Tales and Novels, Vol. V by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. V

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"Stop, my dear Miss Hunter, your ear-ring is coming out. Stay! let me
clasp it, love!" exclaimed Mrs. Beaumont, determined to stop her in the
career of nonsense, by giving her sensations, since she could not give
her ideas, a new turn.

"Oh, ma'am! ma'am! Oh! my ear! you are killing me, dearest Mrs.
Beaumont! pinching me to death, ma'am!"

"Did I pinch, my dear? It was the hinge of the ear-ring, I suppose."

"I don't know what it was; but here's blood, I declare!"

"My love, I beg you a thousand pardons. How could I be so awkward! But
why could not you for one moment hold your little head still?"

Miss Walsingham applied a patch to the wound.

"Such a pretty ear as it is," continued Mrs. Beaumont; "I am sure it was
a pity to hurt it."

"You really did hurt it," said Mr. Beaumont, in a tone of compassion.

"Oh, horridly!" cried Miss Hunter--"and I, that always faint at the
sight of blood!"

Afraid that the young lady would again spoil her part in the acting, and
lose all the advantages which might result from the combined effect of
the pretty ear and of compassion, Mrs. Beaumont endeavoured to take off
her attention from the wound, by attacking her ear-rings.

"My love," said she, "don't wear these ear-rings any more, for I assure
you there is no possibility of shutting or opening them, without
hurting you."

This expedient, however, nearly proved fatal in its consequences. Miss
Hunter entered most warmly into the defence of her ear-rings; and
appealed to Mr. Beaumont to confirm her decision, that they were the
prettiest and best ear-rings in the world. Unluckily, they did not
particularly suit his fancy, and the young lady, who had, but half an
hour before, professed that she could never be of a different opinion in
any thing from that of the man she loved, now pettishly declared that
she could not and would not give up her taste. Incensed still more by a
bow of submission, but not of conviction, from Mr. Beaumont, she went on
regardless of her dearest Mrs. Beaumont's frowns, and vehemently
maintained her judgment, quoting, with triumphant volubility,
innumerable precedents of ladies, "who had just bought _the very same_
ear-rings, and whose taste she believed nobody would dispute."

Mr. Beaumont had seen enough, now and upon many other occasions, to be
convinced that it is not on matters of consequence that ladies are apt
to grow most angry; and he stood confirmed in his belief that those who
in theory professed to have such a humble opinion of their own abilities
that they cannot do or understand any thing useful, are often, in
practice, the most prone to insist upon the infallibility of their taste
and judgment. Mrs. Beaumont, who saw with one glance of her quick eye
what passed at this moment in her son's mind, sighed, and said to
herself--"How impossible to manage a fool, who ravels, as fast as one
weaves, the web of her fortune!"

Yet though Mrs. Beaumont perceived and acknowledged the impracticability
of managing a fool for a single hour, it was one of the favourite
objects of her manoeuvres to obtain this very fool for a
daughter-in-law, with the hope of governing her for life. So
inconsistent are cunning people, even of the best abilities; so ill do
they calculate the value of their ultimate objects, however ingeniously
they devise their means, or adapt them to their ends.

During this walk Mr. Palmer had taken no part in the conversation; he
had seemed engrossed with his own thoughts, or occupied with observing
the beauties of the place. Tired with her walk--for Mrs. Beaumont always
complained of being fatigued when she was vexed, thus at once concealing
her vexation, and throwing the faults of her mind upon her body--she
stretched herself upon a sofa as soon as she reached the house, nor did
she recover from her exhausted state till she cast her eyes upon a
tamborine, which she knew would afford means of showing Miss Hunter's
figure and graces to advantage. Slight as this resource may seem, Mrs.
Beaumont well knew that slighter still have often produced great
effects. Soon afterward she observed her son smile repeatedly as he read
a passage in some book that lay upon the table, and she had the
curiosity to take up the book when he turned away. She found that it was
Cumberland's Memoirs, and saw the following little poem marked with
reiterated lines of approbation:

"Why, Affectation, why this mock grimace?
Go, silly thing, and hide that simp'ring face.
Thy lisping prattle, and thy mincing gait,
All thy false mimic fooleries I hate;
For thou art Folly's counterfeit, and she
Who is right foolish hath the better plea;
Nature's true idiot I prefer to thee.

Why that soft languish? Why that drawling tone?
Art sick, art sleepy? Get thee hence: begone.
I laugh at all thy pretty baby tears,
Those flutt'rings, faintings, and unreal fears.

