Newton Forster Part 2

Edward Forster the youngest, whom we have already introduced to the reader, showed strong nautical propensities; he swam nut-sh.e.l.ls in a puddle, and sent pieces of lath with paper sails floating down the brook which gurgled by the parsonage. This was circ.u.mstantial evidence: he was convicted, and ordered off to sea, to return a Nelson. For his conduct during the time he served her, Edward Forster certainly deserved well of his country, and had he been enabled to continue in his profession, would in all probability have risen by his merit to its highest grades; but having served his time as midshipman, he received a desperate wound in "cutting out," and shortly after obtained his promotion to the rank of lieutenant for his gallant conduct. His wound was of that severe description that he was obliged to quit the service, and, for a time, retire upon his half pay. For many years, he looked forward to the period when he could resume his career:--but in vain; the wound broke out again and again; fresh splinters of the bone continually worked out, and he was doomed to constant disappointment. At last it healed; but years of suffering had quenched the ardour of youth, and when he did apply for employment, his services had been forgotten. He received a cool negative, almost consonant to his wishes: and returned, without feeling mortified, to the cottage we have described, where he lived a secluded yet not an unhappy life. His wants were few, and his half pay more than adequate to supply them. A happy contemplative indolence, arising from a well cultivated mind, feeding rather upon its previous acquirements, than adding to its store--an equanimity of disposition, and a habit of rigid self-command--were the characteristics of Edward Forster; whom I shall now awaken, that we may proceed with our narrative.

"Well, I do declare, Mr Forster, you have had a famous nap," cried Mrs Beazeley, in a tone of voice so loud as to put an immediate end to his slumber, as she entered his room with some hot water to a.s.sist him in that masculine operation, the diurnal painful return of which has been considered to be more than tantamount in suffering to the occasional 'pleasing punishment which women bear,' Although this cannot be proved until ladies are endowed with beards, (which Heaven forfend!) or some modern Tiresias shall appear to decide the point, the a.s.sertion appears to be borne out, if we reason by a.n.a.logy from human life; where we find that it is not the heavy blow of sudden misfortune tripping the ladder of our ambition and laying us prostrate, which const.i.tutes life's intermittent "fitful fever;" but the thousand petty vexations of hourly occurrence.--We return to Mrs Beazeley, who continued--"Why, it's nine o'clock, Mr Forster, and a nice fresh morning it is too, after last night's tempest. And pray what did you hear and see, sir?" continued the old woman, opening the shutters, and admitting a blaze of sunshine, as if determined that at all events he should now both _hear_ and _see_.

"I'll tell you all, Mrs Beazeley, when I am dressed. Let me have my breakfast as soon as you can, for I must be off again to the cove. I did not intend to have slept so late."

"Why, what's in the wind now, Mr Forster?" said the old lady, borrowing one of his nautical phrases.

"If you wish to know, Mrs Beazeley, the sooner you allow me to get out of bed, the sooner I shall be able to give you the information you require."

"But what made you stay out so late, Mr Forster?" continued the housekeeper, who seemed determined, if possible, to have a little information _en attendant_, to stay her appet.i.te until her curiosity could obtain a more substantial repast.

"I am sorry to say, there was a vessel wrecked."

"O dear! O dear! Any lives lost?"

"All, I am afraid, except one, and even that is doubtful."

"O Lord! O Lord! Do, pray, Mr Forster, tell me all about it."

"As soon as I am dressed, Mrs Beazeley," replied Mr Forster, making a movement indicative that he was about to "_turn out," whether or no_, and which occasioned Mrs Beazeley to make a hasty retreat.

In a few minutes Forster made his appearance in the parlour, where he found both the kettle and the housekeeper boiling with impatience. He commenced eating and narrating until the respective appet.i.tes of Mrs Beazeley and himself were equally appeased, and then set off for the abode of Robertson, to ascertain the fate of the infant.

