The Kings Own | Page 9

must be a wonderful man who can collect all the resources of a
popular commotion, and bring it to a successful issue. The reason is
obvious--everything depends upon the leader alone. His followers are
but as the stones composing the arch of the bridge by which the gulf is
to be crossed between them and their nominal superiors; he is the
keystone, upon which the whole depends--if completely fitted,

rendering the arch durable and capable of bearing any pressure; but if
too small in dimensions, or imperfect in conformation, rendering the
whole labour futile, and occasioning all the fabric previously raised to
be precipitated by its own weight, and dispersed in ruin and confusion.
This latter was the fate of the mutiny at the Nore. The insurrection was
quelled, and the ringleaders were doomed to undergo the utmost
penalty of martial law. Among the rest, Peters was sentenced to death.
In the foremost part of the main-deck of a line-of-battle ship, in a
square room, strongly bulk-headed, and receiving light from one of the
ports, as firmly secured with an iron grating--with no other furniture
than a long wooden form--his legs in shackles, that ran upon a heavy
iron bar lying on the deck--sat the unfortunate prisoner, in company
with three other individuals--his wife, his child, and old Adams, the
quartermaster. Peters was seated on the deck, supporting himself by
leaning against the bulkhead. His wife was lying beside him, with her
face hidden in his lap. Adams occupied the form, and the child stood
between his knees. All were silent, and the eyes of the three were
directed towards one of the sad company, who appeared more wretched
and disconsolate than the rest.
"My dear, dear Ellen!" said Peters, mournfully, as a fresh burst of grief
convulsed her attenuated frame.
"Why, then, refuse my solicitations, Edward? If not for yourself, listen
to me for the sake of your wife and child. Irritated as your father still
may be, his dormant affection will be awakened, when he is acquainted
with the dreadful situation of his only son; nay, his family pride will
never permit that you should perish by so ignominious a death; and
your assumed name will enable him, without blushing, to exert his
interest, and obtain your reprieve."
"Do not put me to the pain of again refusing you, my dearest Ellen. I
desire to die, and my fate must be a warning to others. When I reflect
what dreadful consequences might have ensued to the country from our
rebellious proceedings, I am thankful, truly thankful, to God, that we
did not succeed. I know what you would urge--my wrongs, my

undeserved stripes. I, too, would urge them; and when my conscience
has pressed me hard, have urged them in palliation; but I feel that it is
only in palliation, not in justification, that they can be brought forward.
They are no more in comparison with my crime than the happiness of
one individual is to that of the nation which I assisted to endanger,
because one constituting a part of it had, unauthorised, oppressed me.
No, no, Ellen, I should not be happy if I were not to atone for my faults;
and this wretched life is the only atonement I can offer. But for you,
and that poor child, my dearest and kindest, I should go to the scaffold
rejoicing; but the thoughts--O God, strengthen and support me!" cried
the unhappy man, hiding his face in his hands.
"Fear not for me, Edward. I feel here," said Ellen, laying her hand on
her heart, "a conviction that we shall soon meet again. I will urge you
no more love. But the boy--the boy--Oh, Edward! what will become of
that dear boy when we are both gone?"
"Please God to spare my life, he'll never want a father," said old Adams,
as the tears found a devious passage down the furrows of his
weather-beaten face.
"What will become of him?" cried Peters with energy. "Why, he shall
retrieve his father's faults--wash out the stain in his father's character.
He shall prove as liege a subject as I have been a rebellious one. He
shall as faithfully serve his country as I have shamefully deserted it. He
shall be as honest as I have been false; and oh, may he be as prosperous
as I have been unfortunate--as happy as I have been miserable. Come
hither, boy. By the fond hopes I entertain of pardon and peace
above--by the Almighty, in whose presence I must shortly tremble, I
here devote thee to thy country--serve her bravely and faithfully. Tell
me, Willy, do you understand me, and will you promise me this?"
The boy laid his head upon his father's shoulder, and answered in a low
tone--"I will;" and then, after