Part 21

"Who have we got here? I ought to know the cut of that younker's jib. Ay, I'm blowed if it isn't the same that was cruising about the other day after a drowning shipmate. One of the right sort that. Just put my mark upon him--give him a touch of the tar-brush, and let him go."

Almost untouched, Richard was allowed to escape forward, where he immediately equipped himself with a wet "swab," and prepared to follow the example of those around him.

"Edward Cummin! Bring Edward Cummin!"

And Cummin made his appearance, escorted as Goldie had been, with a face almost as white as the handkerchief that blinded his eyes, and shivering with anticipation. The attendant Tritons seated him on the edge of the jolly-boat at the gangway; and the barber, turning to Neptune, and holding up his three razors, said--

"Please your honour, which?"

"Let us hear first what he has to say for himself," said Neptune.

"Where do ye come from?"

"From Scot----oo! oo!" said the poor fellow, as the barber thrust a well-filled tar-brush into his mouth.

"How long is it since you left it?"

But Cummin had gained experience; he set his teeth, pressed his lips together, and sat, a ludicrous picture of fear, mixed with desperate resolution.

"A close Scot, I see," said Neptune; "give him some soap to soften his _fizz_, and teach him to open his mouth. Shave him clean."

The barber lathered his victim's cheeks with tar, which he _dabbed_ on without much regard for his feelings; while the Tritons, with their hands in his hair, _tugged_ his head about in the proper direction. The operation was performed with the "favourite's" razor, which left the furrows of its _fine_ edge upon his cheeks. The doctor was standing by with his vial of tar-water, and his box of indescribable pills, ready to take advantage of every involuntary gasp of the poor patient. At last, after daubing his hair with rancid grease, "to make it grow," the bandage was suddenly taken from his eyes, and he was thrown backward into the boat, and left floundering among the tarry water, till some charitable hand dragged him out. Half-drowned and half-blinded, Cummin staggered forwards, blessing his stars that his torments were over; but, alas! he soon found that he had escaped from the fangs of the torturing few, only to encounter the tender mercies of the vindictive many. Groans and hisses from all quarters gave token of the dislike in which he was held--bucketfuls of water were dashed in his face, and a rope drawn suddenly right across, tripped up his feet, and he floundered on the deck at the mercy of his tormentors, who, whenever he attempted to rise, dashed torrents of water upon him, and half-buried him in wet "swabs." Mad with rage and mortification, wearied and exhausted, Cummin at last reached the forecastle, where he sat down for awhile, to recover breath and strength.

"Come, Cummin, man," shouted Goldie to him--"come and join the sport."

There was something in Goldie's joyous and laughing tone which jarred upon Cummin's excited feelings--it seemed to him like an insult, that his companion should be so merry and happy, while he was sitting, like an evil spirit, scowling on the scene of mirth before him. He made no reply to Goldie, but muttered to himself--"Laugh on, my young cock of the walk; you shall pay dearly for your fun." From that day, Cummin became an altered man in manner; he no longer attempted to conceal his dislike to Goldie, but on all occasions did his utmost to thwart and annoy him. He used to pace up and down the deck, in gloomy silence, while the rest of the crew were sleeping around him; and dark and deadly were the thoughts that crowded through his brain. He felt that he was disliked and avoided by all his companions, and, attributing their estrangement to the arts and influence of Goldie, over and over again did he vow bitter revenge against him. But how was his revenge to be gratified? There was the rub. He was too much of a coward to attack him openly, and feared to attempt any secret mischief, as he knew that he would be immediately suspected as the author of it; for his hatred to Goldie had, by this time, been remarked throughout the ship, where, it was equally obvious, Goldie had no other enemy. But, while he is meditating mischief, we must go on with our story.

When the Briton arrived in Madras Roads, several vessels were lying at anchor there; and one of them, a small merchantman, had her foretopsail loose, and "blue-peter" flying. This was the Columbine, a Liverpool ship, which was expected to sail that night about twelve o'clock. As Cummin stood on the forecastle in the evening, after the hammocks were piped down, looking gloomily at that vessel, his countenance suddenly brightened up. He rubbed his hands together, and laughed aloud; then checking himself, and looking cautiously round, to see whether any one was near him, he dived below. At midnight, the Columbine "got under way," and stood to sea.

