Фредерик Марриет
The Privateersman
I took his hand and quitted the room, shutting the door softly. Mr Trevannion was quite alone when I was with him. Humphrey, the porter, had shown me up-stairs to the room.
Anxious as I was to see Miss Trevannion, I did not venture into the sitting-room, but passed the door and went down-stairs; when I was going out of the street-door, Humphrey followed me, and said Miss Trevannion wished to see me. I went back again with a beating heart, a sensation I had not felt before, when about to go into her presence. She was standing by the table.
“Mr Elrington,” said she, as I bowed upon entering, “I did not think that you could carry your resentment against me so far as to leave the house without asking to see me; but if you do not wish to see me, ’tis a duty I owe to myself to wish to see you, if only for a moment, that I may beg your pardon for my conduct towards you when we last parted. I have suffered much since that, Mr Elrington; do not make me suffer more by continuing your resentment. Recollect I am but a weak woman, and must not be judged so severely as one of your own sex.”
“I have nothing to pardon that I am aware of, Miss Trevannion,” replied I; “I did not intrude upon you just now, because being no longer an inmate of the house, and not having parted with you in complete amity, I thought it would be presumptuous in me so to do.”
“You are very generous, Mr Elrington,” replied she; “now take my hand, and I promise never to be so hasty again.”
I took the proffered hand, and raised it respectfully to my lips. I had never done so before; but Miss Trevannion showed no signs of displeasure, or attempted to withdraw it.
“Do you think my father looks very ill, Mr Elrington?” said she.
“From his appearance, I think that he must have suffered much.”
“I am most thankful that you have come to see him, Mr Elrington. You have no idea how his mind was troubled, and how he longed to be reconciled to you. I trust he has made his peace.”
“I have always had too much respect for your father, and gratitude for his kindness to me, to have made that a work of difficulty.”
“You rejoice me much—make me very happy, Mr Elrington,” replied Miss Trevannion, as the tears dropped fast from her eyes. “You must excuse me,” said she; “I have become very weak and nervous during my father’s illness—and sitting up with him so much,—but it is over now.”
“You have had much anxiety, I see, Miss Trevannion; you are pale and thin to what you were.”
“Did my father—? But I have no right to ask such questions.”
“You would inquire, Miss Trevannion, whether anything was said as to future arrangements?”
Miss Trevannion made a sign of assent.
“I have promised to execute a commission for him, and am going to London, accompanied by Captain Levee.”
“To get rid of those wretched privateers, is it not?”
“Yes it is, and I am to come to-morrow to arrange further: but I think you want to return to your father’s room, so I will now take my leave.”
“You are considerate, Mr Elrington; I did want to go up-stairs; but before I go I have some property of yours to place in your hands.”
I bowed, thinking that she referred to the ring, which I perceived on her finger, and was annoyed that she was in such haste to return it. But, on the contrary, she went to the buffet and brought out the bag of gold jacobuses, which she laid on the table.
“You are very proud, Mr Elrington, not to take what was fairly your due,” said Miss Trevannion, smiling.
“It is much more than I have ever earned,” replied I; “but your father made me promise not to refuse it a second time, and of course I shall now take it.”
My heart was much lightened when I found that it was the gold, and not the ring.
“Then good-bye, Mr Elrington; to-morrow I shall see you, of course.”
Miss Trevannion then left the room and hastened up-stairs to her father, and I went home to my lodgings. I narrated the substance of what had passed between Mr Trevannion and me to Captain Levee and Philip, and also that I had been kindly received by Miss Trevannion.
“Well, I like the reconciliation and arrangement very much,” said Captain Levee; “and as you have such a bag of gold, and I have not fifty guineas in the world, you shall stand treat in London, Elrington.”
“That I will with pleasure; it will only be discharging an old debt, Levee. Philip shall go with us.”
“But,” said Captain Levee, “do you not think they will recognise their state-prisoner, and be cautious of a Jacobite?”
“They may remember the name,” said I, “but my person was seen but by few. I do, however, think it would be advisable, as I shall have to sign papers, to take another.”
“I think so, too,” replied Captain Levee; “what shall we call you?”