How different was the scene from that of the night before! The sea was still in commotion, and as the bright sun shone upon its agitated surface, gilding the summits of the waves, although there was majesty and beauty in the appearance, there was nought to excite terror. The atmosphere, purified by the warfare of the elements, was fresh and bracing. The short verdure which covered the promontory and hills adjacent, was of a more brilliant green, and seemed as if to bask in the sun after the cleansing it had received from the heavy rain; while the sheep (for the coast was one extended sheep-walk) studded the sides of the hills, their white fleeces in strong, yet beautiful contrast, with the deep verdure of nature. The smooth water of the cove, in opposition to the vexed billows of the unsheltered ocean; the murmuring of the light waves, running in long and gently curved lines to their repose upon the yellow sand; their surface occasionally rippled by the eddying breeze as it swept along; his own little skiff safe at her moorings, undulating with the swell; the sea-gulls, who but a few hours ago were screaming with dismay as they buffeted against the fury of the gale, now skimming on the waves, or balanced on the wing near to their inaccessible retreats; the carolling of the smaller birds on every side of him, produced a lightness of heart and quickened pulse, to which Edward Forster had latterly been a stranger.

He soon arrived at the cottage, where the sound of his footsteps brought out the fisherman and his wife, the latter bearing in her arms the little object of his solicitude.

"See, Mr Forster," said Jane, holding out the infant, "it's quite well and hearty, and does nothing but smile. What a lovely babe it is!"

Forster looked at the child, who smiled, as if in grat.i.tude; but his attention was called away by the Newfoundland dog, who fawned upon him, and after having received his caresses, squatted down upon the sand, which he beat with his tail as he looked wistfully in Forster's face.

Forster took the child from the arms of its new mother. "Thou hast had a narrow escape, poor thing," said he, and his countenance a.s.sumed a melancholy cast as the idea floated in his mind. "Who knows how many more perils may await thee? Who can say whether thou art to be restored to the arms of thy relatives, or be left an orphan to a sailor's care?

Whether it had not been better that the waves should have swallowed thee in thy purity, than thou shouldest be exposed to a heartless world of sorrow and of crime? But He who willed thee to be saved knows best for us who are in darkness;" and Forster kissed its brow, and returned it to the arms of Jane.

Having made a few arrangements with Robertson and his wife, in whose care he resolved at present to leave the child, Forster bent his steps towards the promontory, that he might ascertain if any part of the vessel remained. Stretching over the summit of the cliff, he perceived that several of the lower futtocks and timbers still hung together, and showed themselves above water. Anxious to obtain some clue to her ident.i.ty, he prepared to descend by a winding and hazardous path which he had before surmounted. In a quarter of an hour he had gained a position close to the wreck; but, with the exception of the shattered remnant which was firmly wedged between the rocks, there was nothing to be seen; not a fragment of her masts and spars, or sails, not a relic of what was once life remained. The tide, which ran furiously round the promontory, had swept them all away, or the _undertow_ of the deep water had buried every detached particle, to be delivered up again, "far, far at sea." All that Forster could ascertain was, that the vessel was foreign built, and of large tonnage; but who were its unfortunate tenants, or what the cargo, of which she had been despoiled by the devouring waves, was not even to be surmised. The linen on the child was marked J de F; and this was the only clue which remained for its ident.i.ty. For more than an hour did Forster remain fixed as a statue upon the rock, where he had taken his station with arms folded, while he contemplated the hoa.r.s.e waves, dashing against the bends, or dividing as they poured themselves between the timbers of the vessel, and he sunk into deep and melancholy thought.

And where is the object exciting more serious reflection than a _Wreck_?

The pride and ingenuity of man humbled and overcome; the elements of the Lord occupying the fabric which had set them at defiance; tossing, tumbling, and dancing, as if in mockery at their success! The structure, but a few hours past, as perfect as human intellect could devise, towering with its proud canva.s.s over s.p.a.ce, and bearing man to greet his fellow-man, over the _surface of death_!--dashing the billow from her stem, as if in scorn, while she pursued her trackless way-- bearing tidings of peace and security, of war and devastation--tidings of joy or grief, affecting whole kingdoms and empires, as if they were but individuals!

