Roger Kyffin's Ward

“Rightly spoken, my friend,” said Roger Kyffin, grasping Paul’s hand. “You feel for the fatherless and widow. It is a right feeling; it’s a divine feeling; it’s as our Father in heaven feels. Have all my hopes come to this? – thus early cut off, my boy, my Harry! Let me look at that paper again. I must try and see the people who are mentioned here. They may tell us how it happened. Might they, notwithstanding this account, by some means have escaped?”

“I know what it is to be on board a foundering ship in the midst of the stormy ocean, darkness around, strong men crying out for fear of death, the boats swamped alongside. Words of command scarcely heard, or if heard not attended to, and then, when the ship goes down, down, too, go all things floating round her. No, sir, no, I cannot hope, and that’s the fact of it.”

“Have you told the ladies?” asked Mr Kyffin. “It will be a fearful thing breaking the matter to them.”

“I have not, sir, and I would as lief have my head blown off at the cannon’s mouth,” answered Paul; “but it must be done, and what we have to do is to consider the best way of breaking it to them. Never flinch from what must be done; that’s what the colonel always said.”

Roger Kyffin at first thought of requesting Dr Jessop to communicate the sad intelligence; but he was afraid lest in the meantime it might in a more abrupt manner reach the ears of Miss Everard and her aunt. He determined, therefore, to introduce himself, and in the presence of Paul to mention the account he had seen in the papers, expressing at the same time a hope which he himself could not help entertaining, that those in whom they were most interested might have escaped.

While Roger Kyffin and Paul were still discussing the matter, a carriage rapidly approached the house. Three persons got out of it. One of them started with a look of astonishment when he saw Mr Kyffin. It was Silas Sleech. He, however, quickly recovered his self-possession.

“Sad news this, sir, the death of our relative the captain,” he said; “it’s what sailors are liable to, though. Allow me to introduce my father, Mr Tony Sleech – Mr Roger Kyffin. Although fortune may smile on me, I don’t purpose yet deserting business and Idol Lane. ‘Business is business,’ as you’ve often observed, Mr Kyffin, and I love it for itself.”

“I really don’t understand what you mean,” said Mr Kyffin. “How can Captain Everard’s death affect you?”

“Ah! I see you are not acquainted with the state of the case,” said Mr Silas. “We won’t trouble you with it. My father and I have come to condole with the ladies who are now staying here, on their bereavement, and to tell them that we, who are heirs-at-law, beg that they will not trouble themselves to move for the next two or three days. After that, you see, it would be very inconvenient for us to be kept out of the property.”

Silas evidently said this more for Paul Gauntlett’s information than for Mr Kyffin’s, though his eye dared not meet that of the old soldier. Paul clutched the stick which seldom left his grasp. The moment for action had arrived. In another instant the Mr Sleeches – father and son – would have felt its force, had not a third person, who had got out of the carriage, stepped forward. He had from the first kept his eye upon Paul, and now saw by the movement of his hand that he meditated mischief.

“I am an officer of the law, and have been brought to see that the law is respected,” he said, stepping up to Paul. “You had better not use that stick, that’s all. Mr Sleech has sworn that he expects forcibly to be, kept out of this property, which is legally his; therefore let any one at his peril attempt to interfere with his proceedings.”

“He never swore a truer word in his life,” exclaimed Paul, clutching his stick. “I care for the law, and I respect the law, but I don’t respect such sneaking scoundrels as you and he,” exclaimed the old soldier, lifting his stick with a savage look.

Silas sprang down the steps, knocking over his father in his descent.

The constable eyed the old soldier. Though his locks were grey, he looked like no mean antagonist. The man seemed doubtful whether it would be wise to attack him.

“I call all here to witness that I have been assaulted in the execution of my duty by this man, the attendant of the late Colonel Everard,” he said, as he also retreated more slowly down the steps.

“Do you intend to prevent the rightful owners from taking possession of this their rightful property?” he exclaimed, from a safe position at the bottom of the steps, at the top of which stood Paul, still flourishing his stick.

“The rightful owners have got the property, and the rightful owners will keep it,” answered Paul.

