The sisters had returned to Lodore, and passed some quiet months in its peaceful seclusion, when one morning Mrs. Montgomery, handing an open letter to her grand-daughter across the breakfast-table, said, “It is from your father: we may expect to see him every day.”

Both daughters expressed pleasure and surprise; but Frances’s hand was the first extended. Julia had opened a newspaper. Her eye was glancing over its columns, and had just encountered the words, “Euphrasia frigate, Captain Montgomery.” Lord L.’s letter was read, and discussed; and during the moments of suspense thus occasioned, Julia felt her trepidation increase to a degree that warned her how little she could trust herself to peruse a paragraph containing such magical words before witnesses. She, therefore, stole from the room, carrying the paper with her. Julia was not at first missed. But when a considerable time had elapsed without her being seen, and that Mr. Jackson, who came in shortly, began to inquire for the newspaper; Frances, not without feelings of alarm, which had something very near the truth for their object, sought her sister. The door was locked. Frances called softly on Julia’s name. There was no reply! She called louder still. All continued silent within! She made hasty and repeated efforts to gain admittance. At length, in accents of terror, she alarmed the house. The door was forced open, and Julia found insensible on the floor, with the newspaper lying beside her.

The paragraph she had evidently been reading, ran as follows:—

“A report has just reached us from the fleet off ****, that the Hurricane, Lord Fitz-Ullin; and the Euphrasia, Captain Montgomery; being detached from the squadron, fell in with a number of armed vessels of the enemy. That, the result was, as usual, brilliant; but, we regret to add, that the glory obtained on this occasion, has been dearly purchased; the gallant Captain Montgomery having lost his life in the engagement. The private letter, from which our account is taken, states distinctly, that a cannon ball was seen to sweep him from the deck of his ship, at the very moment when the last of the French vessels lowered her colours. In our next, we shall be able to give the public, a detailed and official account of this affair.”

That evening, a few hurried lines arrived from Henry, written on board the tender of the Euphrasia, of which he had the command, and which was conveying the same intelligence to the fleet. They confirmed the newspaper report of Edmund’s death by a cannon-ball, at the moment when the last of the enemy’s ships struck her colours. He had been standing for some time, in a very conspicuous situation; and Henry had seen the ball sweep him from the spot! Henry wrote in this haste, he said, that his aunt might not see it first in the papers. With great affectation of consideration, he requested Julia, (to whom the letter was addressed,) to take her own opportunity of breaking it properly to her grandmother; and then went on to observe, (by way of consolation,) that Edmund could not have suffered much, as he was shattered into a thousand atoms in less than two seconds!! Indeed, must have been, from the amazing height, that he, Henry, had himself seen the ball fling him into the air. Henry had been, at the time, he added, alongside in the Tender, waiting, as he had said, to convey the account of the capture of the enemy to the fleet. He had been so near, therefore, that he had seen the whole transaction, as distinctly as if he had been on board the Euphrasia.

The same post brought a supplement to the paper of the morning, giving a detailed account of the engagement, and of the manner of Captain Montgomery’s death.

Of course, neither letter nor paper were mentioned to Julia.

While Mr. Jackson is opening the newspaper, and putting on his spectacles, to read it aloud to Mrs. Montgomery and Frances, in an adjoining room, and Mrs. Smyth sits at Julia’s bedside, we shall lay before our readers the circumstances, or rather private feelings, which probably led to the present rash, though brilliant affair.

At the time of Admiral Lord Fitz-Ullin’s death, Edmund had found the task of consoling his young friend Ormond (now Fitz-Ullin) difficult indeed. Not only was the grief of Fitz-Ullin overwhelming, but his self-reproaches were heart-rending. “He had never,” he vehemently exclaimed, “been what his father wished him to be!” He had disappointed all the hopes of the kindest, the best, the most indulgent of parents! That parent had died without the consolation of leaving behind him a son worthy of perpetuating his glorious name. How could he be careless of the wishes of such a parent! Yet he had always intended to exert himself, and become all that his father could wish; and now—now he could never do so. Edmund should have been his son: Edmund of whom he would have been so proud! Our hero, after trying calmer and more religious consolations in vain, endeavoured to arouse his friend by suggesting, that the most acceptable offering he could make to the memory of his father, was to strike at once into the brilliant path his father had quitted. Fitz-Ullin’s spirit, gentle and indolent as it was in general, in its present state of excitation, took fire at the thought; but, alas! he had neither talent nor steadiness to sustain him in the high resolves which such feelings suggested. The insufficient impulse carried him into the midst of daring undertakings, and there left him, astounded at his own boldness, and pausing whether he should proceed or return. Thus, dangers were incurred, and yet, results not reached.

The business now before the public, and which took place a few months after Fitz-Ullin’s going to sea in the same fleet with Edmund, affords a striking illustration of the fatal consequences of adventitious excitement, thus operating on a naturally weak character. The particulars were now read by Mr. Jackson; the sum of them was as follows:

The Hurricane, a large frigate, commanded by Lord Fitz-Ullin, being detached from the fleet off ****, was cruising along the coast. It was after midnight, and excessively dark, when the signals of enemies’ ships were seen in shore; but of what description the vessels were, or in what numbers, could not be even guessed. At length, the first breaking of dawn beginning to render objects a little more definable, they perceived the enemy consisted of no less a number than seven large, armed vessels.

