CHAPTER XV.
The night was just falling, about three hours after the death ofInez, as the bark “Eliza” entered the Thames. Master Halyard,who commanded the watch, was about to go in quest of Hildebrand,in order to inform him of the ship’s position, when Hildebrandappeared on the deck.
Halyard fairly started as he glanced in his face. Its complexionwas quite ghastly, and, though not inanimate, the expression thatit wore, like that which the cunning sculptor gives to marble,was still and fixed, and wanted the spirit of motion. Moreover,his eyes, which were naturally light and penetrating, were heavyand swollen, and red with weeping.
“We must come to anchor at Leigh, Master Halyard!” he said. “DonRafaele is dead.”
“Dead, Sir?” echoed Halyard.
Hildebrand’s eyes filled with tears.
“By my life, I could have better spared an older friend!” saidHalyard, blowing his nose with great violence. “Dead!”--He wassilent a moment, when he added, in a loud voice--“Ho, there! aft!hang the flag half-mast high!”
“We shall be at Leigh in an hour, Master Halyard,” resumedHildebrand. “I will then go ashore, and settle concerning ourfriend’s funeral. That done, I must take to horse, and proceed,with what haste I can, to my Lord Admiral. Thou must tarry atLeigh till further orders.”
“Ay, ay, Sir!” said Halyard.
Hildebrand turned away, and, with a quick step, again descendedto the cabin. Halyard, who was himself deeply affected at hisfriend’s demise, looked after him for a moment, with an eyebrimming with tears; and then proceeded to pace the deck.
“Dead!” he muttered. “Well, life is but short; let us live wellon the road, says the gentle Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.”
Meantime, the ship, favoured by a fresh breeze, progressedtowards the haven in which she was to anchor. This was but afew miles from the river’s mouth, where a narrow islet, calledCanvey Island, forms a breakwater to what, at high tide, may becalled a small bay. A line of hills, or cliffs, covered withverdure, run round one side of the mainland; and, at the bottomof the bay, open on a vast extent of marsh, reaching almost toTilbury. Just before the marsh presents itself, a little village,embracing some hundred houses, rises from the edge of the water,and slopes upward on the rearward heights; and, crowning oneof these heights, beyond the verge of the village, a fine oldchurch attracts the eye, and forms a conspicuous landmark at somedistance.
The night had quite set in by the time that the cruizer reachedthe haven. On passing a little way inward, the water becamevery shallow, and Master Halyard began to doubt, for a briefspace, whether she would be able to proceed. But a group offishing-boats, some little distance in his advance, pointed out aroute by which he could approach the shore safely, and, pursuingtheir track, he shortly effected that object.
It was right in front of the village, about a quarter of a milefrom the shore, that he determined to come to an anchor. While hewas superintending the unshipment of the anchor, he was joined byHildebrand, dressed for a visit to the shore.
“Halyard,” said Hildebrand, “an’ I can find a funeral-man here,I shall send him aboard, and I have charged the pantler, whowill wait upon him, how he is to be attended. Let me have a boatstraightway.”
Accordingly, a boat, with two men at the oars, was quicklylowered, and skulled round to the ship’s side. Thereupon,Hildebrand took a brief leave of Halyard, and, without furtherado, descended to the boat, and set out for the shore.
The boat landed on a patch of gravel, stretching out into thewater, and falling back, in a long and gradual rise, on a row ofcottages, opening into the village. As he stepped to the shore,Hildebrand ordered the boatmen, who were the same two that hadaccompanied him on a former occasion, to wait his return, andthen set forward for the cottages. On approaching these, he wasnot sorry to observe, by the help of the moonlight, that longfishing-nets were hanging up on their exteriors, as that factinformed him that they were inhabited by a class of people whowere associated with his profession, and with whom, consequently,he could converse freely. His expectations were so far realized,that he soon met with a fisherman, among the inmates of thenearest cottage, who engaged to bring him an undertaker--whathe most needed; and immediately set off in quest of one. Theundertaker quickly made his appearance; and Hildebrand, takinghim aside, informed him what he required him for, and at onceengaged him to perform it.
“The person deceased,” he concluded, “is a woman; but only mypantler, whom I have charged to attend thee, is advised hereof.Thou wilt be secret?”
“As death!” answered the man of funerals.
“Here is gold for thee,” returned Hildebrand, thrusting a pieceof gold in his hand. “Get some dressers, and go aboard out ofhand.”
The fisherman’s wife, at the instance of the undertaker, agreedto attend in the capacity specified, and, all being thus settled,Hildebrand induced both her and the undertaker to accompany himstraight to the boat, and enter on their melancholy duties atonce. Having seen them bestowed in the boat, and the boat pushedoff for the ship, he turned away, and repaired to the villageagain.
Through the medium of the friendly fisherman, he soon procureda couple of horses (which were his next want), and a guide, toconvey him to London. These acquired, he made no further delay,but set out for the metropolis on the instant.
