Chapter XI: Part 11

"Ay, that I will," said I; "and I congratulate you with all my heart. I am glad I have been the first to communicate such pleasing intelligence; and now, the least you can do in return is to give me an account of yourself since we parted."

"Why, I'm not in the best mood in the world for storytelling," replied Musgrave; "this unexpected good fortune has rather destroyed my equilibrium; however, I will brush up my memory for your gratification, though the retrospect will be anything but agreeable to myself. You remember, I daresay, the day when I left school; on my memory, at least, the recollection of it is as vivid as if it were yesterday. When I drove away in my uncle's carriage, I thought I was going home on a temporary visit, and little imagined I was never to return. When I arrived at home, I found in the drawing-room with my father a little, active, dark-looking man, with a stern, prompt manner, who was introduced to me as Captain Fleetwood."

"Richard, my boy," said my father, "you have often expressed a wish to go to sea, and I have now an opportunity of gratifying you. My friend Captain Fleetwood has volunteered to take you out with him as midshipman; and, as I know I could not intrust you to better hands, I am glad to avail myself of his offer. The warning is rather a short one, as you must be on board your ship within a fortnight; you have no time to lose; and I will accompany you to town to prepare your equipment. We will leave this to-morrow morning at nine o'clock."

I was rather staggered by this sudden announcement; for, though it had always been the dearest wish of my heart to go to sea, yet there was something so unexpected in the accomplishment of it, that I repented of my choice. My heart sank at the thought of such a sudden parting from home and all that was dear to me; besides, as I had just left school, I would have preferred having a few days' holiday, and an opportunity of strutting in my sailor's dress before the eyes of my admiring schoolfellows. However, there was no help for it now--my lot was cast for life; and, in a fortnight's time, I was fairly shipped on board the Anne, a snug free-trader, bound to the East Indies. I pass over the various details of my early career; you may find an accurate description of my first feelings and impressions, and those of five hundred others, on first joining a ship, in any circulating library in the kingdom. I encountered the usual hardships, and was exposed to the usual privations, incidental to the life of a sailor; but, as there was nothing particularly worthy of notice in the first seven or eight years of my sailor's life, I shall pass at once to the most interesting event in a career of no trifling variety. It is now upwards of two years since I went out chief mate of my old ship, under the command of my first friend, Captain Fleetwood, who was a clever, active seaman himself, and well qualified to make those under him the same. We had a crew of twenty-five young and able fellows, with, as usual, a sprinkling of black sheep among them. Our passengers were four in number--a gentleman and his wife, and two young ladies, going out to Bombay under their protection; all agreeable and well-informed people, and the young ladies blessed with a tolerable share of beauty. Time passed very pleasantly with us, for we were uncommonly favoured in wind and weather; and our captain, who was as kind and benevolent as a man, as he was strict and unflinching as an officer, delighted in promoting to the utmost every plan for the comfort and amusement of the crew.

"Och, isn't he a broth of a boy, now, that captain of ours?" I heard one of our men say to another, on one of the quiet tropical evenings, when the crew were enjoying themselves in the "waist," and the captain was whirling one of the ladies round in a waltz on the quarterdeck. "He's as full of fun as a monkey."

"Take care you don't shave the monkey too close, though, Mike, or perhaps the _cat_ will shave _you_."

"Is it the cat you mane?" replied Mike; "then, by the powers, it's myself that's not afeered for the 'cat,' for she never wags her tail here but when a man's either an ass or a skulk, and no man can say black's the white of the eye of Mike Delaney. But I say, Tom, hasn't this been an out-and-out passage? Why, we've never had nothing to do but to spin yarns and knot them; we might have stowed away the reef-points in the hold, we've never had no 'casion for them, and as for salt water, we haven't had a breeze to wash our faces for us since we left home. Blowed if we shan't get too fine for our work by and by--reg'lar gentlemen afloat. I think I'll sport a pair of them overalls that the long-shore beggars call gloves, to keep my flippers white," said Mike--at the same time spreading out a pair as dirty as the back of a chimney and as broad as the back of a skate.