“Let me see; I’ll have a good name. I had a relative of the name of Musgrave; I think I will borrow his name. What say you, Philip? Will you be, for the future, Philip Musgrave?”
“Yes, brother, with all my heart. The name appears to fit me better than that of Elrington.”
Thus, Madam, did I resume my real name without any suspicion on the part of Captain Levee; but I could not well sign government papers with an assumed one.
On the following day I called upon Mr Trevannion, who received me with great affection, and it was arranged that I should set off in three days, which time would be required for preparation, and to make the necessary purchases. To supply funds for the journey, Mr Trevannion gave me another bag of jacobuses, of the same amount as the former, saying that he wished us to appear bravely when we arrived in London, and that he should require no account of the expenditure, only that if the contents of the bag were not sufficient, he would supply more. This was nothing more but an excuse on his part to be generous; for one quarter of the money would have been sufficient for all needful expenses. I told him that I had taken the name of Musgrave, as that of Elrington might be remembered to the injury of the proposal, and he said that it was well thought of by me. Miss Trevannion had entered the room when I mentioned that to her father, and afterwards had quitted it. After I had taken leave of Mr Trevannion, I went down to the sitting-room, where I found his daughter waiting for me. We had much friendly discourse, and at one time she said, “I heard you say that you had taken the name of Musgrave for your intended journey. Do you intend to retain that name when you return?”
“Why should I?” replied I.
“Because,” replied she, “perhaps it is your real name. Excuse a lady’s curiosity, but is not that the fact?”
“Miss Trevannion,” replied I, “my real name must at present remain a secret.”
“That is to say, it will no longer be a secret if intrusted to me? I thank you, Sir, for the compliment.”
“I do not intend to imply that, Miss Trevannion; I fully believe that you can keep a secret.”
“If you fully believe so, you might, then, reply to my question; the more so, as I now pledge myself to keep your secret most faithfully.”
“Then, Miss Trevannion, my real name is Musgrave,” replied I.
“I thank you for your confidence, Mr Musgrave, which shall not be misplaced. I might now follow up my inquiries as to why you changed your name, with many other queries; but I am too discreet for that—the time may come when I shall know all; but I am content with your proof of confidence, and thank you for it.”
Miss Trevannion never was so lively and communicative with me before, as she was this morning; there was a friendliness without any of her usual reserve, and I left her more full of admiration and devotion than ever.
In three days more our preparations were made, and, taking leave of Miss Trevannion and her father, who was recovering, and had admitted company to his room, we set off on horseback, as we had done before, and attended by the same two men of Captain Levee’s who had served us on a former journey to London. We had no adventure whatever on this journey which could be worth narrating, and I shall therefore say that we arrived in good health and spirits, and took up our abode at once at our former lodging-house, instead of going to the inn. We were welcomed by the hostess, who had her house almost empty. The following day I made inquiries, and, in consequence, went to the Navy Office, and, requesting to see one of the head clerks, informed him of the occasion of my coming up to London. He was very civil, and replied that the government were in want of vessels, and he had no doubt but they would have the Arrow, as she was well-known as a strong privateer. I then inquired whether they thought it likely that Captain Levee might be taken into the service, stating what an excellent crew the Arrow had, and that they would not remain in her, unless they were commanded by him, in whom they had great confidence.
The clerk replied that it might be done certainly,—“but,” added he—“Sir, you cannot expect people to do such kind offices without they are rewarded.”
I perfectly understood him, and replied, that, of course, I did not expect it; but I was so ignorant as to what ought to be done, that I begged that he would give me his advice, for which I should be most grateful.
“Well, well, you understand me, Mr Musgrave, and that is sufficient. I will be plain with you. It will cost 100 guineas to obtain what you want for Captain Levee, and of that money I shall not receive a doit.”
“I shall be most happy to give that sum and half as much more to obtain my wish, Sir, and shall feel much obliged to you in the bargain; and while I am negotiating, I may as well state that I have a brother who sails with Captain Levee, who is most anxious to be with him, and sail as his lieutenant.”
“That will cost another fifty guineas, Mr Musgrave.”
“I am most willing,” replied I.
“Well, we must first get the vessel hired into the service. You have your tonnage and equipment all on paper?”
