Peak's Island Part 1

Peak's Island.

by Ford Paul.

CHAPTER I.

Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean roll; . . . . . . Upon the watery plain.

The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When for a moment like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.

SEPTEMBER 27, 1607.

Dead bodies everywhere. The ocean, lashed to fury by the gale of yesterday, came booming and hissing upon the beach in great breakers white with foam; each billow as it dashed upon the jagged and broken rocks bore in its terrible embrace still more human victims, or some portion of the two unlucky s.h.i.+ps that were fast breaking up. One wedged in between two rocks with just sufficient play to allow of its heaving from side to side, with every wave that struck it. The other and much larger vessel, the Queen Elizabeth, a fine British s.h.i.+p, which had sailed from England freighted with a cargo of general merchandise for the colony of Virginia, went cras.h.i.+ng up against the cruel stone teeth of the cliff which overhung and projected into the angry sea; dismasted, her bulwarks and rigging torn away she floated out into deeper water only to be driven back again upon the rocks, by the violence of the wind and the rapidly incoming tide.

Another crash and another, the forecastle carried away, the decks opening, bales, chests, cordage, stores of all sorts tossed high up on the sh.o.r.e, more dead bodies--chiefly of men, for they had some time before given up to the few women and children the now capsized and shattered boats. All along the sh.o.r.e, as far as eye could see, the beach was composed of a heterogeneous ma.s.s of enormous fragments of rock thrown together and piled up on each other, leaving here and there in their midst a separate pool of sea water; in some of these pools was a dead body or two, but by far the greater number were lying in every imaginable, distorted position among the huge, irregular blocks of stone. Many, who had been washed in sufficiently far to escape drowning, were killed by the force with which they were dashed on sh.o.r.e: there, with broken bones and gnashed and blood-stained bodies, they slept in death, like men who had fallen in some great battle. It was noon, but not a ray of sunlight glinted across the ghastly scene. Every sound was lost in the terrific roar of the great, heaving hills of water, which rolled in continuously; huge ma.s.ses of wet gray cloud hung over all, obscuring or transforming every visible object. Far up among the s.h.i.+ngle lay one human form which still bore signs of life. It was that of a young lady, attired in deep mourning, a stream of blood trickled down the pale face, and from time to time one hand moved convulsively toward a deep cut in her head as if to a.s.suage the pain; presently in half-consciousness she whispered "Do not tell my mother I am hurt, it would grieve her. She has had too much sorrow already."

The beloved mother, and all others who had made life precious to the speaker, had three years previously been tenderly laid to rest in their quiet graves thousands of miles away; but at this moment the mind had only half awakened. A few minutes later her brain was clear and active, and the truth flashed upon her in all its force. The recollection of her bereavement and the fact of her being utterly alone in life, were the first thoughts that came and the thoughts which dominated. And so it is that all who are called upon to endure a great sorrow, acutely realize that sorrow again and again with each return of the mind to the consciousness of human existence, whether it be after the delerium of fever, the stunning from an accident, or the awaking each morning to daily life. With the awaking to our senses a.s.suredly comes the old heartache; nay, before we awake it is there, and before we are conscious of aught else we are conscious of the grief which weighs heaviest on our soul. Thus it was with Anna Vyvyan: the awaking to life brought with it the pain in all its intensity, although she lay there on the cold stones, her clothing drenched through and through, bareheaded, her hair matted together with the sea water, bruised and cut and faint from exhaustion, still the present physical suffering seemed by comparison nothing to her. Everything was buried in the sorrow of the past, the sorrow that she had lived through, but had not left behind.

CHAPTER II.

The stately homes of England How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land!

The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry homes of England-- Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light!

There women's voice flows forth in song Or childhood's tale is told Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.

The blessed homes of England, How softly on their bowers, Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours Solemn, yet sweet, the church bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn, All other sounds at that still time Of breeze and leaf are born.

