Frank Mildmay; Or, the Naval Officer

by Frederick Marryat

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

  With sorrow and repentance true, Father, I trembling come to you. SONG.

  I arrived at the town where poor Eugenia had breathed her last, and nearto which was the cemetery in which her remains were deposited. I wentto the inn, whence, after having dismissed my post-boy and ordered myluggage to be taken up to my room, I proceeded on foot towards the spot.I was informed that the path lay between the church and the bishop'spalace. I soon reached it: and inquiring for the sexton, who lived in acottage hard by, requested he would lead me to a certain grave, which Iindicated by tokens too easily known.

  "Oh, you mean the sweet young lady as died of grief for the loss of herlittle boy. There it is," continued he, pointing with his finger; "thewhite peacock is now sitting on the head-stone of the grave, and thelittle boy is buried beside it."

  I approached, while the humble sexton kindly withdrew, that I might,without witnesses, indulge that grief which he saw was the burthen of myaching heart. The bird remained, but without dressing its plumage,without the usual air of surprise and vigilance evinced by domesticfowls when disturbed in their haunts: this poor creature was moulting;its feathers were rumpled and disordered; its tail ragged. There was nobeauty in the bird, which was probably only kept as a variety of thespecies; and it appeared to me as if it had been placed there as alesson to myself, vain its modest attire, in its melancholy and pensiveattitude, it seemed, with its gaudy plumage, to have dismissed the worldand its vanities, while in mournful silence it surveyed the crowdedmementos of eternity.

  "This is my office, not thine," said I, apostrophising the bird, which,alarmed at my near approach, quitted its position, and disappeared amongthe surrounding tombs, I sat down, and fixing my eyes on the name whichthe tablet bore, ran over, in a hurried manner, all that part of mycareer which had been more immediately connected with the history ofEugenia. I remembered her many virtues; her self-devotion for my honourand happiness; her concealing herself from me, that I might not blast myprospects in life by continuing an intimacy which she saw would end inmy ruin; her firmness of character, her disinterested generosity, andthe refinement of attachment which made her prefer misery and solitudeto her own gratification in the society of the man she loved. She had,alas! but one fault, and that fault was, loving me. I could not drivefrom my thoughts, that it was through my unfortunate and illicitconnection with her that I had lost all that made life dear to me.

  At this moment (and not once since the morning I awoke from it) mysingular dream recurred to my mind. The thoughts which never had once,during my eventful voyage from the Bahamas to the Cape, and thence toEngland, presented themselves in my waking hours, must certainly havepossessed my brain during sleep. Why else should it never have occurredto my rational mind that the connection with Eugenia would certainlyendanger that intended with Emily? It was Eugenia that placed Emily inmourning, out of my reach, and, as it were, on the top of the Nine-pinRock.

  Here, then, my dream was explained; and I now felt all the horrors ofthat reality which I thought at the time was no more than the effect ofa disordered imagination. Yet I could not blame Eugenia; the poor girlhad fallen a victim to that deplorable and sensual education which I hadreceived in the cockpit of a man-of-war. I--I alone was the culprit.She was friendless, and without a parent to guide her youthful step; shefell a victim to my ungoverned passions. Maddened with anguish of headand heart, I threw myself violently on the grave; I beat my miserablehead against the tombstones; I called with frantic exclamation on thename of Eugenia; and at length sank on the turf, between the two graves,in a state of stupor and exhaustion, from which a copious flood of tearsin some measure relieved me.

  I was aroused by the sound of wheels and the trampling of horses; andlooking up, I perceived the bishop's carriage and four, with outriders,pass by. The livery and colour of the carriage were certainly what isdenominated quiet; but there was an appearance of state which indicatedthat the owner had not entirely "renounced the pomps and vanities ofthis wicked world," and my spleen was excited.

  "Ah, sweep along," I bitterly muttered, "worthy type indeed of theapostles! I like the pride that apes humility. Is that the way youteach your flock to `leave all and follow me?'" I started up suddenly,saying to myself, "I will seek this man in his palace, and see whether Ishall be kindly received and consoled, or be repulsed by a menial."

  The thought was sudden, and, being conceived almost in a state offrenzy, was instantly executed. "Let me try," said I, "whether a bishopcan administer to the mind diseased as well as a country curate."

  I moved on with rapidity to the palace, more in a fit of desperationthan with a view of seeking peace of mind. I rang loudly and vehementlyat the gate, and asked whether the bishop was at home. An elderlydomestic, who seemed to regard me with astonishment, answered me in theaffirmative, and desired me to walk into an ante-room, while heannounced me to his master.

