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THE GRAY LADY, by Mary E. Lee

Some miles from the town of Milford in Wales, lies a small village, whose parsonage had some singular circumstances connected with its history, and although the post was tolerably lucrative, and the parishioners well educated and in good standing, yet at the death or removal of a pastor, it was always difficult to supply his place; since it was the common rumor among the inhabitants of the village that a curse hung over the dwelling, and that some misfortune would surely befall any one who might venture to become its occupant. Stories of the most extravagant sort were in circulation; and in truth the place was well suited for anything connected with the supernatural. It stood in a narrow valley, between high mountains, where, on cloudy days, the fog seemed to hang like a veil over the whole landscape, while the old church, situated near the parsonage, was covered with moss, and of dark and gloomy appearance. Two large trees before the former completely covered its roof and increased the gloominess of the dwelling; while at the foot of the garden waved a majestic yew, in England the symbol of something sad and mysterious, over a half-fallen stone bench, where many of the inhabitants asserted that they had seen a female figure, sitting in the moon-light, dressed in old fashioned garb; who, when they approached near enough for a close inspection, appeared to be a woman of middle age, of regular features, but with the countenance of a corpse. What was strangest of all was, that the oldest people in the village declared, that “the Gray Lady,” as she was called, had appeared from time to time, through a succession of years, always choosing this spot as her resting-place. There were different versions of the story, though it was generally agreed, that this nightly wanderer was no other than the spectre of the widow of the first Curate, who, it was said, had committed suicide, but whose small, half-crumbling tombstone, in a lonely corner of the church-yard, bore no legible inscription to prove the truth of the rumor.

However groundless may have been the report, yet it was certain that the various families, who had occupied the parsonage, had each been visited by some sudden misfortune, in the untimely death of the male branches; and where there were twins, as had been several times the case, one of the pair was always selected as the victim.

About the year 1750, the very respectable pastor, William Drummond, was elected to supply the church of the above mentioned village. For ten years after attaining manhood, he had been a candidate for the ministry; during the next ten, he had filled the place of Curate, with only forty pounds income; and as fifteen years had passed since he found himself an accepted lover, yet without possessing the means of marrying, it is not to be wondered at, that on becoming master of a hundred and sixty pounds per annum, his first act was to persuade his affectionate Joanna to enter into the holy bonds of matrimony, and to undertake the domestic economy of the parsonage, even though it were haunted by as many ghosts as there were leaves on the trees. About a year after their marriage, the honest couple were made happy by the birth of two sons, who, in memory of their grandfathers, were baptised by the same names, one being called John William and the other William John, a bright idea, which had its origin in the pastor’s own brain. Until this time Drummond had paid little attention to the stories circulated with regard to his dwelling, and often playfully observed that, as yet, he had not even had a sight of the hem of the Gray Lady’s garment, but when, after the birth of the twins, the village matrons hastened to offer their congratulations, with which were injudiciously mingled their hopes and prayers, that heaven would avert from the children the dark prophecy which had been accomplished in so many instances, his wife became so wretchedly anxious to inquire into the truth of the story, as to excite her husband to a like degree, and he determined to look into the church archives and discover whether there was any clue to be found to the rumor. His examination, however, met with but trifling success; since the church books referring to earlier times were very defective, and after turning over pages of discolored and worm-eaten paper, he could find nothing to corroborate the legend, except a small, half-obliterated note, which ran as follows, and which seemed to glance at some such occurrence as the one in which he now felt so deeply interested. “In the year of our Lord’s birth 1670, I, Albertus Marstonius, Theologia Magister, caused the fallen stone cross, which stands in the corner of the church-yard to be again set upright. The Lord grant rest to the unhappy remains which lie beneath it.”

Soon, however, Drummond received a stronger testimony through the following accident. It was on Monday, when the pastor sat in his study, busily engaged in writing out the heads of his next Sunday’s discourse. His wife, who, as an active and prudent housekeeper, contrived to get along with but one servant, had transported the cradle of the twins into her husband’s study, who, as she said, could easily give an eye to them, while she was stirring about the house; and thus the respectable pastor might be seen industriously wielding his pen, while from time to time he touched the cradle with his foot, as a whine from its drowsy inmates threatened a speedy outburst. Two hours had thus passed, when his wife entered the room, bearing in her hand a tattered and dusty roll of paper.

“You know, Magister,” said she, for so she called her husband, “I have been busy today putting the house in order.”

“No doubt, my dear, that is your favorite employment,” he rejoined, with something of a sigh.

“Nay! but you cannot reproach me for destroying any of your manuscripts this time; on the contrary, I have found this paper behind the chimney;” with these words she laid the roll on her husband’s writing-desk and retired.

On turning over the sheets, Mr. Drummond discovered that the manuscript was a sort of chronicle, left by one of his predecessors, many years before; among items referring to conflagrations, floods, and the scarcity of provisions, he came across the following. “On the 17th of October I had the misfortune to lose my beloved son Henry, who was accidentally killed by his brother Charles while hunting, thus has the prophecy been fearfully full filled in my family.” Again, in another place, Drummond met with the following paragraph.

