Japhet in Search of a Father Part 57

"Won't you, by Gad?" roared my father; then turning to his two native servants, he spoke to them in Hindostanee. They immediately walked to the door, threw it wide open, and then coming back to me, were about to take me by the arms. I certainly felt my blood boil, but I recollected how necessary it was to keep my temper. I rose from my chair, and advancing to the side of the sofa I said--

"My dear father, as I perceive that you do not require your crutches at this moment, you will not perhaps object to my taking one. These foreign scoundrels must not be permitted to insult you through the person of your only son."

"Turn him out," roared my father.

The natives advanced, but I whirled the crutch round my head, and in a moment they were both prostrate. As soon as they gained their feet, I attacked them again, until they made their escape out of the room; I then shut the door and turned the key.

"Thank you, my dear sir," said I, returning the crutch to where it was before. "Many thanks for thus permitting me to chastise the insolence of these black scoundrels, whom, I take it for granted, you will immediately discharge;" and I again took my seat in the chair, bringing it closer to him.

The rage of the general was now beyond all bounds; the white foam was spluttered out of his mouth, as he in vain endeavoured to find words.

Once he actually rose from the sofa, to take the law in his own hands, but the effort seriously injured his leg, and he threw himself down in pain and disappointment.

"My dear father, I am afraid that, in your anxiety to help me, you have hurt your leg again," said I, in a soothing voice.

"Sirrah, sirrah," exclaimed he at last, "if you think that this will do, you are very much mistaken. You don't know me. You may turn out a couple of cowardly blacks, but now I'll show you that I am not to be played with. I discard you for ever--I disinherit--I disacknowledge you. You may take your choice, either to quit this room, or be put into the hands of the police."

"The police, my dear sir! What can the police do? I may call in the police for the a.s.sault just committed by your servants, and have them up to Bow Street, but you cannot charge me with an a.s.sault."

"But I will, by Gad, sir, true or not true."

"Indeed you would not, my dear father. A De Benyon would never be guilty of a lie. Besides, if you were to call in the police;--I wish to argue this matter coolly, because I ascribe your present little burst of ill-humour to your sufferings from your unfortunate accident. Allowing, then, my dear father, that you were to charge me with an a.s.sault, I should immediately be under the necessity of charging you also, and then we must both go to Bow Street together. Were you ever at Bow Street, general?" The general made no reply, and I proceeded. "Besides, my dear sir, only imagine how very awkward it would be when the magistrate put you on your oath, and asked you to make your charge. What would you be obliged to declare? That you had married when young, and finding that your wife had no fortune, had deserted her the second day after your marriage. That you, an officer in the army, and the Honourable Captain De Benyon, had hung up your child at the gates of the Foundling Hospital--that you had again met your wife, married to another, and had been an accomplice in concealing her capital offence of bigamy, and had had meetings with her, although she belonged to another. I say meetings, for you did meet her, to receive her directions about me. I am charitable, and suspect nothing--others will not be so. Then, after her death, you come home and inquire about your son. His ident.i.ty is established,--and what then? not only you do not take him by the hand, in common civility, I might say, but you first try to turn him out of the house, and to give him in charge of the police; and then you will have to state for what. Perhaps you will answer me that question, for I really do not know."

By this time, my honoured father's wrath had, to a certain degree, subsided: he heard all I had to say, and he felt how very ridiculous would have been his intended proceedings, and, as his wrath subsided, so did his pain increase: he had seriously injured his leg, and it was swelling rapidly--the bandages tightened in consequence, and he was suffering under the acutest pain. "Oh, oh!" groaned he.

"My dear father, can I a.s.sist you?"

"Ring the bell, sir."

"There is no occasion to summon a.s.sistance while I am here, my dear general. I can attend you professionally, and if you will allow me, will soon relieve your pain. Your leg has swollen from exertion, and the bandages must be loosened."

He made no reply, but his features were distorted with extreme pain. I went to him, and proceeded to unloose the bandages, which gave him considerable relief. I then replaced them, _secundum artem_, and with great tenderness, and going to the sideboard, took the lotion which was standing there with the other bottles, and wetted the bandages. In a few minutes he was quite relieved. "Perhaps, sir," said I, "you had better try to sleep a little. I will take a book, and shall have great pleasure in watching by your side."

Exhausted with pain and violence, the general made no reply; he fell back on the sofa, and, in a short time, he snored most comfortably. "I have conquered you," thought I, as I watched him as he lay asleep. "If I have not yet, I will, that I am resolved." I walked gently to the door, unlocked it, and opening it without waking him, ordered some broth to be brought up immediately, saying that the general was asleep, and that I would wait for it outside. I accomplished this little manoeuvre, and reclosed the door without waking my father, and then I took my seat in the chair, and resumed my book, having placed the broth on the side of the fire grate to keep it warm. In about an hour he awoke, and looked around him.

"Do you want anything, my dearest father?" inquired I.

The general appeared undecided as to whether to recommence hostilities; but at last he said, "I wish the attendance of my servants, sir."

"The attendance of a servant can never be equal to that of your own son, general," replied I, going to the fire, and taking the basin of broth, which I replaced upon the tray containing the _et cetera_ on a napkin.

"I expected you would require your broth, and I have had it ready for you."

"It was what I did require, sir, I must acknowledge," replied my father, and without further remark he finished the broth.

I removed the tray, and then went for the lotion, and again wetted the bandages on his leg. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

said I.

