CHAPTER III.

THE AGENT.

Great was the concourse that thronged the room to which we first introduced our reader, on the morning after the events we have detailed--the weather-beaten mariner was there to state his charge--the parish clerk with more than usual importance was ready to act as secretary--the lawyer, the curate, all prepared to play their part in the approaching drama of real life. The Earl in his magisterial seat--bitter mockery of justice--prepared to sit in judgment on a wretch not half so guilty as himself. But he belonged to a privileged class--the other was one of the "lower orders."

The entrance of Mr. Simpkins the constable, with rueful countenance and faltering voice, with the intelligence that the prisoner had escaped, created a great sensation. No one was more indignant than the Earl--though how far this was real may be judged when we inform the reader that Lambert had held a long conversation with the prisoner, Simpkins and his two assistants being first treated to a powerful opiate in a mug of ale. This conversation had resulted in Curly Tom's departing--a pensioned tool, a hired slave, to do the will, even to murder, of his titled employer--he had no choice save the gallows. The constable was severely reprimanded, a reward offered for the apprehension of the fugitive--the seaman's deposition taken in due form, and all the forms of law gone through with as if it had indeed been a court of justice. The seaman treated the affair lightly, laughed and joked with the farmers, and the crowd began to disperse, when a burst of musical laughter, bitter mocking in its tones, was heard in the apartment. It came from no one there. All stood aghast. Many a stout-hearted countryman who would have faced a cannon without shrinking, trembled and turned pale. The women shrieked; the nobleman started up.

'Let no one quit the apartment,' said he. 'Search the walls--there must be some secret panel there.' It was done, but not a trace, not a knob was visible; all sounded hard and solid.

'You have a shipmate with you, my lord,' said the mariner, 'whose name is not upon the ship's books. I have heard of such things at sea.'

'And what might your wisdom suppose them to be?' said the Earl, with a sneer.

'It is hard for man to tell,' said the seaman, who had not been the slightest discomposed by the voice. 'He who made the ocean and the dry land alone knows; but a conscience void of offence is the sheet anchor for man to rely upon in the voyage of life. I never knew such a thing to happen save to a wicked man.'

'Ha,' said the Earl sarcastically, 'a moralizing tar-bucket. Truly, this age is prolific in wonders. The march of intellect is abroad with a vengeance. But since these good people have been disappointed of their expected morning's amusement, perhaps you will favor them and myself with this yarn, I think they call it; and Lambert, order some ale to be served round, and let them bring a cup of brandy for our maritime friend here; he must wet his whistle, I suppose, or he will never be able to spin a yarn in true, orthodox, sailor fashion. Sit down, friend, and begin.'

'I drink when I am dry, my lord,' said the seaman, 'and I prefer standing to casting anchor here.'

'Have it your own way, then, but proceed, we are all attention.'

'I had shipped as mate on board a vessel bound from Valparaiso to Virginia, some years ago, when, getting short of provisions, we put into Lima, on the coast of Peru. Here we took on as passenger, an English gentleman in bad health, who was said to be enormously rich, but who bore a very bad character, people said he had murdered his brother's child, or had him put out of the way, to obtain his inheritance, but he was a rich man and justice was quiet. He had noble blood in his veins, and had been sent out by government as ambassador, or something of that sort. One of our crew came from his native village, and he told me these particulars.'

A singular expression came over the Earl's features for a moment, and the same low, mocking laugh was again heard, the listeners shuddered and drew closer together: the mariner proceeded.

'We had a rough passage, but when we neared Cape Horn, of all the gales that ever blew in five-and-forty years that I have been at sea, I never saw one like that. One night when the storm was at its utmost, when the lightning, blue and vivid, seemed to surround us with an atmosphere of flame, he rushed upon deck, pale and trembling, declaring he could not stay below, for there was a woman and child there, mocking him and dancing in the lightning's flash.' A groan of horror burst from the listeners. The Earl's cheek flushed for a moment, then turned pale, but he was motionless and passionless in seeming. The seaman glanced at the Earl from under his shaggy eyebrows, and proceeded.

'The sailors spoke together in angry whispers, some of them were for throwing him overboard, and I had hard work to persuade them to leave him to his Maker and his conscience; soon, however, we all heard the wailing cry of a child, then stifling sobs, sounds mingled with the storm like a woman's voice in agony of supplication, bitter, mocking laughter. I could restrain the men no longer, "we will free our craft from this Jonah," said they, "the storm is sent for him." But the vengeance of the Almighty was swifter than theirs, he had climbed the rigging--the stoutest seaman that ever handled rope could not have passed the futtoch shrouds in such a storm, yet he reached the top-mast cross-trees, clinging to the top-gallant mast he stood, and in the lightning we had seen his face, ghastly with terror. There was a vivid flash--it seemed to wrap the mast in one blue sheet of flame, while all around was dark, we saw it then, a female with a child in her arms, floating, as it seemed, upon the wind, now drifting towards him, now whirled upon the blast to a distance. A tremendous sea struck us upon the beam at this moment, and every mast went by the board. The gale abated soon, and we got jury-masts up, and put back to Lima, but of all that ship's crew, no man was hurt by the storm or the spirit, save he whose deeds had been evil;--and that is why, my lord, I say I fear not these sounds, for a good conscience is the best sheet-anchor.'

