CHAPTER XXII.

JULIUS LUXMORE.

“The gallant’s form was middle size For feats of strength, or exercise, Shaped in proportion fair; And hazel was his eagle eye, And auburn of the darkest dye, His short curl’d beard and hair. Light was his footstep in the dance, And firm his stirrup in the lists; And oh! he had that merry glance That seldom lady’s heart resists.”—_Scott._

It is about time that we should looked up Mr. Julius Luxmore, whom we have too long left to his own “devices.”

It will be recollected that after his rescue from death among the waves, the first thought that arose in the mind of that ingenious young gentleman was not the religious emotion of gratitude to Divine Providence for his almost miraculous preservation; but, on the contrary, the wicked impulse of suppressing his real name and giving a fictitious one.

For this act he had, as it was afterward discovered, a very strong motive.

Julius Luxmore, from his earliest youth, had been the subject of one grand passion—the love of money. How to make the largest possible fortune in the least possible time, was to him the constant subject of study. The love of money, as the love of any particular object of pursuit, is accompanied with an instinctive knowledge of the readiest road to its acquirement.

As early as his twelfth year commerce suggested itself to the intelligent lad as the quickest means by which to gain wealth.

Thus, when in his fourteenth year, he was left a destitute and irresponsible orphan, without a near relative in the world, and with only one decent suit of clothes, and one guinea in his pocket, he applied to his neighbor, old Captain Brande, and was engaged as cabin-boy on board the Mercury.

It was on this first voyage, that he became acquainted with Barbara, the skipper’s little daughter and constant companion.

Captain Brande was very kind to the fatherless and motherless lad who had sought his protection, and Barbara, to whom orphanage seemed the most appalling of all calamities, treated the boy as a dear brother.

It was the old skipper’s delight, in his leisure moments, to instruct these children not only in the various branches of a common school education, but also in the science of navigation, and in the art of seamanship—and even in the long night watches he used sometimes, without too much taxing their hours of sleep, to teach them the names of the constellations and the stars.

He encouraged a generous spirit of emulation between the boy and girl, who could never in any one acquirement be quite equal; for Julius possessed the greater physical power, and Barbara the quicker intellect; therefore Julius excelled in the _practice_, and Barbara in the _theory_ of working the ship. But the old skipper was not content that this should remain just so—and in giving his lessons he stimulated the mind of the boy to a greater activity; and in directing the firm little hand of the girl, he encouraged her to lay out her full strength upon the ropes.

This constant companionship of the youth and maiden was likely to result in one of two things—mutual dislike or mutual affection—it eventuated in the latter.

Their ship was bound to London. And on arriving at that port, Julius cast about in his mind the problem—how to invest his precious guinea to such advantage as finally to turn it into two guineas—for to double his money in every speculation was with the sanguine lad a fundamental principle of financiering.

An accident assisted him—accident _always_ assists those who are sufficiently in earnest.

One day, in strolling along the narrow streets of Liverpool, he came to an auction where the goods of a dealer in Sheffield cutlery were in process of sale. He stood awhile and watched the bidding, and then with his five dollars bought about twenty dollars’ worth of morocco cases, each containing steel scissors, tweezers, penknife, bodkin, needlecase, thimble, netting and tatting shuttle, knitting-needles, and, in short, every possibly needful accessory of a lady’s work-box. Having secured his prize, he took it on board the ship, where he concealed it until he got an opportunity of sewing it up in his mattress—for Julius had not the slightest intention of permitting the custom-house to share his profits.

On reaching Baltimore, these twenty cases, worth in England a dollar a piece, were easily retailed by the boy for two dollars. So that, in his very first venture, from an investment of five dollars he had cleared thirty-five, or seven hundred per cent.! Why, the thought almost took his breath! At this rate he should speedily make a fortune.

But Julius had to learn that, with all its advantages, commerce is a very uncertain vocation—that its great gains are often counter-balanced by as great losses. His next venture was not quite so lucky.

This first voyage of Julius was also the last one which Barbara accompanied her father. Her mother’s declining health and subsequent death rendered it necessary that this eldest child should remain at home to take charge of the younger ones.

But Julius went to the West Indies with the skipper, and from that time accompanied him on all his voyages, and in a few years rose from the position of cabin-boy to that of mate.