“(Wednesday before Jubilate.) This morning I paid a visit to my brother in Christ, Paul Aiken, who is now seventy-eight years of age, and having been Curate of the parish of Penrith for the last fifty years, is a living chronicle of the events of that neighborhood. Speaking of the fate of my unhappy son, as connected with the singular prophecy, my worthy friend informed me that the circumstances regarding the widow were really true, since, from a well authenticated source, he had learned that she was the partner of the first Protestant minister in the village, and at the death of her husband, had hired a room from his successor in the parsonage. Her proud and impetuous temper, caused her, however, to be continually at strife with the Curate’s wife, till one day, when the twin boys of the latter were quarrelling on the stairs, greatly disturbing her by their noise, she rushed out and attacked them so furiously that one of them pushed the other over the balustrade, who thus received a blow of which he ultimately died. Exasperated by her harsh conduct, the Curate insisted that she should immediately leave his house; when carried beyond all bounds, she exclaimed:

“Yes, I will go, but in a different manner from what you imagine, for I will still visit it often; yes, as long as one stone stands upon another. You acquit me of the death of your son. I am innocent, since it was his brother who gave him the unlucky push; and as a proof of my innocence, I swear I that will bring misfortune on every family who may, in after time, occupy this accursed house.’ On the following morning she was found dead on the stone bench under the yew tree, while the dregs of a white powder in a glass at her side, left no doubt but that she had taken poison.”

The minister was not a little shocked by this unexpected testimony; and although neither he or his wife had yet met with the least trace of the ghost, he could not hide from her his newly gotten and painful information, and while their thoughts turned continually on this one subject, they watched their children with an anxiety, which it is impossible to conceive.

The twins grew rapidly into beautiful boys. William, who was quiet and of a thoughtful disposition, had the blue eyes and fair complexion of his mother; while the lively and unmanageable John resembled his father in his dark hair and skin.

As neither showed any decided turn for study their father determined to allow them both to enter on a sea-faring life, several of his relatives having become distinguished in that line, and almost anxiously he looked forward to the time when the boys could be separated; since even in their sports their mother particularly watched them with intense anxiety, as though a dark fate hung over them, and although devotedly attached to each other, it seemed at any moment the fatal prophecy might be accomplished.

These secret anxieties were greatly increased by the observations of their kind but ill-judging neighbors, who, when they visited them, would declare how much they rejoiced that no evil had yet befallen the twins; so much so, that Mrs. Drummond, loving her boys as she did, hardly shed a tear when the time came for them to separate, William, who was destined for the navy, to enter the naval school at Portsmouth; and John, who was intended for a merchant ship, to go to Liverpool. She even rejoiced with her husband, that they would thus, at least for several years, be safe from the curse of “the Gray Woman,” and they both determined, if possible, to prevent them from visiting home at the same time.

In the course of a few years the wishes of the parents seemed fully realized; since the career of the youths lay in entirely opposite paths. William, who had already distinguished himself as a midshipman by his activity and love of order, had risen to the rank of a lieutenant on board a ship-of-war which lay at Plymouth; and by the command of his superior officer, had gone to Liverpool to lay in sea stores. John, in the mean-while, after making several voyages as chief helmsman, was now the captain of a merchant ship trading with Havana and North America; and while at Liverpool, his brother heard respecting him, that he was a most enterprising seaman, fearless of danger, and almost always successful in his undertakings, though it was hinted that he had already made a little fortune by smuggling.

It was about twelve months after the above mentioned period, when the rich merchant, Samuel Barlow, sat in his small chamber attached to his counting room in Liverpool, busily engaged in reading a letter just received from a mercantile friend in Jamaica. His book-keeper and factotum, a spare man of about sixty, sat at a desk, noting down in a book whatever his principal dictated.

“Seventy boxes of hardware. Have you that down, Nathaniel?”

The writer bowed assent

“This next is a singular item,” observed Mr. Barlow, “but shall be attended to.” He read as follows: “Having determined to marry, and being unable to procure a suitable girl in Jamaica, I wish you to send me by the next ship a young lady possessing the following requisites. She must be about middle size, with an agreeable countenance, neither below twenty or beyond twenty-five years of age, of a good constitution, and sound in health, so as to be able to bear the change of climate. This last requisite is particularly desirable, since by her early loss I should be subjected to the repeated trouble of looking out for another. With regard to property I am indifferent, only desiring that the said person should come from a respectable family; and with your endorsement, I pledge myself to accept and marry her in fourteen days after sight.”

“This item will cost us some trouble,” said the book-keeper, pressing his hand to his brow. “Our best plan will be to insert an advertisement in the Liverpool Reporter.”

“No, Nathaniel,” observed the principal; “that matter is already settled, since I will do the business entirely in my own firm. When does the Fortune sail? Tomorrow? Hum, had it been only a week later, we could have readily filled up this item. I will, however, write by that vessel to Hoskins & Co. So take your pen, Nat.” Mr. Barlow dictated as follows: “Sir, according to order, you will receive by the next vessel a girl of one-and-twenty years of age, of the family, size and constitution specified.”

“Shall we mention her name?”

“No! Hoskins & Co. might suppose we took advantage of them by sending my niece, and countermand the order. Should she, however, reach Kingston before they are apprised of the fact, they must comply with their promise, whether willing or not.”

“What” cried Nathaniel, rousing from his usual apathy; “Is it Miss Eliza Barlow to whom you refer?”

“Certainly!” replied the principal. “Why should I let such a good speculation escape us? Hoskins & Co. are a house of long standing, a respectable firm, one of the best in Jamaica; and why should not my niece marry that firm.”

“But will it not cause some talk both here and in Jamaica!”

“Not in Jamaica; since no one will be aware of her relationship with us. And what house here can find fault, if possessing an article which exactly suits, I should use it to fill up an order, instead of looking further? As for what those may say who do not understand business, I care nothing.”

“That is all well and good, but what will Miss Eliza think? They say women have odd notions on such subjects, and perhaps her views may not coincide with yours.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Barlow. “Hoskins & Co. are a house with whom any one would be glad to do business. However,” he continued after a pause of thought; “the girl may possibly raise objections, and were our aviso despatched, and a different article sent from what we promised, the same might be considered a breach of faith. Thank heaven! such a fault has never been committed by Samuel Barlow & Co. And as you, Nat, understand women better than I do, having courted that French Governess thirty years ago, though fortunately you did escape out of the net, I should like to have your opinion on the subject.”

