The First Lieutenant's Story

Front matter

THE FIRST LIEUTENANT'S STORY. BY LADY CATHARINE LONG, AUTHOH OF "sir eoland ashton," &c. Take care that the standard of thy aoul wave from the loftiest battlements. PBOVKEBIAL PHILOSOPHY, IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1853. LONDON : Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. LIEUTENANT THE HONOURABLE FREDERIC WALPOLE, R.N., AND TO CAPTAIN SIR WILLIAM HOSTE, BART, R.N., AS SAILORS, AND DEAR RELATIVES, 2Cf)ig ISook is AEFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. EXTRACT FROM " SIR ROLAND ASHTON." The shade by which my life was crost, Which makes a desert in my mind, Has made me kindly with my kind. IN MEMORIAM. Among all Henry Ashton's companions, there was but one who excited any interest in him, and that was Mr. St. Clair, the First Lieutenant.

He was a middle-aged man, with a grave but pleasant countenance ; and though he was one who spoke but little, yet that little was invariably kind and conciliating. A laugh or joke seldom indeed passed his lips, but no officer on board was more tolerant of the laughter and jokes of others. Even when the " sky-larking " of the half-crazy " mids " passed almost all VOL. I. B

Introduction

. bounds of endurance, and called forth hard words and severe looks from others in the ship, his indulgent smile, and kind excuse were ever ready. " There's a great noise below there, Mr. St. Clair," the Captain would exclaim. " Young spirits, Sir, young spirits ; all the better when work comes," would be the kind hearted answer. Yet when in passing along the decks, his " Have a care, young gentlemen," was heard, it was invariably treated with respect ; and the " Ay, ay, Sir," was never more cheerfully returned than to him ; while quiet would be for a moment restored. The light-hearted beings over whom he exer cised this " mild control," used among themselves to call him " St. John St. Clair," John being one of his Christian names ; but the appellation was given in all kindliness, for he was greatly beloved ; and the strong religious opinions which suggested the name, bringing with them no harshness, were tolerated for his sake, and in many instances indeed, became, through him, reverenced for their own. Under circumstances of less intolerable suffer-

INTRODUCTION.

. 3 ing, Henry Ashton would often have gladly conversed with him ; but it was impossible for him to talk much on indifferent subjects ; and the source of his affliction was one which he could lay open to no human eye, nor could he seek comfort under it from any human voice. Scarcely indeed to Heaven could he, at that distressful time, look for consolation, " II etait triste de la tristesse, qui etait alors le fond de sa vie," and all his energies seemed gone. After cruising about for some time, the ship touched at Malta ; and when there, Mr. St. Clair received a letter from a friend of his who had formerly sailed with Henry Ashton, and who made particular inquiries after him, asking if he were still the life of the crew as he had formerly been. Surprised at receiving a character of him so unlike what his present appearance warranted, Mr. St. Clair watched him more closely ; and he soon became con vinced that it was trouble of heart which had converted the once gay and high-spirited young sailor, into the silent, melancholy being who then trod the deck with so abstracted an air. This conviction aroused all his kindly feelings. B

INTRODUCTION.

. and made him anxious, if possible, to assuage the sorrow of so young a heart. When Henry's turn therefore came for keeping the first watch, he lingered some time on deck, waiting for an opportunity of quiet con versation with him. Henry, unaware of his object, took no notice of him ; but continued his monotonous walk up and down in silence ; till at length, full of his own sad thoughts, he stopped, and leant over the gangway, his face buried on his arm. A strong, but kind hand laid on his shoulder, soon roused him from his reverie. He started, and was rather surprised at finding it was Mr. St. Clair's ; for he had scarcely exchanged a syHable with him, excepting on matters of duty, since he had been on board. " These night scenes waken melancholv thoughts, Mr. Ashton," said the First Lieu tenant.

" Not more so than sunshine," replied Henry, gloomily. " Not if we hke holding silent communion with the Father of our spirits," said Mr. St. Clair ; " but otherwise darkness is generally felt to be a dreary thing."

INTRODUCTION.