“Everything that is requisite; and, moreover, every cruise she has made, the actions she has fought, and the prizes she has taken under the command of Captain Levee, and with the crew now on board.”
“Furnish all these documents, Mr Musgrave, and leave it to me. I am to understand that you perfectly agree to the terms I have proposed?”
“Perfectly, Sir; and, if you please, I will sign a memorandum to that effect.”
“No, no,” replied he, “we never put such things down on paper. It is an affair of honour and good faith. You say your money is all ready.”
“At a minute’s warning.”
“That is sufficient, Mr Musgrave. I will now wish you good morning. Send me the documents.”
“I have them in my pocket, Sir.”
“Better still; then the affair may be arranged this afternoon, and you may call to-morrow at about two in the afternoon; and you may as well bring the money with you, as you can but take it away again if everything is not to your satisfaction.”
I returned to the lodgings quite delighted with the prospect of such a fortunate issue to my mission, and was in good time for dinner. I did not tell Captain Levee or Philip of what had passed, but merely that I considered that there was a good chance of success, and that I was to call on the following day. That night we went to the theatre, and saw a play performed, written by Shakespeare, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, and called the “Merry Wives of Windsor.” We were much pleased with the character of Falstaff, a fat knight, full of humour. The next day, at the time appointed, I called upon the head clerk, who told me that everything was arranged according to my wishes; that the hiring of the vessel was according to her tonnage; and he considered that the price offered by the government was fair and liberal; so did I, and immediately accepted it. He then drew from his desk the articles of agreement between the government and the owner of the vessel, and, at the same time, the warrants for Captain Levee and Philip, to act as commander and lieutenant.
“Now, Mr Musgrave, all you have to do is to sign the first paper, and fulfil the other portion of our agreement.”
I immediately pulled out the bag of money which I had brought with me, and, after counting it over, the clerk gave me his pen to sign the document, and handed to me the warrants for Philip and Captain Levee.
“You have behaved liberally in this affair, Mr Musgrave,” said the gentleman, as he locked up the bag of money in his desk: “if at any time I can be of use to you, you may command me.”
“I thank you, Sir,” replied I; “I may by-and-by have to ask you to exert your influence in behalf of my brother, that he may obtain the command of one of the king’s ships, and if you can help me, I shall be most grateful.”
“Depend upon it I will,” replied he, “and I beg you will use no ceremony on making the application.”
He then shook hands with me, and I went home. Dinner was over when I came back, but the hostess had put away some victuals for me, and while I was eating them I gave them an account of my success, handing their warrants to Captain Levee and Philip. They could hardly credit me, even when the documents were in their hands, but, pledging them to secrecy, I told them by what means I had been so successful. Whereupon they thanked me, and we then went out to procure the uniforms suitable to their respective ranks, and this occupied us till the evening, when we agreed to go to the cockpit and see the fights between the various animals, with which Philip particularly was much delighted. As we had nothing to detain us in London, and it was necessary that the Arrow should immediately run round to the Nore, we determined, as the uniforms were to be ready on the following day, that the day after that we would return to Liverpool.
Chapter Fifteen
We return to Liverpool—I have an interview with Miss Trevannion—Plutus interferes with Cupid, and I sail again for the coast of Africa
We set off, and arrived at Liverpool, without accident, late on the sixth night, when we repaired to our usual lodgings. The next day I called to tell Mr Trevannion that I had returned, and was informed by Humphrey that he was quite strong again, and very anxious to see me, although he had no idea that I should return so soon. Humphrey went up to announce my arrival, and Mr Trevannion admitted me immediately, although he was not yet out of bed.
“I fear that you have not been successful,” said he as he took my hand.
“On the contrary, Sir, I have succeeded in everything,” and I then gave him an account of what had happened.
“Well,” replied he, “I am glad of it, and recollect I must be at the expense, as, without you had incurred it, the schooner would not, in all probability, have been hired. And now I want to consult with you about something else. Here is a letter from Captain Irving, of the Amy, brought home by the Chester Lass.”
These were two vessels employed on the Gold Coast, which belonged to Mr Trevannion.
“Read it,” said Mr Trevannion, “and give me your opinion.”
