_ Chapter Twenty Four. A Happy Discovery
Morning broke at length. How different was the appearance of the ocean to that it had presented the previous day! The dark-green foam-topped waves danced up wildly, the sky was of a murky hue, the wind roared and whistled as loudly as before, and the ship, instead of gliding on with calm dignity, tumbled and tossed as if she was a mere cock-boat.
Sophie begged to come on deck. I assisted her up. Scarcely had she appeared, when there came a break in the clouds to the eastward, and the sun shone forth. "A good omen!" she exclaimed.
"We may take it as such," I answered; "and I trust that before long the hurricane will cease, and He who holds the waters in His hands will save us from further danger."
The wind ceased almost as suddenly as it had arisen, the sea went down, and in a few hours we were able to clear the yards and bend fresh sails. Once more the ship was standing for the land.
My first mate had frequently been at Saint Lucia, and he acting as pilot, soon after daylight the next morning we entered the harbour.
The ship of necessity must I found be detained some days, as the main-topmast was badly sprung, while she had received other damages in the gale. As these could be repaired under the superintendence of my first mate, I escorted my passengers on shore.
Monsieur de Villereine had begged me to come to his house, which was situated about a mile from the town, but I felt compelled to accept Henri's invitation to accompany him and his sister to his father's house, a short distance farther off on the side of the mountain; and more so, as from his weak state, he required my assistance in getting in and out of the carriage. Poor fellow! my heart grieved for him, as it seemed to me, though he had no apprehension of danger, that he was only returning home to die.
I had asked Sophie whether she had mentioned our engagement to her father and mother.
"I will do so immediately we get home," she answered; "it would be better than saying anything at present."
Monsieur de Villereine's house stood on elevated ground, with extensive sugar plantations below it. It was of a considerable size, surrounded by a broad verandah. The handsome appearance of the interior, and the numerous domestic slaves, gave me an idea of the wealth of the owners. I could not help asking myself, "Will Sophie be content to exchange all this luxury for the limited income and small house which I should alone have the power of offering her?" I had but one moment to speak to her alone. She seemed to divine my thoughts.
"I do not value all these things," she said, pressing my hand; "and I trust that my brothers will live to occupy this house."
She had already told me of her two brothers, who were away on the other side of the island.
After resting some time, we continued our journey to the house of Henri's father and mother. A messenger had been sent on to warn them of our coming.
I was much pleased with the elder Monsieur de Villereine and his wife. They received me in the most kind and cordial way, but I saw how deeply they were grieved at the altered appearance of poor Henri, and that they were evidently far more alarmed than Emilie had been, who had constantly watched him. Their house was even handsomer than that of Sophie's father, though built in the same style. It commanded a beautiful view of the town and harbour and the blue sea beyond it, while on every side below stretched out the numerous sugar plantations; while here and there were seen the whitewashed houses of the inhabitants, with their gaily-painted verandahs and window blinds.
Though her manner was gentle and kind in the extreme, Madame de Villereine's countenance wore an expression of sadness which seemed habitual to it. I concluded, however, that this arose very much from her anxiety about the health of her only son. Emilie tried to cheer up her parents by assuring them that Henri was better than he had been, and she hoped that before long they should be able to carry out their project of visiting England.
"Though not our native air, it is yours, you know, mamma, and I am sure it will effectually restore his health."
Madame de Villereine shook her head.
"I had thought so," she observed; "but I see a great change in him for the worse, and I fear he is sinking under the same complaint which carried off my dear sister."
In the course of conversation she happened to mention that the sister of whom she spoke was a Mrs Raglan. I was struck by the name, and inquired who she had married.
"An officer in the navy," she answered; "but he was ordered to the East Indies, and soon afterwards she died, leaving a little girl. We received notice of her death, but the island being at the time in the possession of France, and war raging, we were never able to ascertain what became of the child."
Emilie I saw seemed anxious when her mother began to speak on this subject, and endeavoured, without appearing to do so, to change the conversation. Soon afterwards her mother seemed much affected, and left the room.
"I must ask you," said Emilie, "not again to allude to the subject, as it recalls many painful associations."
"I will do as you wish," I answered, "but I feel sure that I am well acquainted with the niece she spoke of;" and I then told her all I knew of Kitty Raglan, my meeting with her father, and her marriage with my old friend Captain Falconer.
She expressed her pleasure at what I had told her, adding, "It will, I am sure, give great joy to mother, for she has always grieved at having lost all traces of my cousin, though she has still greater grief of her own."