. 5 " All times are much alike, I think," rephed Henry. "To me, I confess," said Mr. St. Clair, " these tranquil hours, when most of the poor fellows are below in their hammocks, are parti cularly delightful ; the unusual quiet makes one more mindful of Him ' ne'er seen, but ever nigh.' " Henry was silent, and again leant down his head. " Has the thought of Him no charm for you, Mr. Ashton ?" continued his kind companion. " It used to have," answered Henry, without raising his head. " You have not the look of one whom sin has separated from his God," said Mr. St, Clair, in a tone which would have unlocked the closest heart. " No," said Henry ; " I have sins enough certainly, but I have no fears of God's anger, though I cannot just now enjoy His love." His young heart was touched by Mr. St. Clair's manner ; and with that yearning for commiseration so natural to all, especially to the young, when affliction is new and bewildering to them, he longed to pour forth all his miseries.

INTRODUCTION.

. But that was impossible. His troubles did not belong to himself alone ; the most sacred feel ings of others were involved in them ; and those he could not betray. " Prayer will bring back God's hght into your heart, young man," replied Mr. St. Clair, in a softened voice ; " no sorrow can withstand His gracious presence there. You have found that, I dare say, at times." " I have never known sorrow till now," replied Henry. "Then you must have had the hfe of one of a million," sighed his companion ; " but never theless the burden is not the lighter, because our shoulders are unaccustomed to bearing it. I don't seek your confidence as to your earthly trials ; you can tell them to your God ; and it is but poor pleasure to hear the record of suffer ings which make one's heart bleed, while one cannot raise a finger in help.

But a httle word of God's peace will sometimes cheer a drooping spirit, if Satan's power be not too hard upon it. You seem, I am happy to see, to have some hope beyond this world." " I had ; but everything now seems gone !" " Oh, that must not be," said Mr. St. Clair,

INTRODUCTION.

. with cheerful warmth ; " you must rouse your self, and not let the evil one gain so much advantage over you. Remember, doubting of God's mercy is a sore sin ; and so is rejecting His consolations." '• I used to think," said Henry, " that sorrow would always raise the heart to God ; but I find it far otherwise." The recollection of his conversation with Lady Constance, when he was walking with her on the first day of his arrival at Llanaven, rushed over his mind at that moment, and completely overwhelmed him. He remembered so well his own words : " Joy on the one side, sorrow on the other, hft the soul to God ;" and as he felt how little that was now his own experi ence, and the memory of that delightful hour flashed across him, his spirits completely gave way, and a deep burst of grief broke for an instant the silence of the night.

Mr. St. Clair felt a painful compassion for this young and sorrowing heart ; and spoke words of kindest sympathy. After a few moments, Henry became more composed. " I am very weak," he said ; " but I trust I shall be able to look more to God than I

INTRODUCTION.

. have done lately, and then I shall be strengthened." Mr. St. Clair remained with him during the whole of his watch, walking up and down with him. In the course of their conversation, he adverted to circumstances in his own life, which had shown forth the power of God to sustain under trial and affliction; and* as Henry Ashton expressed a wish to know what they were, he gave him the outline of a life, which did indeed show that God is " a very present help in time of trouble." The outline of his Use, which Mr. St. Clair gave that night to Henry Ashton, was afterwards more fully filled up during frequent conversations which they had together. For the sake of convenience, these detached accounts have been connected in a continuous form ; while many events, with which it was impossible for Mr. St. Clair to be minutely acquainted, have been supplied from other sources. LIEUTENANT'S STORY.

Chapter I

Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The Gods themselves throw incense. KING LEAR. Love at first sight, first-born, and heir to all. TENNYSON. "You have heard the youngsters on board here," said Mr. St. Clair, as he began his narrative, " call me by the name of John ; to which they have added the blessed epithet of ' Saint ;' but ill borne out, I fear, by any great holiness in me. But that is not my first christian name ; Wilfred is the name by which I used to be called ; but I had a fancy — a silly one per haps — which made me shrink from hearing it used now, so have always called myself by my other. I only mention this, because in saying what I am about to say, you might be puzzled in hearing of me with an ' alias.' Well, you must know that some years ago — it was in the year twenty-five — when I was little more than a lad, our ship was cruizing in the Mediterranean, and, running up the Gulf of Genoa, anchored for a time off Nice ; where we ah of course in turn obtained leave to go ashore.