"Gloves and delicate flippers like that!" answered his companion; "no, no, Mike--'twould be a sin and a shame to _hide_ it; that's a regular dare-devil hand--it cares neither for soap nor water. But, Mike, the voyage is not half over yet. We've had a fair weather passage so far; but I'm always afeerd of those unkimmon fine beginnings; ev'rything goes by contraries in this here world, and a good beginning often brings in its wake a bad ending. It's not in the coorse of nature to see such a long spell of fine weather; it's quite unnatural; it'll break out, by and by, in a fresh place--see if it don't. That 'ere butcher, the sea, lies there a-smiling at us as if we were so many hinnocent lambs; but he'll maybe have his hand on our throats yet."

"Well, Tom, it's never no use smelling mischief afore it comes; time enough when it does show its ugly mug, to grin in its face. I'm not the man to turn my back on it--nor you neither, for that matter, I'll be bound."

We had run nearly thirty-four degrees to the south of the equator, when the weather became very variable, and the wind at last settled into a strong breeze from the northward. One evening, we were spanking along with the wind in that quarter, with a heavy confused sea, when a thick gloom gradually overspread the sky, and the mercury, falling in the barometer, gave warning of approaching bad weather. All our small sails were taken in, and every necessary precaution adopted to prepare for a change. Our topsails were reefed, and the mainsail was hauled up and handled. About 6 P.M. Captain Fleetwood came on deck, and asked what I thought of the weather.

"Bad enough, sir; it does not seem to have made up its mind what to do; however, we are tolerably well prepared for a change, whichever way it may be."

"You must keep a sharp look-out, Musgrave; if it should begin to rain, depend upon it, the wind will chop suddenly round to southward. You must not let it take you unawares."

"I'll look for it in time, sir."

He had scarcely left the deck, when a light, drizzling rain came on, a partial lull succeeded, and the wind veered suddenly round to the south-westward. We were prepared for it, however, and our yards were soon trimmed to the wind; but our troubles were only beginning. The breeze freshened up so rapidly, that we had barely time to take in sail fast enough; no sooner was one reef in, than it became necessary to take in another. The sea was running, as landsmen say, mountains high; the winds howled through our rigging; and the giant albatrosses hovered round us, seen indistinctly for a moment through the gloom, and then soaring away on the gale, as if they were floating down a stream--their enormous wings extended, but motionless.

But men were aloft, close-reefing, and preparing to furl the foretopsail, when a heavy sea struck the ship, and a sudden squall laid her over on her beam-ends almost. The sudden jerk carried away the topmast backstays. There was no rolling tackle on the topsailyard, which jerked violently as the ship fell over, and the mast snapped just above the parrell. Five of the poor fellows were thrown off the topsailyard to leeward; we heard their cries dying away on the breeze; we could not see them, the weather was so thick, and darkness was coming on; and as for saving them, the attempt to do so would have been madness, although several men sprung forward to volunteer. It was with heavy hearts the men set to work to clear away the wreck; the cries of their poor shipmates were still ringing in their ears, and an hour or two elapsed before it was accomplished. All night long we were hard at work, furling sails, and sending down yards and masts; and when the morning appeared, the ship was hove to, with her head to the south-eastward, under a storm staysail. The decks were lumbered with wet sails, the main and mizen-topgallantmast and yards, and the remnants of canvas and rigging saved from the wreck of the topmast. We spliced the mainbrace, or, as you would say, served out drams; and the helm being lashed a-lee, the ship's company were sent below, to obtain the rest they stood so much in need of. Poor fellows! they were not allowed to enjoy it long.

"Where is the captain?" said the carpenter, rushing up the quarter-hatch with a face like a ghost--"where is the captain?"

"Well, Soundings," said Captain Fleetwood, "what do you want with me?"

"It's just about the soundings, sir, I want to speak to you." Then, drawing close to his side, he muttered, "There are four feet water in the well, sir."

The captain started, but recovered himself immediately.

"Very well. Rig the pumps directly. Mr. Musgrave, call the hands out; the ship has taken a little too much water in, over all. Heaven grant it's nothing worse!" murmured he.