“Would it not be best for you,” replied Nathaniel respectfully, “to hold a consultation with Miss Eliza before I despatch the letter?”

“Do you think so?” observed Mr. Barlow, impatiently. “I wish Hoskins & Co. had sent for twenty boxes of dry goods, rather than for this girl. However, we must know how the business stands before tomorrow; therefore summon my niece at once, and if she decides in the negative, as she may foolishly do, you must immediately put an advertisement in the Reporter. This will appear by eight o’clock, so that any person may apply before ten o’clock, allowing us time to write definitely by the Fortune.”

Nathaniel simply bowed and left the cabinet, to do as requested.

Eliza Barlow was the daughter of Samuel Barlow’s deceased brother, and was only taken into her uncle’s house through fear of what commercial men might think, should he leave the orphan to struggle alone with poverty and loneliness. After giving her an education in a boarding school, he took her home at sixteen; though without allowing her to shew any interest in the domestic arrangements, since an old house-keeper possessed an entire sway over the mansion, as did Nathaniel the counting room. She saw her uncle only at meals, and if absent throughout the day no questions were asked, but the equipage or servant was always ready to attend her, without any intimation to Mr. Barlow, who was never more displeased than when she went to him with a request. Until this moment the thought of Eliza’s marrying had not entered his mind, but now it flashed like a gleam of lightning.

Although greatly surprised by the summons, for she had never ventured into her uncle’s counting room, Eliza hastened to obey it, first by pushing in her pocket a letter she had just been perusing. As Nathaniel opened the door, and she appeared before Mr. Barlow, he looked at her from head to foot, as if determining how far she fulfilled the requisites specified in his friend’s letter, till, as if satisfied with the investigation, he cheerfully invited her to take a seat, and at once opened the business.

“Are you acquainted with the firm of Hoskins & Co. of Kingston, Jamaica? They deal in hardware and dry goods.”

“It is the first time I ever heard the name, uncle,” replied Eliza, astonished at the enquiry.

“It is a most respectable house, firm and solid in every respect.”

“That is certainly advantageous for those who have anything to do with them,” observed Eliza, smilingly.

“Yes! and for yourself who may also be concerned with them.”

“Pray in what way could it be, uncle?”

“Very easily! very easily!” he exclaimed—“Hoskins & Co. wish to marry you.”

“Impossible!” cried the maiden. “As I said before, the name of Hoskins is quite unfamiliar; nay, I do not know whether the man is young or old.”

“Neither can I exactly tell you his age, only I know he is not one of those whiskered fellows who cluster on Sundays under the church porch, molesting women by their stares; but probably a sedate person, since I have transacted business with him for the last thirty years.”

“Mr. Hoskins may be a very respectable gentleman,” replied Eliza, “yet surely it is ridiculous in one of his years to think of marrying a girl whom he has never seen.”

“No! he is a man of good sense,” replied the uncle, “whom we have supplied with many hundred boxes of dry goods and hardware, and who puts entire trust in Samuel Barlow & Co.”

“Then probably the idea of my marrying him originated with you,” observed his niece, now fast rousing to a suspicion of the truth.

“No! not exactly, child,” replied the merchant, handing her the business letter. “Here read for yourself that item number eight, and say whether you are willing to comply with the terms; for if not, an advertisement will be presently sent to the Reporter, which is issued at 4 o’clock, P. M.”

On reading this epistle, Eliza at first hardly knew whether to be angry or amused by her uncle’s conduct; soon however the sad truth forced itself upon her, that the rich merchant felt towards her none of the pleasant ties of consanguinity; but that hitherto she had been fed and tended like a parrot in a cage, without being of use to any one, and only reserved for some moment when she might be bartered or disposed of like merchandise. Her first thought was to decline the match decidedly, her second to try and restrain the words in which she was about to express her angry feelings; and to reply to her uncle as though the whole was a mere business matter, since although he had never expressed towards her the slightest attachment, she could not forget he was her father’s brother and had bestowed on her a home and education.

“I am sorry, uncle,” she said, “that I cannot enter upon this very respectable connexion; but in case of your consent, I may comply with another offer which I have just received.”

“Indeed!” said Mr. Barlow, bowing. “Is it as advantageous as that of Hoskins & Co?”

“Probably not as lucrative,” replied Eliza. “It is a seaman who has made me the offer.”

“A seaman! And are you not aware that the life of such a man depends greatly upon wind and weather?”

“And is not your merchandise, including myself, in case I should be sent, liable to the same risks?” remarked his niece somewhat bitterly.

“My goods are always insured.”

“And I will have my husband insured.”

“In a towline? A good notion, girl, I did not give you credit for so much thoughtfulness. Where did you get acquainted with this seaman?”

“I can hardly say I am acquainted; I only have cause to suspect that he is the handsome young man who has boarded opposite for several months, and whom I have often seen from my window; his name is Drummond, and here is his letter.”

So saying, she drew the epistle from her pocket, and handed it to her uncle. It was brief, and written in a seafaring style. The writer commenced by saying that he had frequently seen Eliza at a distance, and believed that she had noticed him also. That his business had not allowed him to seek a nearer acquaintance, but that being about to sail, he could not deny himself the pleasure of offering her his hand, fearful as he was that she might be won by some one else before his return. He entreated an early answer, desiring her to send her letter to the firm of Gibbs & Sons, who would be acquainted with his direction, in case her uncle was ignorant of the same. He signed himself “J.W. Drummond.”

“I know him!” said Mr. Barlow, nodding his head. “He is certainly an industrious man, and one who has already amassed something; still I think you would prefer Hoskins & Co., since they do a much safer business.”

“To tell the truth, uncle! I am quite determined against the match. In the first place I cannot go to Jamaica, where I would die of the fever the first summer; in the second place I will not marry a man who, however respectable he may be, is old enough for my father, if not grandfather; and lastly, I should prefer one whom at least I have had the pleasure of seeing.”