Next morning, while washing decks, the officer of the deck called out, "Midshipman! I don't see Cummin; send him up."

"Cummin!--Richard Cummin!" was echoed round the decks; but no Richard Cummin appeared.

The hands were called out to muster; Cummin did not answer to his name. Strict search was made for him, but he was nowhere to be found. The first and most natural conclusion was, that he had deserted to the Columbine; but it was too late now to ascertain. But that belief was a good deal shaken, when one of the men, who happened to have been awake at eleven o'clock the night before, said that he had heard a loud splash in the water, and ran immediately to the "port" to look out; but all was silent again; and, if it was, as he now supposed, Cummin, he must have gone down immediately. He did not give the alarm at the time, for he was half-asleep when he heard the noise, and thought he must have been mistaken. While the man was giving this evidence on the quarterdeck, up came Goldie with a piece of paper, which he had found on the pillow of his hammock, on which were scrawled the following words:--"Richie, I must put an end to this life of misery and mortification; when I am gone, perhaps you will think more kindly of me. I was wicked enough to talk of revenge. I leave my chest and all my traps to you. Be kind to my poor mother, for the sake of your unhappy shipmate." It was now evident to all that the poor fellow, whose dejection and reserve had been long noticed, had committed suicide; and, much as he was disliked, his disappearance cast a gloom over the ship's company for some days. Goldie grieved sincerely for him, now that he was gone--all his violence, all his tempers were forgotten, and Richard only thought of him as the friend of his boyhood, and the companion of his early days; and he was much affected by the kindly feeling manifested in his note.

We must now transport ourselves, for awhile, on board the Columbine, and follow Edward Cummin and his fortunes. On the night of the Briton's arrival in Madras Roads, Cummin, who was a capital swimmer, dropped unperceived under the bows of the Columbine, about an hour before she got "under way," and climbed into the "head" by a rope that was hanging overboard. He passed the look-out on the forecastle; but the man, being half-asleep, took him for one of the ship's company. He then _dived_ down the main-hatchway, and concealed himself in the "heart" of one of the cable-tiers, where he remained undiscovered during the day. Next night, when all was quiet, he stole up on the gundeck, and was in the act of helping himself out of one of the bread-bags there, when a man of the mess, who happened to be awake, seized him as a thief, and dragged him on the upper deck.

"Bring a light, quartermaster," said the mate; "let us see who this skulking thief is. Holloa!" continued he, starting back, with surprise, "who the deuce have we got here? Where did you spring from?"

"I came up from the cable-tier to get something to eat, sir; I was very hungry."

"Out of the cable-tier! But how did you get _into_ the cable-tier?"

"I swam----"

"Swam into the cable-tier! You must be a clever fellow. Come, none of your tricks upon travellers--tell the truth at once."

"I was going to tell you when you stopped me, sir. I am a 'Briton.'"

"Well, what has that to do with it?"

"Why, sir, I was tired of being one."

"Tired of being a Briton, and swam into the cable-tier! What do you mean?"

"Why, sir, that I was one of the crew of the Briton, the Indiaman that lay next you in the roads, and I cut and run from her, and got on board of you, just before you got under way."

"Here's a pretty business! But we must make the best of a bad bargain. I suppose you're one of the company's _hard ones_."

