Ravenshoe
"Ravenshoe" was Henry Kingsley"s second novel, and it was published in 1862, when its author was thirty-two years old.
It will always rank with "Geoffry Hamlyn" as Henry Kingsley"s best work. These two books were their author"s favourites among his own novels, and Charles Ravenshoe was one of his two favourite characters. It has been said that "Ravenshoe" is "alive--the expression of a man who worked both with heart and brain," and few would care to dispute that opinion. For study of character, wide charity of outlook, brilliant descriptive writing--as, for instance, in the charge at Balaclava, and real, not mawkish, pathos--as in the hopeless misery of Charles, invalided, with only eighteen shillings, out of the army--"Ravenshoe" will always deserve to be read. It is the work of a writer who was not ashamed to avow himself an "optimist."
_I.--Charles Loses His Brother and His Home_
In 1820 Densil lost both his father and mother, and found himself, at the age of thirty-seven, master of Ravenshoe--an estate worth 10,000 a year--and master of himself.
Densil was an only son. His father, Peter Ravenshoe, had married Alicia, daughter of Charles, Earl of Ascot.
The Ravenshoes, an old West of England family, were Catholics; but Densil"s second wife (his first wife died childless in 1816) was a Protestant, and made her husband promise that all her children, after her first born, should be brought up Protestant.
Mrs. Ravenshoe bore Densil two sons: Cuthbert, born 1826; Charles, born 1831.
On the night Charles was born his mother lay dying, and Densil swore to her he would keep the promise he had made. And to this vow he was faithful, in spite of the indignation of Father Mackworth, the resident Catholic priest at Ravenshoe.
The doctor insisted that a nurse was an immediate necessity, and James Horton, Densil"s devoted servant and head keeper, suggested his wife, Norah; a proposal that had the doctor"s immediate approval.
In due time Charles went to Eton and to Oxford, where he was rusticated for a term with his friend Lord Welter, Lord Ascot"s eldest son, and fell in love with Adelaide, a penniless young lady, who acted as companion to old Lady Ascot.
At Ravenshoe, Charles and Mackworth seldom met without a "sparring match," for to the priest it was intolerable that this house should, in the event of Cuthbert dying childless, pa.s.s into Protestant hands.
On the other hand, it was natural that a considerable amount of familiarity, and a most sincere and hearty affection, should exist between Charles and his servant and foster-brother, William Horton. Till Charles went to Shrewsbury he had never had another playfellow, for his brother Cuthbert was reserved and bookish; and the friendship between the two had grown with age.
One other inmate of Ravenshoe must be mentioned--this was little Mary Corby, who was saved miraculously from the wreck of the Warren Hastings when Charles was about ten. She was the daughter of Captain Corby, and when the ship went down in fifteen fathoms of water, the mate, a.s.sisted by fishermen, and encouraged by Densil, managed to get the little girl to sh.o.r.e, and to Ravenshoe--for the house was not far from the cliffs.
In spite of Densil"s letters and inquiries, no friends came forward to claim little Mary, then a child of nine, and in three months she was considered as a permanent member of the household. And the night before Charles went to school he told her of his grand pa.s.sion for Adelaide.
On the day of the Oxford and Cambridge boat-race, when Charles rowed three in the winning boat, Densil Ravenshoe died, after two days"
illness. Old James Horton"s death occurred at the same time. Charles hurried home in time for the funeral, and when all was over a servant came up to him, and asked him would he see Mr. Ravenshoe in the library?
Charles entered the library with William, who had also been sent for.
Charles went up silently and kissed his brother on the forehead. For a few minutes Cuthbert neither moved nor spoke, while Charles greeted Mackworth civilly. William stood at a little distance, looking uneasily from one to another.
Cuthbert broke the silence, and as he spoke Charles, by some instinct, laid his hand on William"s shoulder.
"I sent for you," he said, "on business which must be gone through with, though I expect it will kill me. I should like to prepare you for what is to come, but the blow would be equally severe whether you expect it or not. You two who stand there were nursed at the same breast. That groom on whose shoulder you have your hand now is my real brother; you are no relation to me--you are the son of the faithful old servant whom we buried to-day with my father!"
Charles at once asked for proofs and witnesses, and Mackworth took up the tale.
"Your mother was Norah, James Horton"s wife. James Horton was Densil Ravenshoe"s half-brother, and the illegitimate son of Peter. She confessed to me the wicked fraud she practised, and has committed that confession to paper. I hold it. You have not a point of ground to stand on. You have been living in luxury and receiving an expensive education when you should have been cleaning out the stable."