“In your first objection there is some sense,” observed Mr. Barlow, taking a pinch from his gold snuff box; “but the other two are hardly worth listening to, yet time presses; the Reporter comes out at 4 o’clock; and the “Fortune” sails tomorrow; as you are not willing to listen to Hoskins & Co., we must hurry over the business with Drummond. If you are willing to marry the man, I have, under certain conditions, no objections to your doing so: although I must tell you that his business, although lucrative, is more or less dangerous.”

“Every girl who marries a seaman must prepare herself for that.”

“At any rate, there must be some arrangements made to ensure your property, in event of his death; since I mean to allow you a certain income, which I have no notion your husband should lose in speculation. Promise me not to write to Jamaica, nor come to any understanding on the matter, until I have had a talk with him.”

“Certainly! I will do as you desire, and thank you much for your kindness;” replied his niece and in a few moments they separated, Mr. Barlow not at all angry at her refusal of his Jamaica friend, since the other offer seemed almost as advantageous; and Eliza hardly knowing how to determine immediately on her acceptance of a man with whom she had never exchanged a word, and whom she only suspected to be her neighbor, from the following circumstances.

About six months previous to the above conversation, Eliza’s attention was attracted by a young naval officer, who boarded opposite Mr. Barlow’s, and whose handsome exterior won the maiden’s admiration, as she sat at the window with her work, while he was constantly busied in writing near his casement. After a while she fancied that the youth seemed reciprocally interested, and with little to employ her thoughts, they turned day and night on the unknown object of her admiration, although she acknowledged that it was weak and foolish so to do. Several months passed away, when one morning the stranger appeared at the window in a travelling dress, and stood for some moments looking towards Mr. Barlow’s house, with a serious and almost sad expression, till when Eliza accidentally appeared, he pressed his hand to his heart, bowed low and presently disappeared.

On the following day a new occupant took possession of the chamber, and on enquiring from the maid, who boarded opposite, the servant replied that the room had been occupied by a handsome naval officer by the name of Drummond, who had however left the day before to take command of a ship. Often did Eliza, from this time, find her thoughts turning to the handsome seaman, she frequently sighed as she looked towards the window where he had been accustomed to set, and was greatly surprised to see a young man, closely resembling him, walking about the neighboring wharf. The only difference in their appearance was, that the one was fair complexioned, and the other darkened to an almost Spanish hue.

One day, while busied with some light needlework, a letter was brought in with Eliza’s direction, and which proved to be the offer of marriage already referred to; its signature was “J. W. Drummond.” ‘It must be he, and no other,’ whispered the voice of her heart, as she read its contents; for although the name was common in England, she believed that her admirer was her former neighbor, since he wrote that although not personally acquainted, he had often had the pleasure of seeing her. On confiding the matter to her maid, the letter almost settled her doubts by bringing in a visiting card, left, as her acquaintance, the porter at the boarding house had told her, by their late lodger, and on which was inscribed “William John Drummond.”

“The matter is settled,” observed Mr. Barlow, as he one morning entered his niece’s chamber, a place with which he was but little acquainted. “I have spoken with Captain Drummond, informed him of your and my acceptance of his suit; and promised him to bestow on you two hundred pounds per annum. He will be here tomorrow week, at 4 o’clock in the afternoon. I chose that time to attend to this little matter, as it would be more convenient than on mail day. The betrothal can then take place in the presence of witnesses, and the necessary papers be executed.”

“Oh! how good you are, dear uncle,” cried Eliza, kissing his hand.

“I also told him that I should not object to his visiting you, and he will be here today.”

“So soon?” exclaimed Eliza, blushing with agitation; “I did not know that he was in the city!”

“Yes! and he sails in a short time for France.”

“For France! A British naval officer! What does he do there?”

“He attends to his business and a little besides. But what is this about a British officer? Drummond is captain of a merchant ship.”

“Impossible! I have seen him in uniform.”

“It must have been some fancy uniform.”

“Then you have been acquainted with him for a long time?”

“Not exactly, since I have never meddled with the smuggling trade.”

“How! what do you mean, uncle.”

“Nay! I should have said nothing about it, since it may, and may not be true; although people report that Drummond is tolerable active in that business. This much is certain, that he is intimate with Hackstone & Co., who have made a fortune by contraband.”

At the period of our story, smuggling was not held in such disrepute as at present, yet, nevertheless, Eliza was greatly disturbed by this intelligence; and she earnestly wished that the rumor, as her uncle said, might prove false. Yet greater was her anxiety on another point, whether the John William Drummond, who sued for her hand, was one and the same with the handsome stranger who had boarded opposite. What if he should be another, she mentally exclaimed, ‘Ah! I shall have to marry him, whether he prove agreeable or disagreeable, since my uncle would never forgive me if I hesitated.’

While absorbed in these reflections, Captain Drummond was announced, and Eliza became so pale and tremulous, as to be unable to stand. The door opened and her lover entered; not her former neighbor, but a handsome man about thirty, who greatly resembled him, and whose animated and independent bearing stamped him immediately as a seaman. He seemed to notice the maiden’s perplexity, and sought to remove it by observing that under common circumstances, his conduct might have been thought impertinent, in thus writing to her without a formal introduction; but that he was better acquainted with her than she supposed; since a friend of his had often spoken of her, before he himself had the pleasure of seeing her, which notice first induced him to sue for her hand. Fearful that she might become the affianced of another before he returned to Liverpool, he had determined to trust to luck like a seaman, and rejoiced that he had been so successful.