  I now began to recall my scattered senses, which had been wandering, andto perceive the absurdity of my conduct; I was therefore about to quitthe palace, into which I had so rudely intruded, without waiting for myaudience, when the servant opened the door and requested me to followhim.

  By what inscrutable means are the designs of Providence brought about!While I thought I was blindly following the impulse of passion, I was,in fact, guided by unerring Wisdom. A prey to desperate and irritatedfeelings, I anticipated, with malignant pleasure, that I should detecthypocrisy--that one who ought to set an example, should be weighed byme, and found wanting; instead of which I stumbled on my own salvation!Where I expected to meet with pride and scorn, I met humility andkindness; when I had looked around on the great circle bounded by thevisible horizon, and could perceive no friendly port into which I mightlay my shattered vessel, behold it was close at hand!

  I followed the servant with a kind of stupid indifference, and wasushered into the presence of a benevolent-looking old man, between sixtyand seventy years of age. His whole external appearance, as well as hiswhite hairs, commanded respect amounting almost to admiration. I wasnot prepared to speak, which he perceived, and kindly began:

  "As you are a stranger to me, I fear, from your care-worn countenance,that it is no common occurrence which has brought you here. Sit down:you seem in distress; and if it is in my power to afford you relief, youmay be assured that I will do so."

  There was in his manner and address an affectionate kindness whichovercame me. I could neither speak nor look at him; but, laying my headon the table, and hiding my face with my hands, I wept bitterly. Thegood bishop allowed me reasonable time to recover myself, and, withextreme good-breeding, mildly requested that, if it were possible, Iwould confide to him the cause of my affliction.

  "Be not afraid or ashamed, my good lad," said he, "to tell me yoursorrows. If we have temporal blessings, we do not forget that we arebut the almoners of the Lord: we endeavour to follow his example; but,if I may judge from appearance, it is not pecuniary aid you have come tosolicit."

  "No, no," replied I; "it is not money that I want:" but, choked withexcess of feeling, I could say no more.

  "This is indeed a more important case than one of mere bodily want,"said the good man. "_That_ we might very soon supply; but there seemssomething in your condition which requires our more serious attention.I thank the Almighty for selecting me to this service; and, with Hisblessing, we shall not fail of success."

  Then, going to the door, he called to a young lady, who I afterwardsdiscovered was his daughter; and holding the door ajar as he spoke, thatI might not be seen in my distress, said, "Caroline, my dear, write tothe duke, and beg him to excuse my dining with him to-day. Tell himthat I am kept at home by business of importance; and give orders that Ibe not interrupted on any account."

  He then turned the key in the door, and, drawing a chair close to mine,begged me, in the most persuasive manner, to tell him everything withoutreserve, in order that he might apply such a remedy as the case seemedto demand.
r />   I first asked for a glass of wine, which was instantly brought; hereceived it at the door, and gave it to me with his own hand.

  Having drunk it, I commenced the history of my life in a brief outline,and ultimately told him all; nearly as much in detail as I have relatedto the reader. He listened to me with an intense and painful interest,questioning me as to my feelings on many important occasions; and havingat length obtained from me an honest and candid confession, without anyextenuation--

  "My young friend," said he, "your life has been one of peculiartemptation and excess--much to deplore, much to blame, and much torepent of; but the state of feeling which induced you to come to me is aproof that you now only require that which, with God's help, I trust Ishall be able to supply. It is now late, and we both of us require somerefreshment, I will order in dinner, and you must send to the inn foryour portmanteau."

  Perceiving that I was about to answer--"I must take no denial," resumedhe. "You have placed yourself under my care, as your physician, and youmust follow my prescriptions. My duty is as much more important,compared to the doctor's, as the soul is to the body."

  Dinner being served, he dismissed the servants as soon as possible, andthen asked me many questions relative to my family, all of which Ianswered without reserve. He once mentioned Miss Somerville; but I wasso overcome, that he perceived my distress, and filling me a glass ofwine, changed the subject.

  If I thought that any words of mine could do justice to the persuasivediscourses of this worthy bishop, I would have benefited the world bymaking them public; but I could not do this; and I trust that none of myreaders will have so much need of them as I had myself. I shalltherefore briefly state, that I remained in the palace ten days, in themost perfect seclusion.

  Every morning the good bishop dedicated two or three hours to myinstruction and improvement; he put into my hands one or two books at atime, with marks in them, indicating the pages which I ought to consult.He would have introduced me to his family; but this I begged for a timeto decline, being too much depressed and out of spirits; and he indulgedme in my request of being allowed to continue in the apartments allottedto me.

