Ah me! what perils do environ
  The man that meddles with cold iron;
  What plaguey mischiefs and mishaps
  To dog him still with after-claps. 
  HUDIBRAS.

The melancholy loss of lives which we have detailed, occurred upon a reef of rocks close to Cape –­, on the coast of Galway, and not four miles from the castle and property held by Mr Rainscourt.  The intelligence had been communicated to McElvina by some of his tenants, early in the morning of the day on which the survivors had gained the shore.  The western gales, sweeping the Atlantic, and blowing with such fury on the coast, would not permit any vegetation or culture so near the beach; but when once past the range of hills which exposed their rugged sides as barriers to the blast, the land was of good quality, and thickly tenanted.  The people were barbarous to an excess, and, as they had stated, claimed a traditionary right to whatever property might be thrown up from the numerous wrecks which took place upon the dangerous and iron-bound coast.  This will account for the tragical events of the day.

When McElvina was informed of vessels having been stranded, he immediately went up to the castle to procure the means of assistance, which were always held there in readiness, and as many of Rainscourt’s people as could be collected.  This, however, required some little delay; and Emily, shocked at the imperfect intelligence which had been conveyed to her, determined to ride down immediately, in company with Mrs McElvina, and a young friend who was staying with her during her father’s absence.  On their arrival at the sea-range of hills, the explosion of the shealing, and subsequent conflict between the parties, met their eyes.  Emily’s fears, and knowledge of the Irish peasantry, immediately suggested the cause, and, aware of her influence with the Rainscourt tenants, she made all the haste that the roads would permit to arrive at the spot, galloping down the hill, in so bold and dexterous a style, that her companions neither could nor would have dared to keep pace with her.  How fortunate was her arrival need hardly be observed, as in all probability the English seamen would eventually have been sacrificed to the cupidity and resentment of the natives.

“William, do you know me?” whispered Emily, as the tears ran down her cheeks, and her countenance betrayed the anguish of her mind.

Seymour pressed the small white hand that trembled in his own, and a faint smile illuminated his features; but the excitement at the appearance of Emily was too great ­the blood again gushed from his wound, his eyes closed, and his head fell on his shoulder, as he swooned from the loss of blood.

“Oh, God, preserve him!” cried Emily clasping her hands, and raising her eyes to Heaven, and then sinking down in mental and fervent prayer.

“My dear McElvina, I am so glad that you have come at last,” said Susan, bursting into tears.  “Look at whose side Emily is kneeling ­’tis William Seymour, dying.”

“Seymour!” cried McElvina, who had but that moment arrived; but aware of the importance of prompt assistance, he called for the basket containing the restoratives, and gently removing Emily, he took her situation by the side of our wounded hero.

To strip off his clothes, examine the wound, bandage it, so as to prevent a further loss of blood, and pour down his throat some diluted wine, was the work of a few minutes.  Seymour, who had only fainted, reopened his eyes, and soon showed the good effects of McElvina’s presence of mind.

“McElvina, ­is it not? ­Did not I see Emily?”

“Yes, you did, my dear fellow; but keep quiet.  I do not think your wound is dangerous.”

“I am better now, McElvina ­much better; but I must see Emily.”

McElvina thought it advisable to accede to his wish, and returned to his wife, who was supporting the fainting girl.  A glass of water, the assurance that Seymour would do well, if not too much agitated, and a promise exacted from her to say but little, was followed by an interview which had a reviving effect upon both.

Medical practitioners, who dive into the inmost recesses of the human frame in pursuit of knowledge, and who search through the mineral and vegetable kingdom for relief, when will you produce a balm so healing, a specific so powerful, an elixir so instantaneous or restorative, as ­ joy?

McElvina was in the meantime occupied in preparations for removing the wounded, and portioning out food and necessaries to the rest of the party.  When he beheld the sad relics in the shealing, and heard from the boatswain the tragical events of the day, his indignation was beyond bounds.  Seven Frenchmen, fifteen Englishmen, and eight Irishmen, had been burnt alive; three Englishmen and five Irishmen had been killed in the affray; making, independently of many severely wounded, a total of thirty-eight who had perished on this disastrous morning.

The Irish who had attacked them were all tenants of the property belonging either to him or Rainscourt ­an immediate notice to quit was given to them on the spot, and the dreadful word, emigration, thundered in their ears.  This brought them on their knees, with such crying and beseeching, such uncouth and ridiculous gestures, as almost to create a laugh among the English seamen who were witnesses to the scene.

“Well, if them ain’t funny beggars, I’ll be blowed,” cried one of the English seamen.

“Just the wae wid ’em,” observed Conolly, “all honey or all vinegar ­ there’s never a good turn they won’t do ye now.  If it had not been for the `cratur’, there wouldn’t have been this blow-up.”

But to continue.  The bodies of the dead in the shealing were consigned to the earth as they lay, the four walls composing a mausoleum where animosity was buried.  The corpses of McDermot, and the Irish who had been killed in the conflict, were removed by their friends, that they might be waked.  By the direction of McElvina the wounded English were carried up by their former antagonists to the small town at the foot of the castle, where surgical assistance was to be obtained.  Seymour was placed on a sort of bier that had been constructed for him, Emily and her companions riding by his side; and the cavalcade wound up the hill, the rear brought up by Mr Hardsett and the remainder of the English crew.  In two hours all were at their respective destinations; and Seymour, who had been examined by the surgeon upon his arrival at the castle, and whose wound had been pronounced by no means dangerous, was in bed and fast asleep, Susan and Emily watching by his side.