Now, the waters delight in their revenge, and sparkle with joy, as the sun shines upon their victory. That keel, which, with the sharpness of a scythe, has so often mowed its course through the reluctant wave, is now buried;--buried deep in the sand, which the angry surge acc.u.mulates each minute, as if determined that it never will be subject to its weight again.

How many seasons had rolled away, how many millions had returned to the dust from which they sprung, before the kernels had swelled into the forest giants levelled for that structure;--what labour had been undergone to complete the task;--how many of the existent race found employment and subsistence as they slowly raised that monument of human skill;--how often had the weary miner laid aside his tool to wipe his sweating brow, before the metals required for the completion had been brought from darkness;--what thousands had been employed before it was prepared and ready for its destined use! Yon copper bolt, twisted with a force not human, and raised above the waters, as if in evidence of their dreadful power, may contain a history in itself.

How many of her own structure must have been employed, bringing from the north, the south, the east, and the west: her masts, her spars, her "_hempen tackle_," and her canva.s.s wings; her equipment in all its variety; her stores for the support of life; her magazines of _quiescent death_. And they who so fearlessly trod her decks, conscious of their own powers, and confident in their own skill; they who expanded her thousands of yards of canva.s.s to the pursuing breeze, or reduced them, like magic, at the approaching storm--where are they now? How many sighs have been lavished at their absence! how many hearths would have been gladdened by their return! Where are the hopes, the fears, the ambition, and the pride; the courage and the enterprise; the love and the yearnings after their kin; the speculations of the present, and the calculations of the future, which occupied their minds, or were cherished in their bosoms? All--all _wrecked_!

Days, weeks, and months rolled away; yet every step that could be taken to find out the name of the vessel proved unavailing. Although the conjectures of Forster, that she was one of the many foreign West Indiamen which had met with a similar fate during that tempestuous winter, was probably correct; still no clue could be gathered by which the parentage of the little girl could be ascertained, The linen was indeed marked with initials; but this circ.u.mstance offered but a faint prospect of discovery. Either her relations, convinced of her loss made no inquiries, or the name of the vessel in which she had been a pa.s.senger was not known to them. The child had been weaned, and removed to the cottage, where it occupied much of the attention of the old housekeeper and Forster, who, despairing of its ever being reclaimed, determined to bring it up as his own.

Mrs Beazeley, the housekeeper, was a good-tempered woman, long pa.s.sed the grand climacteric, and strongly attached to Forster, with whom she had resided many years. But, like all women, whether married or single, who have the responsibility of a household, she would have her own way; and scolded her master with as little ceremony as if she had been united to him by matrimonial bonds.

To this Forster quietly submitted: he had lived long enough to be aware that people are not the happiest who are not under control, and was philosopher sufficient to submit to the penal code of matrimony without tasting its enjoyments, The arrival of the infant made him more than ever feel as if he were a married man; for he had all the delights of the nursery in addition to his previous discipline. But, although bound by no ties, he found himself happier. He soon played with the infant, and submitted to his housekeeper with all the docility of a well-trained married man.

The Newfoundland dog, who, although (like some of his betters) he did not change his name _for_ a fortune, did, in all probability, change it _with_ his fortune, soon answered to the deserved epithet of Faithful, and slept at the foot of the crib of his little mistress, who also was to be rechristened. "She is a treasure, which has been thrown up by the ocean," said Forster, kissing the lovely infant. "Let her name be _Amber_."

But we must leave her to bud forth in her innocence and her purity, while we direct the attention of the reader to other scenes, which are contemporary with those we have described.

VOLUME ONE, CHAPTER FOUR.

A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And while 'tis so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it.

SHAKESPEARE.

A man may purchase an estate, a tenement, or a horse because they have pleased his fancy, and eventually find out that he has not exactly suited himself; and it sometimes will occur that a man is placed in a similar situation relative to his choice of a wife: a more serious evil; as, although the prime cost may be nothing, there is no chance of getting rid of this latter speculation by re-vending, as you may the former. Now it happened that Nicholas Forster, of whom we have already made slight mention, although he considered at the time of his marriage that the person he had selected would _exactly suit his focus_, did eventually discover that he was more short-sighted in his choice than an optician ought to have been.

