CHAPTER XVIII.
"The shrieks of agony and clang of arms
Re-echo to the fierce alarms."
Beattie.
The period next approached which made Douglas a father, but that event was destined to render him a widower.
Ere the months of mourning were expired he found himself appointed to the staff, for which his military studies had extensively qualified him. But no sooner had he entered upon the labours of his new situation, than in consequence of a sudden insurrection among the native troops, the whole of the British forces in that district were collected for the purpose of entirely reducing the extensive country to peace and order.
In the engagement which followed, Colonel Harcourt and Major Douglas rendered themselves most conspicuous by their valour, with this difference however, that the bravery of Douglas, cool and intrepid, was guided by discretion, while Harcourt's bordered upon rashness; twice was he warned by the officer in command to be more temperate in his zeal, to join a greater moderation to his courage— hazarding with apparent indifference a life which had been several times observed to be in the most imminent danger. In the meantime every eye had been turned with admiration upon Douglas, who had by his single and formidable arm alone cut to pieces, and on all sides routed the enemy, when perceiving his gallant friend, the undaunted but intemperate Harcourt, engaged in a dangerous and unequal combat, he magnanimously flew to his succour, reaching him in time to receive the wound that was aimed at his friend—the lover of his Rosilia.
Overcome with pain and effusion of blood, tottering a few steps, he fell to the ground, apparently insensible; a state envied by Harcourt, who, with consternation unparalleled, supported in his arms the bleeding and, as he conceived, expiring Douglas. His dark hair clotted with gore, his eyes closed as if in death, excited in Colonel Melbourne and others who stood near the most lively feelings of sympathy and regret. Unable to be removed, from the continual flowing of blood, the soldiers of his corps, appalled at the idea of losing their respected and brave chief, flew in different directions to apprise the surgeon of the condition in which he lay, who, on examination, found that the ball which had penetrated his body could be easily extracted.
He also discovered that the excessive effusion of blood was from a sabre-cut in the head, which Douglas had received at the same moment with the musket-ball, whilst acting in defence of Harcourt, and which, had it not been for the timely assistance of the surgeon, must inevitably have occasioned his immediate death, in the arms of the grateful but unhappy and nearly distracted Harcourt.
He was still, however, not free from danger; the bandage with which his temples had been bound was already steeped in the crimson tide; fresh ligatures were applied, and, excessively enfeebled by the loss of blood, he was assisted between the surgeon and Harcourt to rise, and given in charge to the soldiers in attendance, by whom he was committed to his tent. Even this, for his exhausted strength, proved an exertion too great, and ere he could be placed in a recumbent posture, he sunk into a long and deep swoon. Pale, lifeless, and extended, for some weeks he underwent those sufferings which his timely and humane precaution had averted from his friend.
He was instantly rewarded with the rank of Colonel.
No inflammation succeeding from the severe sabre stroke, and the ball from his side having been duly extracted, he was after a time, though with a frame, as may be conceived, enervated, pronounced in a state capable of undertaking a voyage to England, which was insisted upon by the surgeon as absolutely essential to the renovation and perfect re-establishment of his health; he accordingly made arrangements for quitting India.
It would be difficult to paint the sorrow of Harcourt upon beholding the inestimable Douglas, to whom he owed his life, reduced, for his sake, so greatly in constitution and strength as to render it doubtful whether he would reach alive the shores of his native country. With every demonstration of friendship, affection, and gratitude he accompanied him to the vessel, for a voyage in which he would fain have accompanied him.
"But a short time," said he to his friend, "and we shall meet again; in the meanwhile forget me not; send sometimes a thought of me to India, to that foreign land where Harcourt is yet doomed awhile to linger. Think also of my interests upon the happy shore to which you are going. Should you meet the object of my idolatry, speak of me to her. If, perchance—but away!—my golden dreams of happiness are vanished: she has ere this period lived most probably to bless another."
The vessel being now under weigh, Harcourt, still struggling with his feelings, after warmly embracing Douglas, left him to pursue his voyage, with Mrs. Melbourne and his child.
Upon the death of Ellina, who had in some sort supplied to her the deprivation of a daughter, Mrs. Melbourne instantly charged herself with the care of her lamented protégée's infant, but a few days old, to whom, by the permission of her father, she stood godmother, and fulfilled towards the helpless innocent, as much as lay in her power, cares amounting to the maternal. Duty and Inclination united to render a task of so tender and pathetic a nature one which became closely linked with her affections. And since the loss she so deeply deplored, having often thought with regret upon the country she had quitted, her health also having suffered by the change, she immediately, when told of Douglas's projected departure from India, felt the strongest desire to accompany him; and to which Colonel Melbourne the more readily consented, having with reluctance yielded to her request of quitting England, willing as he had been to sacrifice the enjoyment of her society rather than that she should submit to the disadvantages attendant upon a residence in a clime usually found so pernicious to the female constitution.
Upon the arrival of Douglas in England, he was infinitely less feeble than when he had at first embarked: but when obliged to leave the house for the benefit of air, he was under the necessity of being supported by crutches.
