Cord and Creese

J >> James de Mille >> Cord and Creese

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"They all got sick at last, and as they had no one to nurse them, I very
considerately sent them all to the alms-house, where they had good beds,
good attendance, and plenty to eat and drink. No matter what I did for
them they abused me. They reviled me, for sending them to a comfortable
home, and old Brandy was the worst of all. I used to go and visit him
two or three times a day, and he always cursed me. Old Brandy did get
awfully profane, that's a fact. The reason was his infernal pride. Look
at me, now! I'm not proud. Put me in the alms-house, and would I curse
you? I hope not.

"At last old Brandy died, and of course I had to look out for the
family. They seemed thrown on my hands, you know, and I was too good-
natured to let them suffer, although they treated me so abominably. The
best thing I could think of was to ship them all off to America, where
they could all get rich. So I took them to Liverpool."

"Did they want to go?"

"They didn't seem to have an idea in their heads. They looked and acted
just like three born fools."

"Strange!"

"I let a friend of mine see about them, as I had considerable to do, and
he got them a passage."

"I suppose you paid their way out."

"I did, Sir," said Potts, with an air of munificence; "but, between you
and me, it didn't cost much."

"I should think it most have cost a considerable sum."

"Oh no! Clark saw to that. Clark got them places as steerage
passengers."

"Young Brandon told me once that he came out as cabin passenger."

"That's his cursed pride. He went out in the steerage, and a devilish
hard time he had too."

"Why?"

"Oh, he was a little crowded, I think! There were six hundred emigrants
on board the _Tecumseh_--"

"The what?"

"The _Tecumseh_. Clark did that business neatly. Each passenger had
to take his own provisions, so he supplied them with a lot. Now what do
you think he gave them?"

"I can't imagine."

"He bought them some damaged bread at one quarter the usual price. It
was all mouldy, you know," said Potts, trying to make Brandon see the
joke. "I declare Clark and I roared over it for a couple of months,
thinking how surprised they must have been when they sat down to eat
their first dinner."

"That was very neat," rejoined Brandon.

"They were all sick when they left," said Potts; "but before they got to
Quebec they were sicker, I'll bet."

"Why so?"

"Did you ever hear of the ship-fever?" said Potts, in a low voice which
sent a sharp trill through every fibre of Brandon's being. He could only
nod his head.

"Well, the _Tecumseh_, with her six hundred passengers, afforded an
uncommon fine field for the ship-fever. That's what I was going to
observe. They had a great time at Quebec last summer; but it was
unanimously voted that the _Tecumseh_ was the worst ship of the
lot. I send out an agent to see what had become of my three friends, and
he came back and told me all. He said that about four hundred of the
_Tecumseh's_ passengers died during the voyage, and ever so many
more after the landing. The obtained a list of the dead from the
quarantine records, and among them were those of the these three
youthful Brandons. Yes, they joined old Cognac pretty soon--lovely and
pleasant in their lives, and in death not divided. But this young devil
that you speak of must have escaped. I dare say he did, for the
confusion was awful."

"But couldn't there have been another son?"

"Oh no. There was another son, the eldest, the worst of the whole lot,
so infernally bad that even old Brandy himself couldn't stand it, but
packed him off to Botany Bay. It's well he went of his own accord, for
if he hadn't the law would have sent him there at last transported for
life."

"Perhaps this man is the same one."

"Oh no. This eldest Brandy is dead."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain--best authority. A business friend of mine was in the same ship
with him. Brandy was coming home to see his friends. He fell overboard
and my friend saw him drown. It was in the Indian Ocean."

"When was that?"

"Last September."

"Oh, then this one must be the other of course!"

"No doubt of that, I think," said Potts, cheerily.

Brandon rose. "I feel much obliged. Sir John," said he, stiffly, and
with his usual nasal tone, "for your kindness. This is just what I want.
I'll put a stop to my young man's game. It's worth coming to England to
find out this."

"Well, when you walk him out of your office, give him my respects and
tell him I'd be very happy to see him. For I would, you know. I really
would."

"I'll tell him so," said Brandon, "and if he is alive perhaps he'll come
here."

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Potts.

"Ha! ha!" laughed Brandon, and pretending not to see Potts's
outstretched hand, he bowed and left. He walked rapidly down the avenue.
He felt stifled. The horrors that had been revealed to him had been but
in part anticipated. Could there be any thing worse?

