A Love Story
owl--for who would dwell in abodes so marked for destruction? Stray
there! think of the gentle contadina diffusing happiness around her!
_then_ think of her as she supports the youth she loves--as she clasps
his faint form--and drinks in a poisonous contagion from his pallid lip.
Think of her as the disease seizes on its new victim--still
attempting to prop up his head--to reach the cup, that may relieve
his maddening thirst,--until, giddy and overpowered, she sinks at
last; but--beside him!
Think of their dying together! _that_ at least is a solace.
Do not the scene and the thought draw a tear?
If your eye be dry, come--come away--_your_ step should not sound there!
The wind continued fair during the whole of the first day. Every trace
of Valletta was soon lost; and the good barque Boston swept by the rocky
coast of the island, where few human habitations meet the eye, swiftly
and cheerily. The sea birds sported round the tall masts--the canvas
bulged out bravely--the Captain forgot his shore griefs, and commenced a
colloquy with Sir Henry. The sailors sung in chorus; whilst poor
Acmé,--we grieve to confess the fact, for never was a Mediterranean sea
looked down on by brighter sun, or more cloudless sky,--retired to her
cabin, supported by George, a prey to that unsentimental malady, sea
sickness. The following day, the wind shifted some points; and the
Captain judged it most prudent to forego his original intention of
steering direct for Palermo; but to take advantage of the breeze, and
adopt the passage through the Faro of Messina.
Delmé felt glad of this change; for Scylla and Charybdis to an
Englishman, are as familiar as Whittington and his cat. For the first
two days Acmé continued unwell; and George, who already appeared
improved by the sea air, never left her side.
Delmé had therefore a dull time of it; which he strove to enliven by
conversing, one after the other, with the Captain and his two mates.
From all of them, he learnt something; but from all he turned away, as
they commenced discussing the comparative merits of the United States,
and the old country; a subject he had neither the wish to enter on, nor
fortitude to prosecute. Not daunted, he attacked mate the third; and was
led to infer better things, as the young gentleman commenced expatiating
on the "purple sky," and "dark blue sea." This hope did not last long;
for this lover of nature turned round to Sir Henry, and asked him in a
nasal twang, if he preferred Cooper's or Mr. Scott's novels? Delmè was
not naturally a rude man, but as he turned away, he hummed something
very like Yankee-doodle.
And then the moon got up; and Sir Henry felt lonely and sentimental. He
leant over the vessel's side, and watched it pictured on the ocean, and
quivering as the transient billow swept onwards. And he thought of home,
and Emily. He thought of his brother, his heir,--if he died, the only
male to inherit the ancient honours of his house,--married to a
stranger, and--but Acmé was too sweet a being, not to have already
enlisted all his sympathies with her. And as if all these thoughts, like
rays converged in a burning glass, did but tend to one object, the image
of Julia Vernon suddenly rose before him.
He saw her beautiful as ever--gentleness in her eye--fascination in
her smile!
And the air got cold--and he went to bed.
Chapter XIX.
A Dream and a Ghost Story.
"Touching this eye-creation;
What is it to surprise us? Here we are
Engendered out of nothing cognisable--
If this were not a wonder, nothing is;
If this be wonderful, then all is so.
Man's grosser attributes can generate
What _is_ not, and has never been at all;
What should forbid his fancy to restore
A being pass'd away? The wonder lies
In the mind merely of the wondering man."
It was the fourth evening of the voyage. Hardly a breath fanned the
sails, as the vessel slowly glided between the Calabrian and Sicilian
coasts, approaching quite close to the former.
The party, seated on chairs placed on the deck, gazed in a spirit of
placid enjoyment on one of those scenes, which the enthusiastic
traveller often recals, as in his native clime, he pines for foreign
lands, and for novel impressions. The sun was setting over the purple
peaks of the Calabrian mountains, smiling in sunny gladness on deep
ravines, whose echoes few human feet now woke, save those of simple
peasant, or lawless bandit. Where the orb of day held its declining
course, the sky wore a hue of burnished gold; its rich tint alone
varied, by one fleecy violet cloud, whose outline of rounded beauty, was
marked by a clear cincture of white,
On their right, beneath the mountain, lay the little village of Capo del
Marte, a perfect specimen of Italian scenery.
Its sandy beach, against which the tide beat in dalliance--the chafed
spray catching and reflecting the glories of the setting sun--ran
smoothly up a slope of some thirty yards; beyond which, the orange
trees, in their greenest foliage, chequered with their shade the white
cottages scattered above them.
The busy hum of the fishermen on the coast--the splash of the casting
net--and the drip of the oar--were appropriate accompaniments to the
simple scene.
On the Sicilian side, a different view wooed attention. There, old Etna
upreared his encumbered head, around which the smoke clung in dense
majesty; and--not contemptible rivals of the declining deity--the moon's
silvery crescent, and the evening star's quiet splendour, were bedecking
the cloudless blue of the firmament.
Acmé gazed enraptured on the scene--her long tresses hanging back on the
chair, across which one hand was languidly thrown.
"Giorgio," said she, "do you see this beautiful bird close to the
ship--swimming so steadily--its snowy plumage apparently unwet from its
contact with the wave? To what can you compare it?"
