CHAPTER FOUR.
The strife was o'er, the vanquish'd had their doom; The mutineers were crush'd, dispersed, or ta'en, Or lived to deem the happiest were the slain. BYRON.
The day broke serenely but brightly, and poured in a stream of lightthrough the iron grating of the cell where Peters and his wife layclasped in each other's arms, not asleep, but torpid, and worn out withextreme suffering. Peters was the first to break the silence, andgently moved Ellen, as he called her by her name. She had not for sometime lifted up her head, which was buried in his bosom; and she was notaware that the darkness had been dispelled. She raised her head at hissummons, and as the dazzling light burst upon her sunken eyes, so didthe recollection that this was the fatal morning flash upon her memory.
With a shriek, she again buried her face in the bosom of her husband."Ellen, as you love me," said Peters, "do not distress me in my lasthour. I have yet much to do before I die, and require your assistanceand support. Rise, my love, and let me write to my father; I must notneglect the interest of our child."
She rose tremblingly, and, turning back from her face her beautifulhair, which had been for so many days neglected, and was now moistenedwith her tears, reached the materials required by her husband, who,drawing towards him the wooden form to serve him as a table, wrote thefollowing letter, while his wife sat by him with a countenance ofidiotic apathy and despair:--
"DEAR FATHER,--Yes, still _dear_ father,--Before you cast your eyes upon these characters, you will be childless. Your eldest boy perished nobly in the field of honour: your youngest and last will this morning meet an ignominious, but deserved death on the scaffold. Thus will you be childless; but if your son does meet the fate of a traitor, still the secret is confined to you alone, and none will imagine that the unhappy Peters, ringleader of a mutinous ship, was the scion of a race who have so long preserved an unblemished name. Fain would I have spared you this shock to your feelings, and have allowed you to remain in ignorance of my disgrace; but I have an act of duty to perform to you and to my child--towards you, that your estates may not be claimed, and pass away to distant and collateral branches;--towards my child, that he may eventually reclaim his rights. Father, I forgive you, I might say--but no--let all now be buried in oblivion; and as you peruse these lines, and think on my unhappy fate, shed a tear in memory of the once happy child you fondled on your knee, and say to your heart, `I forgive him.'
"I have dedicated my boy to his king and country. If you forgive me, and mean to protect your grandchild, do not change the career in life marked out for him:--it is a solemn compact between my God and me; and you must fulfil this last earnest request of a dying man, as you hope for future pardon and bliss.
"His distracted mother sits by me; I would entreat you to extend your kindness towards her, but I fear she will soon require no earthly aid. Still, soothe her last moments with a promise to protect the orphan, and may God bless you for your kindness.
"Your affectionate son, EDWARD."
Peters had scarcely finished this letter when Adams, with the boy in hisarms, was admitted. "I come for final orders, Peters, and to tell youwhat I did last night to this boy. He is real stuff,--never winced.You said he was to be the King's, and I thought you would like that heshould be marked as such. There is no mistaking this mark, Peters,"continued Adams, baring the boy's shoulder, and showing the impressionof the broad-headed arrow, which now appeared angry and inflamed, as italways is for some days after the operation. "I did not mention that Iwas going to do it, because Ellen then might not have liked it: but Ihope you do."
"Many, many thanks," answered Peters; and opening his letter, which wasfolded, but not sealed, he added a postscript, pointing out the mark bywhich the boy would be identified. "You could not have done me agreater favour, Adams; and now you must promise me one more, which is tolook after my poor Ellen when--"
"I understand, my good fellow, and I will," replied Adams. "There isthe chaplain outside, who is all ready for service if you would like tosee him," continued the old man, passing his hands over his humid eyes.
"Ask him to come in, Adams; he is a good man, and an honour to hisprofession. I shall be glad to see him."
Adams went to the door, and soon returned with the chaplain. He salutedPeters, who respectfully bowed to him, and said: "I have long made mypeace with God and man, sir, and am as well prepared to die, as sinfulmortal can be in faith and charity with all men. Many thanks to you,sir, for your kindness; but, sir, you may be of use here yet. Canyou,"--and his voice faltered,--"can you, sir, help that poor youngwoman? Cannot you reason her into some kind of tranquillity, somedegree of submission to God's will? Oh, do that, sir, and you willconfer a favour on me indeed."
The chaplain approached Ellen, who lay on the deck in a state of mentalstupefaction, and, addressing her in mild accents, persuaded her to riseand take a seat on the form; he kindly contrived to bring it forward tothe iron-grated port, so that she could not witness the motions ofPeters, and, with a low, yet energetic and persuasive voice, attemptedto reason her into patience and resignation. His efforts were in vain.She occasionally looked upon him with a vacant stare, but her thoughtswere elsewhere. During the period, Peters had time to shave himself,and dress in clean attire, preparatory to being summoned to his fate.