Just then Madame de Villereine returned, and Emilie cautiously prepared her for the interesting information I had to give.
"This is indeed joyful news," she exclaimed, when I had told her of her niece's happy marriage with Captain Falconer; when suddenly she stopped and sighed, and the sad expression which her countenance usually wore stole over it.
"Monsieur de Villereine will to-day drive you over to see his brother and his wife and daughter, and you must give them the account you have given me. They will be greatly interested; and oh, how I wish we could persuade Captain Falconer to come over and pay us a visit!"
A carriage shortly afterwards came to the door, and I accompanied my new friend--Emilie wishing to remain with Henri. Monsieur de Villereine, who had observed our approach, received as at the door. He welcomed me with marked politeness, but it struck me that his manner was much more stiff and formal than it had before been. He conducted us to the drawing-room, where I hoped to see Sophie, but her mother alone was there. I was struck also by the change of manner of the old lady, though she was as studiously polite and courteous as her husband. Having begged me to be seated, and made various common-place inquiries, he led his brother out of the room, while the old lady continued the conversation in the same formal strain. When I inquired for Sophie, expressing my hope that she had recovered from the fatigues of the voyage, she answered that her daughter was in her room, and that she did not think she would be able to leave it that morning.
After some time, when it seemed to me that we had exhausted all subjects of conversation, and my tongue had begun in a most uncomfortable way to cling to my mouth, for I somehow or other had forgotten all about Mrs Falconer, and that I had undertaken to narrate her history to her uncle and aunt, I was in truth thinking only of Sophie and myself, the two brothers returned and the old lady retired. They then sat down opposite to me, and I could not help feeling, by the expression of their countenances and their manner, that something not over agreeable was coming. Monsieur de Villereine looked at his brother and then at me, and hummed and hawed several times, as if he did not like to begin what he had to say. At last he mustered courage.
"My dear Captain Laurel," he began, "I am sure that as a sailor you like open and frank dealing. Now, I need not tell you how much we esteem you, and how grateful we are for the inestimable service you have rendered us, and for your kindness and attention while we were on board your ship; but you must acknowledge that I ought not as a father to allow these considerations to bias me when my daughter's future prospects are concerned. Now you will understand, my brother and I had agreed that she should marry her cousin Henri, although she herself is not aware of this arrangement. My astonishment was nevertheless very great when she told me that you had offered her your hand, and that she, young and inexperienced as she is, had, without consulting me, ventured to accept you. Such a thing, my dear sir, is against all precedent. The whole of society would be subverted, and all parental authority destroyed, were I as a father to allow what you do me the honour of proposing to take place. I am, I repeat, deeply grateful to you for the inestimable service you have rendered me, but I must ask you to be generous, and not insist on my giving you the reward you demand."
"My dear sir," I exclaimed, "I do not ask for your daughter's hand as a reward for anything I have done, though I esteem it the highest prize I could win. The service you are pleased to say I have rendered you, I should equally have given to any fellow-creature, and I therefore ask your daughter's hand as a free gift. I love her devotedly, and she has consented, with your permission, to be mine."
"My permission I cannot give, Captain Laurel," exclaimed the old gentleman, growing more and more agitated. "I desire to reward you to the utmost of my power, and you have my sincere and hearty gratitude; but more I cannot and will not offer. I regret deeply to say this, and I am grieved--greatly grieved. My brother knows my determination, and I am sure that you will agree that it is better I should express it at once."
In vain I attempted to plead my cause. I entreated to see Sophie, but her father replied that that would only be painful and useless; and at length the elder Monsieur de Villereine observing that his carriage was ready, I took the hint, and, feeling as if I was walking in a dream, I got into it. I felt dreadfully cast down. It seemed to me that Sophie was lost to me for ever, and I might not again have an opportunity of seeing her.
"I have some few commissions to perform in the town," said my friend, "and we will drive there. But notwithstanding what has occurred, I must insist on your coming back with me to see Henri: he and his sister will afford you all the consolation they can. But my brother is very determined, and I know him so well that I cannot tell you to keep up your hopes. It would be wiser for you to abandon them altogether."
We reached the town, and when we got there I was much inclined to go on board the ship and remain: but Monsieur de Villereine pressed me so earnestly to return, that, for the sake of Henri, I agreed to do so. As, however, I wished to go on board for a short time, he undertook to wait for me. Taking a boat from the shore, I pulled out to the _Ellen_. I had not been long on board before Dick asked me to step into the cabin, as he had something of interest to communicate to me.