Miss Vivyan was the daughter of an officer of high rank in the navy of Queen Elizabeth, who lost his life in the royal service while his little girl Anna was still very young. His valor had gained for him many medals and yet more substantial honors in the form of valuable grants of land from Her Majesty. This property, added to the family inheritance of Anna's mother, who was a lady of old and n.o.ble race, left both the widow and her child in very affluent circ.u.mstances. The young widow, handsome and possessed of brilliant talents, attracted many suitors for her hand; but her heart lay far down beneath the sea with her dead husband, and she resolved to devote her love and her life to the care of her child.

She accordingly retired to an old manor house on the borders of Wales, which had descended to her through many generations. The great stone halls and corridors, the long, low rooms and the little diamond-shaped window panes, admitting so small an amount of light, might have given to some minds a feeling of gloom; but both mother and daughter had their occupations, the one in giving, the other in receiving, an education, beside the care of all the sick and poor peasants of the neighborhood.

Indeed they were so happy in their affection for each other and found so much to do, that they had neither the time nor the inclination to cultivate morbid or gloomy thoughts, which would, they felt, make their companions.h.i.+p an infliction on every one whom they approached, and unfit them for the duties of their position. So life went on calmly and happily with them.

A faithful steward attended to the estates and a good old housekeeper managed the servants, always keeping order, discipline and peace in the establishment. Twice a year they were allowed to have a dance in the servants' hall, one at Christmas and the other on Anna's birthday, on which occasions they invited the sons and daughters of the neighboring farmers, and the tradespeople who supplied the manor house. The village shoemaker, the tailor, and the blacksmith were the musicians, and to the strains of two violins and a clarionet, they merrily danced through the livelong night, such good old figures as Sir Roger de Coverly, Speed the Plough, and the Cus.h.i.+on dance, till the rising sun streamed in at the windows and warned them that it was time to blow out the candles, take off their holiday garb, and a.s.sume their daily work. As for the mistress of the mansion, she found her pleasures in the duties of her position and the rich companions.h.i.+p of a well stocked library. She had no neighbors of her own rank within several miles distance, no one to visit or to be visited by, with the exception of the old bachelor clergyman of the parish, whose formal calls took place at stated intervals, unless some sudden case of want among the poor caused him to ask her aid, for he knew very well that her heart and hand went forth on every occasion of distress. Hers it was to soothe and cheer and comfort and help, and many a th.o.r.n.y path was made smooth and many a heavy burden lifted by her brave and generous spirit and the pleasant, cheerful way she had of doing such things. In the presence of others she made a duty of cultivating cheerfulness of manner. Not that she ever for a moment forgot the recollection of her love and her loss; but she considered her sorrows too sacred for a subject of conversation on one hand, and on the other, that her grief was her own, and that she had no right to intrude it upon others, or to weigh down and sadden their lives by what was sent for her to bear. Hence her presence was always welcome to the peasants, who regarded her with reverence and affection, as she pa.s.sed, accompanied by her little daughter, from cottage to cottage leaving some dainty for the sick, or an article of clothing for the needy.

Years went by and Anna had left babyhood far behind her and was now a girl of fifteen. Her mother at this period, decided that it was time to call in the aid of masters to a.s.sist in her daughter's education.

Accordingly, such were summoned from a distant town. There was a master for the minuette and the gavotte, a master for the harpsichord, a master for the French and Italian languages, and so on. The days and hours were all laid out systematically, giving an abundance of time for physical training and out-door life, but with the exception of the masters for music and dancing (more especially the former) none of these instructors made much impression upon the girl's mind. Her heart and soul were given to music. While she was in the house her time was spent between the old church organ that stood in the hall, and the harpsichord which adorned the long, oak-panelled drawing-room. When out of doors she was forever listening to the music of nature, the wind through the trees, the dash of the water-fall, the rippling of the brook, all had their charm and fascination, for nature never played out of tune. She would try to make out what key these sounds were in, whether they varied at different seasons, or if change in the weather made them alter,

Music was her pa.s.sion, her love, her life.