I was wandering about there alone one beautiful summer's evening, delighted to have the springing grass once more beneath my feet, and to exchange the tarry atmosphere of the ship, for the scent of the wild flowers which bloomed in profusion all around. The sun was sinking ; and I had been watching its downward course, and the red clouds that followed its disappearance, when through the thickening gloom, my eye caught another light, which I perceived must proceed from some burning building. I rushed up the little knoll which hid that part of the town and shore from me, and then saw that a solitary house, standing near the sea, was in one blaze of fire. In a moment I was before it, in the midst of a motley crowd of sympathizing, but para lized spectators, who were venting in the wildest exclamations their grief and horror at the work of destruction going on ; w-hich feelings were raised to frenzy a moment after, by the sight of an old man, and a young girl suddenly coming out on one of the stone balconies which belonged to each window, their figures clearly defined against the glowing fire, which seemed to fill the whole interior of the house.

Exclamations of " Salvate la," " La poveretta," " La Bella," resounded on all sides, accompanied by the frantic gesticulation, and vehement action natural to the Italian ; while no one seemed to do anything, or to know indeed what to do. No ladder was at hand ; so I ran down to some boats which were lying on the shore, intending to unstep one of the masts, and see what I could do with that. There I found some of my own men bound on the same errand ; so in a few moments we had secured two of the highest we could find, and carrying them up to the burning house, we spliced them strongly together, to make them reach the window at which the old man and girl were standing; when I swarmed up them, as none but a monkey or sailor can do ; and having reached the balcony, jumped over it, and without wasting a moment, was about to put my arm round the girl to carry her down, when she drew back, exclaiming in English, " Save him first ;" and pointing in frightful agony to her father.

I tried still to save her ; but she kept re treating backwards, almost into the flames ; till seeing that time was being lost, I took hold of the old man, who being thin and emaciated, wa happily of light weight, and without the least warning, lifted him over the balustrade, to which I left him to cling by natural instinct, till I could get over myself, and prepare to shde down the mast with my burden. Difficult at all times it would have been to have slid down from such a height with the weight of another person on one's arm, on such poles too, with their splicing cords tearing one's hands to pieces ; but with that old man I thought I never could have reached the ground in safety ; for he struggled the whole way so violently, as made it almost impossible to hold him ; while he poured forth such volleys of execrations in my ear for having saved him first instead of his child, that had it not been for that child's sake, I think I should have complied with his ceaseless orders to " let him go," and have shaken him off as one would a cat that was scratching one.

However, I held him firm till we came within a yard of the ground, when letting him drop, without waiting to see what happened to him, up I was again, in an agony to save the devoted girl who had risked her life for her parent. Seeing that my hands were bleeding, one of my sailors called to me to let him go aloft this time ; but nothing could have induced me to have given up the joy of rescuing a being in whose safety 1 then felt such an intense interest. It was no thought, however, of love, which at that moment influenced me ; for had it been a boy who had acted in that way, I should have felt just the same ; and as to beauty, I had seen nothing of that to inspire me ; for even if I had had time to look, her clothes and face were all so covered with smoke, that she might have been as fair as an angel, or as black as a Kaffir, for anything that I could see.

Her situation was indeed most perilous at that moment, for the flames had gained such a height that they burst out incessantly through the window before which she was standing. She had had sufficient presence of mind, how ever, to get on the outside of the balustrade, WTapping close round her the folds of the large shawl she had on ; and then clinging on for her life, she endured with wonderful fortitude the raging heat ; sheltering her face as best she could, but being forced to allow her hands to be scorched terribly by the flames. Her head was so covered up, and the roar of the fire was so loud, that she did not know I was near her again till I put my arm round her, and told her to let go, and trust herself to me. At the sound of my voice she lifted up her head ; and then indeed, spite of the smoke and dust, I met a look that sank for ever into my heart.

In a moment I began my second descent ; but how different were my feelings to what they had been before ! Instead of a furious old man, struggling with rage, and pouring forth abuse in the shrill voice of querulous age, I had one who, save from her slight weight, added nothing to my difficulties ; but who, clinging to me with self-preserving impulse, breathed into my very heart words of gratitude and blessing, as the saviour of her father and herself. I felt then, through all that pain and peril, what I have never ceased to feel — the blessedness of loving, and of being able to help those one loves ! Yes, at that moment I felt as if my fate were bound up with that heroic girl's for ever ; and though, I dare say, had we parted immediately after, that feeling would have passed off, and have been remembered merely as the fleeting emotion of an excited moment, yet as we were not so soon to part, it deepened on till, it became the life of my life — the joy of my life — the sor row of my life !

