Afloat and Ashore (51 page)

No wonder then, that Major Merton and Emily fared well, on their
sudden arrival in the country. Some romance, moreover, was attached to
their adventures; and I had no great reason to give myself any anxiety
on their account. There was little doubt of their soon being much
more at home, than I could hope to be, though in my native land.

Neb soon reported himself ready for shore-duty, and I ordered him to
follow me. It was my intention to proceed to the counting-house of the
owners, to receive some letters that awaited me, and, after writing
short answers, to despatch the black at once to Clawbonny, with the
intelligence of my return. In 1802, the Battery was the court-end of
the town, and it was a good deal frequented by the better classes,
particularly at the hour at which I was now about to cross it. I have
never returned from a voyage, especially to Europe, without being
particularly struck with two things in the great Western
Emporium—since the common councils and the editors insist on the
word—viz., the provincial appearance of everything that meets the
eye, and the beauty of the younger females; meaning, however, by the
last, the true, native, portion of the population, and not the throng
from Ireland and Germany, who now crowd the streets; and who,
certainly, as a body, are not in the least remarkable for personal
charms. But an American can tell an American, man or woman, as soon as
he lays eyes on either; and there were few besides native girls on the
Battery at the time of which I am writing. As there were many children
taking their evening walk, and black servants were far more common
than now, Neb had his share of delights, too, and I heard him exclaim
"Golly!" twice, before we reached the centre of the Battery. This
exclamation escaped him on passing as many sable Venuses, each of whom
bridled up at the fellow's admiration, and doubtless was as much
offended as the sex is apt to be on such occasions.

I must have passed twenty young women, that evening, either of whom
would induce a youth to turn round to look again; and, for the moment,
I forgot my errand. Neither Neb nor I was in any hurry. We were
strolling along, in this manner, gazing right and left, when a party
approached, under the trees, that drew all my attention to itself. In
front walked a young man and young woman, who were dressed simply, but
with a taste that denoted persons of the better class. The former was
remarkable for nothing, unless it might be a rattling vivacity, of
which large doses were administered to his fair companion, who,
seemingly, swallowed it less reluctantly than doses of another sort
are so often received. At least, I thought so, while the two were at a
distance, by the beautiful glistening teeth that were shining like my
own spotless pearls, between lips of coral. The air, beauty, figure,
and, indeed, all connected with this singularly lovely young creature,
struck my imagination at once. It was not so much her beauty, though
that was decided and attractive, as the admixture of feminine delicacy
with blooming health; the walk, so natural and yet so full of
lightness and grace; the laugh, so joyous and still so quiet and
suited to her sex; and the entire air and manner, which denoted
equally, buoyant health and happiness, the gracefulness of one who
thought not of herself, and the refinement which is quite as much the
gift of native sentiment, as the fruit of art and association. I could
not tell what her companion was saying; but, as they approached, I
fancied them acknowledged lovers, on whom fortune, friends, and
circumstances smiled alike. A glance aside told me that even Neb was
struck by the being before him, and that he had ceased looking at the
sable Venuses, to gaze at this.

I could not keep my gaze off the face of this lovely creature, who did
not let me get a good look of her dark-blue eyes, however, until I was
quite near, when they were naturally turned towards the form that
approached. For a few seconds, while in the very act of passing, we
looked intently at each other, and the charm said to be possessed by
certain animals, was not more powerful than was our mutual gaze. In
this manner we had actually passed each other, and I was still in a
sort of mystified prance, when I heard suddenly, in a voice and tone
that caused every nerve to thrill within me, the single word—

"Miles!"

Turning, and taking another look, it was impossible any longer to
mistake. Lucy Hardinge stood before me, trembling, uncertain, her face
now pale as death, now flushed to scarlet, her hands clasped, her look
doubting, eager, shrinking, equally denoting hope and fear, and all so
blended, as to render her the most perfect picture of female truth,
feeling, diffidence, and natural modesty, I had ever beheld.

"Lucy—is it—
can
it be possible!—It is then
you
, I
thought so gloriously beautiful, and that without knowing you, too."

