“Again I call upon you by the sacred name of mother — for such you were — and no other will my heart ever acknowledge. I adjure you to hear me swear that I will have all the justice done to your memory that man can do! and may we never meet in those realms where only the injured find redress, if I fail to scatter this sacred earth in token of dishonour upon the head of him who has dishonoured you — were he even my own father! It is an oath. May it be recorded, should that record be used as my sentence of death!”

  Having made this harsh and impious vow, the effect of over-excitement, I tore a considerable portion of the earth from the grave, and, folding it in my handkerchief I knotted it securely, and placed it round my heart next to my skin, like those belts that are worn by Roman Catholics as instruments of penance.

  With a wish for something very like the shedding of blood in my heart, and with a fervent prayer in my imagination and on my lips, I left Mrs Cherfeuil’s humble grave, and joined my companion.

  In one little half-hour, I found my belt of vengeance so cold and so inconvenient, that I heartily wished I was well rid of it: it is a miserable confession, a sad falling off in my heroics; but the oath that I had voluntarily and so solemnly taken prevented me from ridding myself of the disgusting incumbrance.

  According to the account of my companion, all was smiles, and happiness, and sunshine, around Mrs Cherfeuil; when a person made his appearance, by the description of whom I at once recognised that fiend, Daunton. Domestic happiness then ceased for the poor lady; rumours of the worst nature got abroad; her little French husband, instead of being as for twelve years before he had been, her shadow, her slave, and her admirer, became outrageous and cruel, and after the horrid word bigamy had been launched against her, she never after held up her head.

  She sickened and died. Nor did Daunton succeed in his plans of extorting money — but his scheme was infinitely more deep and more hellish. He had, but not till after her death, declared himself to be her son. This, instead of having any effect upon the outraged widower, only made him more eager to drive the impostor from his presence; and, the opportunity offering itself to leave the spot now so hateful to him, and the country that had sheltered him and in which he had grown so rich, he availed himself of it eagerly. This account did not aggravate my implacable feelings against this Daunton, for my hate was beyond the capability of increase.

  After hearing all that the little wench had to discover, and rewarding her, I proceeded alone to wander over the spots that were once so dear to me. In this melancholy occupation, when the cold mists of the early evening fell, I continued heaping regret upon regret, until a more miserable being, short of being impelled to suicide, could not have trod the earth. About five, it began to grow dark; and, weary both in mind and body, I commenced climbing the long hill that was the boundary of the common, on my return to London.

  On the Surrey side of the hill, for its apex separated it from another county, the descent was more precipitous — so much so, that it is now wholly disused as a road for carriages; and not only was it precipitous, but excessively contorted, the bends sometimes running at right angles with each other. High banks, clothed with impervious hedges, and shadowed by tall trees, made the road both dank and dark; and, at the time that I was passing, or, rather, turning round one of the elbows of this descent, a sturdy fellow, with a heavy cudgel, followed at some distance by a much smaller man, accosted me in a rude tone of voice, by bawling out:

  “I say, you sir, what’s o’clock?”

  “Go about your business, and let me pass.”

  “Take that for your civility!” and, with a severe blow with his stick, he laid me prostrate. I was not stunned, but I felt very sick, and altogether incapable of rising. In this state I determined to feign stupefaction, so I nearly closed my eyes, and lay perfectly still. The huge vagabond then placed his knee upon my chest, and called out to his companion:

  “I say, Mister, come and see if this here chap’s the right un.”

  The person called to, came up; and, immediately after, through my eyelashes, I beheld the diabolical white face of Daunton. It was so dark, that, to recognise me, he was obliged to place his countenance so close to mine that his hot breath burned against my cheek. He was in a passion of terror, and trembled as if in an access of ague.

  “It is,” said he, whilst his teeth chattered. “Is he stunned?”

  “Mister, now I take that as an insult. D’ye think that John Gowles need strike such a strip of a thing as that ere twice?”

  “Hush! — How very, very cold it is! Where is your knife? Will you do it?”

