ready for a start. The man, who told him this, came from the shore, and was apprised, that orders had been out to search for him, and seize him on suspicion of murder. Upon this information instantly Devereux with Henry and myself, well armed, took to the boat (the master of the pacquet freely granting it) and in a few minutes, claiming our right of search, we were admitted; and rushing to the cabin, there discovered Owen, who, though disguised in the apparel of a common sailor, made no attempt to contradict our charge, such was his terror on the sight of us, and his surprise exceeding all description. We told him that our errand was to seize him--What had he done?--What you must answer for with your life, we replied. Murdered a noble gentleman, your countryman, your friend, Philip De Lancaster.--Is he then dead? he cried, and started with horror, trembling and ghastly pale.--Two or three of the by-standers instantly exclaimed--He’s guilty, he confesses it: Away with him! He sunk down on his chair, and hid his eyes. My brother now addressed him by his name, and said--Sir David Owen, you must come with us. The laws demand you. You know both who I am, and what I am: A Major in the King of England’s army serving in Portugal; and in the right of that commission I arrest you as his subject, on the charge of murder; and I am sure, none in this vessel will attempt to stop me in the due execution of my duty.

None, cried the Captain; pass! Let all stand clear! ’Twas then we saw, in the behaviour of that wretched man, how abject guilt can be: That insolence, which I have witnessed, now was sunk into despondency, and but that pity would in me have been almost a crime, I could have pitied him, when in a melancholy tone, he said--I am your prisoner. Misery beyond mine, man cannot suffer. You have known me, Major Wilson, in better days: I am a gentleman; at least I have been such: Don’t let your people use me ill, I pray you--He was at this time in so helpless a state, that we were obliged to have him lifted into the boat. Henry gave orders to be rowed to the shore: A considerable party of his officers and men were there discovered waiting for his landing: When we approached, they cheered him, and as soon as he had set his foot on shore, the air again rang with their shouts--Comrades! he cried, as they were crowding round us, you will stifle us with your kindness: Form a circle, and give us air; don’t you perceive the prisoner is fainting? He caused his soldiers instantly to make a kind of military litter by taking hands, and in this manner they bore off the wretched criminal by his order to the guard-house. Whilst this was passing I had taken notice of an officer in the same uniform with the others, who had separated himself from his comrades, and stood apart from the circle, not interfering, but much interested, as it seemed, in what was going on. When my brother had given orders for his men to take Ap Owen to the guard-house, he called this young officer to him, and bade him take a party with him to Mr. Devereux’s house in the square, for the purpose of escorting us through the streets, where a crowd was now collecting. This young gentleman is now on guard upon the house, waiting till my brother shall come, and dismiss him: Mr. Devereux invited him to accept of some refreshment; but he declined it on the plea of duty to the special orders of his commanding officer.

Here Edward Wilson concluded his narrative, and John De Lancaster, who had heard him with the most profound attention, now took his hand, and pressing it to his bosom--Worthiest and best of men, he said, I see with humblest thankfulness the hand of Heaven in these events, which you have faithfully related to me; for, wonderful although they are, yet I am sure nothing but truth can issue from your lips. The cause no longer is with me; nor ought I to indulge a fruitless grief, much less an angry and revengeful spirit. ’Tis henceforth only these unburied reliques, this breathless piece of clay that I must guard. But in that duty I must be alert, for decency requires, that with our quickest forecast and dispatch we must provide for this corruptible, and take such instant means, as may secure it from these melting heats till our departure: In the mean time we must look out to find a proper house, respectably appointed for the purpose of paying all those honours to the dead, which must not be omitted on my part.

Having said this, he declared himself ready and sufficiently composed to pay his respects to the family, which had so hospitably received him and so highly merited his thanks for their benevolent attentions to the unfortunate deceased.

At the foot of the great stair-case, which landed in the hall, he was met by Mr. Devereux and his son, who ushered him into an elegant and spacious room: Here he had an opportunity of returning his acknowledgements to the amiable and compassionate Maria in a better manner, than he was in a capacity for doing, when she was present with them, whilst his father expired.

At her solicitation he drank some wine and partook of some refreshments; and as the delicate consideration of his worthy host had allowed no stranger to intrude unseasonably upon him, he found no other calls to satisfy but those of gratitude, and whilst he saw a tender sympathy and sweet benevolence in all around him, his spirits brightened, and his youthful heart glowed with devotion, thankfulness and love of that pure quality, that sacred character, which, springing up from earth, reaches to heaven, and man partakes of in its way to God.