Whatever may have been the personal charms of Mrs Nicholas Forster at the time of their union, she had, at the period of our narrative, but few to boast of, being a thin, sharp-nosed, ferret-eyed, little woman, teeming with suspicion, jealousy, and bad humours of every description: her whole employment (we may say, her whole delight) was in finding fault: her shrill voice was to be heard from the other side of the street from morning until night. The one servant which their finances enabled them with difficulty to retain, and whom they engaged as the maid of all work (and certainly she was not permitted by Mrs Forster to be idle in her multifarious duty), seldom remained above her _month_; and nothing but the prospect of immediate starvation could induce any one to offer herself in that capacity.

Mr Nicholas Forster, fortunately for his own happiness, was of that peculiar temperament, that nothing could completely rouse his anger; he was _absent_ to an excess; and if any language or behaviour on the part of his wife induced his choler to rise, other ideas would efface the cause from his memory; and this hydra of the human bosom, missing the object of its intended attack, again laid down to rest.

The violence and vituperation of his spouse were, therefore, lost upon Nicholas Forster; and the impossibility of disturbing the equanimity of his temper increased the irritability of her own. Still Mr Nicholas Forster, when he did reflect upon the subject, which was but during momentary fits of recollection, could not help acknowledging that he should be much more quiet and happy when it pleased Heaven to summon Mrs Forster to a better world: and this idea ultimately took possession of his imagination. Her constant turbulence interfered so much with the prosecution of his plans, that, finding it impossible to carry them into execution, every thing that he considered of moment was mentally put off until _Mrs Forster was dead_!

"Well, Mr Forster, how long is the dinner to wait before you think proper to come? Every thing will be cold as usual."--(n.b., the dinner consisted of the remains of a cold shoulder of mutton.)--"Or do you mean to have any dinner at all? Betty, clear away the table; I have my work to do, and won't wait any longer."

"I'm coming, my dear, I'm coming; only this balance spring is a job that I cannot well leave," replied Nicholas, continuing his vocation in the shop, with a magnifying gla.s.s attached to his eye.

"Coming! yes, and Christmas is coming Mr Forster.--Well, the dinner's going, I can tell you."

Nicholas, who did not want appet.i.te, and who was conscious that if the mutton returned to the cupboard there would be some difficulty made in reproducing it, laid down the watch and came into the back parlour.

"Well, my dear, here I am; sorry to have kept you waiting so long, but business must be attended to.--Dear me, why the mutton is really quite cold," continued Nicholas, thrusting a large piece into his mouth, quite forgetting that he had already dined twice off the identical joint.

"That's a fine watch of Mr Tobin's; but I think that my improvement upon the duplex when I have finished it--"

"When you have finished it, indeed!" retorted the lady; "why, when did you ever finish any thing, Mr Forster! Finish indeed!"

"Well, my dear," replied the husband, with an absent air--"I do mean to finish it, when--_you are dead_!"

"When I am dead!" screamed the lady, in a rage--"when I am dead!"

continued she, placing her arms akimbo, as she started from the chair:--"I can tell you, Mr Forster, that I'll live long enough to plague you, it's not the first time that you've said so; but depend upon it, I'll dance upon your grave yet, Mr Forster."

"I did not exactly mean to say that; not exactly that, my dear," replied Nicholas, confused. "The fact is that I was not exactly aware of what I was saying--I had not precisely the--"

"Precisely the fiddle-stick, Mr Forster! you did mean it, and you do mean it, and this is all the return that I am to expect for my kindness and anxiety for your welfare--slaving and toiling all day as I do; but you're incorrigible, Mr Forster: look at you, helping, yourself out of your snuff-box instead of the salt-cellar. What man in his senses would eat a cold shoulder of mutton with tobacco?"

"Dear me, so I have," replied Forster, removing the snuff taken from the box, which, as usual, lay open before him, not into the box again, but into the salt-cellar.

"And who's to eat that salt now, you nasty beast?"

"I am not a beast, Mrs Forster," replied the husband, whose choler was roused; "I made a mistake; I do perceive--now I recollect it, did you send Betty with the 'day and night gla.s.s' to Captain Simkins?"