Drummond’s honest and ingenuous manner of speaking, produced a favorable impression on Eliza, indeed almost any girl would have looked on him with favor; and it was therefore not to be wondered at, that interested by his lively conversation and prepossessing appearance, the image of the naval officer somewhat faded from her mind, and when, after a long interview, he departed, she felt that if not exactly a loving, she would not be an unhappy bride. The visit was repeated every day until the betrothal, on the evening previous to which Eliza’s lover informed her that he had succeeded in procuring a witness to sign the papers on the following day. Without mentioning his name, he remarked that it was the same person who had first interested him in her favor, and who, no doubt, would be greatly surprised on learning the name of his bride.

It was about 4 o’clock on the appointed afternoon, when Eliza, Mr. Barlow, Nathaniel Simple and a few intimate friends, together with a lawyer, were collected in the merchant’s drawing room.

Dressed in tasteful costume, the bride sought to appear tranquil and cheerful, while she waited the bride-groom’s arrival; but in spite of her seeming attention to the conversation, which turned principally on commercial subjects, she could not repress emotions of anxiety and alarm; and a hand cold as ice seemed to press on her heart, as a carriage rolled tip; voices were heard on the stairs; and Drummond entered, attended by the young naval officer who had resided opposite.

After introducing him to the master of the house, her lover brought him up to Eliza observing playfully, “here is my brother, whom I commend to your mercy, although he really does not deserve it. Would you believe it, after first inducing me through his enthusiastic admiration of you, to sue for your hand; after promising to become the witness of our union, he dared this morning to plead that he might be excused from attending, under pretext of some very urgent business; nay, even now, he only shows himself on condition that I allow him to depart in an hour.”

William Drummond blushed deeply and stammered some unintelligible words of excuse; while Eliza, overcome almost to fainting, scarcely heard her uncle, when looking at his watch he desired the notary to read aloud the marriage contrast. She however supported herself tolerably well till he came to the clause, “Miss Eliza Barlow promises to marry John William Drummond,” when she began to totter, a feeble “no! no!” broke from her lips, and she sank senseless on the ground.

It is impossible to describe the confusion produced by this unexpected occurrence; the company dispersed, physicians were called in, who declared her attack to be convulsion of the most dangerous character; and in truth more than a month elapsed, during which she languished between life and death. In the meanwhile, John Drummond had been compelled by business to make a short voyage; but immediately on his return he received a letter from Eliza, in which she declared that she could not marry him, since by so doing, she would only cause unhappiness to both, but declined giving any reason for change of purpose; and when her lover wrote, pleading an interview, she declined any personal meeting, even while she assured him of her continued friendship and esteem.

Shortly after this time, John entered his brother’s chamber, while both were on a sojourn at Plymouth. With a melancholy countenance he handed William an open letter, exclaiming, “Read this, she loves you! I am convinced of it. Ah! had you acted more openly, all would have been different.”

“I assure you I never had an idea of marrying her,” rejoined William, “since how could I have supported her with my lieutenant’s pay? and I am sure her rich uncle would never have consented to so poor a match.”

“But you must marry her!” said John in a mournful tone, “I will try and persuade Barlow to allow you the same income which he promised me.”

“Never! I will neither be supported by the merchant, or deprive my brother of his betrothed.”’

“But she is mine no longer, dear William: sue at once for Eliza’s hand, and thus make false the old saying, that twins born in the parsonage will always cause unhappiness to each other.”

“How can you be so superstitious? An unlucky chain of circumstances alone has caused this misunderstanding, which might as easily have existed between mere acquaintances. If I had said Eliza interested me, and that I intended courting her as soon as I was able to support a wife, you would never have thought of choosing her, but as I could not hope for any success, I did not refer to my own feelings. You see it is all mere accident.”

“Be it as you wish, but I am convinced that one of us will bring misfortune on the other, and as we love one another, let us adopt the safe resolution of never meeting again if possible.”

“Gracious Heavens! what a dreadful thought! Ah! I see that you hate me for being the unhappy cause of your separation from Eliza.”

“Be composed, dear William, such is not the case. but only that something tells me that an unhappy fate hangs over us. You misunderstand me when you imagine that I propose to resign all future intercourse. No! I shall constantly think of you with anxious affection, and we will correspond together. Accident favors my views;—in a few days I sail for Boston, where the wealthy owner of a ship has made me a very liberal offer, if I will accept its command for two years.”

“Think, brother, of what you are about to do; for the sake of a mere old woman’s story you will forsake old England to go the United States, where even now the Hydra of rebellion is raising its head. As a good seaman, you must see into what a conflict your business may lead you as a British subject.”

“Nothing won without danger;” exclaimed John, “If I had not ventured something, I should not have amassed the little fortune which I now possess. You must allow that I would not have advanced as quickly had I entered the navy.”

“I own it; and never envied you, though receiving such small pittance myself. Nay,” he added, after a pause, in which he seemed trying how best to soften his expression, “I have often been anxious on your account.”

“You mean as regards the Custom House laws?”

“Yes! you must acknowledge that you run a risk in disregarding them as you do.”

“Risk! What seaman cares for that? I never think of it.”

“I know it! Your active spirit, your fearless disposition, may I add? your loose notions in regard to the laws, constantly lead you into danger. I entreat you, John! do not go to America.”

“Nay! but I must,” replied his brother, with a deep sigh. “A destiny hangs over the lot of man, and he can no more draw himself out of its influence, than can the moth which hovers above the candle. Look not so sorrowful, William, it is best that we should separate.”

In spite of all his brother’s entreaties and remonstrances, John remained firm in his first resolution, and when a few days after, he bid William farewell, he entreated him to preserve for him the same affection; advised him to explain his feelings to Eliza, since he himself had totally resigned the idea of marrying, and requested him, in the event of his death, to open his will, which he would find in the hands of notary Reynolds of Liverpool.