"Nothing--I am very comfortable."

"Then, sir," replied I, "I will now take my leave. You have desired me to quit your presence for ever; and you attempted force. I resisted that, because I would not allow you to have the painful remembrance that you had injured one who had strong claims upon you, and had never injured you. I resented it also, because I wished to prove to you that I was a De Benyon, and had spirit to resist an insult. But, general, if you imagine that I have come here with a determination of forcing myself upon you, you are much mistaken. I am too proud, and happily am independent by my own exertions, so as not to require your a.s.sistance.

Had you received me kindly, believe me, you would have found a grateful and affectionate heart to have met that kindness. You would have found a son, whose sole object, through life has been to discover a father, after whom he has yearned, who would have been delighted to have administered to his wants, to have yielded to his wishes, to have soothed him in his pain, and to have watched him in his sickness.

Deserted as I have been for so many years, I trust that I have not disgraced you, General De Benyon; and if ever I have done wrong, it has been from a wish to discover you. I can appeal to Lord Windermear for the truth of that a.s.sertion. Allow me to say, that it is a very severe trial--an ordeal which few pa.s.s through with safety--to be thrown as I have been upon the world, with no friend, no parent to a.s.sist or to advise me, to have to bear up against the contingency of being of unacknowledged and perhaps disgraceful birth. It is harder still, when I expected to find my dearest wishes realised, that, without any other cause than that of my features resembling those of my mother, I am to be again cast away. One thing, General De Benyon, I request, and I trust it will not be denied, which is, that I may a.s.sume the name which I am ent.i.tled to. I pledge you that I never will disgrace it. And now, sir, asking and expecting no more, I take my leave, and you may be a.s.sured, that neither poverty, privation, nor affliction of any kind, will ever induce me to again intrude into your presence. General De Benyon, farewell for ever." I made my father a profound bow, and was quitting the room.

"Stop, sir," said the general. "Stop one moment, if you please." I obeyed.

"Why did you put me out of temper? Answer me that."

"Allow me to observe, sir, that I did not put you out of temper; and what is more, that I never lost my own temper during the insult and injury which I so undeservedly and unexpectedly have received."

"But that very keeping your temper made me more angry, sir."

"That is very possible; but surely I was not to blame. The greatest proof of a perfect gentleman is, that he is able to command his temper, and I wished you to acknowledge that I was not without such pretensions."

"That is as much as to say that your father is no gentleman; and this, I presume, is a specimen of your filial duty," replied the general, warmly.

"Far from it, sir; there are many gentlemen who, unfortunately, cannot command their tempers, and are more to be pitied than blamed for it; but, sir, when such happens to be the case, they invariably redeem their error, and amply so, by expressing their sorrow, and offering an apology."

"That is as much as to say, that you expect me to apologise to you."

"Allow me, sir, to ask you, did you ever know a De Benyon submit to an insult?"

"No, sir, I trust not."

"Then, sir, those whose feelings of pride will not allow them to submit to an insult ought never to insult others. If, in the warmth of the moment, they have done so, that pride should immediately induce them to offer an apology, not only due to the party, but to their own characters. There is no disgrace in making an apology when we are in error, but there is a great disgrace in withholding such an act of common justice and reparation."

"I presume I am to infer from all this, that you expect an apology from me?"

"General De Benyon, as far as I am concerned, that is now of little importance; we part, and shall probably never meet again; if you think that it would make you feel more comfortable, I am willing to receive it."

"I must suppose by that observation, that you fully expect it, and otherwise will not stay?"

"I never had a thought of staying, general; you have told me that you have disinherited and discarded me for ever; no one with the feelings of a man would ever think of remaining after such a declaration."

"Upon what terms, then, sir, am I to understand that you will consent to remain with me, and forget all that has pa.s.sed?"

"My terms are simple, general; you must say that you retract what you have said, and are very sorry for having insulted me."

"And without I do that, you will never come here again?"

"Most decidedly not, sir. I shall always wish you well, pray for your happiness, be sorry at your death, and attend your funeral as chief mourner, although you disinherit me. That is my duty, in return for my having taken your name, and your having acknowledged that I am your son; but live with you, or even see you occasionally, I will not, after what has pa.s.sed this day, without you make me an apology."

"I was not aware that it was necessary for a father to apologise to his son."

"If you wrong a stranger, you offer an apology; how much more is it due to a near relation?"

"But a parent has claims upon his own son, sir, for which he is bound to tender his duty."

"I grant it, in the ordinary course of things in this life; but, General De Benyon, what claims have you as a parent upon me? A son in most cases is indebted to his parents for their care and attention in infancy--his education--his religious instruction--his choice of a profession, and his advancement in life, by their exertions and interest; and when they are called away, he has a reasonable expectation of their leaving him a portion of their substance. They have a heavy debt of grat.i.tude to pay for what they have received, and they are further checked by the hopes of what they may hereafter receive. Up to this time, sir, I have not received the first, and this day I am told that I need not expect the last. Allow me to ask you, General De Benyon, upon what grounds you claim from me a filial duty? certainly not for benefits received, or for benefits in expectation; but I feel that I am intruding, and therefore, sir, once more, with every wish for your happiness, I take my leave."

I went out, and had half closed the door after me, when the general cried out, "Stop--don't go--j.a.phet--my son--I was in a pa.s.sion--I beg your pardon--don't mind what I said--I'm a pa.s.sionate old fool."