The Loyalists, Vol. 1-3

by Mrs. West

  CHAP. VIII.

  Out of your proof you speak; we, poor, unfledg'd, Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know What air's from home. Haply this life is best, If quiet life be best; sweeter to you, That have a sharper known: to us it is A cell of ignorance.

  Shakspeare.

  Dr. Beaumont's admonitions to Eustace were not uttered at random.Evellin was determined immediately to put in force the commission he hadreceived, by joining the Marquis of Newcastle. His Majesty was verydesirous of securing the northern coast to facilitate the introductionof the succours he expected from Holland with the Queen. Ever since thearrival of arms and accoutrements, the passion of Eustace for militaryfame had become more decided and uncontrolable; he poised his father'ssword, put on his helmet, and talked of the best method of killing allthe rebel generals. The plans he laid for terminating the contestappeared so feasible to Constantia, that at length (though not withouttears) she consented that he should enter on the Herculean labour ofdestroying the many-headed monster, Rebellion. Isabel thought that herfather and uncle were likely to know what was best to be done, but asoften as she ventured to hint that he might be too sanguine, Eustacereminded her, that girls knew nothing about war and politics, anddirected his observations to Constantia, who had at least the femininemerit of acquiescing in his opinions.

  The evening previous to Colonel Evellin's departure was destined to thesevere task of bending Eustace to obedience. The father began by puttinginto his son's hands the miniature of his mother, commanding himconstantly to wear it, and part with it only with his life. Eustacewept, pressed it to his lips, and asked if that was the only mark ofdevoted affection which he could shew to her memory. The Colonel pointedto Isabel. "She lives in your sister," said he; "duty calls me from her;you must be her protector." "Oh, my father!" replied Eustace, throwinghimself at his feet; "how better can I protect my sister, than bycombating her enemies."

  The Colonel answered,--"My age, my experience, my expertness in militarystudies and exercises, impose that task on me. The King, whom I servedin my youth, was a gracious master, and I feel confident that I canrender him assistance. My duty to him, and I will add to you too,required the tender of my services. They have been accepted; I set outfor York to-morrow, to be employed as my immediate commander, theMarquis of Newcastle, shall determine."

  "And when shall I follow you," inquired Eustace, who read in hisfather's eye a prohibition which restrained him from urging his wish toaccompany him.

  "As soon," replied Evellin, "as your services can either benefit theKing or yourself."

  "I know," said Eustace, "you do not doubt my courage or fidelity; itmust therefore be from the opinion you have formed of my inability, thatyou insist upon my spending more of my life in what must now be calledshameful inactivity. I look three years older than I am, and my strengthand ability are as premature as my appearance. Ever since the war brokeout I have been studying histories of battles and sieges, and I canride, fence, and fire at a target with dexterity. If at first I were tocommit some mistakes, actual service would improve me. Oh, best andkindest of fathers, blast not the dearest hopes of your only boy. Fix nostigma upon him, as if he were a tall puppet fit only to trifle, nor lethim be regarded as a coward, glad to use any excuse that shall purchasesafety. My dying mother bade me supply her place to you. How better canI obey her than by shielding your head in the day of battle, smoothingyour pillow when you retire to your tent, participating in all yourdangers and sorrows, relieving your anxieties, and lightening yourlabours. If I may not go with you, or speedily to follow you, the lifeyour kindness would preserve from the sword will be consumed by grief."

  The Colonel turned away his face to conceal the emotion which his son'seagerness for action occasioned. "I have promised," said he, "that Iwill send for you as soon as you can serve the King or yourself. Youhave mentioned your mother--resemble her in this; she never attempted toshake my settled purposes, but conformed to the opinion which shedoubted not was founded on full deliberation. As a boy, you are all Iwish; but there must be much improvement to realise a fond father'shopes of you as a man. Employ the years of probation wisely. Submit toyour excellent uncle as to the representative of both your parents; formyourself by his instructions, and when you are called into action Ishall glory in you."

  "But you have named years of probation; must I for years be confined toRibblesdale? Will no zeal, no diligence on my part shorten this period,and enable me to rejoin you?"

  "In these disturbed times," said the Colonel, "we can form no guesses ofthe future. When we shall meet, or whether ever more in this world, arechances on which I cannot calculate. Bear in mind this partinginterview; and if you sometimes, in your heart, accuse me of harshness,soften your opposition to my will by reflecting, that I may have motivesfor my determination which cannot now be disclosed to you, and that adutiful obedience will render you worthy the entire confidence of onewho has seen too much of man to confide in mere professions of desertand ability."

  The swelling heart of Eustace ill brooked these restrictions. He flew tohis confidante, Constantia, to complain of the cruelty of his father'sinjunctions. In the warmth of his expostulations, he uttered somethingexpressive of distaste for the life he led, which moved the gentle girlto lament, that what made them so happy should make him wretched. "Ifyou loved us," said she, "as we do you, it would reconcile your mind topassing your whole life with us." Eustace smiled on the lovelymoderator, and answered, "I think it is impossible you can love me asmuch as I do you, but you must agree, that a life of inactivity is nowdisgraceful; and even my pretty Constance would despise me, if she sawme loitering about, idling away my best days, when all the kingdom is inarms." "I never can despise a dutiful son," answered she; and Eustacefound in that avowal such an unanswerable argument on the side of filialobedience, that he was able, not only to see the Colonel depart withoutimpatience, but also to support his weeping sister.