It was about this time that the well known stamp act was passed in the British parliament, greatly embittering the Americans against the mother country; a feeling which was further increased when a duty on tea roused them to such excess of feeling that boarding a vessel which just then arrived from the East Indies, they threw the whole of its cargo overboard, which act so provoked the government as to cause them to close the port of Boston, and declare null the charter of Massachusetts. This was the commencement of the war.

The brief limits of our story will not allow us to linger longer on this subject, than merely to call the attention of our readers to the cluster of large and small islands lying in the neighborhood of New York, and of which Long Island is the principal. This was the most important point for the warlike preparations, and the Generalissimo of the English army being aware of it, determined to make it the first place he would attack with his force of twenty thousand men. As Washington only commanded an army of sixteen thousand, he was obliged to act principally on the defensive; though knowing as he did, that Long Island formed the key to New York, he not only fortified it with 9,000 men under General Sullivan, but also equipped a number of small cutters, which hovered about the narrow channels among the Islands, ready at any favorable moment to make for sea, should the appearance of any British vessels offer them booty. Many American owners of vessels fitted out cutters at their own cost, placing them under experienced Captains, and it may be readily supposed that the number increased daily, since patriotism and self-interest were thus made to go hand in hand. One of these privateers, a vessel carrying ten or twelve guns, had in particular been very successful in its excursions against the foe, and was commanded by a young man of handsome exterior and good education, who had only lately been entrusted with the “Gray Shark,” as the privateer was called.

The English fleet had been for several days lying at the mouth of the Hudson, when Admiral Lord Howe called together all the Captains under his command, to make arrangements for an intended attack. Most of them were men of mature age, and to them he freely talked over his various plans; at length turning to a young officer, who was no other than William Drummond, and who had listened with considerable interest to the consultation, he said, “I regret, sir, that I shall have to employ you in a less agreeable though no less honorable business than the one on which our friends here are about to enter; but the peculiar swiftness of your ship renders it better suited than any other to the undertaking. I have just learned that the privateer called the Gray Shark, which has distinguished itself by its daring acts, lies about forty miles eastward of this. I wish you immediately to sail in search of her; should you encounter her and she refuses to surrender, sink her at once, for it is necessary to make an example of her. The wind is favorable, and you may sail today.”

Eager to obey the orders of his superior, William Drumnmond was ready in a quarter of an hour, and before night drew on, he was on the high sea, although the favorable breeze had gradually lessened. The following morning proved so foggy, that it was impossible to discover the foe, and Drummond therefore lessened sail, fearful that the privateer might pass him and shelter herself among the islands before he could pursue her. As he walked up and down the poop, with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the fog as it took grotesque forms under the influence of the rising breeze, the loud cry was heard from the sailor stationed on the mast, “of a ship on the lee side, sir;” and on looking out the commander immediately perceived a large boat under sail, which soon reached the vessel. In a few moments, a man, whose dress marked him as superior to his companions, mounted on board the “Vulture,” and introduced himself as the captain of the bark “Mercury” from Liverpool, laden with provisions for the army, and which only two hours previously had been attacked by a vessel bearing the American flag. Opposition was not to be thought of; since, as the stranger affirmed, his foe was a ship with twelve guns. He and his crew were thrown into a large boat, with a cask of water and a few kegs of biscuit, and what had become of the “Mercury” he knew not, since he was compelled to set sail instantly.

“Will you continue your course to land, or will you aid us in trying to overtake this bold privateer?”

“Oh! sir, most gladly will I accompany you,” replied the captain of the Mercury, and calling his sailors on board, the “Vulture” soon spread its wings for full flight in the direction of the foe, till when the sun broke suddenly through the mist, he called aloud to Drummond, “There she lies, see! still at the side of my vessel.”

On looking in the direction pointed out, William perceived a small schooner, and at its side a vessel with three masts, both about half a mile distant. “Down with the main-sail!” he commanded, and soon the “Vulture” dashed so quickly through the water, as to tremble at its keel. Meanwhile the captain of the “Mercury” stood with spy-glass in hand, scarcely able to restrain his impatience, till suddenly dropping it, he muttered, “too late! too late! The ship lies deeper in the water than it did a minute ago. Gracious Heavens! they are sinking it;” and as Drummond caught up a glass, he observed that the masts of the bark moved violently backwards and forwards, and presently the whole vessel disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

“Up, my men, prepare the vessel for combat,” cried William, passionately; “yonder fellow shall repent this shameful act.” His orders were obeyed with the greatest promptness, while the privateer, on her part, filled her top-sail and appeared ready to maneuver. As soon the captain of the Vulture had appeared so near as cannon shot, he hoisted the British flag and let fly a few balls, which sunk at some fathoms from the bow-sprit of the privateer. These were quickly returned by a girdle of fire, above which was hoisted the American flag.

“Stand fast by your guns,” cried Drummond. as splinters from the masts and shreds of canvass told of the enemy’s successful shot; while, without noticing it, the Vulture still pressed its way through the deep, until it stood at only musket-shot distance from the foe. A regular cannonade now ensued, and lasted almost half an hour, while neither vessel changed its position more than the length of its cable. Now and then a puff of wind blew aside the misty veil which enveloped both barks, and then might be seen the devastation which had been committed. The shots of the privateer had been directed pretty high; indeed it was easy to see that its captain sought to render his adversary as incapable as possible of maneuver, for all the yards were hung with tattered canvass and cordage, and had the American sought to escape, the Vulture would have found it difficult to follow her, though the former had received some little injuries in the trunk and netting sails. The ships now falling off on the wind, glided slowly side by side, streams of fire playing from their flanks.

“Yonder man understands his business well;” observed Drummond to the captain, his companion, “it is a pity he was not engaged in a better cause. But let us approach him nearer, our calibre is stronger than his, and we will fire low, so as to produce a good leak if possible; yet never have I seen the smoke thus lie on the poop. Port the helm! Close on the larboard; and now for your pistols, the matter must have an end.”