Can they deceive us? Can such mumm'ries move,
Touch us with pity, or inspire with love?
No, Affectation, vain is all thy art!
Those eyes may wander over ev'ry part;
They'll never find their passage to the heart."

Mrs. Beaumont, the moment she had read these lines, perceived why her
son had smiled. The portrait seemed really to have been drawn from Miss
Hunter, and the lines were so _a propos_ to the scene which had just
passed during the walk, that it was impossible to avoid the application.
Mrs. Beaumont shut the book hastily as her dear Albina approached, for
she was afraid that the young lady would have known her own picture. So
few people, however, even of those much wiser than Miss Hunter, know
themselves, that she need not have been alarmed. But she had no longer
leisure to devote her thoughts to this subject, for Mr. Walsingham, who
had been out riding, had by this time returned; and the moment he
entered the room, Mrs. Beaumont's attention was directed to him and to
Mr. Palmer. She introduced them to each other, with many expressions of
regret that they should not sooner have met.

Characters that are free from artifice immediately coalesce, as metals
that are perfectly pure can be readily cemented together. Mr. Palmer and
Mr. Walsingham were intimate in half an hour. There was an air of
openness and sincerity about Mr. Walsingham; a freedom and directness in
his conversation, which delighted Mr. Palmer.

"I am heartily glad we have met at last, my good cousin Walsingham,"
said he: "very sorry should I have been to have left the country without
becoming acquainted with you: and now I wish your gallant captain was
arrived. I am to set off the day after to-morrow, and I am sadly afraid
I shall miss seeing him."

Mr. Walsingham said, that as they expected him every hour, he hoped
Mr. Palmer would persuade Mrs. Beaumont to spend the day at
Walsingham House.

Mrs. Beaumont dared not object. On the contrary, it was now her policy
to pretend the fondest friendship for all the Walsingham family: yet,
all the time, pursuing her plan of preventing Mr. Palmer from discerning
their real characters and superior merit, she managed with great
dexterity to keep the conversation as much as possible upon general
topics, and tried to prevent Mr. Palmer from being much alone with Mr.
Walsingham, for she dreaded their growing intimacy. After dinner,
however, when the ladies retired, the gentlemen drew their chairs close
together, and had a great deal of conversation on interesting subjects.
The most interesting was Captain Walsingham: Mr. Palmer earnestly
desired to hear the particulars of his history.

"And from whom," said young Beaumont, turning to Mr. Walsingham, "can he
hear them better than from Captain Walsingham's guardian and friend?"

CHAPTER X.

"Yet never seaman more serenely brave
Led Britain's conquering squadrons o'er the wave."

"Friends are not always the best biographers," said Mr. Walsingham; "but
I will try to be impartial. My ward's first desire to be a sailor was
excited, as he has often since told me, by reading Robinson Crusoe. When
he was scarcely thirteen he went out in the Resolute, a frigate, under
the command of Captain Campbell. Campbell was an excellent officer, and
very strict in all that related to order and discipline. It was his
principle and his practice never to forgive _a first offence_; by which
the number of second faults was considerably diminished. My ward was not
much pleased at first with his captain; but he was afterwards convinced
that this strictness was what made a man of him. He was buffeted about,
and shown the rough of life; made to work hard, and submit to authority.
To reason he was always ready to yield; and by degrees he learned that
his first duty as a sailor was implicit obedience. In due time he was
made lieutenant: in this situation, his mixed duties of command and
obedience were difficult, because his first-lieutenant, the captain's
son, was jealous of him.

"Walsingham found it a more difficult task to win the confidence of the
son than it had been to earn the friendship of the father. His
punctuality in obeying orders, and his respectful manner to the
lieutenant, availed but little; for young Campbell still viewed him with
scornful yet with jealous eyes, imagining that he only wanted to show
himself the better officer.

"Of the falsehood of these suspicions Walsingham had at last an
opportunity of giving unquestionable proof. It happened one day that
Lieutenant Campbell, impatient at seeing a sailor doing some work
awkwardly on the outside of the vessel, snatched the rope from his hand,
and swore he would do it himself. In his hurry, Campbell missed his
footing, and fell overboard:--he could not swim. Walsingham had the
presence of mind to order the ship to be put about, and plunged
instantly into the water to save his rival. With much exertion he
reached Campbell, supported him till the boat was lowered down, and got
him safe aboard again."