He left the gates and walked quickly away, he knew not where. Turning
into a by-path he went up a hill and finally sat down. Brandon Hall lay
not far away. In front was the village and the sea beyond it. All the
time there was but one train of thoughts in his mind. His wrongs took
shape and framed themselves into a few sharply defined ideas. He
muttered to himself over and over the things that were in his mind:
"Myself disinherited and exiled! My father ruined and broken-hearted! My
father killed! My mother, brother, and sister banished, starved, and
murdered!"

He, too, as far as Potts's will was concerned, had been slain. He was
alone and had no hope that any of his family could survive. Now, as he
sat there alone, he needed to make his plans for the future. One thing
stood out prominently before him, which was that he must go immediately
to Quebec to find out finally and absolutely the fate of the family.

Then could any thing else be done in England? He thought over the names
of those who had been the most intimate friends of his father--
Thornton, Langhetti, Despard. Thornton had neglected his father in his
hour of need. He had merely sent a clerk to make inquiries after all was
over. The elder Langhetti, Brandon knew, was dead. Where were the
others? None of them, at any rate, had interfered.

There remained the family of Despard. Brandon was aware that the Colonel
had a brother in the army, but where he was he knew not nor did he care.
If he chose to look in the army register he might very easily find out;
but why should he? He had never known or heard much of him in any way.

There remained Courtenay Despard, the son of Lionel, he to whom the MS.
of the dead might be considered after all as chiefly devolving. Of him
Brandon knew absolutely nothing, not even whether he was alive or dead.

For a time he discussed the question in his mind whether it might not be
well to seek him out so as to show him his father's fate and gain his
co-operation. But after a few moments' consideration he dismissed this
thought. Why should he seek his help? Courtenay Despard, if alive, might
be very unfit for the purpose. He might be timid, or indifferent, or
dull, or indolent. Why make any advances to one whom he did not know?
Afterward it might be well to find him, and see what might be done with
or through him; but as yet there could be no reason whatever why he
should take up his time in searching for him or in winning his
confidence.

The end of it all was that he concluded whatever he did to do it by
himself, with no human being as his confidant.

Only one or two persons in all the world knew that he was alive, and
they were not capable, under any circumstances, of betraying him. And
where now was Beatrice? In the power of this man whom Brandon had just
left. Had she seen him as he came and went? Had she heard his voice as
he spoke in that assumed tone? But Brandon found it necessary to crush
down all thoughts of her.

One thing gave him profound satisfaction, and this was that Potts did
not suspect him for an instant. And now how could he deal with Potts?
The man had become wealthy and powerful. To cope with him needed wealth
and power. How could Brandon obtain these? At the utmost he could only
count upon the fifteen thousand pounds which Compton would remit. This
would be as nothing to help him against his enemy. He had written to
Compton that he had fallen overboard and been picked up, and had told
the same to the London agent under the strictest secrecy, so as to be
able to get the money which he needed. Yet after he got it all, what
would be the benefit? First of all, wealth was necessary.

Now more than ever there came to his mind the ancestral letter which his
father had inclosed to him--the message from old Ralph Brandon in the
treasure-ship. It was a wild, mad hope; but was it unattainable? This he
felt was now the one object that lay before him; this must first be
sought after, and nothing else could be attempted or even thought of
till it had been tried. If he failed, then other things might be
considered.

Sitting there on his lonely height, in sight of his ancestral home, he
took out his father's last letter and read it again, after which he once
more read the old message from the treasure-ship:

"One league due northe of a smalle islet northe of the Islet of Santa
Cruz northe of San Salvador----I Ralphe Brandon in my shippe Phoenix am
becalmed and surrounded by a Spanish fleete----My shippe is filled with
spoyle the Plunder of III galleons----wealth which myghte purchase a
kyngdom-tresure equalle to an Empyr's revenue----Gold and jeweles in
countless store----and God forbydde that itt shall falle into the hands
of the Enemye----I therefore Ralphe Brandon out of mine owne good wyl
and intente and that of all my men sink this shippe rather than be taken
alyve----I send this by my trusty seaman Peter Leggit who with IX others
tolde off by lot will trye to escape in the Boate by nighte----If this
cometh haply into the hands of my sonne Philip let him herebye knowe
that in this place is all this tresure----which haply may yet be gatherd
from the sea----the Islet is knowne by III rockes that be pushed up like
III needles from the sande.