Bitter and excruciating were the reflections that pressed uponhim during his journey. The death of Inez, though it had nottaken him by surprise, seemed both to have deprived his body ofits vigour, and his spirit of its powers of endurance. The poetsays,--
“High minds, of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse!”--
but, after a time, it was not only the upbraidings of an accusingconscience, but the bitter reflection that he had utterly ruinedhis fortunes, that he had to contend with. When the shockarising from the death of Inez had somewhat subsided, he couldsee in his connexion with that lady, on mature consideration,many particulars calculated to soothe him, and to assuage thatremorse which he had sustained originally. But as this feelingbecame less acute, the tender passion he entertained for Evaline,and which it had for a time overwhelmed, gradually revived, andtormented him with a flood of other reproaches. It never onceoccurred to him that he should conceal his connexion with Inezfrom Evaline. On the contrary, he felt a sort of melancholypleasure, if the term may be used, in resolving to disclose it toher. But that it would utterly ruin his reputation with Evaline,and be fatal to their attachment, he felt assured. Life appearedlike a dream to him as he thought so. His peace was gone; all hisprospects of happiness were blasted; and, in his course onward,he would move through the world, and its busy and ever varyingaccidents, like a mere machine--without choice, enjoyment, oranimation.
It was morning before he arrived in the metropolis. He stayedat the inn at which he first arrived, in Aldgate, merely totake some slight refreshment, and recruit his toilet; and thenrepaired to the office of the Lord Admiral. That personage, towhom he readily acquired access, received him cordially, andheard his report of his recent expedition with the greatestsatisfaction. After complimenting him on his gallantry, hedirected him to remain in London, at the lodging he had engaged,for a few days more, when he would send him orders for furtherservice. Hildebrand briefly assented, and then, with many thanksfor his favourable opinion, took leave of the Admiral, andreturned to his inn.
Reflecting how he should proceed, he determined to communicatewith Evaline, in reference to his acquaintance with Inez, throughthe medium of Bernard Gray. He accordingly wrote to the latter,informing him, at large, and without concealing one particular,of the adventure which had first connected him with the ill-fatedDonna, and how she had become associated with him subsequently.But while he took the whole blame of her imprudence on himself,he failed not to set forth, fully and distinctly, that he was notaware that she followed him in disguise, and that it was only inher dying hour that he discovered she was not the person he hadrepresented her to be. He desired Bernard personally to exp
lainthese particulars to Evaline, and, at the same time, to releaseher, in his name, from the engagement she had contracted withhim, and urge her to seek one more deserving of her inestimableworth.
His depression was no way alleviated when the important letterwas written and despatched. Having himself conveyed it to thepostmaster, he proceeded in quest of Sir Walter Raleigh; buthe found that that personage, as was recorded in a precedingchapter, had left home, and gone to join the fleet. He had,therefore, no means of dissipating his depression, but in lookingforward to a time of action, and he waited his orders for servicewith the utmost impatience.
Three days elapsed before the orders of the Admiral were conveyedto him. They simply directed him, on their receipt, to sailimmediately for Portsmouth, and there muster his ship with thefleet. Having read them over, he made no stay in London, butforthwith proceeded to carry them into force.
It was evening when he arrived at Leigh, but it had scarcelyopened, and, therefore (for the season was summer), it wasquite light. He found that, during his absence, everything hadbeen arranged for the funeral of Inez, and he determined tohave it performed without delay. His influence as captain of aman-of-war, and the fact that he was to sail that night, at theturn of the tide, to join the royal fleet, easily secured him theservices of the parochial authorities; and in less than two hoursafter his arrival at Leigh, all things were prepared, both aboardand ashore, for the accomplishment of his wishes.
It was yet quite light, when, responding to the boatswain’swhistle, the topmen of the “Eliza,” attired in their whitefrocks, mounted the rigging, and, preparatory to the appearanceof the corpse, proceeded to man the ship’s yards. Two boats layalongside, manned with picked crews; and the deck-men, alsoclad in their white frocks, were drawn up on the deck, fromthe after-hatch to the gangway. Just as these arrangementswere effected, the coffin, supported by four petty-officers,and covered with a black pall, was brought on the deck, andcarried past the deck-men, to the gangway. Hildebrand andHalyard, muffled in long cloaks, and having their hats bound withmourning-bands, followed mournfully in its wake.
A salute of minute-guns was opened on the lower-deck as thecoffin was lowered into the first boat. This announced itsdeparture to the shore-people, and the solemn bell of the church,riding, like the spirit of Melancholy, on the evening breeze, washeard to invite its approach.
A large concourse had gathered on the shore, on the patch ofgravel before noticed, to view its debarkation, and watch itsprogress to the grave. When the boats stranded, however, theyfell back; and suffered the coffin, and the mournful processionthat attended it, and which comprehended Hildebrand and the twoboats’ crews, to pass through the midst of them. Then, as bycommon consent, they formed in irregular order in its rear, andfollowed it up the hill to the churchyard.
The minister, robed in his gown and surplice, met the coffin atthe churchyard-gate, and preceded it to the grave. There, ashe read the sublime service of the church, a feeling of piousresignation came over Hildebrand, and the terrors of earthlyfrailty were lost in his loftier aspirations. He turned from thegrave, it is true, with a heavy heart, but not with despair; and,as he passed out of the churchyard, his nature assumed its wontedvigour, and he exclaimed to himself--“O! death! where is thysting? O! grave! where is thy victory?”