Mrs. Melbourne, shortly after her disembarkation, left Douglas, to take up her residence with Mrs. Boville, an elder sister by some years, who upon becoming a widow, through the medium of Dr. Lovesworth, settled herself, as we have seen, about thirty miles from his Hermitage. Fondly as was Douglas attached to his child, yet finding that, leading the life of a bachelor, the care of her would be embarrassing to him, he very willingly and gratefully submitted her to her good and kind godmother Mrs. Melbourne; and in the meantime availed himself of his liberty to visit some of the most fashionable resorts of England, whose salubrious springs had been recommended to him; and where he renewed his intimacy with several of his former associates, although he was now no longer to be drawn by them into those dissipated habits which seemed to form so great a portion of their happiness.
The world no longer spread before his gaze the delicious banquet of voluptuous enjoyment; its transient, its alluring pleasures were at an end: he was no longer to be enchained by its fatal and delusive charms. In the first dejected state of his mind upon the loss of Ellina, the future had presented but a sterile waste; a tranquil but languid repose at best seemed to await him—a torpid existence, a miserable endurance of life, when the soul, susceptible of an aching void, resigns itself to the supineness of apathy. After a time, however, he became more sensible of the reviving influence proceeding from renewed energy; luxurious indolence had for ever lost to him its goût; swayed by principles of reason only, with that firmness and self-command which of late years had formed so predominating a part of his character, he had continued to nurture with assiduity the active powers of his understanding, and by such means had more and more confirmed in himself the pure precepts of exalted wisdom.
Often drawn into fashionable life, he could not forbear reflecting upon the insipidity of such scenes, the vanity or weakness of the women, the many glaring absurdities daily exhibited by his own sex; in short, the train of his ideas was ever calculated to awaken that restless impatience, that incitement after some pursuit, some useful end, which the vigorous and well-ordered mind is so susceptible of feeling, when it makes to itself the painful and humiliating reflection, "What have I hitherto lived for? How useless has been my being! I have lived for myself alone!"
The letters he received from Mrs. Melbourne, and the pressing invitation she gave him, conjointly with Mrs. Boville her sister, to join them in the country coincided exactly with his views, and as it thus favoured his inclinations, induced him, in compliance with their wishes, to make an immediate excursion thither; where, finding the air salubrious, the scenery lovely, the spot in itself so tranquil and serene, the labourer employed in husbandry, the shepherd tending his flock, the fragrance of nature breathing around, the clear canopy of Heaven above him,—"It is here," thought he, "I should like to rest from my toils, and, after a due repose, recommence my career,—to be permitted to meditate amidst these shades awhile, and then to exertion! for it is active, and not passive life, to which man should feel himself called."
Douglas paused. His eye ranged over the verdant and extensive landscape, that exquisite scenery on which the eye also of Rosilia had so often rested;—he had no conception she was so near him! A sort of heavenly and soothing calm stole upon his soul, as if it were entranced in blessed communion with congenial spirits. Riding amidst those groves which so often in Wales strike upon the sight with such luxuriant beauty, and dismounting from his horse to pursue the path which lay beside, young pines impeding his progress, he stooped to gather a small branch, and falling insensibly into his accustomed reflections, "Like this tender thing," thought he, "my first knowledge above what is merely scientific, or earthly, sprung; it was nevertheless sweet and lovely, fresh and green, like this advancing higher, in more exalted and superior acknowledgements and perceptions of the wisdom of Providence!" He raised his sight upwards to those limits, bounding his physical, but not his mental vision; that, depending upon himself for its due exercise, he was aware could, by successive developments, soar even to those brighter spheres, which alike, in common with mankind, it was his noble privilege to inherit.
Descending from such lofty contemplations, his sight next encountered the ample spreading branches of an oak. "Emblem of a more perfect state," continued he, "it is to such we should aspire. How bounteous the Creator, to give to mankind lessons of wisdom in every object he beholds! How blessed," thought he, in viewing again the little branch of pine he still held in his hand, "if from this we arrive to the perfection of that magnificent tree; in mind expansive, like to that in form, faith and charity expanding and flourishing around us, as those branches, adorned with goodly leaves and fruit, springing from its massive trunk! In every work of nature we may unfold some hidden inward treasure, closed for ever from those who despise to seek it, but opened to those who, with humility, praise, and thanksgiving, strive to do so."
Perhaps no man in the world had less than Douglas the pharisaical precision of Methodism; he was totally averse to their sudden and evanescent flights of enthusiasm, their frantic ravings of intemperate zeal in devotion, as if invoking a vindictive and implacable Deity; to all such fanaticism and the narrow prejudices of religious schemes, or sectarian bigotry, he was an entire stranger. With a truly rational and scriptural faith, and an enlightened understanding, sustained by that happy equilibrium which marks the sure progress of the true Christian, he walked humbly but nobly forward towards the borders of eternity; and amidst the impressions which swayed their hallowed influence over his mind, a sweet, an inward voice seemed to whisper, "Douglas, thy transgressions are forgiven! Go on, pursue the path of virtue, thy reward is near."
Ah! why cannot I more adequately represent those blessed and calm sensations the bosom feels when selfish affections, worldly pleasures, die within it, and are renounced altogether,—when it glows with the hope of being an agent in the hands of the Omnipotent, of dispensing around him the rich profusion of his blessings!