Page images
PDF
EPUB

of the timber, but it seemed to produce no effect.

At length we drew well up on her quarter. She continued all black hull and white sail, not a soul to be seen on deck, except a dark object, which we took for the man at the helm. "What schooner's that?" No answer. "Heave to, or I'll sink you." Still all silent. "Sergeant Armstrong, do you think you could pick off that chap at the wheel ?” The marine jumped on the forecastle, and levelled his piece, when a musket-shot from the schooner crashed through his skull, and he fell dead. The old skipper's blood was up. "Forecastle there! Mr Nipper, clap a canister of grape over the round shot, into the boat gun, and give it to him."-"Aye, aye, sir!" glee fully rejoined the boatswain, forgetting the augury and every thing else in the excitement of the moment. In a twinkling, the square foresailtopgallant-royal-and studding-sail haulyards were let go by the run on board of the schooner, as if they had been shot away, and he put his helm hard aport as if to round to. "Rake him, sir, or give him the stern. He has not surrendered. -I know their game. Give him your broadside, sir, or he is off to windward of you like a shot. No, no, we have him now; heave to, Mr Splinter, heave to!" We did so, and that so suddenly, that the studding-sail booms snapped like pipe shanks, short off by the irons. Notwithstanding we had shot two hundred yards to the leeward before we could lay our maintopsail to the mast. I ran to windward. The schooner's yards and rigging were now black with men, clustered like bees swarming, her square sails were being close furled, her fore and aft sails set, and away she was dead to windward of us. "So much for undervaluing our 'American friends," grumbled Mr Splinter.

[ocr errors]

We made all sail in chase, blazing away to little purpose; we had no chance on a bowline, and when our Amigo" had satisfied himself of his superiority by one or two short tacks, he deliberately took a reef in his mainsail, hauled down his fly

ing jib and gaff topsail, triced up the bunt of his foresail, and fired his long thirty-two at us. The shot came in at the third aftermost port on the starboard side, and dismounted the carronade, smashing the slide, and wounding three men. The second shot missed, and as it was madness to remain to be peppered, probably winged, whilst every one of ours fell short, we reluctantly kept away on our course, having the gratification of hearing a clear well-blown bugle on board the schooner play up "Yankee Doodle." As the brig fell off, our long gun was run out to have a parting crack at her, when the third and last shot from the schooner struck the sill of the midship port, and made the white splinters fly from the solid oak like bright silver sparks in the moonlight. A sharp piercing cry rose into the air-my soul identified that death-shriek with the voice that I had heard, and I saw the man who was standing with the lanyard of the lock in his hand drop heavily across the breech, and discharge the gun in his fall. Thereupon a blood-red glare shot up into the cold blue sky, as if a volcano had burst forth from beneath the mighty deep, followed by a roar, and a shattering crash, and a mingling of unearthly cries and groans, and a concussion of the air, and of the water, as if our whole broadside had been fired at once. Then a solitary splash here, and a dip there, and short sharp yells, and low choking bubbling moans, as the hissing fragments of the noble vessel we had seen fell into the sea, and the last of her gallant crew vanished for ever beneath that pale broad moon. We were alone, and once more all was dark, and wild, and stormy. Fearfully had that ball sped, fired by a dead man's hand. But what is it that clings black and doubled across that fatal cannon, dripping and heavy, and choking the scuppers with clotting gore, and swaying to and fro with the motion of the vessel, like a bloody fleece? "Who is it that was hit at the gun there?"-" Mr Nipper, the boatswain, sir. The last shot has cut him in two."

A STORY OF THE VALLEY OF GLEN CRUAGH.

ALTHOUGH there is no part of Ireland better known to the world, in general, than the county of Wicklow, and none so celebrated for the scenes of exquisite beauty which its mountains, lakes, and sea views, present to the eye, yet there are many quiet, delicious spots, far away among the hills, at a great distance from any public road, which escape the observation of the ordinary traveller; but which, when they are discovered, appear the lovelier from their seclusion, like some virtue suddenly found out, where modesty has long concealed it.