The scene around us was now dreary and desolate in the extreme: the sky was dark, gloomy, and threatening; light, angry-looking, discoloured clouds flitted over it, like spirits disturbed, while overhead the scud careered with lightning-like rapidity; the sea was covered, as far as the eye could reach, with white foam, and the spray was blown over the ship in a constant heavy shower; the little "Mother Carey's chickens" were dipping their tiny wings in the waves under our stern, and the stormy petrel and albatross swept in wide circles round our storm-tossed vessel. The gale howled mournfully through our rigging, and every now and then a giant sea dashed against our side, and threw torrents of water over our decks. The hatches were battened down fore and aft, and the monotonous clanking of the pumps was heard, mingled with the loud cheers of the men, as they spirited each other up to renewed exertions, and the loud "spell oh!" when the different gangs relieved each other at the pump brakes. The whole of that day was one of incessant labour; for, when, after some hours of hard work, we had gained considerably upon the water, and relaxed a little from our exertions, we found that renewed efforts were required to keep the enemy at bay. Next morning the wind had greatly decreased, and was gradually dying away; but a high sea was still running, and the ship laboured tremendously. More sail was made to steady her; but, in spite of all our efforts, the leak increased; and at last it became evident, after everything had been done which seamanship could propose, or perseverance carry into effect, that the ship was in a foundering state. The captain, who had shewn himself active and energetic during the excitement of the storm, now proved that he possessed that true courage which can face unflinchingly the slow but sure approach of danger and of death. Calm and collected, nay, even cheerful, at least in appearance, his example encouraged and animated the crew, now almost exhausted with their constant exertions. He ordered one watch below to their hammocks, while the other was busied in fitting out the boats, and preparing provisions to put into them, and in keeping the pumps steadily but slowly at work. At last the hands were called out--"Out boats!" and when they were all assembled, Captain Fleetwood addressed them as follows:--

"My lads, the ship is sinking under us, and we must take to the boats. You have been active, patient, and obedient hitherto--be so still, and you may yet all be saved. Remember, that, as long as _one_ of your officers is above the water with you, to that officer you owe obedience. For my part, I am determined--and you know I am no flincher--to maintain my authority with my life; but I hope you will not put me to the proof. My intention is to steer for the Island of Tristan d'Acunha, which, if Providence favours us, we may reach in a week or ten days; but much depends upon your own exertions. Now, go below, and take the last meal you will ever eat on board your old ship. Heaven grant that we may all meet once more on shore!"

The men listened in silence, and uncovered while he spoke; and when he ended, they burst into a loud cheer, and one of them shouted out--

"We will stand by you to the last, sir!"

"Ay, that we will," was responded by all.

The captain took off his hat, and bowed, evidently much affected, and dismissed them.

In about twenty minutes they were again called up, and the boats were hoisted out. We had two quarter-boats, a launch, and a jolly-boat, which were amply sufficient to hold our whole number, reduced as it was by the loss of the five poor fellows in the gale; one of the quarter-boats, however, proved to be so leaky when lowered into the water, that we were obliged to abandon her. The other boats were furnished with masts, sails, a fortnight's short provision and water, arms--everything, in fact, that could be thought of as likely to be necessary. The captain took charge of the launch, and the second mate and I cast lots for the cutter; the chance was against me, and I took command of the jolly-boat. We were eight-and-twenty in number: twelve men, the captain, and two of the passengers, in the launch; myself, one of the ladies, and four men, in the jolly-boat; and the remainder in the cutter. When we had shoved off from the ship, we lay on our oars at some little distance, as if by mutual consent, to see the last of her; but the captain shouted out--

"Come, my lads, we have no time to spare; give the old craft one parting cheer, and let us make the best of our way."

The men stood up, and, taking off their hats, gave three loud and lengthened cheers. The deserted ship seemed as if she heard and wished to acknowledge the compliment; her head turned gradually towards us; she rose slowly and heavily before the swell, then dipped her bows deep into the water, gave a heavy roll, and sank to rise no more. A stifled groan broke from the men at this sad sight, which cast an evident damp over their spirits.

"Come, cheer up, my lads," said the captain; "we've seen the last of as good a craft as ever floated; but it's of no use being downhearted. Let us have a cheer for good success!"