The Mr Sleeches and their companion on this retired to a distance, to consult apparently what steps they would next take.

“You must not attempt to impede the officer in the execution of his duty, my friend,” said Mr Kyffin, “you will gain nothing by so doing.”

“I don’t expect to gain anything,” answered Paul. “I am only obeying the colonel’s orders in keeping the house against all intruders. If these people aren’t intruders, I don’t know who are.”

“If they have the law with them we must not interfere,” again repeated Mr Kyffin. “I am anxious to break the sad news to the ladies before these men do so abruptly. I should have thought better of Silas Sleech; but I suppose he has been urged on by his father.”

“One’s no better than the other, in my opinion,” muttered Paul. “However, sir, if you will tell the poor ladies what has happened in as gentle a way as possible, I will bless you for it. As for me, I could not do it, that I could not.”

With a sad heart Mr Kyffin took his way through the grounds, hoping to fall in with Mabel and her aunt. Paul Gauntlett in the meantime kept guard at the door, while two other stout fellows with bludgeons appearing round the corner of the house, induced the besiegers to keep at a respectful distance.

Mr Kyffin soon met the two ladies. He had no doubt who they were, and at once introduced himself. The result of his announcement, though made as cautiously as possible, can better be imagined than described.

“If it is so, God’s will be done!” said Madam Everard, whose whole thoughts were centred in her niece, whom she and Roger Kyffin with difficulty bore to the house. The news soon flew around the place, and Dr Jessop hearing it at once repaired to Stanmore, where he found his old friend Roger Kyffin.

For several days Mabel lay almost unconscious, attended carefully by Dr Jessop, through whose speedy arrival, in all human probability, her life had been saved.

Scarcely had she begun to recover, than Mr Sleech, armed with further authority, arrived at the Park. Mr Wallis was in consultation with Madam Everard. She and her niece must remove at the bidding of her brother-in-law.

“Nothing can be done,” said Mr Wallis. “At all events, no attempt must be made to prevent his being admitted into the house.” With a heavy heart Paul Gauntlett heard the lawyer’s decision, though even then he seemed very doubtful whether he ought to submit to Madam Everard’s orders.

“I would rather a thousand times have fought it out to the last, and died in the breach,” he exclaimed, dashing his stick on the floor. “However, if it must be, it must be, and it’s not the first time a scoundrel has gained the day and got into the place of an honest man.”

Paul had abundance of occupation for the remainder of his stay at Stanmore.

With a countenance in which sorrow, anger, and indignation were blended, he assisted in packing up the property belonging to Madam Everard and her niece. This was at once conveyed to Lynderton, where a house had been secured for them. In as short a time as possible they removed from Stanmore Park with everything they possessed. Scarcely were they out of the house than Mr Sleech and his family took possession.

Silas, however, lost the satisfaction of taking up his abode at the Park as the owner, for Mr Coppinger informed him that he must either give up his situation or return to the counting-house. He selected the latter alternative, greatly to Mr Kyffin’s surprise. The estimation in which that gentleman held Mr Silas Sleech had of late been considerably lowered. He once had thought him a hard-working, plodding, honest fellow who could be thoroughly trusted – a valuable man in a counting-house. Several circumstances had of late come under Mr Kyffin’s notice with regard to Silas Sleech’s mode of life. What he saw of him at Stanmore and heard of him at Lynderton had also yet further lowered him in his estimation. His mind was one especially addicted to forming combinations. He put several things he had seen and heard of Mr Sleech together. To this he added his own opinion on certain documents which Mr Sleech had produced, with apparent unwillingness, to criminate Harry.

He also found from the porter in Idol Lane that the two young men had been in the constant habit of going out together, and very often not returning till a late hour. These and other circumstances which need not be narrated, made Mr Kyffin resolve to watch very narrowly the proceedings of Mr Sleech for the future. Suspicion is more easily aroused than quieted. On further inquiries he had no doubt that the letter for which Silas Sleech had called during his absence, addressed to his house at Hampstead, was from Harry, and that it had been purposely withheld, although Silas declared, when taxed with receiving it, that he had forwarded it to Ireland. Altogether there was a fair prospect that the rogueries of Mr Silas Sleech would be brought to light. Still, however, he sat at his desk, working on with apparently the greatest diligence, and the same unmoved countenance as usual.