  “Most sartainly not. There — he’s at your mercy — I never committed murder yet — no, no, must think of my precious soul. A bargain’s a bargain — my part on’t is done.”

  “Gowles, don’t talk so loud. I can’t bear the sight of blood — and, oh God! — of this blood — it would spurt upon my hand. Strike him again over the head — he breathes heavily — strike him!”

  “No,” said the confederate, sullenly. “Tell ye — u’ll have neither ‘art nor part in this ‘ere murder.”

  During this very interesting conference, I was rallying all my energies for one desperate effort, intending, however, to wait for the uplifted knife, to grasp it, in order that I might turn the weapon against the breast of one assassin, and then use it as a defence against the other.

  “Would to God,” said the villain, adding blasphemy to concerted murder— “would to God that my hand was spared this task! Give me the knife now. Where shall I strike him? — I have no strength to drive it into him far.”

  “Tell ye, Mister, u’ll have nought to do with the murder — but u’d advise thee to bare his neck, and thrust in the point just under his right ear.”

  “Hush! Will it bleed much?”

  “Damnably!”

  “Horrible! — horrible! Do you think the story about Cain and Abel is true?”

  “As God is in heaven!”

  “Can’t it be done without blood?”

  “I’ll have nothing to do with the murder. But, Mister, if so be as you are so craven-hearted, take your small popper, and send a ball right into his heart. It is a gentleman’s death, and will make the prettiest small hole imaginable, and bleed none to signify. But, mind ye, this ‘ere murder’s all your own.”

  At this critical moment, as I was inhaling a strong breath, in order to invigorate my frame for instant exertion, I heard two or three voices in the distance carolling out, in a sort of disjointed chorus —

  “Many droll sights I’ve seen,

  But I wish the wars were over.”

  “Now or never,” said Joshua, producing and cocking his pistol. I leaped upon my legs in an instant, and, seizing the weapon, which was a small tool, manufactured for a gentleman’s pocket, by the barrel with my left hand, and this amiable specimen of fraternity by the right, the struggle of an instant ensued. The muzzle of the pistol was close upon my breast when my adversary discharged it. I felt the sharp, hard knock of the ball upon my chest, and the percussion for the moment took away my breath, but my hold upon the villain’s throat was unrelaxed. The gurgling of suffocation became audible to his brutal companion.

  “Ods sneckens!” said the brute, “but this ‘ere murdered man is throttling my Mister in his death-throe.”

  Down at once came his tremendous cudgel upon my arm. I released my grip, and again fell to the earth.

  “He’s a dead man,” said Gowles; “run for your life! Mind, Mister, I had neither ‘art nor part in this ‘ere—”

  And they were almost immediately out of sight and out of hearing.

  At the report of the pistol, the jolly choristers struck up prestissimo with their feet. They were standing round me just as the retreating feet of my assassins had ceased to resound in the stillness of the darkness.

  A voice, which I immediately knew to be that of my old adversary, the master’s mate, Pigtop, accosted me.

  “Holloa, shipmate! — fallen foul of a pirate, mayhap — haven’t slipped your wind, ha’ ye, messmate?”

  “No; but I believe my arm’s broken, and I have a pistol ball between my ribs.”

  “Which way did the lubbers sheer off? Shall we clap on sail, and give chase?”

  “It is of no use. I know one of them well. They shall not escape me.”

  “Why, I know that voice. Yes — no — damn me — it must be Ralph Rattlin — it bean’t, sure — and here on his beam ends, a shot in his hull, and one of his spars shattered. I’d sooner have had my grog watered all my life than this should have fallen out.”

  “You have not had your grog watered this evening, Pigtop,” said I, rising, assisted by himself and his comrades. “I don’t feel much hurt, after all.”

  “True, true, shipmate. But we must clap a stopper over all. Small-shot in the chest are bad messmates. We must make a tourniquet of my skysail here.”

