The Mysterious Wanderer, Vol. I

Name: The Mysterious Wanderer, Vol. I
Author: Sophia Reeve

by Sophia Reeve

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Language: en309 downloads on Project Gutenberg

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Fiction

In: Novels·British Literature

Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #33973.

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"Of all the passions inherent in man, I think pride the most despicable, and for which he has the least excuse! If he have sense and abilities, they ought rather to guard his bosom from so contemptible an inmate, than implant it there. It is a passion insulting to reason, beneath the generosity of human nature, and in the highest degree degrading to the character of a British sailor."

Such were the sentiments of Frederick Howard, addressed to a fellow officer, (remarkable for his pride and haughtiness) as they walked toward the pier-head at Yarmouth, on their return to the Argo man of war, then stationed in the roads. Already were they in the boat which was to convey them on board, when a youth about seventeen ran up to them, and, with wildness and distress in his aspect, entreated they would take him with them.

"Take you with us!" said Lieutenant Harland, sternly, "who are you?"

"For God's sake, ask no questions, but take me with you," said the youth, and immediately jumped into the boat.

"Get back, fellow! knock him over!" cried the exasperated Lieutenant.

"Not in my presence, George;" said Frederick;--"he entreats protection--if he deserve it, it ought to be granted: if he do not, we have no right to maltreat him." He pushed the boat off, and they were conveyed on board.

Captain Howard, the uncle of Frederick, was justly esteemed for the generosity of his disposition; his heart, indeed, was the seat of philanthropy, and never did the indigent or unhappy sue in vain. On being informed by his nephew of his conduct to the stranger, he expressed his approbation, at the same time desiring to see him. The youth was accordingly summoned. He entered the cabin with a modest bow, and, to the Captain's interrogation of who he was? answered--One brought up in expectation of a better fate; till an adverse stroke of fortune had bereaved him of all his early prospects of happiness.

"Do you belong to Yarmouth, young man?" asked the Captain.

"No, sir, I come from Caermarthen."

"Ha--what--Caermarthen! Tell me, who is your father?--what is your name?"

"I have not a father," sighed the youth, "My name is--(he faltered as he spoke it)--Henry St. Ledger."

The animated hope expressed in the countenance of the Captain, suffered a momentary depression on hearing the name of the youth; but returned with redoubled glow as he repeated--"You have not a father!--Oh God!--How did you lose him?--When did he die?"

"About two years since," replied St. Ledger, dashing a tear from his cheek.

The Captain's agitation increased. "Are you certain he was your father? Did no obscurity,--no secrecy, attend your birth?" "Neither, sir; my birth was honourable; welcomed with joy: though I, alas! was decreed by heaven to experience the bitterest misery."

Disappointment took possession of the Captain's features, on this information: he sighed deeply, and, leaning back in his chair, covered his face with his hand.

He was recalled from his reverie, by his nephew expressing his surprise at the emotions St. Ledger had occasioned him.

"Ah! Frederick," replied the Captain; "there is something in his appearance----"

"Certainly not very prepossessing;" interrupted Lieutenant Harland: "to judge by that, I should take him for a pauper--or something worse."

Till that moment the habiliments of St. Ledger had been disregarded by Captain Howard and his nephew; it was St. Ledger himself, who engaged their attentions: he was pale and emaciated, but with features more than commonly handsome and expressive: at the insinuation of Harland, a momentary spark of passion suffused his cheek; but, looking at his dress, he suppressed a sigh, and with an air of injured dignity turned to the window. The captain regarded George with a sternness which never failed to check him, and, again addressing St. Ledger, asked if he wished to engage in the sea-faring life?

St. Ledger bowed--

"If such be your wish or intention, young man," continued the Captain, "you are welcome to remain here; and depend on my friendship--as you deserve!"

"As he deserves!" repeated George, with contemptuous haughtiness. "Were he to have his deserts, sir, I believe your friendship would not be put to the test."

"Forbear! Lieutenant," returned the Captain, "know your distance, young man, or take my word, my friendship to your father shall not shield you from your deserts!"