In the meantime Mr Sleech had taken possession of Stanmore for his son, and he and his family were making themselves thoroughly at home in their own fashion. They were somewhat indignant that the neighbourhood did not immediately call and pay that respect which their relatives had been accustomed to receive. It cannot be supposed that Mr Wallis, nor even Dr Jessop, had been silent with regard to the way Mr Sleech had behaved to his sister-in-law and niece, while Paul Gauntlett took every opportunity of describing how he had defended the house, and how they had ultimately outmanoeuvred him.

Chapter Eighteen.

On the Raft

We must now go back to a solitary raft which bore Captain Everard, Harry Tryon, and Jacob Tuttle tossing on the bosom of the wide Atlantic. The sea, after the foundering of the frigate, had gone down, and several casks had floated, which had been secured by the occupants of the raft. One contained bread, another meat, and a third, more valuable still, water. By these means there seemed a prospect that those on the raft might preserve their lives. Still, as day after day passed by, and their provisions decreased, the fate from which they had at one time expected to escape, again appeared to approach them.

Eagerly they strained their eyes, in the hope of seeing a sail, but the sun rose and the sun went down again and still they floated all lonely on the ocean. The last drop of water was expended, not a particle of food remained. They knew that a few days might probably end their existence. Harry Tryon kept up his spirits, and endeavoured to sustain those of Captain Everard, who felt acutely the loss of his ship. Harry, however, had not made himself known to him, while Jacob Tuttle always addressed him by the name of Brown. One of their number was sinking fast, another poor fellow had become delirious. It seemed too likely that they would drop off one by one till none remained upon the raft. Again the weather became threatening. A dense mist lay over the water. Few of those on the raft expected to see another daybreak. At length, however, the dawn appeared, but still the mist surrounded them. Suddenly it broke, and the bright sun burst forth and shed his rays on the white canvas of a vessel close to them. They shouted and waved. Their voices could not have been heard, but they were seen. The vessel bore down upon them, and in a few minutes they were hoisted safely on board.

The vessel was from the Saint Lawrence, homeward bound. They were treated with kindness. The weather was fine. For many days they made good progress. They were expecting in the course of another day to sight the Irish coast. A gale sprung up. They were driven off the coast. The brig was dismasted, and lay helpless on the tossing ocean. Just when about to get up jury masts, a strange sail hove in sight. She was a French privateer, and the battered vessel became her prize. The officers of the merchantman, with Captain Everard and part of the English crew, were taken on board the privateer; but several men, among whom were Jacob Tuttle and Harry, were left on board the brig to assist the prize-master in navigating her into port. Fortunately, however, on her voyage the prize was separated from the privateer, and was recaptured by a British man-of-war, to whose decks Harry and Tuttle, with several other able-bodied seamen, were transferred, while the prize was sent into Falmouth.

Harry soon discovered that all ships in the British navy were not alike, and he and Tuttle often wished themselves on board the “Brilliant,” under the command of Captain Everard.

Chapter Nineteen.

The Mutiny at the Nore, and how the Hero became implicated in it

Once more Harry gazed on the coast of England. He felt an earnest longing to go on shore and see Mabel. He wished to tell her that her father had escaped death, and that, although a prisoner, he might soon return home. The “Latona,” the frigate on board which Harry found himself, sailed swiftly up the Channel, and rounding the Isle of Wight, came to an anchor at Spithead. A large fleet lay there, under the command of Lord Bridport. Harry, with several others, asked leave to go on shore. He was sternly refused. The captain of the frigate was one of those men who seemed to take delight in tyrannising over their crews and in making them miserable. No, not although Harry pleaded his shipwreck and the suffering he had gone through. The captain turned a deaf ear to his entreaties. Several ships’ companies had similar causes of complaint.