The men caught his tone immediately, and their spirits rose when they saw how cheerfully he bore his loss. Tristan d'Acunha bore about S. 10 deg. W., about 200 miles distant; and, as the wind had again drawn to the northward, we had every prospect of reaching it in the course of five or six days. For the first two days we went along merrily enough with a fine steady breeze, and tolerably smooth water, but, on the afternoon of the third, the sky again became overcast, and there was every appearance of another "round turn" in the wind. As night closed in around us, the captain hailed us from the launch, and desired us to keep as near together as possible, for fear of separation. This order was obeyed as long as we were able; but, in the darkness, we soon lost sight of each other, and the sound of our voices was drowned in the increasing noise of wind and sea. About ten o'clock, the wind suddenly shifted in a sharp squall; the sail was taken aback, and the little boat lay over for a moment as if never to rise again. Fortunately the haulyards gave way, and the sail went overboard, or she must have been capsized; as it was, she was nearly half-full of water. I immediately jumped forward to drag the sail in again, when, to my horror, I heard the sound of voices crying for help, to leeward: the sail had knocked two of the men overboard, and it was their dying cry we heard. We pulled round the boat, and shouted out to them; there was no answer--they were gone; they must have been half-drowned before they could get clear of the sail, which had fallen on the top of them. Our grief for their loss was soon absorbed by our fears for our own safety. There were now only three of us remaining--for the lady could be of no assistance--in a small boat, half-full of water; the wind and sea rising, darkness all around, and the nearest land upwards of one hundred miles distant; our prospects were dismal indeed. Fortunately for us, however, we had no time to brood over our misfortunes; the necessity for active exertion drove all thoughts but those of present danger from our minds. We baled the boat out as fast as possible, got the broken mast in-board, and made all as snug as we could. The wind had shifted, as I said before, to the southward, and came on to blow fresh; and the sea was again rapidly rising. We had nothing for it but to keep the boat right before the wind, although it carried us almost in a contrary direction to the course we wished to steer.

At daylight, we looked anxiously around for the other boats; but in vain did we strain our eyes--nothing was visible. Sad were our forebodings as to the fate of our shipmates, and gloomy our anticipations of the future for ourselves. The wind had moderated considerably, but we were still obliged to run before it; and it was not till late in the afternoon that we considered it safe to turn the boat's head again to the southward. By this time it was almost calm, but our two oars could do little against the head sea; and after tugging away at them for some time, we were obliged to lay them in from sheer exhaustion, merely keeping the boat's head to the sea. A light breeze springing up at last from the northward, we got the stump of the mast up, and set the reefed sail upon it, and began slowly to make headway in the wished-for direction.

During the whole of our perilous voyage, the young lady, who had been committed to my charge, behaved with the greatest courage and resignation; not a complaint escaped her lips, though she was drenched to the skin by the spray and rain; not a scream did she utter when the dark sea rose under our stern, threatening to engulf our little bark. We did all we could to make her as comfortable as circumstances would allow; for rough indeed must be the nature that does not feel kindly towards youth and beauty in distress. She received all our attentions with such heartfelt expressions of gratitude, and bore her discomforts with such cheerful resignation, that the men could not help audibly expressing their admiration, and vowing to spend their life's-blood in her service.

The sun was again smiling over our heads, and the water rippled under the bows of the boat, as she danced before the breeze; and our spirits were revived by the change. On examining our stock of provisions, we found that most of our biscuit was completely saturated with salt water, and that, with the most sparing economy, we had barely sufficient rum and meat left to last us for a week longer. We immediately spread the wet bread on the boat's thwarts to dry, and cut the meat into small equal portions.

"Now, Miss Neville," said I, laughing--though, Heaven knows, there was little joy in my heart--"I, as commander of this vessel, constitute you acting-purser; you shall serve out our rations to us equally and fairly, and, if any one of my ship's company shall dare to question the justness of your division, or to attempt to help himself without your permission, he shall feel the weight of my anger."

There was _faint_ laugh at this _faint_ attempt at pleasantry on my part; and Miss Neville replied--

"I think, _Captain_ Musgrave, you might have appointed a more sufficient purser than myself; however, I will do my best to justify your choice."

Another day, and another, we kept crawling slowly on; there was little or no wind, and our two oars made but little way. I said before that the boat's crew was reduced to two men and myself. One of these men, a Scotchman, named M'Farlane, had only lately recovered from a severe attack of illness, before we left the ship. The fatigue incurred during the gale, and the danger and excitement of our situation since, had a fatal effect upon the poor fellow's already shattered constitution; he suffered in silence, never uttering a word of complaint; but it was evident to us all that he was sinking fast. On this day he had been taking his turn at the oar, in spite of my remonstrances.

"You will kill yourself, M'Farlane," said I. "You are not strong enough to pull; take the helm, and give Riley the oar again."

