Rattlin the Reefer Part 37

Early next morning, we weighed, and made sail for Sheerness. On anchoring in the Medway, Captain Reud went on sh.o.r.e; and, as I shall have no more occasion to refer to him, I shall state at once, that the very fate he so feared awaited him. Six months after he had left the _Eos_, he died raving mad, in a private receptacle for the insane.

At Sheerness we were paid off.

As I went over the side of the _Eos_ for the last time, I was tempted to shake the dust from off my feet, for, of a surety, it had lately been an accursed abode to me.

In order entirely to elude all observation from my late companions, I abandoned everything I had on board, not worth much, truly, with the exception of my s.e.xtant and telescope; and took on sh.o.r.e with me only the clothes (miserable they were) in which I stood. I went to no hotel or inn; but, seeing a plain and humble house in which there were lodgings to let for single men, I went and hired a little apartment that contained a press bedstead. I took things leisurely and quietly. I was now fully determined to discover my parentage; and, after that event, entirely to be governed by circ.u.mstances as to my future course of life, and the resuming of the naval profession.

My first operations were sending for a tailor, hatter, and those other architects so essential in building up the outer man. The costume I now chose was as remote from official as could be made. I provided myself with one suit only, leaving the rest of my wardrobe to be completed in London.

Knowing that I had an active and intelligent enemy who had two days the start of me, I was determined to act with what I thought caution. I had more than a half-year's stipend due to me; I accordingly drew for it upon the lawyer, nearly 75 pounds, intimating to him, at the same time, by letter, my arrival in England, and asking if he had any instructions as to my future disposal. This letter was answered by return of post, written with all the brevity of business, stating that no such instructions had been received, and inclosing an order on the Sheerness Bank for the money.

So far all was highly satisfactory. It proved two things: first, that Joshua Daunton had not yet carried his machinations in the quarter from which arose the supplies; and, secondly, that I should now have considerable funds wherewith to prosecute my researches. In the s.p.a.ce of three days, behold me dressed in the fas.h.i.+onable costume of the period--blue coat, broad yellow b.u.t.tons, yellow waistcoat with ditto, white corduroy continuations, tied with several strings at the knees, and topped boots. It was in the reign of the "bloods" and the "ruffians," more ferocious species of c.o.xcombs than our dandies, and much more annoying.

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

RALPH FINDS EVERYWHERE GREAT CHANGES--GIVES WAY TO HIS FEELINGS, AND MAKES A FOOL OF HIMSELF--THIS CHAPTER WILL BE FOUND EITHER THE WORST OR THE BEST OF RALPH'S CONFESSIONS, ACCORDING TO THE FEELINGS OF THE READER.

Having stayed one week at Sheerness, and laid down my plan of future action, I started in the pa.s.sage boat for Chatham. There was not much room for rec.u.mbency. I found it, however, and placed the only luggage that I had, a small parcel, covered with brown paper, under my head as a pillow. The parcel contained my logs, and my certificates, and a single change of linen. Very providentially, I had placed my pay-ticket, with my bank notes, in my pocket-book.

Once, as I opened my eyes at the explosion of an oath more loud than usual, methought I saw the sudden and white-complexioned face of Joshua Daunton hanging closely over mine. I started up, and rubbed my eyes, but the vision had fled. I was determined to be watchful; and, with this determination in full activity, I again fell asleep; nor was I once more properly awakened until we had arrived at Chatham. When I had roused myself up, to my consternation, I discovered that my pillow was nowhere to be found. Many of the pa.s.sengers had already gone their ways, and those who remained knew nothing about me or my packet.

Indeed, I only drew suspicions on myself, as my paucity of baggage and the pretensions of my dress were decidedly at variance. The gentleman in top-boots and with the brown paper parcel seemed ridiculous enough.

Seeing how ineffectual noise was, I held my peace, now that I had nothing else to hold; got on the outside of the first coach for London; and, by ten at night, I found myself in the coffee-room of the White Horse, in Fetter Lane.