  So, without heeding my cries of pain, he passed his handkerchief round my breast; and by the means of twisting his walking-stick in the knot, he hove it so tight, that he not only stopped all effusion of blood, but almost all my efforts at breathing. My left hand still held the discharged pistol, which I gave into the custody of Pigtop. Upon further examination, I found that there was no fracture of the bone of my arm; and that, all things considered, I could walk tolerably well. However, I still felt a violent pain in my chest, attended with difficulty of breathing, at the least accelerated pace.

  Chapter Sixty Four.

  Ralph appears before a magistrate, and proves to be more frightened than hurt, though frightened as little as a veritable hero should be — A great deal of fuss about a little dust, not kicked up, but finally laid down.

  We got on, nevertheless, Pigtop shaking his head very dolefully, whenever I paused to recover breath.

  We entered the first house that we came to; that of an agricultural labourer. We told our adventure, and the good man immediately proceeded to acquaint the patrol and the constable. I was anxious to examine the nature of my wound, to which my old messmate would not listen for a moment. He was particularly sorry that he saw no blood, from which symptom he argued the worst-looking upon me as a dead man, being certain that I was bleeding inwardly.

  I decided for a post-chaise, that I might hasten to town and make my depositions; for I was determined to let loose the hounds of the law after my dastardly enemies, without the loss of a moment. The chaise was soon procured; and, much to the satisfaction of Pigtop, we drove directly to Bow Street — the good fellow having a firm persuasion that the moment his make-shift tourniquet was withdrawn, I should breathe my last. I had no such direful apprehensions.

  When we arrived at the office, the worthy magistrate was on the point of retiring. The clatter of the chaise driving rapidly up to the door, and the exaggerated report of the post-boy, heralded us in with some éclat. The magistrate, when he had heard it was a case of murder, very well disguised his regret at the postponement of his dinner.

  Mr Pigtop insisted upon supporting me, although I could walk very well — quite as well as himself, considering his potations: and insisted also upon speaking. He was one of the old school of seamen, and could not speak out of his profession. Accordingly he was first sworn. We will give the commencement of his deposition verbatim, as he is one of a class that is fast disappearing from the face of the waters.

  “If you please, your worship, I and my two concerts that are lying-to in my wake, after having taken in our wood and water at Woolwich, we braced up sharp, bound for London.”

  “What do you mean by your wood and water?” said the magistrate.

  “Our bub and grub — Here’s a magistrate for you! (aside to me) — your worship, down to our bearings. So, as Bill here said, as how we were working Tom Cox’s traverse — your worship knows what that means, well enough.”

  “Indeed, sir, I don’t.”

  “It’s the course the lawyers will take when they make sail for heaven. I can see, in the twinkling of a purser’s dip, that your worship is no lawyer.”

  “This, sir, is the first time anyone has had the impertinence to tell me so.”

  “Well, well, no offence, I hope, your worship? — there is no accounting for taste, as the monkey said when he saw the cat pitch into the tar barrel;” and then the worthy witness embarked into a very irrelevant digression about land-sharks. The magistrate, however, was patient and sensible, and at length overcame the great difficulty arising from his never having been to sea, and Pigtop never having been to law.

  His deposition having been translated into the vulgar tongue, out of nautical mysticisms, was duly sworn to; yet not without an interruption when the magistrate heard that it was supposed that I had the pistol-ball still somewhere in my body — he wishing me to be examined by a surgeon immediately. Mr Pigtop was opposed to this, lest I should die upon the spot; but I gave the magistrate more satisfaction by telling him I had good reason to suppose that the ball had not penetrated deeply.

  I was the last examined; and I almost electrified Pigtop when I deposed that I knew well the person of my murderous assaulter, and that it was Joshua Daunton.