Debriseau, who had recognised his quondam friend McElvina, and perceived by his appearance, and the respect that was shown to him, that he had been more fortunate in his career, since they had parted, than he had himself, from a proud feeling of the moment, did not make himself known.  That McElvina, who had no idea of meeting him in such a quarter, should not, in the hurry of the scene, distinguish his former associate, covered as he was with dust and blood, and having the appearance more of a New Zealand warrior than of any other living being, was not surprising ­and Debriseau joined the English party in the rear of the cavalcade, and remained with them at the town, while McElvina and the rest of the cortege continued their route to the castle, with the wounded Seymour.

As soon as our hero’s wound had been dressed, and the favourable opinion of the surgeon had been pronounced, McElvina rode down to the town, to make arrangements for the board and lodging of the English seamen.  It was then that he was asked by Mr Hardsett, what was to be done with the Frenchman who had been saved.

“Where is he?” demanded McElvina.

Debriseau was summoned to the magistrate, and having cleaned himself of the dust and gore, was immediately recognised.

“Debriseau!” exclaimed McElvina, with astonishment, and a look of displeasure.

“Even so, Captain McElvina,” replied Debriseau haughtily; “you do not seem very well pleased at meeting an old acquaintance.”

“Captain Debriseau, will you do me the favour to step on one side with me.  I will `be honest,’ with you,” continued McElvina to the Guernseyman, when they were out of hearing of the boatswain and the rest; “and confess that, although I wish you well, I was not pleased at meeting with you here.  You addressed me as Captain McElvina ­that title has long been dropped.  I did once confide to you the secret of my former life, and will own, what I little imagined at the time, that I have in consequence put it into your power to do me serious injury.  You must now listen to me, while I give you a sketch of my memoirs, from the time that we parted at Cherbourg.”

McElvina then entered into a short history of what the reader is acquainted with. ­“Judge, then, Debriseau,” pursued he, “if, after what has passed, I could `_honestly_’ say that I was glad to see you ­who not only, by your presence, reminded me of my former irregularities, but had the means, if you thought proper, of acquainting my friends and acquaintances with what I wish I could forget myself.”

“Captain ­I beg your pardon ­Mr McElvina,” replied Debriseau with dignity, “I will be as honest as you.  I am here without a sou, and without a shirt, and when I leave this, I know not where to lay my hand upon either; but rather than betray a confidence reposed in me, rather than injure one who always was my friend, or, what is still more unworthy, attempt to work upon your fears to my own advantage, I would suffer death, nay, more ­Sacristie ­I would sooner turn custom-house officer.  No, no, McElvina ­je suis Francais, moi ­bah, I mean I am a true Englishman.  Never mind what I am ­all countries are alike, if a man’s heart is in the right place.  I sincerely wish you joy of your good fortune, and know nobody that in my opinion deserves it more.  I shall go to prison with some resignation, now that I know you have been so fortunate; and do me not the injustice to imagine that you will ever be troubled by either seeing or hearing from me.”

“I waited for this answer, Debriseau:  had you made any other, I would have run the risk and defied you; nothing would have induced me to have offered to bribe your silence.  But I rejoice in your honest and manly conduct ­`Honesty is the best policy,’ Debriseau.  I can now offer, and you can accept, without blushing on either side, that assistance which I have both the power and will to grant.  There is no occasion for your going to prison.  I make the returns as magistrate, and, as you are an English subject, will be answerable for the omission.  We are too far from the world here to have any questions asked.  And now let me know how I can be of any service to you, for my purse and interest you may command.”

“Well, then, to tell you the truth, I am fit for nothing on shore.  I must have another vessel, if I can get one.”

“Not a smuggling vessel, I hope,” replied McElvina, gravely.

“I should prefer it certainly.  Why, there’s no harm in smuggling, if I recollect your arguments right,” replied Debriseau, smiling.  “Do you remember the night that you convinced me?”

“I do, very well,” said McElvina; “but I have reconsidered the subject, and I have one little remark to make, which will upset the whole theory, which is, that other people acting wrong cannot be urged as an excuse for our own conduct.  If it were, the world would soon be left without virtue or honesty.  You may think me scrupulous; but I am sincere.  Cannot you hit upon something else?”

“Why, I should have no objection to command a fine merchant vessel, if I could obtain such a thing.”

“That you shall,” replied McElvina; “and to make sure of it, and render you more independent, you shall be part owner.  Consider it as une affaire arrangée.  And now allow me to offer you the means of improving your personal appearance ­I presume the leathern bag is empty?”

“Bah! a long while ago.  After I had lost my vessel, I made up to Mademoiselle Picardon; I thought it would not be a bad speculation ­but she never forgave me kicking that dirty puppy down stairs ­little beast!”

“Ah! you forget some of my remarks,” replied McElvina, laughing ­“`Love me, love my dog.’  Now oblige me by accepting this; and, Debriseau (excuse me), there’s a capital barber in this street. Au revoir.”