Amongst all of those with which I was acquainted, the little glen, which I shall call Glen Cruagh, appeared to me to be the most beautiful. At this point, several ranges of lofty hills have taken their commencement, or fixed their termination, and the openings afford long views of the sides of the mountains, as they are called, in some places covered with thick wood almost to the summit, and in others affording nothing but the stern and bare magnificence of stone and stunted heath. The effect which these different openings have upon the light, as the sun proceeds in its course, gives a continual variety to the appearance of this glen; yet the hills are so happily situated for its comfort, that they shield it from the most violent effects of the winter storms; and in no place do the flowers bloom earlier, or longer cover the earth with their simple and unspeakable beauty. There are not many inhabitants in this delightful place. About twelve years ago, there were not more than ten or a dozen cottages, belonging to poor people, built near the edge of a rapid, noisy stream, which dashed along through huge lumps of water-worn granite, overhung at the edges by bramble bushes, which marked its course till it disappeared in one of the mountain gorges, similar to that from which it emerged on the other side of the glen. These cottages were occupied by peasants who had small patches of land at the foot of the hills, with the liberty of pasture up to the summit; a liberty from which their

luckless cattle derived little more than the exercise of free will in the matter of locomotion, and that degree of health which arises from exceedingly spare diet. At the other end of the glen were two houses of a different description. One was a large, substantial, well-built mansion, the residence of Colonel B- the great man of the district; it was surrounded by a small, but well-kept demesne; it had gardens and pleasure grounds also, which were kept in good order; and the mountain, which rose high and abruptly at the back of the house, was clothed with young thick wood to a very considerable distance. The luxuriance of the young trees in such a lofty situation, and with so little soil, was surprising; at an altitude where the climber would scarcely find a particle of clay, such as would seem to be necessary to nourish a tree, were masses of branches and green foliage, out of which grey stony pinnacles shot up, as if determined to shew their rugged supremacy over the cultivation which the hand of man had carried into their lofty neighbourhood. Colonel B.

the owner of this place, and of many hundred adjoining acres, was a powerful and wicked man, feared for his power, and hated for his wickedness, by all the neighbourhood, over which he had it in his power to exercise an authority, which none but those who know what the squire of a country district in Ireland, who was a county magistrate besides, might venture to do with impunity, can well imagine. He was esteemed very rich, and he was of the middle age, and a bachelor, but enjoyed the imputed paternity of a family which grew up without ostensibly lawful reason, in the lodge at his gate. Though ostentatiously dissolute in his morals, and, for the most part, coarsely tyrannical in his manhers, yet there was a carefulness about him in many respects, and an energy in pushing any thing which he took in hand to its final accomplishment, that gained him considerable respect, mingled with the fear which the common people felt for him, while the ability which he pos

sessed to assume polite, and even very agreeable manners, when it suited his purpose to do so, caused him to be well received amongst such of the gentry of the county as he had occasion to meet. In the glen, his power was absolute, his word was law, except over one man, who occupied a small, but beautifully neat dwelling, not more than a hundred yards from his gate. I have seen prettier things of the kind in England, but in Ireland I have never seen any thing to compare, for neat and comfortable beauty, with the cottage of Captain M- ; for that title was still given him by all the neighbourhood, though he had no right to it, as he used to assure the poor people, who loved to do him honour by frequently repeating the military title which once belonged to him.

Mr Mhad once been a captain in the regiment of militia which Colonel B commanded; his family had, but a few generations previous ly, been more respectable than the Colonel's, but had fallen away in worldly wealth and importance, as that of his superior officer advanced; and as misfortune seems ever to travel swifter than its opposite, Mr Mfound himself, on coming of age, with very slender means indeed, and with scarcely a relative left in the country to whose assistance he could put forward the claim of family kindred. His guardian had, however, taken care-if that be indeed judicious care, which bestows learning and accomplishments on poverty-to give him an excellent education; and, as in common with most men of an elevated and imaginative turn of mind, the young gentleman delight ed in the country, and was unwilling to leave the land of the “lake and mountain," for city occupations which would have been more hopeful of gain, he engaged in agricultural pursuits on a small scale, by which, for a few years, he provided himself with an occupation, and a sufficient addition to his income, to satisfy one whose worldly ambition was by no means inordinate. The beginning of the Irish rebellion broke

up his peaceful life-the emissaries of sedition found their way over among the peaceful hills-the peasantry grew intractable and insolent, and refused to perform their ordi