  At this announcement, my quondam messmate slapped his hand upon his knee with a violence that echoed through the court, grinned, then looked profoundly serious; but made me very thankful by holding his peace, and shaking his head most awfully. When I proceeded to give a very accurate description of this wretch’s person, looks of understanding passed between three or four of the principal runners, who were attentively listening to the proceedings. When this business was concluded, the magistrate said to me, “The young man who has committed this outrage upon your person, we have strong reason to believe, is amenable to the laws for other crimes. He has eluded our most active officers; and it was supposed that he had left the kingdom. It appears now that he has returned. You have had a most providential escape. The pistol will give us a good clue. There is no doubt but that shortly we shall be able to give a good account of him. Let me now advise you, Mr Rattlin, to have your hurt examined. Come into my private room; a surgeon will be here in an instant.”

  Pigtop and I were then ushered into a room on one side of the office. I looked extremely foolish — almost, in fact, as confused as if I had been charged with an offence. The surgeon soon made his appearance; but, in the short interval, the magistrate had begun to thrust home with his questions as to who I was, what were my intentions, and the probable motives of Daunton’s attempt on my life. All these I parried as well as I could, without letting him know anything of the supposed consanguinity between myself and the culprit: his motive I accounted for as revenge for some real or imaginary insult inflicted by me when we were on board the Eos.

  Upon my persisting to refuse, for some time, to strip, that the wound might be examined, the magistrate began to look grave, and the surgeon hinted that it was, perhaps, as well not to seek for what was not to be found. The dread of being looked upon as an impostor overcame my shame at the exposé of my romantic weakness. Poor Pigtop had alarms upon totally other grounds. He watched with painful anxiety the unwinding of his tourniquet, ready to receive me dying into his arms. His surprise was greater, I fear me, than his joy, when he discovered no signs of bleeding when his handkerchief was removed.

  “What, in the name of pharmacy, is this?” said the surgeon, detaching my belt of earth; “but here is the ball, however, — it has more than broken the skin; and there has been a good deal of blood extravasated, but it has been absorbed by the mould in this handkerchief. By whatever means this singular bandage was placed where I found it, you may depend upon it, young gentleman, that it has saved your life.”

  “I presume, Mr Rattlin, that you are a Catholic?” said the magistrate, “and that you have been a very naughty boy: if so, the penance that your confessor has enjoined you has been miraculously providential, and I shall think better of penances for the rest of my life.”

  The lie so temptingly offered for my adoption, I was about to make use of. But when I reflected from whence I had collected that sacred earth, I dared not profane it by falsehood. So, with a faltering voice, and my eyes filling with tears, I told the magistrate the truth.

  “My young friend,” said he, “these superstitious fancies and acts are best omitted. I am sure that you do not need this earth to remember your mother. Besides, it must be prejudicial to your health to carry it about your person, to say nothing of the singularity of the deed. Take my advice, and convey it carefully to the nearest consecrated ground, and there reverently deposit it. We will preserve this ball, with the pistol; and now let Mr Ankins dress your slight wound. We must see you well through this affair, and the Admiralty must prolong your leave of absence, if it be necessary. I should wish to know more of you as a private individual — there is my card. You are a very good lad for honouring your mother. Fare ye well.”

  With many compliments from the surgeon also, and a roller or two of cotton round my chest, we mutually took leave of each other; the gentleman very considerately refusing the guinea that I tendered him.

  Having discharged the post-chaise, Mr Pigtop, his two companions, and myself, left the office, — I bearing in my hand the handkerchief nearly filled with mould. What did I do with it — saturated as it was with my blood, and owing as I did my life to it? Perhaps, sweet and gentle lady, you think that I preserved it in a costly vase, over which I might weep, or had it made up by some fair hands systematically into a silken belt, and still wore it next my heart, or, at least, that I placed it in a china flower-vase, and planted a rose-tree therein, which I watered daily by my tears. Alas! for the lovers of the romantic, I did none of these. I told you before all my incidents turn out to be mere matter-of-fact affairs. Like a good boy, I did as the magistrate bade me. As I passed by Saint Paul’s, Covent Garden, I turned into the churchyard; and with a silent prayer for the departed, and asking pardon of God for the profanation of which I had been guilty, I poured out the whole of the dust, with reverence, on a secluded spot, and then returned and joined my companions.