The Columbine was short-handed, having lost several men at Madras, and the captain, though he blustered a little when he first heard the story, was in his heart pleased to have got such an unexpected addition to his crew; and, after a short time, Cummin, behaving satisfactorily, was rated able seaman on the ship's books. On the Columbine's arrival at Liverpool, Cummin immediately set off homewards, and made his appearance at Kelton again, about eight months after he had left it, much to the surprise of his parents. He told a long and affecting story of his sufferings on board the Briton, and of the illness and death of poor Goldie, who had fallen a victim at sea, he said, to cholera. After the death of his friend, driven to desperation by the ill-usage he was exposed to, he determined to run from his ship on the first opportunity, and had accordingly deserted, as before stated. He spoke, on all occasions, in the warmest terms of Goldie's great kindness to him, and expressed the utmost regret at his loss. The sad news was a death-blow to the poor old Goldies, who never recovered from the effects of it, and who, broken-hearted and repining, fell easy victims, a few weeks afterwards, to an epidemic then raging. Ellen Grey mourned deeply and sincerely for Richard Goldie; she had always liked him as an agreeable companion, and respected him as an amiable and steady character; and though, at first, she had given the preference to the plausible Cummin, yet, before they parted, Richie's good qualities had so much gained upon her better sense, that she had begun to experience that kind of partiality towards him which might in time have ripened into a warmer feeling. With the quick eye of jealous rivalry, Cummin had noticed this change in her feelings, almost before she was conscious of it herself. He had never really loved her; his object in appearing to do so had been to annoy Goldie; but the wound thus given to his vanity had rankled in his heart, to the exclusion of every other feeling but that of a wish to punish her for her defection.

He now renewed his intimacy with old Grey, and was doubly assiduous in his attentions towards him. He had become, apparently, quite an altered character--that is, he had become a more finished hypocrite; he had learned to calm his temper and to smooth his brow; and appeared, on all occasions, so steady and industrious, that the old man began to feel the kindest regard towards him, and pointed him out to his daughter's attention as a pattern for the young men around, and one who would make a steady and respectable husband. There was at first, however, a changeableness in his manner towards Ellen that puzzled and surprised her. At times, he was almost servilely obsequious in his attentions towards her; at others, when he thought himself unobserved, she was startled by the malevolent expression of his countenance, and by the derisive smile that played round his lips, as he gazed upon her. Cummin noticed the unfavourable impression he was making, and became more guarded in his behaviour; he redoubled his attentions, and never allowed a shade of unpleasant feeling to be visible on his brow. His perseverance had the desired effect of reviving her old partiality, and in an evil hour she consented to become his wife. The morning after their wedding, he had disappeared, and had never since been heard of. A deserted bride, she was left in all the misery of uncertainty respecting his fate or his intentions, and in utter ignorance to what cause she could impute the cool contempt with which it appeared he had treated her from the moment of their union.

But we must return to our friend Richard Goldie. Nothing particular occurred during the remainder of the voyage of the Briton, until their arrival in China, where, in consequence of a dispute with the authorities, the ships were detained for several months, and a year elapsed before they returned to England. As soon as he had received his pay, Richard set off for Liverpool, from whence he proceeded by steam to Annan. When his foot was fairly planted on the soil of Dumfries-shire, and his face was turned homewards, Richard could not restrain the exuberance of his spirits. He laughed, he sang, he ran, he waved his hat, and was guilty of all those extravagances which could only be excused in a young sailor just let loose; and which, had they been witnessed by others of a cooler temperament, would have been looked upon as the freaks of a madman. Then he began to think of Kelton, of his parents, and of bonny Ellen Grey; and with thoughts of her came a sad recollection of poor Cummin, and a kind of flattering notion that the latter had had good cause for his jealousy on the night of their quarrel, when Ellen, every feature of whose face and every note of whose voice were vividly present to his memory, smiled so sweetly upon him, and bid him take care of himself "for a' our sakes."

It was late in the evening when he approached Kelton, on his way homewards; and he resolved to give the Greys a call as he went past. At length he saw the well-known cottage, and a flush came over his brow when he recognised Ellen sitting at the door. He hastened forward to greet her; but, instead of the friendly reception he had anticipated, he was surprised and mortified to see her start up with a faint scream, and avert her eyes, with looks of horror and alarm.

"Ellen!" exclaimed he--"hae ye forgotten me? What gars ye turn awa yer head, as though ye'd seen a bogle? Am I sae changed, that ye dinna ken yer auld freend, Richie Goldie?" And he advanced to take her hand. The girl started from his touch, with a cold shudder, and muttered--

"Is it no gane yet?"