nary works, and, ere long, abandoned every thing for murder and spoliation, in the wild pursuit of they knew not what. A commission in the militia was offered to Mr M——, which he accepted, partly from a sense of duty, and partly, that as he found it impossible to continue his farming to any advantage, he might take up another occupation, which, however different in its nature, was, at the time, honourable and useful, and was remunerated with certain monies, the receipt of which was not disagreeable. An antipathy between Mr Mand his Colonel arose from the first day they met at the regimental mess. Their opposing natures clashed on the very first encounter. Colonel B- was a man capable of that bitter and undying hatred, which, springing up from no other cause than an instinctive devilishness, never sleeps from the moment of its birth, nor dreams of forgiveness in prosperity, nor pity in adversity. He took no pains to conceal it, nor did he, on the other hand, take such imprudent means for its display as might have had the effect of thwarting his object; his was a cool, business-like hatred, that waited its time, saw its time with exceeding acuteness, and then sprung to the accomplishment of its purpose with certain and deadly energy. He knew that an immediate display of his enmity towards Mr M would not effect that, which, after the first three days of their association as brother offi cers, he resolved to effect if he could. Suppose he had been able to drive him from the regiment at once, he would then at once lose his power over him; and, besides, Mr Mmight then return to his former pursuits, from which he was hardly as yet wholly disunited, and might in time become a prosperous mar. "That is not the way," said Colonel B- to himself, to torment and ruin him; and I may do both, if I prcceed more cautiously." And he did so proceed: There was no point in which the commanding officer of a regiment on active duty could annoy his inferior officer, that was not deliberately and calmly made use of by Colonel B- - Captain M

[ocr errors]

saw

all this, and felt it felt it with all the bitterness which comes upon us when that which we scorn, we must obey;

-he was too proud to complain, and to resent his treatment was impossible; for the Colonel took care not to proceed beyond the utmost stretch of his actual authority, and in no jot or tittle to violate the articles of war. Captain M at last took the only means left to him of escaping from the tyranny under which he suffered; he resigned his commission after two years' service, and after his farming establishment had been completely broken up. And the Colonel had the fiendish satisfaction of believing that he had effectually tormented him for two years, and at the end had cast him upon the world-a ruined man. Whatever was the fate, however, of Mr M for the next five years, no one knew; he went away, some said to England, others to America, but for that time he was not heard of. It was in the close of the sixth summer after his departure, that a melancholy-looking stranger, who seemed of the middle age, made his appearance among the little cottages on the river's side; but it was not until he had gone into one of them, and spoken for some time with the inmates, that he was recognised as their old friend Mr M--. The change that a few years had wrought in him was wonderful and mournful. When he left the glen, he seemed to be about five-and-twenty, and he now looked forty at the least. His voice was become deeper, and more subdued his speech slower-his look more pensive and downcast, and his smile, if it were a smile at all, was one of acquiescence, and not of pleasurable emotion. He came, he said, to look for a dwelling once more amongst them, and then with languid hopelessness added," But I fear I did not think enough about it before I came, and I do not see how I am to settle here now, much as I should wish to do it, for my old farm-house was pulled down even before I went away."

"O thin, Captain, jewel," said Ned Rooney and Ned Rooney's wife at the same time, sure it's ourselves that's glad this minute, to see that your honour's to the fore still, an' not kilt in England, nor marrid in 'Merica, as we heerd. Och, an' a power o' hardship yourself must have gone rough sence; anyhow-an' mighty

te lookin' you're come back to

us. An' sure if it's only a place to live in you want, it's just in the nick o' time you come, good luck to you, an' a good gintleman to the poor you always wor. Sure there's the steward's house, the new, purty, beautiful English cottage-the Curnel's steward, your honor, that lived here three years, an ould Scotchman, an' a hard man to be sure he was, but mighty nate and clene-an' he's dead, devil's cure to him-God pardon my sowl for sayin' so-an' the place is to be sowld, in spite of the masther they say, bekase he was cute enough, that's the Scotchman was, to get a proper lase, and now the masther won't give the proper valy of it to the people that's come to look afther what he left-an' sure you could get it, that's if the little bit of ready money made no difference-not that we mane to even the likes o' your honour to livin' where a steward lived -bad luck to his stingy sowl-God pardon me-but only the place wasn't like a sarvant's place at all, but fit for any gintleman-for to be sure he kep it so nate, an' all at hardly any cost at all at all."