  On the seventh morning, he came to me and after a short conversation,informed me that business would require his absence for two or threedays, and that he would give me a task to employ me during the shorttime he should be gone. He then put into my hand a work on theSacrament. "This," said he, "I am sure you will read with particularattention, so that on my return I may invite you to the feast." Itrembled as I opened the book, "Fear not, Mr Mildmay," said he; "I tellyou, from what I see of your symptoms, that the cure will be complete."

  Having said this, he gave me his blessing, and departed. He returnedexactly at the end of three days, and after a short examination, said hewould allow me to receive the Sacrament, and that the holy ceremonyshould take place in his own room privately, well knowing how muchaffected I should be. He brought in the bread and wine; and havingconsecrated and partaken of them himself, agreeably to the formsprescribed, he made a short extempore prayer in my behalf.

  When he had done this, he advanced towards me, and presented the bread.My blood curdled as I took it in my mouth; and when I had tasted thewine, the type of the blood of that Saviour whose wounds I had so oftenopened afresh in my guilty career, and yet upon the merits of which Inow relied for pardon, I felt a combined sensation of love, gratitude,and joy a lightness and buoyancy of spirits, as if I could have left theearth below me, disburthened of a weight that had, till then, crushed meto the ground. I felt that I had faith--that I was a new man--and thatmy sins were forgiven; and, dropping my head on the side of the table, Iremained some minutes in grateful and fervent prayer.

  The service being ended, I hastened to express my acknowledgments to myvenerable friend.

  "I am but the humble instrument, my dear young friend," said the bishop;"let us both give thanks to the Almighty Searcher of hearts. Let ushope that the work is perfect--for then you will be the occasion of `joyin heaven.' And now," continued he, "let me ask you one question. Doyou feel in that state of mind that you could bear any affliction whichmight befall you, without repining?"

  "I trust, sir," answered I, "that I could bear it, not only cheerfully,but thankfully; and I now acknowledge that it is good for me that I havebeen in trouble."

  "Then all is right," said he; "and with such feelings I may venture togive you this letter, which I promised the writer to deliver with my ownhand."

  As soon as my eye caught the superscription, "Gracious Heaven!"exclaimed I, "it is from my Emily."

  "Even so," said the bishop.

  I tore it open. It contained only six lines, which were as follows:

  "Our mutual kind friend the bishop has proved to me how proud and how foolish I have been. Forgive me, dear Frank, for I too have suffered much; and come as soon as possible to your ever affectionate EMILY."

  This, then, was the object of the venerable bishop's absence. Bendingbeneath age and infirmity, he had undertaken a journey of three hundredmiles, in order to ensure the temporal as well as eternal welfare of aperfect stranger--to effect a reconciliation, without which he saw thatmy worldly happiness was incomplete. I was afterwards informed, thatnotwithstanding the weight of his character and holy office, he hadfound Emily more decided in her rejection than he had anticipated; andit was not until he had sharply rebuked her for her pride andunforgiving temper, that she could be brought to listen with patience tohis arguments. But having at length convinced her that the tenure ofher own hopes depended on the forgiveness of others, she relented,acknowledged the truth of his remarks, and her undiminished affectionfor me. While she made this confession, she was in the same positionbefore the bishop that I was when I received her letter--on my knees,and in tears.

  He gave me his hand, raised me up, "And now, my young friend," said he,"let me give you one caution. I hope and I trust that your repentanceis sincere. If it be not, the guilt must rest on your head; but I trustin God that all is as it should be. I will not, therefore, detain youany longer: you must be impatient to be gone. Refreshment is preparedfor you: my horses will take you the first stage. Have you fundssufficient to carry you through? for it is a long journey, as my oldbones can testify."

  I assured him that I was sufficiently provided; and, expressing mythanks for his kindness, wished that it was in my power to prove mygratitude. "Put me to the test, my lord," said I, "if you possiblycan."

  "Well, then," replied he, "I will. When the day for your union withMiss Somerville is fixed, allow me to have the pleasure of joining yourhands, should it please God to spare me so long. I have removed thedisease; but I must trust to somebody else to watch and prevent arelapse. And believe me, my dear friend, however well inclined a manmay be to keep in the straight path, he gains no little support from theguidance and example of a lovely and virtuous woman."

  I promised readily all he asked; and, having finished a slight lunch,again shook hands with the worthy prelate, jumped into my carriage, anddrove off. I travelled all night; and the next day was in the societyof those I loved, and who had ever loved me, in spite of all myperverseness and folly.

  A few weeks after, Emily and I were united by the venerable bishop, who,with much emotion, gave us his benediction; and, as the prayer of therighteous man availeth much, I felt that it was recorded in our favourin heaven. Mr Somerville gave the bride away. My father, with Talbotand Clara, were present; and the whole of us, after all my strangevicissitudes, were deeply affected at this reconciliation and union.