"Just like himself!" cried young Beaumont; "all he ever wanted was
opportunity to show his soul."

"The first-lieutenant's jealousy was now changed into gratitude,"
continued Mr. Walsingham; "and from this time forward, instead of
suffering from that petty rivalship by which he used to be obstructed,
Walsingham enjoyed the entire confidence of young Campbell. This good
understanding between him and his brother officer not only made their
every day lives pleasant, but in times of difficulty secured success.
For three years that they lived together after this period, and during
which time they were ordered to every quarter of the globe, they never
had the slightest dispute, either in the busiest or the idlest times. At
length, in some engagement with a Dutch ship, the particulars of which I
forget, Lieutenant Campbell was mortally wounded: his last words
were--'Walsingham, comfort my father.' That was no easy task. Stern as
Captain Campbell seemed, the loss of his son was irreparable. He never
shed a tear when he was told it was all over, but said, 'God's will be
done;' and turning into his cabin, desired to be left alone. Half an
hour afterwards he sent for Walsingham, who found him quite calm. 'We
must see and do our duty together to the last,' said he.

"He exerted himself strenuously, and to all outward appearance was, as
the sailors said, the same man as ever; but Walsingham, who knew him
better, saw that his heart was broken, and that he wished for nothing
but an honourable death. One morning as he was on deck looking through
his glass, he called to Walsingham; 'Your eyes are better than mine,'
said he; 'look here, and tell me, do you see yonder sail--she's French?
Le Magnanime frigate, if I'm not mistaken. 'Yes,' said Walsingham, 'I
know her by the patch in her main sail.'--'We'll give her something to
do,' said Campbell, 'though she's so much our superior. Please God,
before the sun's over our heads, you shall have her in tow, Walsingham.'
'_We_ shall, I trust,' said Walsingham.--'Perhaps not _we_; for I own I
wish to fall,' said Campbell. 'You are first-lieutenant now; I can't
leave my men under better command, and I hope the Admiralty will give
you the ship, if you give it to his Majesty.'--Then turning to the
sailors, Captain Campbell addressed them with a countenance unusually
cheerful; and, after a few words of encouragement, gave orders to clear
decks for action. 'Walsingham, you'll see to every thing whilst I step
down to write.' He wrote, as it was afterwards found, two letters, both
concerning Walsingham's interests. The frigate with which they had to
engage was indeed far superior to them in force; but Campbell trusted to
the good order and steadiness as well as to the courage of his men. The
action was long and obstinate. Twice the English attempted to board the
enemy, and twice were repulsed. The third time, just as Captain Campbell
had seized hold of the French colours, which hung in rags over the side
of the enemy's ship, he received a wound in his breast, fell back into
Walsingham's arms, and almost instantly expired. The event of this day
was different from what Campbell had expected, for _Le Succes_ of fifty
guns appeared in sight; and, after a desperate engagement with her, in
which Walsingham was severely wounded, and every other officer on board
killed or wounded, Walsingham saw that nothing was left but to make a
wanton sacrifice of the remainder of his crew, or to strike.

"After a contest of six hours, he struck to _Le Succes_. Perfect silence
on his deck; a loud and insulting shout from the enemy!

"No sooner had Walsingham struck, than La Force, the captain of _Le
Succes_ hailed him, and ordered him to come in his own boat, and to
deliver his sword. Walsingham replied, that 'his sword, so demanded,
should never be delivered but with his life.'[2] The Frenchman did not
think proper to persist; but soon after sent his lieutenant on board
the Resolute, where the men were found at their quarters with lighted
matches in their hands, ready to be as good as their word. La Force,
the captain of _Le Succes_, was a sailor of fortune, who had risen by
chance, not merit."

"Ay, ay," interrupted Mr. Palmer, "so I thought; and there was no great
merit, or glory either, in a French fifty gun taking an English frigate,
after standing a six hours' contest with another ship. Well, my dear
sir, what became of poor Walsingham? How did this rascally Frenchman
treat his prisoners?"

"Scandalously!" cried Beaumont; "and yet Walsingham is so generous that
he will never let me damn the nation, for what he says was only the
fault of an individual, who disgraced it."

"Well, let me hear and judge for myself," said Mr. Palmer.