His home on shore was always at the Headland, where Barbara received him with a sister’s warm affection.

As the years passed, the youth and maiden grew in strength and beauty, and in mutual love.

Julius, notwithstanding the fluctuating nature of his business, had increased in riches, and was worth several thousand dollars upon the day when he first asked the hand of Barbara from her father.

Old Captain Brande gladly consented to a betrothal, with this stipulation—that the marriage should not be consummated until the end of the voyage upon which they were then bound, after which the mate, as Captain Luxmore, should have the command of the vessel, and the hand of the retired master’s daughter.

Alas, we know how that promising voyage ended—in the wreck of the Mercury, with the loss of all on board except Julius Luxmore, who brought from the waves one wild hope connected with one wicked purpose. The circumstances in which he found himself placed on his restoration to life, formed the first terrible temptation to his integrity.

He saw himself the sole survivor of a shipwrecked crew, with none to identify his person. He found himself left guardian to a young girl of almost fabulous beauty and immense wealth, who had always lived a life of utter seclusion, on a lovely sea-girt island—her own patrimony—and having no companions except a half-crazy old man in his ninetieth year, and a troop of negro slaves, that, like the fair island, was her own inheritance.

“Princess,” she had been called by her mad old uncle, but was _that_ so mad a term, as applied to her, after all? Little Island Queen was she, rather—for, would not all the land, from its centre to its sea-washed shores, and all the people on it, belong absolutely to her?—to her, not only for government, but for bargain and sale, if she should will it? Truly, she would be “monarch of all she surveyed,” and not with a limited, but with an absolute monarchy!

And this beautiful little millionaire, this little queen of eleven years of age, would, in four or five years, be legally marriageable.

What a rich prize would she be! It almost took the breath of the ambitious and avaricious young man to think of it!

He reflected. To wait five years, and then to marry her, would be the quickest, easiest, and surest way of securing an immense fortune. This lovely little Etoile—this radiant star of the sea—this young “Island Princess” had, as it appeared, never left her beautiful, solitary, sea-girt home, and had never seen any other human creatures than her mad old uncle and her negro or mulatto slaves. Good! He resolved that she should never see any other person, except himself—Julius Luxmore. He was quite conscious of possessing a handsome face and figure, with great powers of pleasing, and he determined to use his advantages to attach her affections to himself—and if that eventually failed, to use his power as her sole guardian to bring about a marriage with her, before he would ever consent to take her from the lone Isle.

To this plan her doting, old uncle could be no hindrance, as its consummation belonged to future years, while a few weeks or months must naturally terminate the life of a man of ninety, who had already fallen into second childhood. But it might be well to conciliate even this old lunatic, and to do this Julius Luxmore resolved.

There was one serious trouble in his way; it was not an obstacle, for Julius resolved that it should not be such; but it was a grief. It was the thought of Barbara Brande, whom, notwithstanding all his selfish ambition, he still loved—the thought of Barbara in her awful bereavement—of Barbara, the noble and true-hearted, now crushed down under an overwhelming weight of sorrow—and whom he should rather hasten to raise up, support and console—than deceive, betray and abandon—the thought of Barbara that would _not_ be banished, but that made his heart intensely ache. For he was not old in sin, or hardened in guilt, this Julius Luxmore!—his ruling passion had been powerfully tempted, and had betrayed his integrity; he had sold his soul to the fiend and was resolved to do his work—that was all! and truly that was enough.

He knew that to Barbara’s noble, truthful, and confiding nature the belief in his death would bring less of anguish than the knowledge of his falsehood—falsehood, the perfidy of which was so extremely aggravated under the circumstances of her tremendous calamities. He determined to permit Barbara to believe him dead; and for this reason gave a fictitious name, instead of his own.

It is true, he felt that this fraud might be discovered; but if it should be, he was resolved to shift all the responsibility upon others, by affirming that _they_ had made a mistake in the name.

And to defer as long as possible any chance of being identified as Julius Luxmore, late mate of Captain Brande, he had, immediately on reaching the port of Baltimore, slipped out of sight and concealed himself.

He made his way to New York, and thence took a vessel bound down the coast. He landed at Norfolk—there purchased a small, clean schooner, and having manned it with negroes, set sail for the East, or Orient Isle.