"No, sir," replied he; "Riley has had his spell, and I will take mine, though I die for it. I feel that I am going; but let me die in harness. No man shall have it to say that Tom M'Farlane was not game to the last."

Miss Neville joined her entreaties to mine, that he would give over rowing; but in vain.

"Heaven bless you, ma'am," said he--"and it will bless you, and bring you in safety out of your dangers. You are just beginning the voyage of life--and a rough beginning it has been; but never fear. You'll make a happy port at last. As for me, my voyage is just over. I have had both rough and smooth in my time. I've had no cause to complain; and I shall die happy, if I die doing my duty."

The words were scarcely uttered, when he ceased rowing. I turned round, and saw him, with his face deadly pale, bending over the oar, which he was in vain endeavouring to dip in the water. He made two or three convulsive movements, as if in the act of rowing, muttered "Hurrah, my lads!" and, with a heavy groan, fell backward. Riley and I raised him immediately, blood was gushing from his nose and mouth, which we in vain attempted to staunch. He opened his eyes once, shuddered, and expired. I will not attempt to describe the feelings with which we gazed upon the body of our unfortunate shipmate, and thought how soon a still more dreadful doom might be ours. Death, with all its horrid accompaniments of starvation, drowning, &c., came before us. All the horrible stories we had heard of deaths at sea, of misery, hunger, and cannibalism, came crowding upon our memories. At last the silence was broken by Riley, who growled out--

"Well, there's one more going to feed the fishes! It'll be our turn soon. However, its some comfort he has left his share of the grub behind: there'll be more for those who remain."

I could hardly restrain my anger at this cold-blooded speech; but a look from Emily Neville checked me. Riley, however, observed the impression his words had made upon me, and, with a diabolical sneer, said--

"You need not look so black about it. I don't care a button about your looks or your anger either. One man's as good as another now, and I won't obey you any longer."

"Riley," said I, starting forward, and seizing him by the collar, while my voice trembled with suppressed passion, "mark my words! As long as one plank of this boat hangs to another, I am your officer; and while I have life in my body, you _shall_ obey me."

The scoundrel was staggered by my firmness, and sat gloomily down upon the "thwart." Riley had been one of our _black sheep_ on board the Anne. I never liked the fellow. He was always a skulking, discontented, vagabond; ever foremost in mischief, and striving to make his shipmates as mutinous as himself. I saw, by his louring looks, and his sullen, dogged manner, that we must, before long, come into collision again, and I determined to prepare for the worst. I threw all the fire-arms overboard, except a single musket and a brace of pistols, the latter of which I loaded deliberately before his eyes.

"Come," said I, "the sun is long past the meridian, we must pipe to dinner. Miss Neville, serve out our allowance, if you please."

While Riley received his modicum of spirits, he growled out, "Here's a pretty allowance for a hard-working man. Not a stroke more will I put till I get more rum."

"Not a drop more shall you have till the regular time; you must be contented with just enough to keep soul and body together, like your neighbours; we must not all be sacrificed to gratify your greediness."

"Better die at once," said he, "than starve by inches; a short life and a merry one for me!--so hand out the stuff at once, for have it I _will_." And he made a rush to snatch the spirits from Miss Neville.

"Back, scoundrel!" said I, cocking one of my pistols, "or I'll blow your brains out."

The words were scarcely out of my mouth, when the rascal stooped, and snatching up a cutlass which he had concealed in the bottom of the boat, made a cut at me with it, which, but for the tough rim of my leather hat, would have laid my skull open. As it was, I shall carry the scar to my grave. One touch of my trigger, and Miss Neville and I were left in the boat alone. The ball went through his head; he staggered against the gunwale, toppled overboard, and sank at once, tinging the water with his blood. Miss Neville was now obliged to act as doctor as well as purser. She washed my wound, and bound it up as well as she was able. We neither of us spoke; but fearful were the thoughts that passed through my mind. The boat lay becalmed upon the water; my strength, wounded as it was, could do little towards forcing her onwards. Unless a breeze sprung up, we must lie in utter helplessness, and die a lingering death by starvation! Miss Neville read my thoughts, and, stifling her own fears, exerted herself to inspire me with confidence.

"Fear not, Mr. Musgrave," said she; "the merciful Providence which has watched over us hitherto, will protect us till the end. Utterly helpless and hopeless as our situation appears at present, He _can_ save us, and He _will_."