"La Force carried the Resolute in triumph into a French port," continued
Mr. Walsingham. "Vain of displaying his prisoners, he marched them up
the country, under pretence that they would not be safe in a sea-port.
Cambray was the town in which they were confined. Walsingham found the
officers of the garrison very civil to him at first; but when they saw
that he was not fond of high play, and that he declined being of their
parties at billiards and _vingt-un_, they grew tired of him; for without
these resources they declared they should perish with _ennui_ in a
country town. Even under the penalty of losing all society, Walsingham
resisted every temptation to game, and submitted to live with the
strictest economy rather than to run in debt."

"But did you never send him any money? Or did not he get your
remittances?" said Mr. Palmer.

"My dear sir, by some delays of letters, we did not hear for two months
where he was imprisoned."

"And he was reduced to the greatest distress," pursued Beaumont; "for he
had shared all he had, to the utmost farthing, with his poor
fellow-prisoners."

"Like a true British sailor!" said Mr. Palmer. "Well, sir, I hope he
contrived to make his escape?"

"No, for he would not break his parole," said Beaumont,

"His parole! I did not know he was on his parole," said Mr. Palmer.
"Then certainly he could not break it."

"He had two tempting opportunities, I can assure you," said Beaumont;
"one offered by the commandant's lady, who was not insensible to his
merit; the other, by the gratitude of some poor servant, whom he had
obliged--Mr. Walsingham can tell you all the particulars."

"No, I need not detail the circumstances; it is enough to tell you, sir,
that he withstood the temptations, would not break his parole, and
remained four months a prisoner in Cambray. Like the officers of the
garrison, he should have drunk or gamed, or else he must have died of
vexation, he says, if he had not fortunately had a taste for reading,
and luckily procured books from a good old priest's library. At the end
of four months the garrison of Cambray was changed; and instead of a set
of dissipated officers, there came a well-conducted regiment, under the
command of M. de Villars, an elderly officer of sense and discretion."

"An excellent man!" cried Beaumont: "I love him with all my soul, though
I never saw him. But I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Mr.
Walsingham."

"A prattling hairdresser at Cambray first prepossessed M. de Villars in
Walsingham's favour, by relating a number of anecdotes intended to throw
abuse and ridicule upon the English captain, to convict him of
misanthropy and economy; of having had his hair dressed but twice since
he came to Cambray; of never having frequented the society of Madame la
Marquise de Marsillac, the late commandant's lady, for more than a
fortnight after his arrival, and of having actually been detected in
working with his own hand with smiths' and carpenters' tools. Upon the
strength of the hairdresser's information, M. de Villars paid the
English captain a visit; was pleased by his conversation, and by all
that he observed of his conduct and character.

"As M. de Villars was going down stairs, after having spent an evening
with Walsingham, a boy of twelve years old, the son of the master of the
lodging-house, equipped in a military uniform, stood across the
landing-place, as if determined to, stop him. 'Mon petit militaire,'
said the commandant, 'do you mean to dispute my passage?' 'Non, mon
general,' said the boy; 'I know my duty too well. But I post myself here
to demand an audience, for I have a secret of importance to
communicate.' M. de Villars, smiling at the boy's air of consequence,
yet pleased with the steady earnestness of his manner, took him by the
hand into an antechamber, and said that he was ready to listen to
whatever he had to impart. The boy then told him that he had
accidentally overheard a proposal which had been made to facilitate the
English captain's escape, and that the captain refused to comply with
it, because it was not honourable to break his parole. The boy, who had
been struck by the circumstance, and who, besides, was grateful to
Walsingham for some little instances of kindness, spoke with much
enthusiasm in his favour; and, as M. de Villars afterwards repeated,
finished his speech by exclaiming, 'I would give every thing I have in
the world, except my sword and my honour, to procure this English
captain his liberty.'

"M. de Villars was pleased with the boy's manner, and with the fact
which he related; so much so, that he promised, that if Walsingham's
liberty could be obtained he would procure it. 'And you, my good little
friend, shall, if I succeed,' added he, 'have the pleasure of being the
first to tell him the good news.'

"Some days afterwards, the boy burst into Walsingham's room, exclaiming,
'Liberty! liberty! you are at liberty!'--He danced and capered with such
wild joy, that it was some time before Walsingham could obtain any
explanation, or could prevail on him to let him look at a letter which
he held in his hand, flourishing it about in triumph. At last he showed
that it was an order from M. de Villars, for the release of Captain
Walsingham, and of all the English prisoners, belonging to the Resolute,
for whom exchanges had been effected. No favour could be granted in a
manner more honourable to all the parties concerned. Walsingham arrived
in England without any farther difficulties."