"Ralphe Brandon"

Five days afterward Brandon, with his Hindu servant, was sailing out of
the Mersey River on his way to Quebec.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE DEAD ALIVE.

It was early in the month of August when Brandon visited the quarantine
station at Gosse Island, Quebec. A low, wooden building stood near the
landing, with a sign over the door containing only the word "OFFICE." To
this building Brandon directed his steps. On entering he saw only one
clerk there.

"Are you the superintendent?" he asked, bowing courteously.

"No," said the clerk. "He is in Quebec just now."

"Perhaps you can give me the information that I want."

"What is it?"

"I have been sent to inquire after some passengers that came out here
last year."

"Oh yes, I can tell all that can be told," said the clerk, readily. "We
have the registration books here, and you are at liberty to look up any
names you wish. Step this way, please." And he led the way to an inner
office.

"What year did they come out in?" asked the clerk.

"Last year."

"Last year--an awful year to look up. 1846--yes, here is the book for
that year--a year which you are aware was an unparalleled one."

"I have heard so."

"Do you know the name of the ship?"

"The _Tecumseh_."

"The _Tecumseh_!" exclaimed the clerk, with a startled look. "That
is an awful name in our records. I am sorry you have not another name to
examine, for the _Tecumseh_ was the worst of all."

Brandon bowed.

"The _Tecumseh_," continued the clerk, turning over the leaves of
the book as it lay on the desk. "The _Tecumseh_, from Liverpool,
sailed June 2, arrived August 16. Here you see the names of those who
died at sea, copied from the ship's books, and those who died on shore.
It is a frightful mortality. Would you like to look over the list?"

Brandon bowed and advanced to the desk.

"The deaths on board ship show whether they were seamen or passengers,
and the passengers are marked as cabin and steerage. But after landing
it was impossible to keep an account of classes."

Brandon carefully ran his eye down the long list, and read each name.
Those for which he looked did not appear. At last he came to the list of
those who had died on shore. After reading a few names his eye was
arrested by one--

"_Brandon, Elizabeth_."

It was his mother. He read on. He soon came to another--

"_Brandon, Edith_." It was his sister.

"Do you find any of the names?" asked the clerk, seeing Brandon turn his
head.

"Yes," said Brandon; "this is one," and he pointed to the last name.
"But I see a mark opposite that name. What is it? 'B' and 'A.' What is
the meaning?" "Is that party a relative of yours?"

"No," said Brandon.

"You don't mind hearing something horrible, then?"

"No."

The clerk drew a long breath.

"Well, Sir, those letters were written by the late superintendent. The
poor man is now a lunatic. He was here last year.

"You see this is how it was: The ship-fever broke out. The number of
sick was awful, and there were no preparations for them here. The
disease in some respects was worse than cholera, and there was nothing
but confusion. Very many died from lack of nursing. But the worst
feature of the whole thing was the hurried burials.

"I was not here last year, and all who were here then have left. But
I've heard enough to make me sick with horror. You perhaps are aware
that in this ship-fever there sometimes occurs a total loss of sense,
which is apt to be mistaken for death?"

The clerk paused. Brandon regarded him steadily for a moment. Then he
turned, and looked earnestly at the book.

"The burials were very hastily made."

"Well?"

"And it is now believed that some were buried in a state of trance."

"Buried alive?"

"Buried alive!"

There was a long silence. Brandon's eyes were fixed on the book. At last
he pointed to the name of Edith Brandon.

"Then, I suppose," he said, in a steady voice, which, however, was in a
changed key, "these letters 'B' and 'A' are intended to mean something
of that description?"

"Something of that sort," replied the clerk.

Brandon drew a long breath.

"But there is no certainty about it in this particular case. I will tell
you how these marks happened to be made. The clerk that was here last
told me.

"One morning, according to him, the superintendent came in, looking very
much excited and altered. He went to this book, where the entries of
burials had been made on the preceding evening. This name was third from
the last. Twelve had been buried. He penciled these letters there and
left. People did not notice him: every body was sick or busy. At last in
the evening of the next day, when they were to bury a new lot, they
found the superintendent digging at the grave the third from the last.
They tried to stop him, but he shouted and moaned alternately 'Buried
alive!' 'Buried alive!' In fact they saw that he was crazy, and had to
confine him at once."