Her words inspired me with renewed energy; and, with a good deal of difficulty, I stepped the mast, which we had unshipped for greater convenience in rowing. Next day we made the land, and, before evening, after a little danger in passing the surf, I landed my precious charge in safety.

But I must hurry to the conclusion of my tale, for I see Lorrimer, you are beginning to yawn, and I am tired of it myself.

My first care was to seek a snug shelter among the rocks where I quickly lighted a fire, and shared with my fair fellow prisoner the last remains of our slender sea stock. For the next day's subsistence we were obliged to rely upon my skill as a fowler. I spread the remainder of the powder to dry, and contrived to make up a rude bed for Miss Neville, on which, worn out with fatigue and excitement, she soon enjoyed that rest which she so much required. I retired to a little distance to watch her slumbers; but very soon followed her example. In the morning, invigorated and refreshed, I sallied out with my gun, and soon succeeded in procuring some birds for our morning meal; I then climbed the highest part of the island, and set up the boat's mast with a handkerchief flying from it, in hopes of attracting the attention of some passing South Sea whaler. Weeks passed in dreary monotony; we wanted for none of the absolute necessaries of life; but we were prisoners, and that consciousness alone was enough to make _me_ discontented and restless. My fair companion bore all her inconveniences unrepiningly, and did all in her power to soothe and comfort me; her sweet disposition, and gentle, silent attentions, insensibly withdrew my thoughts from the discomforts of the present, and hope pictured a bright future of happiness with her whom fate had thrown upon my protection. One morning at daybreak, I climbed as usual to my signal-post, and there, about three miles to windward of the island, a ship was standing under easy sail to the westward. The ship was hove to, and a boat lowered. I rushed down to apprise Miss Neville of the joyful event, and we both hurried to the beach, to receive our welcome visiters. After considerable difficulty, on account of the surf, they effected a landing, and were greeted by us with the warmest gratitude. The vessel, we were told, was the Medusa, South Seaman, and had been out from England nearly two years; they had observed my flag some time before they hove to, and at first thought it had been left there by some former ship, as there were no settlers on the island at the time; but they fortunately saw me through their glasses, and determined upon landing.

The evening was closing in cloudy and threatening, the surf was beginning to run high, and everything indicated bad weather.

"Come, be quick!" said the captain of the Medusa, who was in the boat; "jump in, we've no time to lose; there's a gale coming on, and I wouldn't wait two minutes longer for the world."

As we were struggling through the heavy surf, a sudden roll of the boat threw me overboard, and in a moment I was swept some distance towards the beach. I swam for the shore immediately, as I knew it was in vain to attempt reaching the boat again, or to hope that they would risk their own lives, or the safety of the ship, by longer delay. I was an excellent swimmer, and reached shore in safety, where I had the mortification of seeing the Medusa make sail, and haul off the land. I comforted myself, however, with the reflection, that Emily Neville was in safety, and that, if the captain of the Medusa was a _Christian_, he would return to take me off the island. That night a heavy gale of wind came on from the north-west and a constant succession of stormy changes of wind and calm followed for some time. In about a month, a sail hove in sight; it was the Medusa! Oh, how delighted I was, once more to feel a solid plank under my foot! I felt myself at home once more when I touched her deck, and asked for Emily Neville. She was gone! The Medusa had fallen in with a Cape trader, and Miss Neville had taken a passage on board of her to the Cape, from whence she meant to proceed to England. Imagine my disappointment! For two months longer we beat about in these latitudes in the Medusa, and then, our cargo being completed, we shaped our course homewards. On my arrival in England, I went to my old friend, Darcy, who provided me with the needful, and I am now so far on my way home. You tell me I have gained a fortune; but I have lost the only girl I ever loved, and without her fortune is valueless.

I did what I could to comfort Musgrave, but he would not be comforted.

Next morning he proceeded on his journey. A short time afterwards, there appeared in the papers the following announcement--"Arrival in the river, the Proserpine, from the Cape. The vessel has on board one of the survivors of the wreck of the ship Anne, which foundered at sea some months since, the lady was saved in one of the ship's boat, and taken off the island of Tristan d'Acunha by the Medusa whaler."