The noise of the combat was now indeed fearful. The roar of the cannon-shots; the whizzing of the bullets; the splinters of wood which flew in every direction; the cries of the wounded; all together formed a Babel-like scene, and the fight had raged for almost an hour, when suddenly one of the masts of the privateer, struck by a ball, fell with a loud crash. A loud “hurrah” from the Vulture proclaimed the victory; but to the command to lower the flag, the Gray Shark only returned a fresh cannonade. The Vulture now shot on the beak of the privateer, and on both sides preparations for boarding were made; the firing ceased; and all hands seized on muskets, sabres and axes. Already had a couple of sailors of the Vulture thrown out ropes, when springing to the poop, Drummond exclaimed, “cut that rope, let the ship drive on, there is fire in the privateer.”

His command was immediately obeyed; and, presently a stream of fire shot up from the deck of the foe; a cloud of smoke rose from its body, even to the top-masts; and a fearful crash so compressed the surrounding air, as to toss over the British vessel on its side; while as the black volumes dispersed, they could perceive that the place where the privateer laid was now empty and unoccupied, though masses of wreck floated all around on the heaving waters.

“Let us steer in the direction of the wreck, and rescue some of the crew if possible,” commanded the captain of the second mate; but before the Schooner could reach the spot, the struggling sailors, had all disappeared, except one, who still combatted with the waves.

“He lives! yonder is the Captain of the Privateer!” and as Drummond looked in the same direction, and gazed on the face of the drowning man as the waves closed over him, he shrieked aloud, “Oh, my God!’ my God! Let down a boat! Save him! it is no other than—;” and unable to articulate another word, he was obliged to lean against the side of the vessel, while several sailors immediately obeyed his orders, though without success, since the body had sunk to rise no more. Hardly in a situation to extend any directions to his crew, with tottering steps, Drummond reached the cabin; whereat throwing himself on a chair, he covered his face with his hands, as if to banish the fearful remembrance. “No! it is impossible! It could not have been John. My beloved brother would not have directed his cannon against the flag of old England. And yet that face was so like his. Gracious heavens! what am I to think?” then rising quickly, he paced up and down the apartment, muttering aloud. “No! I feel certain that I am mistaken. It must have been someone who greatly resembled him. How could I determine in that momentary glance.” And thus he sought to quiet his dark forebodings, till on the next day, they arrived in sight of Long Island.

On reaching New York, Drummond made enquiries in every direction, to discover who was the captain of “Gray Shark;” and though the information was very uncertain, he learned one fact which somewhat quieted his restless spirit, namely, that he was an Englishman by the name of John Walker. Soon, however, fresh doubts tormented him; for what was more natural than that his brother should change his name in taking part with the rebels, since as an American, if he could sustain that disguise, he would be treated less severely if taken prisoner. With his feelings wound up to the highest pitch, William determined to resort to the last expedient for discovering the truth, and accordingly wrote to the house in Boston, with whom John had entered into the contract as Captain. What was his disappointment, when on the subsequent day, he was summoned to appear before Admiral Howe, who informed him, that he wished him to sail immediately for England. “A committee of Congress,” said he, “consisting of Franklin, John Adams and Edward Rutledge, have presented themselves before me to offer a treaty, which they believe will prove advantageous to both countries, I must however have instructions, and full power for acting, and as your ship is a quick sailer, I trust to see you back in three months, or at the least ten weeks. You will receive your despatches in the course of two hours.”

Although Drummond was gratified by the duty assigned him, as well as by a hint from one of Lord Howe’s adjutants, that the Admiral had recommended him to the British ministers for promotion, yet to depart before receiving an answer from Boston, was most distressing. He felt hardly able to endure the long months of agonizing uncertainty. Day and night, yes, even in his dreams, the pale, deadly face of the drowning seaman rose before him; and it was well that the anxieties attendant on a stormy passage, somewhat detached his mind from the one absorbing fear.

On reaching London, he learned that the business on which he had been sent, could not be determined in less than ten days; and taking advantage of the time, he hastened to Wales, and reached his native village on the midnight of the second day. A beautiful moonlight shone on the traveller, as he rode rapidly along the avenue of fruit trees leading to the parsonage, but what was his surprise, when on stopping at the gate, he discovered a large and newly built house, standing in the midst of the shrubbery, while the mansion, where he was born, was already unroofed, the sashes taken out, and the whole apparently about to be pulled to pieces.

Overcome by varied emotions, William now dismounted from his horse, relieved him of his saddle, and passing through a side gate, which was only fastened by a button, led the animal into the stable, then entering the garden, he roamed up and down its narrow walks, yielding to the remembrances of his boyhood, and quite undetermined whether to arouse his parent or not. “It is almost a pity to disturb them at this untimely hour,” he said; “in a short time dawn will break, and the night is so calm and beautiful that I can sleep here as well as at the foot of the mast.” With these words, he took his seat on the stone bench beneath the ancient yew trees and was soon fast asleep.

He might have slumbered a half hour, when he was aroused by a dream, and on opening his eyes, what was his surprise to see a lady seated on the bench beside him. On looking at her, he perceived that she was about forty years of age; and although her face was very pale and rather expressionless, yet she was by no means unhandsome.

Supposing her some acquaintance of his parents, then on a visit at their house, who had been probably induced by the summer temperature to enjoy the cool air of the garden, he politely observed, “You are perhaps surprised, Madam, to find a stranger intruding here at this time.”

“No!” was her brief reply.

“I am William Drummond. Do my parents expect me?” was his next question.

“I know it. They do.”

“Have you been long here?

“Yes! a long while.”

“I am astonished that my father never mentioned you in his letters.”

“Perhaps he did.”