The time was approaching fast; one bell after eight o'clock, designatingthe half hour, had struck; at two bells (nine o'clock) he was to besummoned to his doom. The clergyman rose from his uselessendeavours--"Let us pray," said he, and sank upon his knees,--Peters,Adams, and the child followed his example; and, last of all, poor Ellen,who seemed to recover her recollection, sank on her knees, but, unableto keep her position, fell towards the clergyman, who, as he supportedher in his arms, poured forth a fervent and eloquent appeal in behalf ofthe one who was about to appear in the presence of his Maker, and ofthose who were left in tribulation behind. It was scarcely over whenthe door opened, and the provost-marshal claimed his prisoner.
The prayer of the chaplain seemed to ring in Ellen's ears, and sheremained supported by the worthy man, muttering parts of it atintervals, during which time the limbs of her husband were freed fromthe shackles. All was ready; and Peters, straining the child to hisbosom in silence, and casting one look at his dear Ellen, who stillremained in a state of stupefaction, denied himself a last embrace(though the effort wrung his heart), rather than awaken her to hermisery. He quitted the cell, and the chaplain, quietly placing Ellen inthe arms of Adams, followed, that he might attend and support Peters inhis last moments.
The prisoner was conducted on the quarter-deck previously to being sentforward to execution. His sentence was read by Captain A---; and theremark may perhaps be considered uncharitable, but there certainlyappeared to be an ill-concealed satisfaction in his countenance as hecame to that part where it stated that the prisoner was to "sufferdeath." Peters heard it read with firmness, and asked permission toaddress the ship's company. This was at first refused by the captain;but, at the request of the officers, and the assurance of the chaplainthat he would vouch for the language of Peters being such as would havea proper tendency to future subordination on the part of the ship'scompany, it was assented to. Bowing first to the captain and officers,Peters turned to the ship's company who were assembled on the booms andgangway, and addressed them as follows:--
"Shipmates, the time may come when our country shall be at peace, andyour services no longer be required. Then, when you narrate to yourchildren the events of this unhappy mutiny, do not forget to addinstruction to amusement, by pointing out to them that it ended in thedisgrace and death of the ringleaders. Tell them that, in yourpresence, one of them acknowledged on the quarter-deck the justice ofhis sentence, and returned thanks to his Majesty for his kindness inpardoning others who had been led into the same error. Tell them to dotheir duty, to fight nobly for their King and country, and warn them byour example--"
At this moment Willy, who
had eluded the vigilance of old Adams, who wasoccupied in supporting the inanimate Ellen, pushed his way between thelegs of the marines, who were drawn up in ranks on the quarter-deck,and, running to his father, laid hold of the loose sailor's trousers inwhich he was attired, and looked anxiously and inquisitively in hisface. Peters's voice faltered; he attempted to continue his address tothe men, but could not; and waiving his hand, and pointing to the child,in mute explanation of the cause, after struggling in vain against theoverflowings of a father's heart, he bent over the boy and burst intotears.
The effect was electrical. The shock was communicated to all; not aneye but was dimmed; sobs were heard in the crowd; the oldest officersturned away to conceal their emotions; the younger, and more fresh inheart, covered their faces, and leant against the bulwarks; the marinesforgot their discipline, and raised their hands from their sides to wipetheir eyes. Many a source, long supposed to be hermetically sealed, wasre-opened, many a spring long dry reflowed rapidly; even CaptainA--- was moved.
By a singular coincidence, the grouping of the parties at this momentwas nearly the same as when we first introduced our little hero to thereader,--the officers and marines on the after part of the deck, theship's company forward, and little Willy standing between the two.Again he appears in the same position;--but what a change of feeling hadtaken place! As if he had been a little spirit of good, waving hisfairy talisman, evil passions, which in the former scene were let loose,had retired to their darkest recesses, and all the better feelings ofhumanity were called forth and displayed in one universal, spontaneous,and unfeigned tribute to the melancholy and affecting scene.
The silence was first broken by Willy--"Where are you going, father; andwhy do you wear that night-cap?"
"I am going to sleep, child,--to an eternal sleep! God bless andprotect you," said Peters, taking him up and kissing him. "And now,sir, I am ready," continued Peters, who had recovered hisself-possession; "Captain A---, I forgive you, as I trust to be forgivenmyself. Mr ---," said he, addressing the first-lieutenant, "take thischild by the hand, and do not permit him to come forward--remember, heis the `King's Own.'" Then, bowing to the chaplain, who had scarcelyrecovered from the effects that the scene had produced upon him, andlooking significantly at the provost-marshal, Peters bent his stepsforward by the gangway--the noose was fastened--the gun fired, and, in amoment, all was over.
Loud as was the report of the gun, those who were appointed to theunpleasant duty of running aft with the rope on the main-deck, whichswung Peters to the yard-arm, heard a shriek that even that deafeningnoise could not overpower. It was the soul of Ellen joining that of herhusband--and, before the day closed, their bodies were consigned to thesame grave--
"Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."
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