"Well, Captain Laurel," he said, as soon as we were seated, "I went on shore yesterday evening and walked up the town, and I am as sure as I am alive that this is the very place where you came from. As I walked up the street, I came to the very spot where the black woman handed you to me when you were a little chap scarcely higher than my knee--I could swear to it in any court of justice, if it were necessary--and, as I think I have told you, I have always carried about me the very coral you had on at the time; and now I would advise you to lose no time in making inquiries about the matter among your friends."
So wretched did I feel, that I was very little disposed to do this, and had I not promised to rejoin Monsieur de Villereine, I think that I should have remained on board, to get ready for sailing as fast as possible. I however told Dick that I would do as he recommended.
I found Monsieur de Villereine waiting on the quay for me. As soon as we had got clear of the town, I began to speak to him on the subject. As I went on, I was surprised at the extraordinary agitation he exhibited.
"Do I understand from you, my dear sir, that you yourself were carried away from this island when about four years of age?" he asked, pulling up his horse, as if he felt unable to guide the animal, and gazing at me earnestly.
"One of my mates, who has acted the part of a father to me, has assured me so," I answered, "though I myself have a very indistinct recollection even of events which occurred much after that."
"The ways of heaven are indeed mysterious," exclaimed Monsieur de Villereine. "At the time you mention, my second son, two years younger than Henri, while in charge of a black nurse, was lost to us. The poor woman was wounded by a chance shot during an attack from an English squadron, and she died shortly afterwards without being able to give any account of what had become of the child, though we had hopes that he had been carried on board one of the men-of-war. As, however, two of them were afterwards lost, we abandoned all expectation of ever again seeing our son. I must not raise your hopes too high, nor my own, and yet when I look at your features, and think of what my son might have been, I cannot but believe that you are indeed my lost boy. His name, too, was Charles, which may be a remarkable coincidence. You tell me that that name was given you on board the ship."
As may be supposed, my heart beat violently as Monsieur de Villereine said this; yet I could not help trusting that he was indeed my father.
That he might himself make inquiries of Dick, I offered to send on board at once for my mate. We accordingly drove back into the town. Dick soon arrived at the hotel, where we remained for him. Monsieur de Villereine cross-questioned him narrowly, and on his producing the coral I spoke of, any doubts he might have entertained vanished.
"My dear boy," he exclaimed, embracing me, "you are indeed my long-lost son. Your recovery will, I trust, be the means of preserving your poor mother's life, for she has, I fear, a great grief in store for her; for, although she hoped for the best, I cannot but see that your poor brother Henri's days are numbered."
I need not repeat what more my father said. Taking Dick in the carriage, we drove rapidly home. My father hurried in first to prepare my mother, and in a few minutes I had the happiness of being clasped in her arms, and receiving the affectionate kisses of my sister Emilie and the warm congratulations of poor Henri.
"I always loved you as a brother," he exclaimed; "and now I am indeed delighted to find that you are so in reality."
I was scarcely aware how quickly the time had gone by, when carriage wheels were heard approaching the house.
"I sent off a note to your uncle and aunt," said Emilie to me, "as I was sure they would be glad to hear the news, and here they are."
They entered the room directly afterwards, followed by Sophie. The formal manner my uncle had assumed had vanished. After he and my aunt had cordially welcomed me, the whole party disappeared from the room with the exception of Sophie.
"Papa has withdrawn his objection," she whispered; "and I told him I would never marry any one but you."
I must bring my yarn to a conclusion.
My first mate was so trustworthy a man, that I felt justified in sending the _Ellen_ back to Barbadoes under his charge to receive her cargo.
Poor Henri entreated that I would not delay my marriage, and Sophie having no objections, in the course of a few weeks we were united. My brother's death, which all expected, took place, to our great grief, a short time afterwards.
I was thankful to find that the consignees of the _Ellen_ consented to allow my mate to take her home. On her next voyage my parents and sister, as well as my uncle and aunt, agreed to accompany me to England, leaving my brothers-in-law in charge of their two estates.
We had a prosperous passage, and having been invited by Mr and Mrs Dear to pay them a visit, we on our arrival repaired to their house, where Captain and Mrs Falconer had come to receive us; and I had the happiness of introducing my old friend, and now my cousin Kitty, to her aunt and to the rest of her relations.
[THE END]
William H. G. Kingston's Book: Charley Laurel: A Story of Adventure by Sea and Land
_