I immediately wrote to Musgrave, congratulating him on this happy event; and received an answer in the course of a few weeks, telling me that he was now amply repaid for his past dangers and disappointment; for Emily Neville had consented to become his wife, and to share with him the bounties, as she had before partaken with him of the harsher dispensations, of Providence.

THE RED HALL; OR, BERWICK IN 1296.

Somewhat more than five hundred years ago, and Berwick-upon-Tweed was the most wealthy and flourishing city in Great Britain. Its commerce was the most extensive, its merchants the most enterprising and successful. London in some measure strove to be its rival, but it possessed not a tenth of the natural advantages, and Berwick continued to bear the palm alone--being styled the Alexandria of the nations, the emporium of commerce, and one of the first commercial cities of the world. This state of prosperity it owed almost solely to Alexander III., who did more for Berwick than any sovereign that has since claimed its allegiance. He brought over a colony of wealthy Flemings, for whom he erected an immense building, called the Red Hall (situated where the wool market now stands), and which at once served as dwelling-houses, factories, and a fortress. The terms upon which he granted a charter to this company of merchants were, that they should defend, even unto death, their Red Hall against every attack of an enemy, and of the English in particular. Wool was the staple commodity of their commerce, but they also traded extensively in silks and in foreign manufactures. The people of Berwick understood FREE TRADE in those days. In this state of peace and enviable prosperity it continued till the spring of 1296. The bold, the crafty, and revengeful Edward I. meditated an invasion of Scotland; and Berwick, from its wealth, situation, and importance, was naturally anticipated to be the first object of his attack. To defeat this, Baliol--whom we can sometimes almost admire, though generally we despise and pity him--sent the chief men of Fife and their retainers to the assistance of the town. Easter week arrived, but no tidings were heard of Edward's movements, and business went on with its wonted bustle. Amongst the merchants of the Red Hall was one known by the appellation of William the Fleming, and he had a daughter, an heiress and an only child, whose beauty was the theme of Berwick's minstrels, when rhyme was beginning to begin. Many a knee was bent to the rich and beautiful Isabella; but she preferred the humble and half-told passion of Francis Scott, who was one of the clerks in the Red Hall, to all the chivalrous declarations of prouder lovers. Francis possessed industry and perseverance; and these, in the eyes of her father, were qualifications precious as rubies. These, with love for his daughter, overcome other mercenary objections, and the day for their marriage had arrived. Francis and Isabella were kneeling before the altar, and the priest was pronouncing the service, the merchant was gazing fondly over his child, when a sudden and hurried peal from the Bell Tower broke upon the ceremony, and cries of "The English! to arms!" were heard from the street. The voice of the priest faltered--he stopped; William the Fleming placed his hand upon his sword; the bridegroom started to his feet, and the fair Isabella clung to his side. "Come, children," said the merchant, "let us to the Hall--a happier hour may bless your nuptials--this is no moment for bridal ceremony." And in silence, each man grasping his sword, they departed from the chapel, where the performance of the marriage rites was broken by the sounds of invasion. The ramparts were crowded with armed citizens, and a large English fleet was seen bearing round Lindisfarne. In a few hours the hostile vessels entered the river, and commenced a furious attack upon the town. Their assault was returned by the inhabitants as men who were resolved to die for liberty. For hours the battle raged, and the Tweed became as a sheet of blood. But while the conflict rose fiercest, again the Bell Tower sent forth its sounds of death. Edward, at the head of thirty-five thousand chosen troops, had crossed the river at Coldstream, and was now seen encamping at the foot of Halidon Hill. Part of his army immediately descended upon the town, to the assistance of his fleet. They commenced a resolute attack from the north, while the greater part of the garrison held bloody combat with the ships in the river. Though thus attacked upon both sides, the besieged fought with the courage of surrounded lions, and the proud fleet was defeated and driven from the river. The attacks of the army were desperate, but without success, for desperate were the men who opposed them. Treachery, however, that to this day remains undiscovered, existed in the town; and, at an hour when the garrison thought not, the gates were deceitfully opened, and the English army rushed like a torrent upon the streets. Wildly the work of slaughter began. With the sword and with the knife, the inhabitants defended every house, every foot of ground. Mild mothers and gentle maidens fought for their thresholds with the fury of hungry wolves--and delicate hands did deeds of carnage. The war of blood raged from street to street, while the English army poured on like a ceaseless stream. Shouts, groans, the clang of swords, and the shrieks of women mingled together. Fiercer grew the close and the deadly warfare; but the numbers of the besieged became few. Heaps of dead men lay at every door, each with his sword glued to his hands by the blood of an enemy. Of the warriors from Fife, every man perished; but their price was a costly sacrifice of the boldest lives in England. The streets ran deep with blood; and, independent of slaughtered enemies, the mangled and lifeless bodies of seventeen thousand of the inhabitants paved the streets. The war of death ceased only from lack of lives to prey upon. With the exception of the Red Hall, the town was an awful and a silent charnel-house. Within it were the thirty brave Flemings, pouring their arrows upon the triumphant besiegers, and resolved to defend it to death. Amongst them was the father of Isabella, and by his side his intended son-in-law, his hands, which lately held a bride's dripping with blood. The entire strength of the English army pressed around the Hall; and fearful were the doings which the band of devoted merchants, like death's own marksmen, made in the midst of them. What the besiegers, however, failed to effect by force, they effected by fire; and the Red Hall became enveloped in flames--its wool, its silk, and rich merchandise blazing together, and causing the fierce element to ascend like a pyramid. Still the brave men stood in the midst of the conflagration, unquailed, hurling death upon their enemies; and, as the fire raged from room to room, they rushed to the roof of their hall, discharging their last arrow on their besiegers, and waving their swords around their heads, with a shout of triumph. There also stood the father, his daughter, and her lover, smiling and embracing each other in death. Crash succeeded crash--the flames ascended higher and higher--and the proud building was falling to pieces. A louder crash followed, the fierce element surrounded the brave victims--the gentle Isabella, leaning on her bridegroom, was seen waving her slender hand in triumph round her head--the hardy band waved their swords, and shouted, "_Liberty!_" and in one moment more the building fell to the earth; and the heroes, the bridegroom, and his bride, were buried in the ruins of their fortress and their factory.