"What is't ye're speakin o', Ellen? There's nought here but yersel and me? Can ye no speak to me? It sets ye ill to turn the cauld shouther to an auld freend."

The girl now looked at him for a moment fearfully over her shoulder, and exclaimed, with a start of joy--

"Oh! I believe it's himsel!"

"Why, wha else did ye tak me for, Ellen?"

"For yer wraith, Richie; they tell't me ye were dead."

"And wha tell't ye sic a lee?"

"He tell't me sae himsel."

"And wha was he?"

"Ned Cummin: he said he saw ye dee."

"Ned Cummin! Why the lassie's head's in a creel. Ned drowned himsel, puir chiel! in Madras Roads; and mony a sair thocht has it gien me that we war unfreends when we parted."

"Weel, Richie, a' I ken is, that it's Gude's truth that Ned Cummin tell't me ye were dead--and I believed him." And the tears gushed from her eyes as she said so. "But come ben the hoose, and see my faither."

Old Grey was at first as much alarmed as his daughter at the apparition, as he thought it, of Richard Goldie; for they both were infected with the superstition of the country, and firmly believed in the doctrine of wraiths, bogles, and other supernatural appearances.

"And, noo," said the old man, "that we ken that ye're yersel, and no yer wraith, sit doun and tell us a' that's happened ye sin ye gaed awa."

"I hae nae time 'enow," said Richard; "I maun awa hame; for I haena seen my ain folk yet--mair's the shame; but I'll come back the morn's morn, and gie ye my cracks."

"But Richie, my man, hae ye no heard--d'ye no ken?" said the old man, hesitatingly.

"What's happened?" cried Goldie, alarmed. "Are they no a' weel at hame?"

"They heard ye were dead, Richie: and ye ken, they aye said that ye war the life o' their hearts--they were never like the same folk again; the grass o' Caerlav'rock kirkyard is green abune their heads."

Goldie was staggered by this unexpected and distressing intelligence; he had loved his parents with the fondest affection, and the hope of cheering and supporting them in their declining years had been the mainspring of his activity and industry. He covered his face with his hands, and remained for some moments silent; and at last, with a sudden outburst of grief, exclaimed--

"Gane! baith gane! and I am left alane without a leevin freend, or a roof to shelter me!"

"Yese no want either, Richie, as lang's I'm to the fore. Come, bide whar ye are; ye'll aye be welcome for the sake o' langsyne. I hae aften wished, and I ance thocht, that oor Ellen and you micht come thegither; but it wasna to be."

"And what for can it no be?" said Richie, forgetting his recent loss for the moment, and looking at Ellen. But she burst into tears, and left the room.

Goldie, surprised at her emotion, asked the reason of it; and the old man, in explanation, told him the story we have already related, and expressed his surprise at Cummin's conduct, and his wonder as to what could be his motive for such deception.

"What for did he tell us ye were dead, Richie?"

"I see it a' noo," said Richard: "when I struck him to the ground, he swore he would hae revenge--and sair revenge has he taen. My puir faither and mither! What had they dune?" And the poor fellow hung down his head, and sobbed aloud.

"But what could hae garred him leave our Ellen?"

"Oh, he kent that I liked Ellen, and jaloused that she thocht mair o' me than o' himsel; and he just married her to spite me, and to be revenged upon her for slighting him at first. But there's a time for a' things; if I get a grip on him, he's repent it."