'A truly edifying tale,' said the Earl sneering, 'you must be Chaplain to the fleet, doubtless. The bad boy got whipped and the good boys went scot free, just as it should be. And now, good folks, you have had your amusement, and had best seek your homes, and Old Boreas here may go to his ship or the Devil. I care not.' With this parting benediction the Earl quitted the apartment, and the crowd soon dispersed. The agent remained, and a few of the tenantry who had business with him. The mariner with a grave, quiet look, remained seated on one of the benches. There was a slight bustle at the door, as of repelling some intruder, who, however, succeeded in gaining an entrance, and a man whose garments bespoke extreme poverty, entered and approached the man of business.

Mr. Lambert lifted up his head and looked coldly at him. 'What is it you want now?' he asked.

'If you please--' began the man.

'Oh! It's all of no use, unless you have brought the money. My Lord can't wait any longer, and I have a warrant out now.'

'But I have the money,' said the man, and he laid five one pound notes on the table.

'This is not sufficient,' said Lambert, 'the costs of the summons, warrant of distress, etc., amount to £14 more.'

'My God!' said he, 'what am I to do?'

'I can take this on account, and stop further proceedings, if you can procure security to pay the remainder within a month.'

'I cannot. Great God! have you no mercy? I have not tasted food these three days, and I am weak with fever. I cannot work yet; wait till I am better.'

This man's attenuated form, his bony hands and cadaverous cheeks--eyes staring with hunger, told a tale too common, alas, of fearful suffering; but no marble was colder than the agent.

'I am not your physician, Mr. Johnson, and therefore cannot say any thing about your fitness for work. One thing I have to say, that is, you cannot sit rent free in my lord's cottage; the money must be paid or out you pack. I have an attachment on your tools, so you cannot remove them. You have had the usual legal notice, and my offer just now was liberal--very liberal.'

'And my children--'

'There are institutions provided by the laws, Mr. Johnson, for the reception of paupers. But we are wasting time. Do you accept my proposition or not?'

'I cannot do it; give me time.'

'Too much has been already wasted. Take back your money. You doubtless can obtain more in the same manner you did this. It looks very suspicious, I must say.'

'And this is called a Christian land!' said the poor fellow, holding his wasted hands up to heaven. 'O God, that these things should be! The earth is covered with food for sustaining life, and hundreds, aye, thousands, like myself, are perishing at home. Oh, where is Christian charity?'

'Charity begins at home,' said the seaman, 'and seldom casts anchor in any other port. If you'll take my advice, you will stow your cargo and make sail, and hark ye--' He whispered a word in the man's ear; the other clasped his hands together, and with a tear in his eye, left the apartment.

'Woe! woe! doomed!' cried the mysterious voice.

Lambert shook like a leaf--the seaman seemed to enjoy his terror.

'How much does Mr. Johnson owe?' said he,

'£5 rent, and £14 costs and taxes.'

'Write a receipt.'

The mariner paid the sum, and asked how he came so low.

'The usual story, captain.'

'Williams is my name.'

'The usual story, Captain Williams--sick wife, large family, broke a leg, wife died, behind-hand in his rent, steady man, but not punctual in paying his bills.'

'Why how the thunder could he? Couldn't his lordship wait till the poor fellow was a little recovered?'

'Business, captain, must be conducted in a business-like manner.'

'You thought otherwise once.'

'When was that, pray?'

'When the father of that man, whom your relentless cruelty pursues with such vindictive malice, took you, a friendless boy, fed and clothed you, educated you along with his own son--the very man whose misery you insult--when his father saved _you_ from the "charitable institution" you would send his children to, and finally paid the fee for articling you to the attorney at Canterbury, where you learned your present devotion to business.'

The agent stared in speechless astonishment--the low musical laugh again rang through the room.

'Listen!' said the mariner. 'The creatures of the air, the beings of another world denounce you; the victims of your lust for gold, though buried fathoms deep in the grave, still find a voice to chill the marrow in your bones: the dead shall rise from their graves and confront you--the hidden perfidy of years shall be disclosed, base tool of a baser master--all your machinations against the wronged and the humble shall fail, and recoil upon yourselves. Repent ere it will be too late; you will never more be warned by me.'

So saying, the stout seaman left the astonished agent and wended his way towards the cottage of the poor man Johnson, whither we shall precede him. It is needless to remind the reader that the way was perfectly familiar to him.

Dark are the shadows that cross the poor man's path, and few and far between are the glimpses of hope that come to lighten them. The Eternal in his wisdom has ordained that such should be--but Oh! woe! woe! ten thousand times ten thousand woes, does he deserve who oppresses where he should relieve, who becomes the destroyer where he should have been the comforter; and yet there exist ten thousand such who thrive and roll in luxury, while human hearts are bursting in their agony.