The next morning, when I arose, it was my birthday, the 14th of February; and I stood at mine inn, a being perfectly isolated. But I was not idle; on descending into the coffee-room, I procured the Court Guide; but my most anxious scrutiny could discover no such person among the baronets as Sir Reginald Rattlin. Paying my bill, I next went to Somerset House, and drew my pay; I then repaired to the aristocratic mansion of Lord Whiffledale, in Grosvenor Square. "Not at home," and "in the country for some time," were the surly answers of the indolent porter.

It was a day of disappointments. The lawyer who cashed my bills was civil and constrained. To all my entreaties first, and to my leading questions afterwards, he gave me cold and evasive answers. He told me he had received no further instructions concerning me; reiterated his injunctions that I should not endanger the present protection that I enjoyed, by endeavouring to explore what it was the intention of those on whom I depended to keep concealed; and he finally wished me a good morning, and was almost on the point of handing me out of his office.

But I would not be so repelled. I became impa.s.sioned and loud; nor would I depart until he a.s.sured me, on his honour, that he knew almost as little of the secret as myself, and that he was only the agent of an agent, never having yet had any communication with the princ.i.p.al, whose name, even, he a.s.sured me, he did not know.

I had now nearly exhausted the day. The intermingling mists of the season and the heavy smoke of the town were now shrouding the streets in a dense obscurity. There were no gas lights then. Profoundly ignorant of the intricacy of the streets of the metropolis, I was completely at the mercy of the hackney-coachmen, and they made me buy it extremely dear. Merely from habit, I again repaired to the White Horse, and concluded my nineteenth natal day in incert.i.tude, solitude, and misery.

To Stickenham--yes, I would go there immediately. But the resolve gave no exulting throb to my bosom.

I went to that spot so consecrated to my memory by bright skies and brighter faces; the spot where I had so often urged the flying ball and marshalled the mimic army--it was there that I stood; and I asked of a miserable half-starved woman, "where was the play-ground of my youth?"

and she showed me a "brick-field."

I walked a few steps further, and asked for the school-house of my happiest days--and one pointed out to me a brawling ale-house. It was a bitter change. I asked of another where was now my old light-hearted, deep-learned, French schoolmaster, Monsieur Cherfeuil. He had gone back to France. The _emigres_ had been recalled by Napoleon.

There was one other question that I dreaded, yet burned to ask--I need not state how fearful it was to me, since it was to learn the fate of her whom I had honoured, and loved, and hailed, as my mother--the beautiful and the kind Mrs Cherfeuil. I conjectured that she, too, had gone to France with her husband, and the idea was painful to me.

"There have been great alterations here, my good girl," said I to a young person whom I afterwards met.

"Very great, indeed, sir,--they have ruined father and mother."

"Your name, my dear, is Susan Archer."

"Bless me, so it is, sir!"

"And you seem a very intelligent little girl, indeed."

"Yes, I have had a good deal of book-learning, but all that is past and gone now. When Mrs Cherfeuil lived in that house, she took care that we should always have a home of our own, fire in the grate, and a loaf in the cupboard--she had me sent to school--but now she is gone!"

"Gone!--where?--with her husband?"

"Don't you know, sir," said she, with a quiet solemnity, that made me shudder with dreadful antic.i.p.ations. "If you will come with me, I will show you."

I dared not ask the awful question, "Is she dead?" I took my gentle guide by the hand, and suffered her to lead me slowly through the village. Neither of us spoke. We had almost attained to the end of the hamlet, when my sad guide gently plucked me by the arm to turn down to the right.

"No," said I, tremulously, "that is not the way; we must go forward.

That lane leads to the churchyard."

"And to Mrs Cherfeuil."

"Go on, and regard me not."

In another minute we were both sitting on a newly-made grave, the little girl weeping in the innocent excess of that sorrow that brings its own sweet relief.