Charles"s heart died away within him.
"Cuthbert," he said, "you are a gentleman. Is this true?"
"G.o.d knows how terribly true it is!" said Cuthbert quietly.
Father Mackworth handed the paper, signed by his mother, to him, and Charles read it. It was completely conclusive. William also read it, and turned pale.
Cuthbert spoke again in his quiet, pa.s.sionless voice.
"My intention," he said, "is to make a provision of 300 a year for this gentleman, whom till the last few days I believed to be my brother. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Charles, I offered Father Mackworth 10,000 for this paper, with a view to destroying it. You see what a poor weak rogue I am, and what a criminal I might become with a little temptation.
Father Mackworth did his duty and refused me!"
"You acted like yourself, Cuthbert. Like one who would risk body and soul for one you loved. But it is time that this scene should end. I utterly refuse the a.s.sistance so n.o.bly offered. I go forth alone into the world to make my own way, or to be forgotten. It only remains to say good-bye. I leave this house without a hard thought towards any one in it. I am at peace with all the world. Father Mackworth, I beg your forgiveness. I have often been rude and brutal to you. Good-bye!"
He shook hands with Mackworth, then with William, and lastly he went up to Cuthbert and kissed him on the cheek; and then walked out of the door into the hall.
"I am going to follow him, wherever he goes," said William. "If he goes to the world"s end, I will be with him!"
_II.--Charles Loses Himself_
Charles fled from Ravenshoe for London in the middle of the night, determined that William should not follow him. But he could not bear to go out and seek fortune without seeing Adelaide. So he called at Ranford, Lord Ascot"s seat, only to learn that Adelaide had eloped with Lord Welter. The two were married when he afterwards saw them in London.
Charles had to tell his story to old Lady Ascot, and when he had gone she said to herself, "I will never keep another secret after this. It was for Alicia"s sake and for Peter"s that I did it, and now see what has become of me!"
In London, Charles Ravenshoe committed suicide deliberately. He did not hang himself or drown himself; he hired himself out as groom--being perfectly accomplished in everything relating to horses--to Lieutenant Hornby, of the 140th Hussars; and when the Crimean War broke out, enlisted, under the name of Simpson, as a trooper in Hornby"s regiment.
On October 25 Charles was at Balaclava. They went down hill, straight towards the guns, and almost at once the shot from them began to tell.
Charles was in the second line, and the men in the front line began to fall terribly fast as they rode into the narrowing valley. It was impossible to keep line. Presently the batteries right and left opened on them, and those who were there engaged can give us very little idea of what followed in the next quarter of an hour. They were soon among the guns--the very guns that had annoyed them from the first--and Charles, and two or three others known to him, were hunting some Russian artillerymen round these guns for a minute or so.
He saw also at this time a friend of his--a cornet--on foot, and rode to his a.s.sistance. He caught a riderless horse, and the cornet mounted.
Then the word was given to get back again, and as they turned their faces to get out of this terrible h.e.l.l, poor Charles gave a short, sharp scream, and bent down in his saddle over his horse"s neck.
It was nothing. It was only as if one were to have twenty teeth pulled out at once. The pain was over in an instant. His left arm seemed nearly dead, but he could hold his reins in a way. He saw Hornby before him, and his own friends were beside him again, and there was a rally and a charge. At guns? No. At men this time--Russian hussars--right valiant fellows, too. He could do but little himself. He rode at a Russian, and unhorsed him; he remembers seeing the man go down. They beat them back, and then turned and rode--for it was time.
As the noise of the battle grew fainter behind them, he looked around to see who was riding beside him and holding him by the right arm. It was the little cornet. Charles wondered why he did so.
"You"re hard hit, Simpson," said the cornet. "Never mind. Keep your saddle a little longer. We shall be all right directly."
Charles looked down, and noticed that his left arm was hanging numbed by his side, and that a trooper was guiding his horse.
Soon they were among English faces, and English cheers rang out in welcome to their return, but it was nothing to him; he kept his eye, which was growing dim, on Hornby, and when he saw him fall off his saddle into the arms of a trooper, he dismounted, too, and staggered towards him.
The world seemed to go round and round, and he felt about him like a blind man. But he found Hornby somehow. Presently a doctor was bending over him.
Later, they found Hornby dead and cold, with his head on Charles"s lap.
Charles had been struck by a ball in the bone of his arm, and the splinters were driven into the flesh, though the arm was not broken. It was a nasty business, said the doctors. All sorts of things might happen to him. Only one thing was certain, and that was that Charles Ravenshoe"s career in the army was over for ever.