Harry soon discovered that something was going forward among the men, but he was not trusted. Disaffection rapidly spread among the crews of the ships. At length they began to speak openly of their grievances. Harry, finding it impossible to get on shore, wrote two letters: one to Mabel, the other to Roger Kyffin. He told Mabel, that in all the dangers he had gone through, he was true to her as ever. He described the sinking of the ship, and his satisfaction at having been the means of saving her father’s life. His chief disappointment was at not finding himself, as yet, on the quarter-deck, but still he trusted that an opportunity would occur to enable him to make his way there. To Mr Kyffin he wrote as before, assuring him that he had heartily repented the follies he had committed, and that he trusted he might have the means of clearing his character from any imputation which his sudden flight might have cast on it. It must be remembered that Harry was not aware of the accusations brought against him, and that Sleech, instead of defending him, had done his utmost to confirm the idea of his guilt. The letter addressed to Mabel reached Lynderton, but being addressed to Stanmore Park, was sent there by the postmaster, an especial ally of Mr Sleech. That gentleman received it, and he had an idea that it might contain some information: at all events, it might be worth perusal. His colour changed somewhat as he read on.

“The captain alive!” he exclaimed. “So ho! That may give trouble. I wish he was fathoms deep down in the ocean. And this young fellow, this Mistress Mabel loves him! Well, if she marries him, there will be a couple of beggars wedded. And she disdains my son Silas, the creature! We will pull her proud heart down yet, in spite of her father. I don’t like the captain coming to life again, though; I must consult Silas. Tom’s a fool: there is no use talking to him. I must send for Silas post haste. He has got more wits than all the family put together.”

The result of the letter Mr Kyffin received has already been seen at the commencement of the narrative. Before that he had begun to fear that his ward was really dead. The letter had reassured him, but left him very much in the dark as to where Harry was to be found.

Harry had another letter to write; it was, however, not on his own account, but on that of his friend Jacob, who was ignorant of an art not generally possessed by seamen in those days. It was addressed to Mary Tanner, Mabel’s waiting-maid.

“Well, Jacob,” said Harry, as he sat down on the maindeck alongside a gun with a piece of board as table, “I will write, gladly, but you must tell me what to say.”

“Tell her I love her as much as ever, and that I am glad to come to life again, if it was only for the sake of seeking her. And now just write down, ‘I am glad to say that fine young chap, Harry T. (you know who I mean, Mary), saved our captain’s life when the ship went down, and we were on the raft; leaped overboard, swam ever so far, and brought him safe to it. The captain, however, does not know to this day who he is, and thinks he’s one Andrew Brown.’”

“I don’t think I can say so much: it’s like sounding my own praises,” observed Harry.

“No, I tell you; it isn’t you sounding them; it’s me writing the letter, and you just puts down what I say; so go ahead, Harry!”

Harry continued. The letter was almost as long as his own, but he did not grudge the trouble. It was at once despatched, but instead of being addressed to Stanmore Park, it was directed to Widow Tuttle’s cottage, where, Jacob stated, it was his belief that Mary would frequently go, and she might then give his mother the first account of his safety.

Sailors’ letters in those days often went astray. This, however, after considerable delay, reached its destination; and sure enough, on that very day, Mary was paying the widow a visit. Thus her sorrow was quickly turned into joy; although somewhat subdued, when she found that Jacob had no chance of leaving his ship to come and see her. After she had read the letter two or three times to the widow, she hastened back with it to rejoice the heart of poor Mabel.

Important events were at this time taking place on board the fleet. Some time before, petitions had been sent up from all the line-of-battle ships at Portsmouth to Lord Howe, making various not unreasonable requests. It had been observed, however, by one of the red-tape officials, that all the petitions were written by one person, and couched in the same language, and therefore it was believed that they were the productions of some factious or mad-brained individual, who was not worthy of notice. They were accordingly thrown on one side, and no answers were returned. After this the fleet put to sea. On its return, the seamen finding that their petitions had not been replied to, were much irritated, justly feeling that those who were fighting their country’s battles were worthy of respect. Several violent and disaffected persons were found on board every ship, and these worked on the minds of the other seamen. A general correspondence was established throughout the whole fleet, and at length it was unanimously agreed by the respective crews, that no ship should lift an anchor till a redress of grievances was obtained.