  It was some weeks before his repugnance to a life of inactivityreturned; but as the fiery ardour of his character was only smothered,not quenched, it burst out again at the time that Dr. Beaumont took hisdaughter and sister with him to Lancaster assizes, whither he went toobtain redress for his injuries. He had diligently employed the timesince Evellin's departure in confirming his authority over his youngcharge. Isabel was all cheerful duty and smiling diligence. Eustace wasoccasionally impetuous and refractory, but overflowing with sensibility,and more apt to repent than to offend. The Doctor judged it would not beinexpedient to try the temper of his pupils by leaving them a littletime to themselves.

  Eustace resolved to employ this period of liberty in executing a projecthe had formed, and in which he meant Isabel should be his coadjutrix. Hebegan with observing, "he feared their dear Constance was not quitehappy. She so often regrets her father's library," said he, "that I knowshe will never be easy till it is restored. I have examined the ruins,and calculated what repairs it will want; there are stones and timberlying about, and I can work it up myself if you will help me." As far asher strength could go Isabel was perfectly willing, and Eustace promisedher the light jobs, reminding her that she fixed up the pewter-shelvesin their own cottage very well under his directions.

  "But," said Isabel, "of what use will the room be when the books are alldestroyed?"--"I have thought of that too," answered Eustace, "and havecontrived accordingly. You know we left three hampers of books in themountains; they are safe enough I dare say, because those we gave themto, as keep-sakes, cannot read, and I dare say will let us have themback if we say we want them. Now if we work very hard, we shall have twonights and a day to spare, and I can trot the poney with the market cartover the fells, and fetch them. To be sure they may not be just thebooks my uncle lost, but books are books you know, and I am sureConstance will look so happy when she sees the shelves filled again, andall in order."

  Isabel was delighted with the project, and promised to assist, though atthe peril of in
curring her aunt's displeasure, for not finishing, ereshe returned, a representation of the garden of Eden in satin-stitch,according to her order. Eustace looked at the plan, and finding it wouldsave time, they agreed that plain grass would look as well on afirescreen, as all the crocodiles and elephants which with literaldeference to natural history Mrs. Mellicent had drawn up rank and file,on each side Adam and Eve. The young architects anticipated thedeparture of their friends with eagerness, and set about their schemethe moment the calash drove off. The business was got through with greatalacrity, and though there were a few mistakes, and certainly no nicefinish as a whole, it was creditable to their mechanical skill, as wellas to their kind intentions.

  Determining that the poney knew the road, and hoping to get a littlesleep in the cart, Eustace set off immediately on his mountain-expedition,and Isabel busied herself in putting all things in order, and preparingplumb-porridge, and sack-posset, as a festive regale to celebrate there-assembling of the family-party, who, she determined, should supmerrily in the new library.

  Eustace arrived first, in high spirits, but with his cloaths torn, andhis face bloody. Isabel was alarmed. "Nothing but a few scratches,"answered he, "which I can cure with vinegar while you mend my coat. Iwill tell you how I got them presently; but do you unpack the books,while I take care of the poney. Stop a moment; there is something in thecart you must not meddle with." Isabel inquired what it was. "Women areso inquisitive," continued Eustace. "Well then, it is a lute;Constance's own lute, which she lost the night of the fire." Isabelinquired how he recovered it. "Fought for it," answered he; "I see youwill not be easy, so I must tell you all about it."

  "The people of Fourness were very glad to see me, calling me Mr. Random,and a great many more kind names; so we packed up the books, and theysent some cheese for my uncle, and apples for Constance." "And nothingfor me?" said Isabel. "Pshaw," returned Eustace, "how you interrupt me;I believe the apples are for you. So I came driving back very merrily,and within a few miles of this village, I met a fellow carrying a box,which I could perceive held a lute. I had plenty of money, for themountaineers would not let me spend it; so I thought if I can get thislute, Constance will like the new library as well as she did the oldone, and I very civilly told the man I would buy it, and give him all heasked for it.--But in your life you never saw such a sharp bad visage asthe fellow's, and he put himself into the most ridiculous posture,rolling his goggle eyes, and smiting his breast, and at last roared out,'O vain youth, covet not musical devices, but tune thy heart to praise,and thy lips to spiritual songs.'--'Tune thy own lips to civility,' saidI; 'and you shall too before you pass.' 'I can use the arm of flesh aswell as the sword of the spirit,' said he; so to it we fell, and hescratched and pulled my hair, and tore my coat, just as you girls do,but I gave him enough to teach him good manners, and at last made himown he took the lute from my uncle's, the night of the fire, and thatSquire Morgan was to have it. So I threw him a shilling just to mend hisbroken head, and have brought the lute to its own home again."