“And I am also greatly delighted to find this comfortable new residence so superior to the old.”

“I reside in the old.”

“Indeed, why it seems almost pulled down.”

“At least I will remain in it as long as it stands.”

The young man was rather unpleasantly affected by the stranger’s brief, unceremonious manner, but anxious to learn further, he observed, “excuse me, Madam, if I inquire whether my father has learned through the papers, or any other way, the news of a conflict between my vessel, the “Vulture,” and an American privateer? I am exceedingly anxious to learn the name of the man who commanded the latter.”

“He will know all tomorrow,” observed the woman in a hollow tone. “The Captain’s name was John Drummond.”

“Gracious Heavens! are you sure of it?” cried William, springing up; but ere he could utter another word, the figure had vanished away. “Am I awake or dreaming,” he continued after a long pause, during which he looked wildly around him,” and yet all is so real; so life-like! What if I am losing my senses?. Surely I was not asleep! My mind seemed as awake as at this moment,” and with such doubts he tormented himself, till at daydawn he heard a window unbolted, and rushing into the house, was soon clasped in the arms of his delighted, but trembling parents.

After several enquiries, William ventured to ask when they had last heard from his brother, and a hundred weight seemed to fall from his breast, on being informed that his last letter, dated from Boston, mentioned that he had taken command of a vessel about to sail for the Southern ocean, and that they must feel no uneasiness, should they hear nothing for a long period.

Mrs. Drummond now turned the conversation to their new residence, which she described as being most convenient in every respect; adding, that the old parsonage was to be pulled down in a few days.

“Dear Mother! was it not a strange notion to let it out to a lodger!” asked her son, immediately recalling his midnight companion.

“I know of no lodgers but the mice, which I trust will not follow me into my new home, by reason of hammering in the old.”

“No! no! I mean the lady whom I met last night sitting under the Yew-tree, and with whom I had some conversation.”

The parents looked astonished at each other, while the mother exclaimed, “we have no lodger, who could this have been, and when their son described the interview, they both declared that he must have been dreaming, and with his memory refreshed by revisiting the home of his boyhood, had probably mingled the legend of “the Gray Lady” in his drowsy visions.

William was almost ready to believe that their surmise might be true; and engrossed in subjects of mutual interest among which William’s adventures at sea were not forgotten, the day past till at evening a servant came in with a package of letters, among which the pastor immediately recognised the hand writing of a friend in Liverpool.

Breaking it open, he commenced reading its contents, but presently it fell from his hands, and sinking back into his chair, he exclaimed, “Father in Heaven! It is too much! Too much!”

“For God’s sake! what ails you?” cried William, as he sprang to the old man’s assistance.

“Read this, my poor, unhappy son!” was the only reply.

William picked up the sheet and read as follows:

“Dear Friend—I regret to be the herald of most unhappy news. Jenkins & Son inform me, that they have just received a letter from Hudson & Co., Boston, who beg them to forward to you the following intelligence. You are aware that the above mentioned Boston house, some time since employed the services of your son, John Drummond, as Captain of one of their vessels equipped for the Southern Ocean. As the blockade of Boston, however, took place before the vessel could sail, Drummond, who favored the cause of the Americans, took command of the privateer Gray Shark instead, and changing his name to John Walker, so as to conceal his disloyalty from his parents until the end of the war, he bore many prizes into port, and was greatly valued by the Americans. The Gray Shark being lately engaged in conflict with the royal cruiser, the Vulture, was blown up from a cannon shot, which entered into his hold, and your son, together with every one on board, perished.”

Thus was the unhappy truth established, which William had so long hoped might prove otherwise. His twin brother, the companion of his childhood, the friend, whose course he had so anxiously watched for many years, to be thus doomed to death through his means! Ah! he felt that the legend was too true, that his midnight companion was not the visitant of a disturbed dream!

We will not attempt to describe the mournful hours that ensued. The mother sat overwhelmed with grief; the old pastor’s face grew almost stern, as he sought to repress his anguish; while unable to restrain his burst of agony, the hapless William lamented himself loudly and continually as the cause of his brother’s untimely fate. “Nay, it was Providence, I will not say fate, which has caused this dreadful event,” said the father, pressing his son’s hand in his.

William tried to believe it, but it was long before he could be comforted.

In the course of a few days, he set off for Plymouth, there to receive the orders to be conveyed to America, and on reaching Lord Howe’s fleet, he found all so actively engaged, as to induce him to take a part in the conflict himself till the war ended; when he returned to his native land, where his parents were still alive. On reaching Liverpool the notary put into his hands his brother’s will, by which he found himself sole heir to a considerable fortune. He was deeply affected by its last paragraph, where John entreated him to sue for Eliza Barlow’s hand, if she still remained unmarried.

It must be allowed that the young Captain’s thoughts had often secretly turned to this early and only object of his affection, but since this brother’s disappointment, he had never felt it right to build his happiness on his ill fortune. Now that the wish was so clearly specified in this his last testament, he determined to yield to the fervent inclinations of his heart, and on making anxious enquiries concerning the maiden, he learned that she was still unmarried and contrived to win an introduction by writing to her and laying before her John’s will. Her reply was highly satisfactory, for she referred him to her uncle, Mr. Barlow, who viewing the matter as a business affair, expressed himself well satisfied by her choice, and not only bestowed on her a rich portion on the occasion of her marriage, which took place in a few months, but left her a large fortune at his death.

Immediatelv after their union, the young couple set off for Wales, where the inmates of the new parsonage bestowed on their third daughter-in-law a most affectionate welcome. The site of the old house was now occupied by a garden; and as William led his bride to the seat beneath the yew tree, whose trunk was now decayed and crumbling with age, he related to her the legend, which was connected with the torn-down dwelling, and they wept together over the fate of the luckless John.