I take it for granted, had I studied a week, I should not have
composed a more grateful salutation than this, which burst forth in a
way that set all the usual restraints of manners at defiance. Of
course, I felt bound to go through with the matter as prosperously as
I had commenced, and in spite of the publicity of the place, in spite
of half a dozen persons, who heard what passed, and had turned,
smiling, to see what would come next, in spite of the grave-looking
gentleman who had so lately been all vivacity and gaiety, I advanced,
folded the dear girl to my heart, and gave her such a kiss, as I'll
take upon myself to say, she had never before received. Sailors,
usually, do not perform such things by halves, and I never was more in
earnest in my life. Such a salutation, from a young fellow who stood
rather more than six feet in his stockings, had a pair of whiskers
that had come all the way from the Pacific with very little trimming,
and who possessed a manliness about him of which mere walking up and
down Broadway would have robbed a young Hercules, had the effect to
cover poor Lucy with blushes and confusion.

"There—that will do, Miles," she said, struggling to get free—"a
truce, I pray you. See, yonder are Grace and my father, and Rupert."

There they all were, sure enough, the whole family having come out, to
take an evening walk, in company with a certain Mr. Andrew Drewett, a
young gentleman who was a fellow-student of Rupert's, and who, as I
afterwards ascertained, was a pretty open admirer of Rupert's
sister. There was a marked difference in the manner in which I was
received by Grace and Lucy. The first exclaimed "Miles!" precisely as
the last had exclaimed; her colour heightened, and tears forced
themselves into her eyes, but she could not be said to blush. Instead
of first manifesting an eagerness to meet my salute, and then
shrinking sensitively from it, she flung her delicate arms round my
neck, without the slightest reserve, both arms too, kissed me six or
eight times without stopping, and then began to sob, as if her heart
would break. The spectators, who saw in all this the plain, honest,
natural, undisguised affection of a sister, had the good taste to walk
on, though I could see that their countenances sympathised with so
happy a family meeting. I had but a moment to press Grace to my heart,
before Mr. Hardinge's voice drew my attention to him. The good old man
forgot that I was two inches taller than he was himself; that I could,
with ease, have lifted him from the earth, and carried him in my arms,
as if he were an infant; that I was bronzed by a long voyage, and had
Pacific Ocean whiskers; for he caressed me as if I had been a child,
kissed me quite as often as Grace had done, blessed me aloud, and then
gave way to his tears, as freely as both the girls. But for this burst
of feeling on the part of a grey-headed old clergyman, I am afraid our
scene would not altogether have escaped ridicule. As it was, however,
this saved us. Clergymen were far more respected in America, forty
years ago, than they are to-day, though I think they have still as
much consideration here as in most other countries; and the general
respect felt for the class would have insured us from any
manifestations of the sort, without the nature and emotion which came
in its aid. As for myself, I was glad to take refuge in Rupert's
hearty but less sentimental shake of the hand. After this, we all
sought a seat, in a less public spot, and were soon sufficiently
composed to converse. As for the gentleman named Drewett, he waited
long enough to inquire of Lucy who I was, and then he had sufficient
tact to wish us all good evening. I overheard the little dialogue
which produced this explanation.

"A close friend, if not a near relation, Miss Hardinge?" he observed,
inquiringly.

"Oh, yes," answered the smiling, weeping girl, with the undisguised
truth of her honest nature—"both friend and relative."

"May I presume to ask the name?"

"The name, Mr. Drewett!—Why it is Miles—dear Miles—you surely have
heard us speak of Miles—but I forget; you never were at Clawbonny—is
it not a most joyful surprise, dearest, dearest Grace!"

Mr. Andrew Drewett waited, I thought, with most commendable patience
for Grace to squeeze Lucy's hand, and to murmur her own felicitations,
when he ventured to add—

"You were about to say something, Miss Hardinge?"

"Was I—I declare I have forgotten what it was. Such a surprise—such
a joyful, blessed surprise—I beg pardon, Mr. Drewett—ah. I remember
now; I was about to say that this is Mr. Miles Wallingford, of
Clawbonny, the gentleman who is my father's ward—Grace's brother, you
know."