I did so: Captain Irving stated that he had pushed the two vessels up a small river on the coast, which he had not known of before, and had fallen in with a black ruler, who had never yet treated with the English; but only with the Spaniards, for slaves. That his English commodities were quite new to the natives, and that, in consequence, he had made a most fortunate traffic with them, and had loaded a vessel with ivory, wax, and gold-dust to the amount of 1000 pounds, and that he had sent the Chester Lass, remaining himself to continue the barter before it was known to the other ships on the coast, which it would soon be. He continued, that he had not sufficient of the articles which were most valued by the natives, and requested that Mr Trevannion would immediately despatch another vessel with various goods enumerated, and that then he should be able to fill his own vessel as well as the one that he had despatched home; that the river was in such a latitude, and the mouth difficult to discover; that he sent a little sketch of the coast, which would facilitate the discovery—but that no time was to be lost, as the sickly season was coming on, and it was very unhealthy at that time.
As I folded up the letter, Mr Trevannion said:
“Now, here is an invoice of the whole cargo sent home by the Chester Lass. I reckon it worth about 7000 pounds.”
I looked over the invoice, and agreed with Mr Trevannion that it was well worth that, if not more.
“This is most important, you will acknowledge, Musgrave,” said Mr Trevannion; “but before I go any further, I trust that, now the only difficulty is got over, you will not refuse to be my partner; the only difference I intend to make, is, that I now offer you one-fourth instead of one-eighth. Silence gives consent,” continued Mr Trevannion, as I did not immediately reply.
“I was so astonished at your munificent offer, Sir, that I could not well speak.”
“Then it’s agreed; so say no more about it,” said Mr Trevannion, taking me by the hand, and pressing it warmly—“and now to business. My idea is, to send out the Sparrow-Hawk, being so fast a sailer. Of course, as a privateer, she has done her work; and as the government wish the complement of the Arrow to be increased, I think we cannot do better than to fill her up with some of the Sparrow-Hawk’s men, leaving about twenty-five on board of her, and sending her out as soon as possible to the coast, with the articles which Captain Irving requests.”
“I agree with you, Sir, that it will be the best plan.”
“But whom to send is the difficulty,” said Mr Trevannion. “Captain Paul, of the Chester Lass, is very ill, and not likely to be out of bed for some time; and even if he were well, I have no opinion of him in an affair of this moment. If, as Captain Irving says, he can fill the Amy, her cargo will be worth three times that of the Chester Lass; but, of course, the destination of the Sparrow-Hawk must be a secret, and I do not know whom to intrust her to. We require some one in whom we can put confidence.”
“I agree with you, Sir,” replied I; “and, if you have no objection, I think that the best plan will be for me to go myself; I shall be back again in ten weeks at the furthest.”
“Well, as you will now have a strong interest in it, I really think so too. In fact, I don’t know whom else we can trust.”
“I agree with you, Sir, and I will go myself, and I think the sooner the better; but I do not know whether we can obtain all the goods requisite immediately.”
“We can have them in five or six days,” replied Mr Trevannion; “I sent Humphrey out to make inquiry.”
“At all events, I must look to them myself; and there are many other things to manage, so I had better wish you a good morning now, Mr Trevannion, and in the evening I will call again, and let you know what I have done.”
“Do so,” said he, and I then took my leave.
I certainly was very much astonished as well as much pleased at Mr Trevannion’s liberality relative to the partnership, and I could now look forward to competency in a few years at the furthest. Certainly, if Mr Trevannion had been hasty in his conduct towards me he had made most noble reparation. I first returned to the lodgings and told Captain Levee and Philip what had passed; they immediately proposed that we should all go together on board the Sparrow-Hawk, that I might make my arrangements, and that they might persuade some of the men to join the Arrow. I first picked out the men I wished to sail with me; and then they talked over the rest, who that evening went on shore for their wages, and the next morning joined the Arrow, as Captain Levee was anxious to get round to the Nore. The day after the men joined, the Arrow sailed, which I was not sorry for, as it left me more at leisure to expedite my own affairs. Philip promised to be my correspondent, and I bade them both farewell with regret. I called in the evening, as I had promised, upon Mr Trevannion, and he then gave me the deed of partnership, signed and dated the day when he first made the offer, and we had quarrelled; but I did not see Miss Trevannion; much to my regret, her father said that she was ailing. The business I had to transact, and fitting out the Sparrow-Hawk, so completely occupied me, that it was now three days that I had been at Liverpool without having seen her, and I was much annoyed at it, as I had called every day. My feelings towards her were now stronger than before. She was never out of my thoughts, and I hardly know how it was that I transacted business as I did. This evening I was determined, if possible, that I would see her, and find out why she avoided me, as it appeared to me that she did. When I called, therefore, I did not ask to see her father, but told Humphrey to find out where Miss Trevannion was, and say that I requested to speak with her. Humphrey returned, and said that she was in the sitting-room, to which I instantly repaired.