Just at that time, two new inmates were added to the manor house family.

Young Cecil Vyvyan, a cousin of Anna's, who was of the same age as herself, and his tutor, Dr. Strickland, a grave, middle-aged Scotch doctor of philosophy. The boy's parents were in India, which caused the widow to suggest to them that he should, for a few years, make his home with her, in order that she might watch over his health, which was exceedingly delicate.

It was in the twilight of a day late in the autumn that Anna waited in the large old-fas.h.i.+oned library to make the first acquaintance of her cousin. In the broad stone fireplace, logs of beech and chestnut were piled up on the hearth, across bra.s.s dogs, where they blazed, and glowed, and lighted up the comfortable looking room, with its dark, ma.s.sive, carved oak furniture, its painted gla.s.s windows, its rich but faded velvet draperies, interspersed here and there with a piece of old tapestry, the needlework of the ladies of former generations. A few family portraits, and well-filled bookcases of vellum-bound octavos, quartos and folios. As the butler threw open the door of the room and announced Master Cecil Vyvyan, Anna went forward to greet the latter, and almost gave a start of surprise at seeing the real cousin differ so much from the ideal one which she had pictured to herself; for she expected to find Cecil of the same type as the English boys that she had always seen. She thought he would be large of his age, with a fresh rosy complexion, bright eyes, an open countenance, crowned with ma.s.ses of rich, curling locks. Strong and healthy, overflowing with buoyant spirits, agile and ready for active service either of work or play.

Instead of which there stood before her one of small stature and thin, diminutive figure, with a pale, weary-looking face and tired eyes, which apparently did not observe any of the objects by which he was surrounded, but concentrated their gaze upon the young girl only, with whom he stood face to face, carefully regarding her with that scrutiny which we are all wont to use when we first make the acquaintance of a new relative.

Anna gave him her hand and welcomed him with a few kind words. As the boy and girl stood there, no two cousins could have appeared more externally unlike, and yet never were two more alike in their highest tastes and deepest feelings. But an ordinary looker-on would only see the boy so small, and quiet, and weary, and the girl so tall, and active, and healthy, abounding in lively spirits, in the full enjoyment of her young life, with the mother she adored, thinking nothing could be more beautiful than her picturesque old home and its surroundings of hill and valley, and woodland, and broad green meadows, and turning over in her mind how she would show Cecil all the favorite haunts. The lily pond in the park, the finest view of the Welsh mountains, and the right place for a good gallop--then the ponies, and the dogs, and the fish pools.

"You must be tired from so long a journey, Cousin Cecil," said she, "let me bring this armchair; it is the most restful one in the whole house.

It has a pedigree, too, the same as you and I have. It belonged to our great-grandfather, Sir Vyell Vyvyan, and was made more than a hundred years ago from one of the oaks which grew in the north grove in the park," so saying she laid one hand on the back of a huge, c.u.mbersome piece of furniture, and rolled it across the room up in front of the glowing logs.

It was now Cecil's turn to be amazed, how could she move that great, clumsy thing, he pondered to himself, I could not. With a gentle thank you, and bowing gracefully to her, he sank into their great-grandfather's chair, and was almost lost sight of among the ample velvet cus.h.i.+ons.

Anna who had seated herself on one side of the fireplace, was watching the pale face, and the weary eyes that were looking dreamily at the fantastic shapes which from time to time the glowing embers a.s.sumed.

Presently a slight, convulsive shudder pa.s.sed through the boy's frame and a quiet little sigh escaped him.

He is sad, thought Anna, perhaps he is thinking of his home in Calcutta, poor fellow, I must do something to amuse him. At the same instant, what she considered a very happy thought suggested itself.

"I am so glad you came, Cousin Cecil," said she "they say you will soon get well and strong here. I have a little terrier that catches rats, you shall take him out in the morning, if you like, and the gardener's boy will show you where you can kill plenty."