During our descent, there was not a breath heard among the dense crowd below; though at the moment that I had taken my charge from the scorching of the flames, a wild cry of exultation had arisen ; but when, having successfully performed the difficult descent, I gave the girl into the outstretched arms of her father, such acclamations as I had never before heard, rent the sky. Ungracious as the old man had been before, the moment that his child was in safety, his gratitude seemed to know no bounds. He seized my bleeding hands, and kissed them convulsively; whilst he called me by every good name his grateful heart could suggest. At length I disengaged myself from him, for I ought long ago to have been back on board ship ; and stammering something about " pleasure at having been of service, &c," I turned, with rather a heavy heart, to make my way back to my boat.

But that was not to be — quietly at least ; for the people who had pressed closely around us, set up another deafening shout as soon as my intention was perceived ; and in a moment I found myself hoisted up aloft on the shoulders of the nearest men, and about to be carried in triumph to the shore. I was nothing loth, for I was young and full of spirits, and thought it very pleasant to be the hero of the moment. I had been full of sweet and gentle emotions a moment before ; but my old light-heartedness returned in an instant, when I found myself thus suddenly " famous ;" and as I looked back in triumph at those I was leaving, I was more than amused, I was pleased to my heart, by the joyous look of the girl, whose animation beamed through all the disfigurement the fire had made, with a charm no look had ever before possessed for me ; while the old man seemed to forget everything in his enthusiasm, and waved his hand on high, as his voice was raised above that of the whole crowd, in loud and long hurras.

At length I was quietly seated in my boat, and my fine fellows were pulling away with all their strength, to make up for the lost time. So rapidly had nightfall succeeded the setting of the sun, that by the time we reached the ship, everything was nearly enveloped in dark ness, save from the ruddy glow of the still flaming house, whose fierce reflection lay broken and dancing on the waters astern of the boat ; and which lit up every rope and spar of the frigate, when we approached her, as clearly as daylight. The other side of the vessel lay in deep shade; and the calm waters of the bay received, and returned faithfully the perfect shadow of her beautiful proportions, as they were cast on them by the bright flames from the shore. Very different was the tone of feeling with which I was received on board, from that which I had left on shore.

The Captain — Captain vol. i. c Normanton — was a jealous-spirited man; and enough had been visible of what had gone on at the fire, through the ship's glasses, to make him fully aware that I had borne rather an active part there ; and my triumphant mode of conveyance from the flaming pile to the boat, seemed to have raised a feehng of great displeasure in his breast. My reception, there fore, was by no means a gracious one; and instantly dashed to the ground all the high spirits with which 1 had run up the ship's side. " You have broken your leave, Mr. St. Clair," he said, in a quiet, cutting tone. " I am very sorry, Sir ; but just as I was going to join my boat, I saw that house on fire yonder, and I thought you could not be dis pleased — " " But I am displeased, Sir !" he exclaimed, in an angry voice ; " nothing can be said in excuse of disobedience.

The discipline of the service is at an end, if the catching fire of every Italian vagabond's house is to put a com manding officer's word aside. I give up my command if that is the case, Sir !" And he tossed up his hands, as if he were casting his commission to the winds. " I am very sorry, Sir," I began — " You are not very sorry, Sir," he interrupted. " Indeed, Sir — " I attempted again to begin. " Don't contradict me, Sir ! Go below, Sir ; you shall hear of tbis again. Go below, Sir." I descended the hatchway as fast as I could, as much pleased to get out of his sight, as enraged at the manner of my dismissal. The next day I longed to go on shore, for I had an intense wish to see the old man, or at least his daughter again. I had, as I have said, but httle idea what she was like; and I had a hope, not to be wondered at, of finding her lovely and delightful, so that nothing might break the charm with which my present thoughts of her were filled.

But I might as well have expected to have been made Grand Seignior, as to have been allowed to put foot on shore for days to come ; and I had just wisdom enough to keep me from asking it. But I could not repress a feeling of annoyance, when I heard the Captain order out his boat to take him on shore, and saw him go down the ship's side; the measured strokes of the oars, c all cleaving the waters, as if worked by but one pair of hands, falling painfully on my ear. As the boat neared the shore, an apprehension seized me, lest the Captain should see her, of whom I was thinking so much, and whom I felt a selfish wish at that moment to hide from every eye. I seemed to have a right to her beyond aU others ; and fretted myself into a fever of irritation and jealousy on the subject, as foolish as it was painful.