It was long before Goldie was able to bear up against the disappointment of all his fondest hopes; and when the first violence of his grief was past, the springiness and buoyancy of his disposition seemed to have left him entirely. He became grave and thoughtful, a smile was scarcely ever seen to brighten his countenance, and he went about his usual occupations with a sort of dogged indifference, as if it mattered not to him how they were performed, and as if they were to him a mere mechanical and tiresome duty. Yet he loved Ellen Grey as fondly as ever; but she was now, though deserted, the wife of another, and he assumed a coldness of manner, to conceal the warm feelings which still reigned but too powerfully in his breast. He was _reserved_, because he felt a kind of painful pleasure in brooding in silence over his sorrows. In thinking of his poor parents, and of Ellen Grey, who might have been his wife but for another, he would mutter threats of retaliation upon the cold-blooded villain who had caused him so much misery. He would fain have left a place which, much as he loved it, only kept awake so many painful recollections, had he not been withheld from doing so by a strong feeling of gratitude to old Grey, who was now unable to work for his own subsistence, and depended almost entirely upon him for his daily support. Ellen herself, who was much liked in the neighbourhood, and whose story had excited much interest among the neighbouring gentry, obtained a good deal of employment as a dressmaker, which enabled her not only to assist in the support of her father, but likewise to procure many luxuries for him which he otherwise could not have obtained. At length, after lingering for some months in a state of gradual decay, the old man died, and Goldie, after having seen Ellen comfortably settled in a neighbouring family, took an affectionate farewell of her, and went to Liverpool in search of employment. No accounts had been heard of Cummin, although nearly two years had elapsed since his disappearance; and Goldie, who could not forget his love for Ellen Grey, was kept in a state of most unpleasant uncertainty.

Richard had been for a short time in Liverpool, and was walking one day on the Clarence Dock, as some carts were being unloaded. The horse in one of them took fright at some passing object, and dashed off at full speed. A sailor, who was standing on the dock, ran forward and attempted to stop it; but was instantly knocked down with great violence, and the wheel of the cart passed over his head. Richard, who was close to the spot, hastened to his assistance; and was horrified at the sight that met his eyes. The poor fellow was senseless; his arm appeared to be broken, and his face, dreadfully disfigured, was covered with gore and dust. Richard raised his head on a log of wood lying near, loosened his collar, and, a crowd instantly collecting, requested some of them to run for the nearest doctor. He then, with the assistance of some of the bystanders, conveyed the poor sufferer into one of the houses near, where he lay for some time panting and groaning; but apparently quite insensible.

After they had all gone, the wounded man turned to Richard, and, looking in his face, gave a heavy sigh.

"Are ye in much pain?" said Goldie.

"Pain of mind more than pain of body, Richard Goldie," replied the man, in feeble and imperfect accents. "Do you not know me?"

"Mercifu powers!" exclaimed Richie; "sure it canna be Ned Cummin?"

"It _is_ Edward Cummin, Richie, your false friend, your once bitter enemy, that lies bruised, and crushed, and broken-spirited before you. Can you forgive me?--can you forgive a dying and a penitent man?"

"Ned Cummin," said Richard, "ye hae dune me grievous wrang; but I forgie ye wi' a' my heart."

"Thanks, dear Richie!--this is more than I deserved. Now I shall die happy."

"Speak nae mair, Ned; ye heard what the doctor said."

"But I _must_ speak, Richie, while time is mine. Oh, that a few years were allowed me, to prove my repentance sincere! But I feel that is not to be. Death is before me, Richie, and I see things in a very different light now. You were always better than me; you were frank, and open, and confiding; I was a proud, revengeful hypocrite, and I hated you because I always _felt_ myself to be one when you were near me. When you struck me to the earth, the feeling of revenge was aroused within me; but it was long before I could contrive how to gratify it. At last I thought of Ellen Grey; I knew you loved her, and I fancied she had deserted me for you; I determined to be revenged upon you both. I wooed and won, and then deserted her. But the terrors of an accusing conscience went with me, and I had resolved to return homewards, when the accident occurred. Richard, I am dying! Cruel and revengeful as I have been, can you still forgive me?"

"I do, I do, from my heart," sobbed Richard.

"Bless you for saying so! Now leave me to my own thoughts, that I may make my peace with Heaven."

Next morning Edward Cummin was no more. Goldie was with him in his last moments, and was gratified by the conviction that he departed in a happy frame of mind. After having attended the remains to their last home, he gave up his intention of going abroad, and turned his steps homeward. Having arrived, he sought Ellen, and communicated to her the sad news. His love for her was as strong as ever; and all obstacles to their union having been removed, they were soon afterwards wedded--a union very different from the former marriage into which Ellen had been betrayed.

THE DREAM.