“I am fearful that I have given you some unintentional cause of displeasure, Miss Trevannion,” said I, as I entered, “for you have appeared to avoid me since my return.”
“Indeed, Mr Musgrave, I have not,” replied she; “I was most anxious to see you, and have thought it very unpolite, I may add, unkind, on your part not to have come to me.”
“I have been in the house every day, and sometimes twice a day, with your father, Miss Trevannion, and have never met you. Once I inquired for you, and your father told me you were unwell, whereas Humphrey had but five minutes before told me that you were well and in good spirits.”
“Humphrey told the truth, and so did my father. I was in good health and spirits, and in five minutes afterwards I was ill and unhappy.”
“I trust I was no party to it, Miss Trevannion.”
“You were a party to it, but not the great offender, who was my father. He had told me that upon your return he had installed you as his partner, and had done you the justice you had deserved; and then he told me that you were going out to the coast of Africa in the Sparrow-Hawk.”
“It is very true, Miss Trevannion; but where is the offence?”
“The offence is this: my father no sooner does you justice than he wants more ivory and gold-dust, having more than enough already; but I told him it was as bad as privateering, for in either case he sends people out to sacrifice their lives, that he may gain more money. I have no patience with this foolish pursuit of wealth.”
“After all your father’s kindness to me, Miss Trevannion, I could do no less than accept the offer.”
“You would have been more wise and more just to yourself to have refused it, Mr Musgrave. I read the letters to my father when they arrived, and you know what Captain Irving says about the unhealthiness of the climate. You have been my father’s best friend, and he should not have treated you thus.”
“I never did value life, Miss Trevannion; but really the kind interest you have expressed on this occasion makes me feel as if my poor life was of some value. To one who has been such a football of fortune as I have been, and who has hardly known a kind feeling towards him ever expressed, it is a gratification that I really appreciate, and, coming from one whom I respect and esteem more than any other person in the world, it quite overpowers me. Indeed, Miss Trevannion, I am truly grateful.”
I was correct when I said that it overpowered me, for it did completely, and I was so oppressed by my feelings, that I reeled to a chair, and covered up my face with my hands. What would I have given to have dared to state what I felt!
“You are ill, Mr Musgrave,” said Miss Trevannion, coming to me. “Can I offer you anything?”
I made no reply; I could not speak.
“Mr Musgrave,” said Miss Trevannion, taking my hand, “you frighten me. What is the matter? Shall I call Humphrey?”
I felt her hand tremble in mine, and, uncertain what to think, I came to the resolution to make the avowal.
“Miss Trevannion,” said I, after a pause, and rising from my chair, “I feel that this internal conflict is too great for me, and if it last it must kill me. I give you my honour that I have for months tried everything in my power to curb my desires and to persuade myself of my folly and rash ambition, but I cannot do so any longer. It were better that I knew my fate at once, even if my sentence should be my death. You will ridicule my folly, be surprised at my presumption, and, in all probability, spurn me for the avowal, but make it I must. Miss Trevannion, I have dared—to love you; I have but one excuse to offer, which is, that I have been more than a year in your company, and it is impossible for any one not to love one so pure, so beautiful, and so good. I would have postponed this avowal till I was able to resume my position in society, by the means which industry might have afforded me; but my departure upon this business, and the kind of presentiment which I have, that I may not see you again, has forced it from me. In a few days I leave you—be gentle with me for my involuntary offence—pity me while you condemn, and I will return no more.”