The Captain returned to the ship in a mood not much sweeter than that in which he had left it. He went on shore again the next day, and the next, and the next ; while I was forced to remain on board, in a state of irritation and vexation, difficult to describe. I dreaded, too, that we might leave the place without my being able to go again on shore ; and such was the fever of excitement to which I worked myself up, that all sorts of wild ideas crossed my brain ; and I determined that should that be the case I would desert — swim ashore in the night time, and he hid till the vessel was gone — any thing, in short, rather than leave the place with out again seeing her whom I had saved. More rational ideas, however, returned in a short time ; and before doing anything desperate, I bethought me of using the simple expedient of asking leave again.

I did so the next day, and was not refused. The Captain's countenance, however, betrayed displeasure and annoyance, even to a more than usual degree ; and I was struck by a restlessness and anxiety in his look and manner, which I had never observed before. As the time for my going drew near, his uneasiness visibly increased. He stopped seve ral times in his ceaseless pacings up and down, as if with an intention of speaking to me ; but glancing round and always seeing some one else near, he passed on again. At length, with an evident effort, he bade me follow him to his cabin. I did so with a trembling heart ; but when the door was shut behind me, I am mis taken if his pulse beat not three to one of mine. Well I know, at least, that while my eye was raised steadily to his, his fell beneath mine, and he seemed anything but at his ease.

" Mr. St. Clair," he began, in a deprecating manner and in the mildest tones I had ever heard come from his lips, " you were rather over your leave the last time you went on shore." " I was, Sir," I answered ; all my irritation vanishing in an instant under his kindness of manner ; " I was very sorry for it, and will take care it shall not be the case again ; but, in fact, I thought of nothing, when I saw human lives in danger." " Quite right, quite right," he replied ; " I should have done the same in your place. I was angry at the time — perhaps rather too much so ; but discipline must be maintained, and I did not then know all the circumstances. I have since learnt them — for I met — accidentally one day — those whom you saved — and they spoke very handsomely of your conduct." This was said with a degree of hesitation and embarrassment which I should have been at a loss to account for, had not my jealous fancy at once taken fire, and convinced me that it pro ceeded from the Captain's having not only seen, but fallen in love with the young lady.

The fury that possessed me at this idea, I cannot describe. I was like a hungry wolf from whom the prey had been snatched ; the lioness robbed of her young ; — anything in short blind with fury and revenge. Evil passions rose in my breast like a whirlwind, and shook my whole frame. I had no internal principle then to oppose to the violent feelings of my violent nature, but was a perfect slave to them ; and nothing but the severe discipline which, happily for me at that moment, the Captain certainly maintained, could have prevented me from some furious outbreak. I could have rushed upon him, strangled him, chucked him through the window, or performed any, or every other prank of absurd insanity and horror. And all for what ? I have often thought of it since. Because the poor man told me he had seen a young girl, whom I coidd scarcely have been said even to have seen myself; but to whom I chose to fancy I had an exclusive right !

But it is useless to argue these matters. It is not the thing, as it seems, in outward appearance alone, that constitutes the thing as it really is. The feehngs on which it falls characterize it. " La chose actuelle, et la chose sensible," are often mightily different things. A note of music, a flower, a sunset, are matters of indif ference to some — rapture to some — agony to some. Yet it is but one note, one flower, one sunset. Truly, " the heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy !" And yet it was not merely that Captain Nor manton had seen this object of my imagined love ; for had he said freely and openly that he had done so, 1 should have thought nothing of it, but perhaps been rather gratified at thinking that something might have been said in my favour ; but it was his concealing it at first, and then speaking of it with such confusion, that disturbed my mind ; and which gave to the whole thing a character of importance in my eyes, which time, alas ! proved that it too truly possessed.

I had, however, to answer him ; which I did by uttering some unintelligible sounds, about •' duty" and " happiness," and so forth ; my voice trembling so with suppressed emotion, that I was in terrible fear lest he should observe it. He seemed to make out more of my meaning, however, than I did myself; for he told me "my sentiments did me honour," and that " he should not fail to remember my conduct ;" and so dismissed me, nothing loth, to go on shore.