This long speech was suffered to go on without any interruption from Mr M- who listened to it with some interest and attention.

He found, upon enquiry, that his informants had told him no more than the truth, and he had luckily arrived at the very moment when it was in his power to possess himself of just such a dwelling as he wished. A very neat cottage had been erected by Colonel B- -'s steward on a spot of ground, which, with the adjoining garden, the Colonel thought he had leased for thirty-one years, "provided the said Andrew Campbell should so long live;" but by some accident, of which" the said Andrew" was not perhaps wholly unconscious, this little clause had been omitted, and the heirs of the man, who came from Scotland to look after his effects, insisted upon the value of the lease. This Colonel B refused to give, believing that it was very unlikely they would easily find a purchaser in such a place, and hoping to get it at length upon his own terms. In his absence, however, Mr M stepped in, and paying down the sum demanded, which was but small, he took possession of the cottage,

He left it the next morning, and in a day or two returned, but not alone, as before; he brought with him a little female child, between two and three years old, and an elderly ser vant, a Swiss woman, who attended upon the child with all the affection of a mother, and all the respectful solicitude of a servant. At first there was, as there is always in such cases, much wonderment and mystery concerning this new family, but by degrees the story ran, though no one could tell exactly how the information was obtained, that Mr Mhad gone to England, and fallen in love with a young lady of foreign extraction, whom he eventually mar ried, and with whom he had lived one brief year of happiness as great as can be enjoyed without luxuries or riches to procure them. At the end of a year, in giving birth to a daughter, she died, and the joy of his heart was gone for ever. For several months his tearless stony grief bordered upon gloomy insanity, until one day as he stood with folded arms over the cradle of his child, and watched the calm awaking of her deep blue eyes, and saw her look upon him, and hold up her arms in joyful recognition, the rock of his heart was smiote, and he wept for hours. From this time his grief was calm, tender, affectionate to those who approached him, but the bitterness of the preceding months had left him like a tree scathed by the storm. His hair had turned grey, his flesh had shrunk, and premature age had set its stamp upon him. It appeared that after long indulgence of his sorrowful thoughts, and finding himself incapable of the exertion which was necessary to his support, if he remained in England, he resolved upon selling his little establishment, and settling for the remainder of the life, which he had devoted to retirement, in the land of his fathers, and amid the scenes with which his earliest days had been familiar.

It is singular how beautifully the state and capabilities of inanimate nature, and the nature of man, are adapted to each other. How the devices and desires of our hearts are provided with a something whereupon to fix-how much is given that we could not create, but that we can assist, and mould, and form, and fa

shion, after our will, into those useful or exquisite shapes which our necessities demand, or our cultivated tastes teach us to consider beautiful. Enough is done for us to give us power, enough is left undone to give us employment; nor is it possi ble almost to arrive at that degree of improvement that will forbid further hope-nature herself crowns our best efforts with new and unlookedfor beauty, and we still trust, and justly so, that if our industry fail not, neither will her reward.

Mr M's cottage was pretty when he got it; but, weaned away from all more important pursuits, and possessed with a longing desire, which seemed to gratify his dejected heart, of making it all that his Emily would have loved, and would have assisted in making it, were she not with the spirits of the just, it soon appeared, under his tasteful and quiet, but unceasing cultivation, a very nest of beauty. His neighbour, the Colonel, saw it, and even in the midst of all his rich possessions, envied the poor man his little dwelling of peace, and his old hatred sprung up anew; but the last hatred vexed his own heart more than the first, because he had no ready means of giving it vent. He cursed the new comer within his teeth, first, for having got possession of that which his avarice had prevented him from getting for himself; and he cursed him again, because the place throve with him and grew beautiful; but he knew, that while he held aloof from him, he had no power to injure a man, the pride of whose heart was broken, and he endeavoured to become familiar with him again, that he might twist some chain about him, by the means of which he might hurt him whenever he listed. But the solitary refused all his advances with cold civility, and he only hated him more and more, without obtaining power over him.

In the meantime the young child, the little Emily, grew up as lovely as the flowers among which she played, and altogether as innocent. Like them she was beautiful and gentle by nature, and, like them, a little wild by situation. But as soon as her mind became sufficiently matured for instruction, her father bethought him of the things which she should learn, and himself became her fond

« PreviousContinue »