"Did they examine the grave?"

"Yes. The woman told my predecessor that she and her husband--who did
the burying--had examined it, and found the body not only dead, but
corrupt. So there's no doubt of it. That party must have been dead at
any rate."

"Who was the woman?"

"An old woman that laid them out. She and her husband buried them."

"Where is she now?"

"I don't know."

"Does she stay here yet?"

"No. She left last year."

"What became of the superintendent?"

"He was taken home, but grew no better. At last he had to be sent to an
asylum. Some examination was made by the authorities, but nothing ever
came of it. The papers made no mention of the affair, and it was hushed
up."

Brandon read on. At last he came to another name. It was simply this:
"_Brandon_." There was a slight movement on the clerk's part as
Brandon came to this name. "There is no Christian name here," said
Brandon. "I suppose they did not know it."

"Well," said the clerk, "there's something peculiar about that. The
former clerk never mentioned it to any body but me. That man didn't die
at all."

"What do you mean?" said Brandon, who could scarcely speak for the
tremendous struggle between hope and despair that was going on within
him.

"It's a false entry."

"How?"

"The superintendent wrote that. See, the handwriting is different from
the others. One is that of the clerk who made all these entries; the
other is the superintendent's."

Brandon looked and saw that this was the case.

"What was the cause of that?"

"The clerk told me that after making these next fifteen entries of
buried parties--buried the evening after these last twelve--he went away
to see about something. When he came back the next morning this name was
written in the superintendent's hand. He did not know what to think of
it, so he concluded to ask the superintendent; but in the course of the
day he heard that he was mad and in confinement, as I have told you."

"Then you mean that this is not an entry of a death at all."

"Yes. The fact is, the superintendent for some reason got it into his
head that this Brandon"--and he pointed to Edith's name--"had been
buried alive. He brooded over the name, and among other things wrote it
down here at the end of the list for the day. That's the way in which my
predecessor accounted for it."

"It is a very natural one," said Brandon.

"Quite so." The clerk let it stand. You see, if he had erased it, he
might have been overhauled, and there would have been a committee. He
was afraid of that; so he thought it better to say nothing about it. He
wouldn't have told me, only he said that a party came here once for a
list of all the dead of the _Tecumseh_, and he copied all out,
including this doubtful one. He thought that he had done wrong, and
therefore told me, so that if any particular inquiries were ever made I
might know what to say."

"Are there many mistakes in these records?"

[Illustration: "A STRANGE FEELING PASSED OVER BRANDON. HE STEPPED
FORWARD."]

"I dare say there are a good many in the list for 1846. There was so
much confusion that names got changed, and people died whose names could
only be conjectured by knowing who had recovered. As some of those that
recovered or had not been sick slipped away secretly, of course there
was inaccuracy."

Brandon had nothing more to ask. He thanked the clerk and departed.

There was a faint hope, then, that Frank might yet be alive. On his way
to Quebec he decided what to do. As soon as he arrived he inserted an
advertisement in the chief papers to the following effect:

NOTICE:

Information of any one of the names of "BRANDON," who came out in the
ship _Tecumseh_ in 1846 from Liverpool to Quebec, is earnestly
desired by friends of the family. A liberal reward will be given to any
one who can give the above information. Apply to:

Henry Peters,
22 Place d'Armes.

Brandon waited in Quebec six weeks without any results. He then went to
Montreal and inserted the same notice in the papers there, and in other
towns in Canada, giving his Montreal address. After waiting five or six
weeks in Montreal he went to Toronto, and advertised again, giving his
new address. He waited here for some time, till at length the month of
November began to draw to a close. Not yet despondent, he began to form
a plan for advertising in every city of the United States.

Meanwhile he had received many communications, all of which, however,
were made with the vague hope of getting a reward. None were at all
reliable. At length he thought that it was useless to wait any longer in
Canada, and concluded to go to New York as a centre of action.

He arrived in New York at the end of December, and immediately began to
insert his notices in all parts of the country, giving his address at
the Astor House.

One day, as he came in from the street, he was informed that there was
some one in his room who wished to see him. He went up calmly, thinking
that it was some new person with intelligence.