"That bright-eyed gull, love!" replied he, "riding on the water as if
all regardless that he is on the wide--wide sea--whose billows may so
soon be lashed up to madness;--where may I find a resemblance more
close, than my Acmé's simplicity, which guides her through a troubled
world, unknowing its treacheries, and happily ignorant of its dangers
and its woes?"
"Ah!" said the blushing girl, "how poetical you are this evening; will
you tell us a story, Giorgio?"
"_I_ will tell you one," said Delmé, interrupting her. "Do you recollect
old Featherstone, who had been in the civil service in India, and who
lived so near Delmé Park, George?"
"Perfectly," said his brother, "I remember I used to think him mad,
because he always looked so melancholy, and used to send us word in the
morning when he contemplated a visit; in order that all cats might be
kept out of his way."
"The very man! I am glad you know so much about him, for it is on this
subject I was going to speak. I cannot tell you where he picked up the
idea originally--but I believe in a dream--that a cat would occasion
his death.
"Well! he was at Ascot one year, when a gipsy woman came up to him on
the course--told him his fortune--and, to his utter astonishment, warned
him to beware of the wild cat.
"From that moment, I understand his habits changed. From being a
tolerably cheerful companion, he became a wretched hypochondriac; all
his energies being directed to the avoiding a contact with any of the
feline race.
"Featherstone, two or three years ago, embarked in one of the mining
speculations--lost great part of his fortune--and found it necessary to
try and retrieve his affairs, by a second voyage to India.
"I heard nothing more of him, till just before leaving England, when
my old school-fellow, Lockhart, who went as a cadet to the East,
called on me--reminded me of our old whimsical friend--and related
his tragic death.
"Lockhart says that one day he and some mutual friends, persuaded
Featherstone to accompany them into the interior of the country, to
enjoy the diversion of a boar hunt.
"They had had good sport, and were returning homewards, when they
suddenly came on a party of natives, headed by the Rajah.
"They were mounted on elephants, and surrounding a jungle, in which, as
some sepoys had reported, lay a tiger.
"You know Lockhart's manner--animated and enthusiastic--making one see
the scene he is describing.
"I will try and clothe the rest of the story in his own words, although I
can hardly hope it will make the same impression on you, that its
recital did on me.
"'Well, Sir! we all said we would see the sport--all but
Featherstone--who said something about coming on.
"'We were engaged to dine with Sir John M----, who was in that part of
the world, on some six-and-eightpenny mission about indigo.
"'The beaters went in, firing and shouting--intending to make him break
towards the hunting party.
"'We all drew up on one side, to be in view, but out of the way;
Featherstone was next me. He suddenly grasped my arm, and pointed to the
jungle, his teeth chattering--his face ashy pale. I turned and saw the
tiger!--a splendid beast--certainly!
"'He seemed not to notice us, and stalked on with an innocent yep! yep!
like a sick hound's, more than anything else.
"'Suddenly his eye caught us, and flashed fire. At the first view, he
crouched to the earth, then came on us, bounding like a tost foot-ball.
More magnificent leaps I never beheld! We were struck dumb--but
fired--and turned our horses' heads!--all but Featherstone.
"'I shall remember the tones of his voice to my dying hour.
"'"The cat! Lockhart! the cat!"
"'I don't know whether his horse refused the spur--or whether the rider's
nerve was gone: but neither appeared to make an effort, till the animal
was close on them.
"'The horse gave one plunge--and had hardly recovered his feet, when down
went horse and rider.
"'Featherstone gave a piercing scream! Some of the sepoys were by this
time up--and fired.
"'The tiger trailed off--the blood spouting down his striped side.
"'We came up--it was all over!
"'The first stroke of that terrific paw had laid the unfortunate man's
scull bare. On his shoulder, were the marks of the animal's teeth.
"'The horse was still writhing in agony. One of my pistols relieved him.
"'We bore Featherstone to the nearest cantonment, and buried him there.'"
"How terrible!" said Acmé, as she gave a slight shudder. "Englishmen are
generally more sceptical on these points than we are; and disbelieve
supernatural appearances, which we are accustomed to think are not
unfrequent. I could tell you many stories, which, in my native island,
were believed by our enemies the Turks, as well as by ourselves: but if
you would like it, I will tell you a circumstance that occurred to
myself, the reality of which I dare not doubt.
"You have often, Giorgio! heard me revert with pain, to the horrible
scene which took place, on the recapture of our little isle by the
infidel Turks; when my family were massacred, and only poor Acmé left to
tell their tale."
Here the young bride put her handkerchief to her face, and wept
bitterly. George put his arm round her and soothed her. She continued
her narrative.
"You know my escape, and how I was sent to a kinsman, who had promised
to have me sent to my kind friends in Malta. He was a Corfuote, and it
was in Corfu I remained for a long--a very long time--and there first
met my dear friend, Zöe Scalvo-Forressi. I was then very young. We lived
in the Campagna--about four miles from each other.
"We had both our Greek ponies, and used often to pass the evenings
together; and at length knew our road so well, that often it was night
before we parted.
"One night, we had been singing together at her house, and it was later
than usual when I cantered home.