Thus fell the Red Hall, and with it the commercial glory of Berwick.

END OF VOL. XI.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] This tale was written by Mr Wilson from the circumstance of "The Tales of the Borders" having been adopted as a lesson-book in several schools--ED.

[B] The contrast here shown may be extended by a reference to "The Henpecked Man," and thus three specimens of the _uxori emancipatus_ will be brought into comparison.--ED.

[C] The same anecdote is related of Dr Thomas Brown, the philosopher.

[D] A phrase signifying that a smuggling vessel had delivered her cargo.

Transcriber's note:

Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.

The following printers errors were addressed.

Page 13 'new' to 'knew'
(He scarce knew what he did)

Page 13 'is' to 'his'
(took her hand in his)

Page 16 'fund' to 'found'
(who found him owre heavy for them)

Page 20 'mannner' to 'manner'
(and the manner in which)

Page 21 'certainly' to certainty'
(a liking for the certainty of the science)

Page 21 ''ve' to 'ye'
(the rest of ye wad hae been selling)

Page 24 'duplicate 'as' removed.
(people as ye could, meet)

Page 38 'uparalleled' to 'unparalleled'
(condescension and unparalleled favour)

Page 120 'indentity' to 'identity'
(evidence of his identity)

Page 125 'secresy' to 'secrecy'
(this mysterious secrecy and suspicion)

Page 129 'father' to 'faither'
(to the comforts o' a faither)
Changed to maintain consistency of dialect.

Page 151 'bridemaid' to 'bridesmaid'
(her bridesmaid was beside her)

Page 152 'succeded' to 'succeeded'
(I succeeded at last)

Page 171 'she' to She'
(She also allowed him)

Page 177 'pike' to 'pick'
(to pick your banes ahint)

Page 210 'thse' to 'these'
(While these important events)

Page 217 'Frith' to 'Firth'
(the Firth of Forth to the Tyne)

Page 218 'secresy' to 'secrecy'
(there was the secrecy of midnight)

Page 257 'though' to 'thought'
(when I thought I heard)

Page 266 'uncomonly' to 'uncommonly'
(we were uncommonly favoured)

Page 280 'of' to 'off'
(and taken off the island)

Page 282 'buisness' to 'business'
(and business went on)

Page 282 'Lindisferne' to 'Lindisfarne'
(was seen bearing round Lindisfarne)

visiter/visiters
These words are spelt thus throughout the book with
the exception of two places which have been standardised with the
above.