On entering the room he saw a man standing by the window, in his shirt-
sleeves, dressed in coarse clothes. The man was very tall, broad-
shouldered, with large, Roman features, and heavy beard and mustache.
His face was marked by profound dejection; he looked like one whose
whole life had been one long misfortune. Louis Brandon had never seen
any face which bore so deep an impress of suffering.

The stranger turned as he came in and looked at him with his sad eyes
earnestly.

"Sir," said he, in a voice which thrilled through Brandon, "are you
Henry Peters?"

A strange feeling passed over Brandon. He stepped forward.

"Frank!" he cried, in a broken voice.

"Merciful Heavens!" cried the other. "Have you too come up from the
dead? Louis!"

In this meeting between the two brothers, after so many eventful years
of separation, each had much to tell. Each had a story so marvelous that
the other might have doubted it, had not the marvels of his own
experience been equally great. Frank's story, however, is the only one
that the reader will care to hear, and that must be reserved for another
chapter.

CHAPTER XX.

FRANK'S STORY.

"After you left," said Frank, "all went to confusion. Potts lorded it
with a higher hand than ever, and my father was more than ever
infatuated, and seemed to feel that it was necessary to justify his
harshness toward you by publicly exhibiting a greater confidence in
Potts. Like a thoroughly vulgar and base nature, this man could not be
content with having the power, but loved to exhibit that power to us.
Life to me for years became one long death; a hundred times I would have
turned upon the scoundrel and taken vengeance for our wrongs, but the
tears of my mother forced me to use self-control. You had been driven
off; I alone was left, and she implored me by my love for her to stand
by her. I wished her to take her own little property and go with me and
Edith where we might all live in seclusion together; but this she would
not do for fear of staining the proud Brandon name.

"Potts grew worse and worse every year. There was a loathsome son of his
whom he used to bring with him, and my father was infatuated enough to
treat the younger devil with the same civility which he showed to the
elder one. Poor father! he really believed, as he afterward told me,
that these men were putting millions of money into his hands, and that
he would be the Beckford of his generation.

"After a while another scoundrel, called Clark, appeared, who was simply
the counterpart of Potts. Of this man something very singular was soon
made known to me.

"One day I was strolling through the grounds when suddenly, as I passed
through a grove which stood by a fish-pond, I heard voices and saw the
two men I hated most of all on earth standing near me. They were both
naked. They had the audacity to go bathing in the fishpond. Clark had
his back turned toward me, and I saw on it, below the neck, three marks,
fiery red, as though they had been made by a brand. They were these:"
and taking a pencil, Frank made the following marks:

[Illustration: ^ /|\ [three lines, forming short arrow]

R [sans-serif R]

+ [plus sign] ]

Louis looked at this with intense excitement.

"You have been in New South Wales," said Frank, "and perhaps know
whether it is true or not that these are brands on convicts?"

"It is true, and on convicts of the very worst kind."

"Do you know what they mean?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Only the worst are branded with a single mark, so you may imagine what
a triple mark indicates. But I will tell you the meaning of each. The
first (/|\) is the king's mark put on those who are totally
irreclaimable and insubordinate. The second (R) means runaway, and is
put on those who have attempted to escape. The third (+) indicated a
murderous attack on the guards. When they are not hung, they are branded
with this mark; and those who are branded in this way are condemned to
hard work, in chains, for life."

"That's about what I supposed," said Frank, quietly, "only of course you
are more particular. After seeing this I told my father. He refused to
believe me. I determined to bring matters to a crisis, and charged
Potts, in my father's presence, with associating with a branded felon.
Potts at once turned upon me and appealed to my father's sense of
justice. He accused me of being so far carried away by prejudice as not
to hesitate to invent a foul slander against an honest man. He said that
Clark would be willing to be put to any test; he could not, however, ask
him to expose himself--it was too outrageous but would simply assert
that my charge was false.

"My father as usual believed every word and gave me a stern reprimand.
Louis, in the presence of my mother and sister I cursed my father on
that day. Poor man! the blow soon fell. It was in 1845 that the crash
came. I have not the heart to go into details now. I will tell you from
time to time hereafter. It is enough to say that every penny was lost.
We had to leave the Hall and took a little cottage in the village.

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