The morning of the 13th of April arrived. Lord Bridport ordered the signal for weighing to be thrown out on board the flag-ship. Instead of obeying it, the seamen of the “Queen Charlotte” ran up the shrouds, and gave three cheers as the signal for mutiny. This was answered in the same manner by every ship in the fleet. The captains and their officers, although taken by surprise by this sudden act of disobedience, used every means in their power to persuade the men to return to their duty, but all their exertions were ineffectual. They were, however, treated with every respect, the seamen declaring that they were ready to obey their orders as soon as they had received ample assurance from the Government that their grievances would immediately be redressed.

On the following day, two delegates were appointed from each ship, to represent the whole fleet, and the admiral’s cabin on the “Queen Charlotte” was fixed as a place where they should meet to hold their deliberations. On the 15th every man in the fleet was sworn to support the cause in which he had embarked. They next proceeded to reeve ropes at the foreyard-arms, as a sign that they intended to run up any who disobeyed them, and after this they turned all officers out of the fleet who had by their behaviour in any way offended them. The day after this a committee of the Board of Admiralty arrived at Portsmouth, and made several propositions to the delegates, hoping to induce them to return to their duty. Nothing, however, would satisfy the seamen, unless the arrangements were sanctioned by the King and Parliament, and a general pardon guaranteed by proclamation. After this several admirals visited them with the same want of success. Lord Bridport, in consequence, struck his flag, declaring that he would not again hoist it. The ships on this loaded all their guns, kept watch as at sea, and put everything in a state of defence, confining all the officers to their respective ships. Happily wise counsels prevailed on shore. The King especially urged his Ministers to yield to the just demands of the seamen, and Lord Bridport was sent on board the fleet, informing the men that all their grievances were redressed, and that his Majesty had granted a pardon to all offenders. These events took place while the “Latona,” on board which Harry and Jacob then were, was at Spithead. She was soon afterwards sent round to the Thames. On her passage she encountered a heavy gale, and was run into by another ship, and reduced almost to a wreck. Being afterwards driven on shore, she received so much damage that she was towed up, not without difficulty, into Sheerness, to undergo a thorough repair. Her crew in the meantime were turned over to other ships, Harry and Jacob being sent on board the “Sandwich,” then one of the ships forming the fleet at the Nore. Several of the most mutinously disposed of the frigate’s crew were also sent on board the same ship.

Grievously had poor Harry’s expectation of rising in the service been disappointed! Sent about from ship to ship, he had no means of becoming known to his superior officers, nor had any opportunity been afforded him for distinguishing himself. The romance, too, which he expected to find in a life at sea had terribly worn off. He was among rough, uneducated men, and although many of them were kind-hearted, generous, and humane, there were not a few ruffians and villains of all sorts.

Some of these, when they discovered that he was a gentleman by birth, took especial pleasure in annoying him. He had not failed, however, in obtaining a certain amount of position among them, while he was respected by those who knew him best. One of the men on board especially took notice of him: his name was Richard Parker. He was a clever fellow; had been, Harry heard, a petty officer; but for disrespectful conduct to his superiors had been disrated. This seemed to rankle in his heart. He possessed, too, a certain amount of education, and he felt himself, and perhaps really was, equal in that respect to many officers.

Parker had made it his business to discover all the most mutinously disposed men in his own ship, as also by degrees on board the other ships of the fleet – thus, in course of time, there were several hundred men scattered about the fleet ready to obey any commands he might issue. What his ultimate aims were Harry could not discover. Parker soon saw that he must proceed carefully with Harry, if he wished to secure his assistance. To Harry, indeed, his plans appeared very moderate, and all calculated really to forward the best interests of the seamen.

“I must trust to you, Brown, then to help me,” said Parker. “You are just the fellow I want for a right-hand man, on whom I may thoroughly rely. If men like you and I, and others of sense and education, don’t watch over the welfare of our poor fellow-seamen, depend upon it they will soon again be treated as they were before. To my mind, although we have gained something by the little outbreak of the fleet at Spithead, we have not gained enough, and more must be done. Brown, I know you will help me. I want to send letters round to each ship in the fleet, and advise the men to select delegates, as was done at Spithead.”