Miss Trevannion did not reply; she breathed quick, and stood motionless. I gathered courage; I looked in her face, there was no displeasure—I approached her, she was half fainting, and put her hand upon my shoulder to steady herself. I put my arm round her waist, and led her to the sofa, and knelt at her feet, watching every change in her beautiful countenance. I took her hand and pressed it to my lips; by degrees I became more bold, and got by her side, and pressed her to my heart. She burst into tears, and wept with her head on my bosom.
“Do not be angry with me,” said I, after a time.
“Do I appear as if I was angry with you?” replied she, raising her head.
“Oh, no; but I cannot believe my happiness to be real. It must be a dream.”
“What is life but a dream?” replied she mournfully. “Oh, the coast of Africa! How I dread it!”
And so I confess did I from that moment; I had a presentiment, as I had told her, that something would go wrong, and I could not get over the feeling.
I shall no longer dwell upon what took place on that delightful evening, Madam; suffice to say, that Miss Trevannion and I were mutually pledged, and, after an exchange of thought and feeling, we parted, and when we did part I pressed those dear lips to mine. I went home reeling with excitement, and hastened to bed, that I might have unrestrained freedom of thought. I enacted the scene of the evening over and over again; recalled each motion, each look, every word which had passed, and, defying fever and presentiment of evil, imagined also our happy meeting to part no more. It was long before I could compose myself to sleep, and when I did, I need not say who it was that occupied my dreams. I called as soon as I could venture so to do on the following day, and had a long interview with my dear Amy. Before I went up to her father, I tried to soothe her anxiety upon my approaching voyage, and to persuade her that there was little or no danger to be apprehended in so short a stay. Willingly would I have given it up, but Mr Trevannion had so set his mind upon it, and I had, by my consent, rendered it so impossible for him to find a substitute in time, that I could not do so, and I persuaded Miss Trevannion that I was right in acting to my promise line question that came forward was, whether we should make known our engagement to her father at once, and this was decided in the negative. Much as he liked me, he was not yet prepared to receive me so suddenly as a son-in-law, and Amy was of opinion that the communication had better be postponed. To this, of course, I gave a willing assent. I was satisfied with the knowledge of her affection, which I felt would never change. As I was talking with her father, after my interview with Amy, he said:
“Really, Elrington, or Musgrave, I hardly know which to call you.”
“Musgrave is my real name, Sir,” replied I.
“Musgrave—Musgrave—where did I know a Musgrave?”
“We are from the north,” replied I.
“Well,” said he, “I was going to say, that I really wish I could find some one else to take your place in this voyage, for I do not much like your going.”
“Do, my dear father,” said Miss Trevannion, who was standing by him.
“Hey! Miss Amy, what have you to do with it, I should like to know, and how can it concern you whether Mr Musgrave goes or not?”
“I said so, Sir, because I know how you will feel his loss for so long a period. You know how you did feel his loss before, and I do not wish to see you working so hard, as you will have to do it without his assistance.”
“Well, that’s kindly thought, Amy, at all events; but still I fear that Mr Musgrave must go, and I must work by myself till he comes back; so it’s no use saying any more about it.”
Amy sighed and made no reply. On the third day after this interview, everything was ready, and on the following morning I was to sail. Mr Trevannion had so many directions to give, and kept me so wholly with him, that I could hardly find time to speak to his daughter. However, it was agreed that as I was to sail at daylight, that she would see me after her father had gone to bed. Our meeting took place—need I say that it was a tender one. We renewed our vows over and over again, and it was not till past midnight that I tore myself away. Old Humphrey looked very knowingly at me when he let me out of the street-door. I slipped a guinea in his hand and wished him good-bye. I hastened on board of the Sparrow-Hawk, and, desiring to be called before daylight, went down into the cabin. There I remained sitting at the table and thinking of Amy so long, that when the mate came down to wake me he found that I was still sitting there, having never been to bed during the whole of the night.
I started from my reverie and hastened on deck to get the schooner under weigh. It was soon done, although we were, comparatively speaking, short-handed. There was a fine breeze, and lightened as she now was, the little vessel flew through the water. Liverpool was soon out of sight, and we were dashing down the Irish Channel.
“She sails well now,” said I to the second mate, a very clever man, and much hotter educated than most seamen, for he could navigate, as well as being a first-rate seaman.
