International Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science, Vol. 1

"Six weeks afterward, an elderly man, with a most imperious manner and a foreign accent, came down to the village and asked countless questions relative to the shipwreck. The unhappy lady, he said, was his niece; and earnest were the inquiries he made touching a large sum of money, which, to his certain knowledge, she had about her when she went on shipboard. Of this money, as a matter of course, no satisfactory tidings were forthcoming. He then became violent; called the village a nest of pirates; cursed the inhabitants without mercy; hoped that heaven's lightnings would speedily fall, and raze the hamlet to the ground; and indulged in a variety of comments, some just, some foolish, and all angry.

"But with all his anxiety about his niece, and all his burning indignation against her plunderers, he never visited the unhappy lady's grave; never directed a stone to be placed over her; never deplored her fate; never uttered a remark about her infant, save and except an avowal of his unbounded satisfaction that it had perished with the mother-his ever-recurring subject of regret was, not that he had lost his niece, but that he had lost her money!

"Oh world! how base are thy calculations, how sordid thy conclusions! The young, the fair, the helpless, the innocent may perish, it matters not. Loss of relatives, of children, of country, of character, all may be borne with complacency but—loss of money!

"Meanwhile the party who was suspected to have benefited most largely by the shipwreck, went about her daily occupations with her usual subdued and poverty-stricken air. There was nothing in Abigail Lassiter's dress or manner to indicate the slightest improvement in her worldly circumstances. She toiled as earnestly, dressed as simply, and lived as sparingly as ever. But quietly and almost imperceptibly a vast change was wrought in the aspect of her dwelling. It was carefully repaired and considerably enlarged, a small piece of pasture land was bought, and then a handsome Alderney cow made her appearance. A garden of some extent, at the rear of the cottage, was next laid out, and stocked, and last of all a commodious spring cart and clever cob were seen on the little homestead. But comfort there was none. An invisible hand fought against its inmates. Their career of success was closed. A curse and not a blessing was henceforth to track them. On a sudden the husband, Mark Lassiter, was betrayed in one of his smuggling expeditions, encountered the coast-guard where he least expected them, was fired at, captured, and died in jail of his wounds. The eldest son—'Black Ben,' the pugilist—killed his man, was accused of foul play, and compelled to fly the country. Robin, second mate of a merchant vessel then lying in Hull Docks, still remained to her, and him she hastily summoned home for counsel. Vain precaution! A final separation had already taken place between them. While wondering at his tardy movements, a brief unfeeling letter apprised her that, 'returning to his ship at midnight decidedly the worse for liquor,' Robin Lassiter had missed his footing on the narrow plank connecting the vessel with the shore, fallen into deep water, and had sunk to rise no more.

"These successive bereavements paralyzed her. For the first time the idea seems to have presented itself, that it was possible adversity might overwhelm her. She confined herself rigidly to her home; said that the moan of the sea wearied and worried her, and blocked up every window which looked upon the ocean! For hours she would sit, abstractedly, in silence. Then, wringing her hands, would wake up with a wistful cry, and repeat—'Wrong never comes right! Wrong never comes right!'

"Much as I knew she hated religion, its ministers, its sanctuary, and every object which, by possibility, could remind her that there was a coming future, I yet felt it my duty to make another and a third attempt at an interview. She received me ungraciously enough, but not insolently. Her fair, soft, feminine features betrayed evident annoyance at my visit, but still there was an absence of that air of menace and hatred which characterized her in former days.

"'You visit me?' was her inquiry; 'why?'

"'To condole with you on the ravages which death has made in your family.'

"Her reply was instant and firmly uttered.

"'Yes; two are gone. Their part is played and over. I presume they are at rest.'

"A passing remark followed, in which a hope was expressed that I should see her at church.

"'Never, until I'm brought there. I shouldn't know myself in such a place, nor would those who assemble there know me.'

"While framing my reply she continued—

"'Your visit, sir, is wholly unexpected; I have never troubled the clergy, and I hope they will not trouble me; I have my sorrows, and I keep them to myself.'

"'They will overwhelm you unless aid be granted—'

"She interrupted me.

"'I seek it not, and therefore have no right to expect it. But why should I detain you sir,' said she, rising from her seat; 'there are others who may prize your presence more than I do.'

"One of Wilson's little volumes was in my hand. I proffered it with the remark—'You will perhaps read this in my absence?'

"She declined it with a gesture of impatience.

"'No! no! I seldom read, and my hourly endeavor now is not to think!

This way lies your road, sir. Farewell.'

"A more thoroughly unsatisfactory interview it is scarcely possible to imagine.

"Two years had rolled away, when, one morning, a message reached me that 'Dame Lassiter was ill,' and wished I would 'call in the course of the day.' Within the hour came another summons: 'Dame Lassiter was much worse,' and begged to 'see me without delay.' Before midday I was at the cottage. Her sole attendant,—a bold, saucy, harsh looking girl of eighteen,—awaited me at the threshold.

"'Right glad am I you're come,' was her greeting; 'the mistress, sir, has been asking for you ever since day-break.'

"'She is worse then?'

"She lowered her voice to a whisper, and continued:—

"'She's going! She'll not hold it long. The doctors have given her up, and there's no more medicine to be gone for. This last is a sure sign.'

"'Is she sensible?'

"The girl hesitated.

"'In times she be,' was her reply, rather doubtfully given! 'in times she be; but there's something about her I don't quite fancy; the plain fact is, she's rather quair, and I shall go up to the village. You'll not mind being alone, I dare say?'