  Isabel could not but rejoice that the affray ended in a victory, butexpressed her fears that he might be accused of taking the spoil byviolence. "Who stole it first?" said Eustace; "we may take our ownwherever we find it. And to own the truth of my heart, I am glad of thisopportunity of mortifying Squire Morgan, for if there is a person I hatein the world, it is he."

  "There," said Isabel, "you are both indiscreet and ungrateful, for youknow he and Sir William Waverly have promised to assist my uncle in hiscause."

  "I would not give a rush for the friendship of either," returnedEustace. "A good victory on the King's side is the only way of fixingSir William, and as to Morgan, I know it is not love for my uncle bringshim to the rectory. I see that fellow's heart; and I could scarce keepmyself from pushing him out of the room, when he kissed Constance theother day, and called her his little wife; but she looked so distressedat the instant, that I thought I had better not seem to observe it."

  "I have heard you call her little wife a hundred times," said Isabel,"and it never seems to affront her."

  "One may take liberties with one's relations," replied Eustace, "but Itell you, young girls should never let men call them wife, especiallysuch an old, ugly, foolish, fat, vulgar, round-head, as Morgan; and Ihad rather my uncle had no restitution, than owe any favour to him."

  Anxious to draw her brother from a topic, on which he always wasungovernable, Isabel begged him to describe the present state of theirmountain-residence. "Is our garden quite destroyed?" said she, "Are theprimroses I planted on the south bank in blow?"--"I observed somethingmore interesting," answered, he; "my mother's grave is kept quite neatby the villagers, and the roses we set there are twined all over it.Nay, Isabel, if you weep so, I cannot repeat to you the verses I madeyesterday, just as I caught sight of our old cottage." Isabel promisedto be composed, and Eustace proceeded--

  The sun has roll'd round Skiddaw's breast Of floating clouds a golden veil, The heath-cock has forsook his nest, And mounted on the morning gale; While bursting on my raptured eyes, Lakes, hills, and woods, distinctly rise.

  And there in mountain-privacy My father's rustic cot appears, The haunts of happy infancy, The fields my childish sport endears; Where victor of each game I stood, And climb'd the tree, or stemm'd the flood:

  And there, beside the village-spire, My mother's honour'd ashes sleep, Who bade my noble hopes aspire, Who also taught me first to weep, When, with a kiss so cold and mild, She whisper'd, 'I must die, my child.'

  Oh! fitted for a world more pure, Sweet spirit, who would wish thy stay, To witness woes thou could'st not cure, And dimm'd with clouds thy evening ray; To see thy ardent boy denied To combat by his father's side?

  Yet, what is death? As seen in thee, 'Twas a mild summons to the grave; 'Tis the sure zeal of loyalty And honour's guerdon to the brave. How are the soldier's requiems kept! By glory sung, by beauty wept.

  "My dearest Eustace," said Isabel, "I wish I could send these lines tomy father, yet perhaps they would overcome him as they have done me."She twined her arms around the neck of Eustace, sobbed for some moments,and then observed, "I know what suggested the last stanza; it wasConstantia's weeping for the fate of brave Lord Lindsay."

  Eustace blushed. "You are a Lancashire witch in more senses than one,Isabel; but, hush! the calash has just drove up. Say not a word of myverses to my uncle." "Why?" "I do not wish he would know I am unhappy.""Keep your own counsel," returned Isabel, "and I am sure your looks willnever betray you."

  The return of the party relieved Eustace from all fear of owing anobligation to Morgan. An ordinance from Parliament had interrupted theregular returns of public justice, and notwithstanding the King'scommand, that there should be no suspension of judicial proceedings,with respect either to criminal or civil causes, and his grant ofsafe-conduct through his quarters to all persons attending the courts oflaw, the Parliament had forbidden the judges to appoint their circuits.In one instance a troop of horse tore a judge from the bench, who hadventured to disobey their edicts. Except therefore in the few placesthat were at the King's devotion, all legal proceedings of importancewere suspended, and the little business which was transacted was managedby a cabal devoted to the predominant party. From such men Dr. Beaumontcould look for no favour. Ample indemnification was indeed promised, butit was upon a condition that he could not brook, namely, subscription tothe covenant. As to his two friends, Sir William Waverly and Morgan, theformer was detained at home by an apprehension that he might take cold;and the latter, though he argued on the justice and policy ofremuneration, by which the party would gain credit, yet on beingquestioned about his pastor's principles, confessed he thought him amalignant of the deepest die, and positively refused to be responsiblefor his peaceable behaviour.

  Dr. Beaumont had formed no hopes of redress, therefore felt nodisappointment. He was now so accustomed to the temper of th
e times,that he was only slightly hurt at being thought capable of compromisinghis conscience, by subscribing an instrument he had ever denounced asillegal, treasonable, and wicked. The dutiful attentions of his nephewand niece soon changed vexation into pleasure. Mrs. Mellicent'overlooked the omissions of her crocodiles and elephants, and Constancetouched the strings of her beloved instrument with a smile, sweet as thestrain she drew from its according wires, till Eustace forgot all hislabours and bruises in exulting transport.