He waved his hand for St. Ledger to follow him, and left the cabin. Frederick likewise retired, leaving the Lieutenant highly incensed at the reproof he had received, and the favourable reception given to the indigent St. Ledger.

Descended from an ancient and wealthy family--an only child--Harland had early been taught to regard merit only in proportion to the birth of the individual; and whilst the actions of his ancestors were recited to raise an emulation in his bosom, they implanted a pride, the partial fondness of his parents but too much tended to increase. Thus regarding himself as superior to the generality of mankind, he expected an observance and obedience few were willing to pay. The Captain's profession of friendship to St. Ledger, after he had so openly avowed his disapprobation of that youth, he looked on as an insult offered to himself, and as such determined to show his resentment by treating him with every mark of contempt in his power. This behaviour, however, failed in the desired effect; and, instead of degrading St. Ledger, was the means of gaining him the notice and protection of the other officers. By the austerity of his manners, Harland had long since rendered himself the object of their dislike; the injustice of his behaviour was therefore exaggerated in their opinion, and, independently of the Captain's avowed partiality, or the interesting manners of the young adventurer, inclined them to regard him with sentiments of commiseration and friendship.

Already had St. Ledger been six weeks on board, during which time the Captain had repeatedly, but vainly, urged him to declare who he was; neither could he be induced to appear when any strangers visited that gentleman; when one day, being importuned by Frederick to accompany them to the house of a friend, he hesitatingly acknowledged it was not safe for him to be seen.

"Not safe, St. Ledger?" repeated the Captain. "Of what action can you have been guilty, that like a midnight assassin, you should thus dread the observation of civilized society?"

"None, Captain," answered St. Ledger firmly. "But the criminal is not the only one who has cause for fear. He who meets the hand of the assassin is in equal danger as he who gives the blow."

"Well, St. Ledger," returned the Captain, "I yield to your reasons, whatever they may be. I entertain too good an opinion of you to think you guilty of any crime which could render you undeserving of the protection I have afforded. When you have known me longer, you may perhaps find me more worthy of your confidence."

St. Ledger felt relieved by their departure, though hurt at the reproach he thought the Captain's last words implied.

For that gentleman, he sunk into a reverie as soon as he was seated in the barge; which Frederick, whose imagination was equally employed in conjectures respecting St. Ledger, never thought of interrupting; and on being landed they silently pursued their way till they arrived at the quay, when Frederick suddenly exclaimed--"I cannot form an idea who, or what St. Ledger is. Above the generality of mankind I must think him."

"I have indeed," said the Captain, "rarely seen his equal, and would freely give a hundred guineas to know who he is, or his reason for wishing to be concealed. If he would intrust me with the secret, it might perhaps be in my power to prove a greater friend to him than I am at present."

The concluding sentence brought them to the place of their destination. On being announced, a gentleman, who was seated with their invitor, hastily rose, and, eagerly surveying the Captain, exclaimed--

"Does my memory deceive me; or is it my friend Crawton I have again the pleasure of beholding?"

"I was once known by that name," answered the Captain, with emotion; "but at present bear that of Howard."

"Tell me," said the other, with quickness, "were you ever acquainted with one Talton, of Brighthelmstone?"

"Brighthelmstone!--Talton!" repeated the Captain, taking his hand--"Surely it is.--It is my old friend Talton himself! Yet scarcely can I credit the existence of one I thought long since numbered with the dead."

"I wonder not at your entertaining the idea," said Mr. Talton. "The years that have intervened since last we beheld each other, and a variety of circumstances, might justly give rise to such a supposition."

The pleasure experienced by the Captain at thus meeting a man whose friendship had once constituted a considerable portion of his happiness, diffused itself to the bosoms of all, and some time elapsed ere he thought of asking an explanation of the occurrences by which he had been induced to believe the death of his friend.

On Frederick and their entertainer likewise expressing a wish to hear his relation, Mr. Talton readily consented to gratify their curiosity.

"Though I would not, my friends," he continued, "have you expect to hear any thing extraordinary in my history, as there is not any circumstance in the whole, but what daily and hourly happens to hundreds of my fellow-beings, or that can render it interesting to any but the ear of friendship.

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