"And without waiting for a reply this careful and considerate attendant hurriedly opened the door; went out; and then locked it briskly and firmly on the outside. I was a prisoner, and my companion a dying woman! For the moment I felt startled; but a hollow moan of anguish, sadly and painfully reiterated in the chamber above, at once recalled me to my duties, and bade me seek the sufferer. In a room of fair dimensions lay, stricken and emaciated, the once active and dauntless Abigail. On entering I could with difficulty disguise my surprise at the variety of articles which it contained, and at the costliness and splendor of many of them. The curtains of the sick woman's bed were of figured silk damask; and though here and there a dark spot was visible where sea-water, or some other destructive agency, had penetrated, enough still remained to vindicate the richness of the fabric and the brilliancy of the color. The linen on the bed was of the finest texture, apparently the production of a Dutch loom, while the vessel which held her night-drink was an antique goblet, indisputably of foreign workmanship,—its materials silver and mother-of-pearl. Under the window, which commanded her flower garden, stood a small work-table of birds'-eye maple, which methought had once stood in the lady's cabin of some splendidly appointed steamer. Her wash-stand was of mahogany richly carved: on the shelf above it stood an ebony writing-desk, inlaid with silver; below was a lady's dressing case—ivory—and elaborately carved. Two cases of foreign birds of exquisite plumage completed the decoration of the apartment. It is true necessitous sailors and carousing smugglers might have contributed some of the costly articles I saw around me; but as I gazed on them the thought recurred, are not these the wages of iniquity? Have they not been rifled from the grasp of the helpless, the drowning, and the dying?

"I spoke. She was in full possession of her faculties; but manifestly near her end. I expressed my sorrow at finding her so feeble; told her that I had readily obeyed her summons; and asked her whether I should read to her.

"'Neither read to me,' was her distinct reply: 'nor pray with me; but listen to me. They tell me I have not many hours to live. If so, I have something to disclose; and some money which I should wish—I should wish'—she hesitated and became silent—'the point is, am I beyond recovery? If so I should desire that this money—'

"'Under any circumstances,' was my reply, 'confess all; restore all'

"She looked up quickly and said sharply; 'Why restore?'

"'To prove the sincerity of your regrets.'

"'Ah, well!' said she, thoughtfully, 'if I could only satisfy myself that recovery was impossible. I have much to leave behind me; and there are some circumstances—'

"She hesitated and was silent. A minute or two elapsed and I urged—

"'Be candid and be just,—make reparation while you possess the power.'

"'You advise well,' said she, faintly. 'I would fain relieve my mind. It is sorely oppressed, for with regard to my property—my—my savings—'

"As she spoke there arose, close to us, clear and painfully audible, a low, mocking laugh. It was not akin to mirth. There was no gladness in its tone. It betokened enmity, triumph, scorn. The dying woman heard it, and cowered beneath its influence. An expression of agonizing fear passed over her countenance. Some minutes elapsed before she could sufficiently command herself to speak or even listen.

"'Carry out forthwith,' said I, in a tone of resolution I could with difficulty command, 'carry out your present determination. Make restitution to the utmost of your power. Restore all; confess all.'

"'I will do so and now,' was her reply.

"Again that bitter, scornful, chilling laugh; and closer to us! To no ebullition of any earthly emotion can I compare it. It resembled none. It conveyed scorn, exultation, defiance, hatred. It seemed an uncontrollable burst of triumph over a parting and ruined soul. Again, I gazed steadfastly on the dying woman. A spasm convulsed her countenance. She pointed feebly to some unseen object—unseen at least by me—and clasped her hands with an imploring gesture. Another spasm came on-a second-a third—and all was silence. I was alone with the dead."

* * * * *

"And you are persuaded that these sounds were real and not fanciful, that imagination had nothing to do with the scene?" said the younger of the three when the aged speaker had concluded.

The reply was immediate.

"I state simply what I heard; that, and no more. No opportunity for trick existed. The cottage had one door, and but one. The dying woman and myself were the only parties within its walls. We were locked in from without: until the attendant returned and unclosed the door there was no possibility of either entering or quitting the dwelling. I was alone with the dead for upward of an hour—no enviable vigil—when it pleased her unfeeling and gossiping retainer to return and release me. Believe it, say you? I do believe it—and most firmly—as fact and not fancy."

"And what say you, Major?" pursued the questioner, turning to his military companion.

"I believe it also, and the more readily from recollecting what once occurred to myself. Soon after my awkward hit at Vittoria, where I received a bullet, which I carry about with me to this hour, I was ordered home on sick leave. Landing at Falmouth from a filthy transport, feeble, feverish, solitary and wretched, I was recognized by a former intimate, who followed me to my inn and insisted upon taking me down with him into –shire. Rest and country air, he was sure, would recruit me. In vain I explained the wretched cripple I was. In vain I submitted that the 'hospital mates,' one and all, entertained the worst opinion of my injury. He would take no denial. It was a case, he contended, not for the knife or the doctor; but for beef-steaks and Barclay's stout. And this opinion he would make good, in my instance, against the whole hospital staff at home and abroad. Too weak to contest the point, I gave in; and promised that, if living, that day week should find me at – House. The first part of my journey I made out with comparatively little suffering. The latter part, where I was obliged to have recourse to a hack chaise, neither wind nor weather tight—ill hung, and badly driven, was torture. At length, unable to endure longer agony, I got out; and bidding the postboy drive with my luggage to – House, limped along across the fields under the pilotage of an old laborer—it was a work of time—to my destination.