“The young Earl, who seems,” said the papers, “to inherit the high daring of his noble father,” gave immediate orders to clear for action. In the mean time, he bore down upon the enemy, and took up, unfortunately, a far from favourable position. It was one, however, in which he could bring a broadside to bear on some of the French vessels. In endeavouring to get the Hurricane into a better chosen situation, Fitz-Ullin, from the ignorance consequent on his former neglect of the service, committed so many blunders, that by the time she was anchored, it was found that she had actually got her stern to the enemy in such a position, that for some time she was exposed to their fire, while but one of her guns could bear on them.

Fitz-Ullin suddenly walked up to the officer of the marines, who was overseeing his men, as they manned the guns of the quarter-deck: “Why, you are doing nothing here, Sir,” he exclaimed.

“Nothing can be done, my Lord,” said the officer, “while the ship remains in this position.”

Fitz-Ullin turned away without reply; but, a moment after, ordered the cable to be cut, and stood out to sea. The enemy, who lay close under the protection of some of their own batteries on the shore, continued stationary.

Fitz-Ullin dispatched a cutter to the squadron, desiring that the aid of a frigate might be sent him, to capture some ships of the enemy: but without mentioning their number, or the batteries by which they were protected. To his public demand he added a private letter, requesting that the vessel sent might be the Euphrasia, Captain Montgomery. The Admiral, an old friend of his father’s, issued orders accordingly.

Fitz-Ullin, when he saw the frigate coming towards him, under a press of sail, and remembered that she was commanded by the steady friend, to whose talents he so much looked up, felt his spirit strengthened, and sent an officer on board, requesting, that as he had first descried the enemy, his ship might be permitted to move foremost to the attack. This was granted, of course, and he led in, in great style, the Euphrasia following. When, suddenly, and to the utter astonishment of all, Fitz-Ullin called out, “Man the cluelines! Shorten sail!” The order being obeyed, the Euphrasia, of course, passed them, envied by every officer, aye, and every sailor too, on board the Hurricane: and no wonder, for at the moment it was really a magnificent sight, to behold her advancing boldly in the very front of peril on seven of the enemy, supported by batteries on shore, now opening their fire. But in consequence of the late shifting of a sand-bank, of which the pilots were not aware, the Euphrasia, while still rapidly advancing, unfortunately ran aground; and thus rooted, as it were, to one spot, became the very target at which every gun from ship or battery was instantly levelled.

Fitz-Ullin, whose wavering mind seized on the one idea of the danger he saw the leading vessel in the very act of incurring, called, “Let go the anchor!”

“Not here, for heaven’s sake!” cried the first lieutenant, running up to him, and pointing to the enemy’s ships on one side, and the Euphrasia on the other; thus indicating that their own vessel must, in her actual situation, receive the fire of both, and prevent that of their consort reaching the enemy. While this was passing, the sailors at the anchor involuntarily suspended their hands for a moment, during which, the vessel, as she was moving with some velocity through the water, shot a few lengths further ahead. The command, “Let go the anchor,” was reiterated by Fitz-Ullin. The anchor now fell, and fixed them in a position which, though less dreadful than that they had just passed, was still one of more peril, and less efficiency, than might have been chosen. Such as it was, however, it was bravely maintained; for not even the contradictory orders of this, unhappily, so ill-qualified commander, could, once fighting commenced, keep British officers and British sailors from doing their duty.

The Euphrasia, in her terrible, but fortunately, very effective situation, was behaving most gallantly. She was the central object, necessarily alone, and involved in a cloud of smoke, through which the silent flashes of her guns were still seen, preceding by an awful second the loud thunders of destruction, issuing peal after peal from both her sides.

Fitz-Ullin, as the wreaths of smoke from time to time blew aside on her deck, could discern the figure of Edmund, now here, now there, busily engaged, encouraging and directing his men in all quarters.

Gun after gun, from the batteries was silenced; ship after ship, of the enemy struck; and the contest seemed nearly concluded. The Euphrasia was at length seen to pour a formidable broadside into the last remaining vessel which still displayed French colours. The fire was not answered.

Fitz-Ullin kept his eyes anxiously fixed on the moving wreaths of smoke, in which the frigate’s own guns had now again enveloped her. When these began to disperse a little, he beheld, emerging from the white vapour, at an unusual elevation, the figure of his friend; at first but faintly seen, afterwards more distinctly, but still, for some seconds, itself the only palpable object. Gradually it became evident, that Edmund stood out on one of the flukes of the anchor, now partly visible, and which was made fast to the bows. He seemed endeavouring to look through the thickened atmosphere towards the enemy’s colours, as if to ascertain whether they were about to be lowered, ere he should again fire. The enemy were also partly shrouded; but her rigging and masts appeared, and shortly her colours were seen descending. At the same moment, the last gun, which was still effective, fired from the batteries.

Fitz-Ullin saw the ball enter the cloud of smoke, and, a second after, carry with it the form of Edmund! He could actually descry his friend’s feet lifted from the spot whereon they had stood. He clasped his hands over his eyes, but too late—the fearful sight had been seen—it continued to float before their closed vision. He groaned with agony of mind. When he again looked, the deck of the Euphrasia, from which the smoke was fast clearing, had become a scene of evident hustle and confusion.

He saw, with breathless impatience, every moving figure collecting to a central point. He called for his boat four or five times in one minute. It came—he leaped into it—it remained without motion, for no order had been given. He pointed to the frigate, and his men pulled towards her.

While crossing the open space between the ships, the Euphrasia’s Tender passed them. A person on its deck, in a loud and distinct voice, said, “Captain Montgomery is killed!”

Fitz-Ullin shuddered. His nerves recoiled from the sounds. He had himself seen his friend fall; yet the admission of the fact through the medium of a new sense, seemed capable of inflicting a new pang.