My at first low and almost inaudible murmurs gradually grew more loud and more impa.s.sioned. At last they aroused the attention of my weeping companion, and she said to me, artlessly, "It is of no use taking on in this way, sir; she can never speak up from the grave. She is in heaven now; and G.o.d does not permit any of His blessed saints to speak to us sinners below."

"You are quite right, my good girl," said I, ashamed of this betrayal of my emotion. "It is very foolish indeed to be talking to the dead over their damp graves, and not at all proper. But I have a great fancy to stay here a little while by myself. Pray go and wait for me at the end of the lane. I will not keep you long, and I have something to say to you."

"I will do as you tell me, sir, most certainly. I will tell you all about her death, for I was a sort of help to the nurse. I know you now, sir, and thought I knew you from the first."

I shall not repeat the extravagances that I uttered when alone. I was angry with myself and with all the world; and I fear that I exasperated myself with the thought that I did not sufficiently feel the grief with which I strove to consecrate my loss. I remember, I concluded my rhapsody thus:

"Again I call upon you by the sacred name of mother--for such you were-- and no other will my heart ever acknowledge. I adjure you to hear me swear that I will have all the justice done to your memory that man can do! and may we never meet in those realms where only the injured find redress, if I fail to scatter this sacred earth in token of dishonour upon the head of him who has dishonoured you--were he even my own father! It is an oath. May it be recorded, should that record be used as my sentence of death!"

Having made this harsh and impious vow, the effect of over-excitement, I tore a considerable portion of the earth from the grave, and, folding it in my handkerchief I knotted it securely, and placed it round my heart next to my skin, like those belts that are worn by Roman Catholics as instruments of penance.

With a wish for something very like the shedding of blood in my heart, and with a fervent prayer in my imagination and on my lips, I left Mrs Cherfeuil's humble grave, and joined my companion.

In one little half-hour, I found my belt of vengeance so cold and so inconvenient, that I heartily wished I was well rid of it: it is a miserable confession, a sad falling off in my heroics; but the oath that I had voluntarily and so solemnly taken prevented me from ridding myself of the disgusting inc.u.mbrance.

According to the account of my companion, all was smiles, and happiness, and suns.h.i.+ne, around Mrs Cherfeuil; when a person made his appearance, by the description of whom I at once recognised that fiend, Daunton.

Domestic happiness then ceased for the poor lady; rumours of the worst nature got abroad; her little French husband, instead of being as for twelve years before he had been, her shadow, her slave, and her admirer, became outrageous and cruel, and after the horrid word bigamy had been launched against her, she never after held up her head.

She sickened and died. Nor did Daunton succeed in his plans of extorting money--but his scheme was infinitely more deep and more h.e.l.lish. He had, _but not till after her death_, declared himself to be her son. This, instead of having any effect upon the outraged widower, only made him more eager to drive the impostor from his presence; and, the opportunity offering itself to leave the spot now so hateful to him, and the country that had sheltered him and in which he had grown so rich, he availed himself of it eagerly. This account did not aggravate my implacable feelings against this Daunton, for my hate was beyond the capability of increase.

After hearing all that the little wench had to discover, and rewarding her, I proceeded alone to wander over the spots that were once so dear to me. In this melancholy occupation, when the cold mists of the early evening fell, I continued heaping regret upon regret, until a more miserable being, short of being impelled to suicide, could not have trod the earth. About five, it began to grow dark; and, weary both in mind and body, I commenced climbing the long hill that was the boundary of the common, on my return to London.

On the Surrey side of the hill, for its apex separated it from another county, the descent was more precipitous--so much so, that it is now wholly disused as a road for carriages; and not only was it precipitous, but excessively contorted, the bends sometimes running at right angles with each other. High banks, clothed with impervious hedges, and shadowed by tall trees, made the road both dank and dark; and, at the time that I was pa.s.sing, or, rather, turning round one of the elbows of this descent, a st.u.r.dy fellow, with a heavy cudgel, followed at some distance by a much smaller man, accosted me in a rude tone of voice, by bawling out:

"I say, you sir, what's o'clock?"

"Go about your business, and let me pa.s.s."