"I don't kill rats," he replied, still keeping his eyes fixed upon the burning logs and striving to follow the outlines of a fairy island with palms and tropical plants and ferns as tall as forest trees, which, in his imagination, he saw there.

"Do you go with your terrier to kill rats?" he inquired, with the slightest tone of sarcasm in his voice.

"Oh, no," replied the girl, "but I thought you would like to. Most boys are amused by it, they call it sport, and you know the rats must be killed or we should have them running behind the wainscot of all the rooms in the house, and the gamekeeper would not be able to rear the young pheasants, and we should have no chickens nor pigeons, nor anything of the kind."

"Why, Cousin Anna," said the boy, "have you a Scotch governess, and does she make you give a reason for every thing, and give you her reason in return? That's what Dr. Strickland does with me. It tires me dreadfully, and I don't see what use it is, for I always know things without reasoning about them; they come to me of themselves."

Anna, in her eagerness to show kindness to the guest of the house, and to divert what seemed to her his sad thoughts, did not stop to make any reply, but rose and hastily crossed over to one of the bookcases, bringing back in her arms a large folio, full of colored ill.u.s.trations of field sports.

"Now, Cousin Cecil," said she, drawing up a chair close by the side of his, and laying the folio open upon her lap, "this will please you I am sure; this is not about rats, but thorough-bred horses and dogs, stag-hounds and fox-hounds. Did you ever hear that our grandfather kept a pack of fox-hounds here, that is a hundred dogs you know. I will take you to the kennels and the huntman's lodge some day soon."

Cecil did not know that a hundred dogs made a pack, for he had pa.s.sed all his life in India, until a few months previous to his coming to the manor house.

"Look at this picture of coursing, here is another of hawking, and now see these otter hounds."

"The landscape is beautiful," said the boy. "I like the soft gray light on those distant hills in the background, but I do not care about pictures of horses and dogs; please take them away. I like to see the animals moving in the fields, but I think all this kind of sport is very cruel."

This was said in an extremely gentle way, and at the same time with an inflection of the voice which made a deep impression upon his listener.

I wonder what I can do to amuse him, thought Anna; I don't suppose he would care to look at my last piece of embroidery, or hear how many sonatas I can play; I am afraid he is sorry he came here, perhaps he was thinking of the Himalaya mountains, when he said he liked those hills in the picture. Most boys like out-door amus.e.m.e.nts, she again thought to herself, and acting upon the idea of the moment.

"Cecil," said she, "we have two capital ponies, we will go out in the forenoon to-morrow if you like, for we are to have a holiday from our studies all day, in honor of your coming here."

Again a gentle "thank you" from Cecil, his tired eyes still seeking air castles among the red and gray embers of the fire. After some minutes silence, he turned to look at the tall old clock in the corner, which, in addition to the hours and minutes depicted upon its face, was adorned with supposed likenesses of the sun and moon and other heavenly bodies, beside the terrestrial globe which represented Jerusalem as being situated in the very center of the earth's surface.

The same old clock, which had stood in the same corner of the library long enough to mark the hours of the births and marriages, the meetings and partings, and death, of several generations of the Vyvyans, now chimed in slow, subdued tones, through which ran the echo of a wail, like the voice of a human being, who has seen much and suffered much.

"Dr. Strickland will expect me to return to him now, Cousin Anna, so I must say 'good evening'."

"Before you go, Cecil, tell me at what time you will be ready to ride with me to-morrow?"

"I must ask my tutor," he replied.

"Very well, you can let me know at breakfast time. I suppose you can find your way to your part of the house, follow straight along the corridor till you come to the south wing at the end. Your study and all the other rooms for you and Dr. Strickland are there. Good night."

The next day the ponies were brought round to the hall door immediately after luncheon, and the boy and girl were mounted. Cecil, whose chief mode of locomotion had hitherto been in a palanquin, did not by any means enjoy his present situation; but as he made no remark, his cousin supposed he was as pleased and jubilant at having an opportunity of seeing the beautiful surroundings of the place as she was showing them.