"Thank God!" said Mr. Palmer. "Well, now he has touched English ground
again, I have some hopes for him. What next?"

"The first thing he did, of course, was to announce his return to the
Admiralty. A court-martial was held at Portsmouth; and, fortunately for
him, was composed of officers of the highest distinction, so that the
first men in his profession became thoroughly acquainted with the
circumstances of his conduct. The enthusiasm with which his men bore
testimony in his favour was gratifying to his feelings, and the minutes
of the evidence were most honourable to him. The court pronounced, that
Lieutenant Walsingham had done all that could be effected by the most
gallant and judicious officer in the defence of His Majesty's ship
Resolute. The ministry who had employed Captain Campbell were no longer
in place, and one of the Lords of the Admiralty at this time happened
to have had some personal quarrel with him. A few days after the trial,
Walsingham was at a public dinner, at which Campbell's character became
the subject of conversation. Walsingham was warned, in a whisper, that
the first Lord of the Admiralty's private secretary was present, and
was advised to be _prudent_; but Walsingham's prudence was not of that
sort which can coolly hear a worthy man's memory damned with faint
praise; his prudence was not of that sort which can tamely sit by and
see a friend's reputation in danger. With all the warmth and eloquence
of friendship, he spoke in Captain Campbell's defence, and paid a just
and energetic tribute of praise to his memory. He spoke, and not a word
more was said against Campbell. The politicians looked down upon their
plates; and there was a pause of that sort, which sometimes in a
company of interested men of the world results from surprise at the
imprudent honesty of a good-natured novice. Walsingham, as the company
soon afterwards broke up, heard one gentleman say of him to another, as
they went away, 'There's a fellow now, who has ruined himself without
knowing it, and all for a dead man.' It was not without knowing it:
Walsingham was well aware what he hazarded, but he was then, and ever,
ready to sacrifice his own interests in the defence of truth and of a
friend. For two long years afterwards, Walsingham was, in the technical
and elegant phrase, _left on the shelf, and the door of promotion was
shut against him."_

"Yes, and there he might have remained till now," said Beaumont, "if it
had not been for that good Mr. Gaspar, a clerk in one of their offices;
a man who, though used to live among courtiers and people hackneyed in
the political ways of the world, was a plain, warm-hearted friend, a man
of an upright character, who prized integrity and generosity the more
because he met with them so seldom. But I beg your pardon, Mr.
Walsingham; will you go on and tell Mr. Palmer how and why Gaspar served
our friend?"

"One day Walsingham had occasion to go to Mr. Gaspar's office to search
for some papers relative to certain charts which he had drawn, and
intended to present to the Admiralty. In talking of the soundings of
some bay he had taken whilst out with Captain Campbell, he mentioned
him, as he always did, with terms of affection and respect. Mr. Gaspar
immediately asked, 'Are you, sir, that Lieutenant Walsingham, of the
Resolute, who at a public dinner about two years ago made such a
disinterested defence of your captain? If it is in my power to serve
you, depend upon it I will. Leave your charts with me; I think I may
have an opportunity of turning them to your advantage, and that of the
service.' Gaspar, who was thoroughly in earnest, took a happy moment to
present Walsingham's charts before the Admiralty, just at a time when
they were wanted. The Admiralty were glad to employ an officer who had
some local information, and they sent him out in the Dreadnought, a
thirty-six gun frigate, with Captain Jemmison, to the West Indies."

"And what sort of a man was his new captain?" said Mr. Palmer.

"As unlike his old one as possible," said Beaumont.

"Yes," continued Mr. Walsingham; "in every point, except courage,
Captain Jemmison was as complete a contrast as could be imagined to
Captain Campbell. Whatever else he might be, Jemmison was certainly a
man of undaunted courage."

"That's of course, if he was a captain in the British navy," said
Mr. Palmer.

"From his appearance, however, you would never have taken him for a
gallant sailor," said Mr. Walsingham: "abhorring the rough, brutal,
swearing, grog-drinking, tobacco-chewing, race of sea-officers, the Bens
and the Mirvans of former times, Captain Jemmison, resolving, I suppose,
to avoid their faults, went into the contrary extreme of refinement and
effeminacy. A superlative coxcomb, and an epicure more from fashion than
taste, he gloried in descanting, with technical precision, on the merits
of dishes and of cooks. His table, even on shipboard, was to be equalled
in elegance only by his toilet."

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