"And how related to yourself, Miss Hardinge?" the gentleman continued,
a little perseveringly.

"To me! Oh! very, very near—that is—I forget so much this
evening—why, not at all."

It was at this moment Mr. Drewett saw fit to make his parting
salutations with studied decorum, and to take his leave in a manner so
polite, that, though tempted, I could not, just at the moment, stop
the current of my feelings, to admire. No one seemed to miss him,
however, and we five, who remained, were soon seated in the spot I
have mentioned, and as much abstracted from the scene around us, as if
we had been on the rustic bench, under the old elm, on the lawn—if I
dare use so fine a word, for so unpretending a place—at Clawbonny. I
had my station between Mr. Hardinge and Grace, while Lucy sat next her
father, and Rupert next to my sister. My friend could see me, without
difficulty, owing to his stature, while I saw the glistening eyes of
Lucy, riveted on my face, as leaning on her father's knee, she bent
her graceful form forward, in absorbed attention.

"We expected you; we have not been taken
altogether
by
surprise!" exclaimed good Mr. Hardinge, clapping his hand on my
shoulder, as if to say he could now begin to treat me like a man. "I
consented to come down, just at this moment, because the last Canton
ship that arrived brought the intelligence that the Crisis was to sail
in ten days."

"And you may judge of our surprise," said Rupert, "when we read the
report in the papers, 'The Crisis,
Captain Wallingford
.'"

"I supposed my letters from the island had prepared you for this," I
observed.

"In them, you spoke of Mr. Marble, and I naturally concluded, when it
came to the pinch, the man would resume the command, and bring the
ship home. Duty to the owners would be apt to induce him."

"He did not," I answered, a little proudly perhaps, forgetting poor
Marble's probable situation, for an instant, in my own vanity.
"Mr. Marble understood well, that if I knew nothing else, I knew how
to take care of a ship."

"So it seems, my dear boy, indeed, so it doth seem!" said
Mr. Hardinge, kindly. "I hear from all quarters, you conduct
commended; and the recovery of the vessel from the French, was really
worthy of Truxtun himself."

At that day, Truxtun was the great gun of American naval idolatry, and
had as much local reputation, as Nelson himself enjoyed in
England. The allusion was a sore assault on my modesty; but I got
along with it, as well as I could.

"I endeavoured to do my duty, sir," I answered, trying not to look at
Lucy, and seem meek; "and it would have been a terrible disgrace to
have come home, and been obliged to say the French got the ship from
us, when we were all asleep."

"But you took a ship from the French, in that manner, and kept her
too!" said a soft voice, every intonation of which was music to me.

I looked round and saw the speaking eyes of Lucy, just clear of the
grey coat of her father, behind which she instinctively shrank, the
instant she caught my glance.

"Yes," I answered, "we did something of that sort, and were a little
more fortunate than our enemies. But, you will recollect we were much
favoured by the complaisance of poor Monsieur Le Compte, in leaving us
a schooner to work our mischief in."

"I have always thought that part of your story, Miles, a little
extraordinary," observed Mr. Hardinge; "though I suppose this
Frenchman's liberality was, in some measure, a matter of necessity,
out there, in the middle of the Pacific."

"I hardly think you do Captain Le Compte justice, sir. He was a
chivalrous fellow, and every way a gallant seaman. It is possible, he
was rather more in a hurry than he might have been, but for his
passengers—that is all—at least, I have always suspected that the
wish to have Miss Merton all to himself, induced him to get rid of us
as soon as possible. He evidently admired her, and could have been
jealous of a dead-eye."

"Miss Merton!" exclaimed Grace. "Jealous!"

"Miss Merton!" put in Rupert, leaning forward, curiously.

"Miss Merton! And jealous of dead-eyes, and wishing to get rid of us!"
said Mr. Hardinge, smiling. "Pray who is Miss Merton? and who are the
us
? and what are the dead-eyes?"

Lucy was silent.