Chapter Thirty Eight.

Chapter Thirty Eight.Captain Horton—Gloomy news from home—Get over head and ears in the water, and find myself afterwards growing one way, and my clothes another—Though neither as rich as a Jew, or as large as a camel, I pass through my examination, which my brother candidates think passing strange.The day after Captain Kearney’s decease, his acting successor made his appearance on board. The character of Captain Horton was well-known to us from the complaints made by the officers belonging to his ship, of his apathy and indolence; indeed, he went by thesobriquetof “the Sloth.” It certainly was very annoying to his officers to witness so many opportunities of prize-money and distinction thrown away through the indolence of his disposition. Captain Horton was a young man of family who had advanced rapidly in the service from interest, and from occasionally distinguishing himself. In the several cutting out expeditions, on which he had not volunteered but had been ordered, he had shown, not only courage, but a remarkable degree of coolness in danger and difficulty, which had gained him much approbation; but it was said, that this coolness arose from his very fault—an unaccountable laziness. He would walk away, as it were, from the enemy’s fire, when others would hasten, merely because he was so apathetic that he would not exert himself to run. In one cutting-out expedition in which he distinguished himself, it is said, that having to board a very high vessel, and that in a shower of grape and musketry, when the boat dashed alongside, and the men were springing up, he looked up at the height of the vessel’s sides, and exclaimed with a look of despair, “My God! must we really climb up that vessel’s decks?” When he had gained the deck, and became excited, he then proved how little fear had to do with the remark, the captain of the ship falling by his hand, as he fought in advance of his own men. But this peculiarity, which in a junior officer was of little consequence, and a subject of mirth, in a captain became of a very serious nature. The admiral was aware how often he had neglected to annoy or capture the enemy when he might have done it; and by such neglect, Captain Horton infringed one of the articles of war, the punishment awarded to which infringement isdeath. His appointment, therefore, to theSanglierwas as annoying to us, as his quitting his former ship was agreeable to those on board of her.As it happened, it proved of little consequence: the admiral had instructions from home to advance Captain Horton to the first vacancy, which of course he was obliged to comply with; but not wishing to keep on the station an officer who would not exert himself, he resolved to send her to England with despatches, and retain the other frigate which had been ordered home, and which we had been sent up to replace. We therefore heard it announced with feelings of joy, mingled with regret, that we were immediately to proceed to England. For my part, I was glad of it. I had now served my time as midshipman, to within five months, and I thought that I had a better chance of being made in England than abroad. I was also very anxious to go home, for family reasons, which I have already explained. In a fortnight we sailed with several vessels, and directions to take charge of a large convoy from Quebec, which was to meet us off the island of St. John’s. In a few days we joined our convoy, and with a fair wind bore up for England. The weather soon became very bad, and we were scudding before a heavy gale, under bare poles. Our captain seldom quitted the cabin, but remained there on a sofa, stretched at his length, reading a novel, or dozing, as he found most agreeable.I recollect a circumstance which occurred, which will prove the apathy of his disposition, and how unfit he was to command so fine a frigate. We had been scudding three days when the weather became much worse. O’Brien, who had the middle watch, went down to report that “it blew very hard.”“Very well,” said the captain; “let me know if it blow harder.”In about an hour more the gale increased, and O’Brien went down again. “It blows much harder, Captain Horton.”“Very well,” answered Captain Horton, turning in his cot; “you may call me again when itblows harder.”At about six bells the gale was at its height, and the wind roared in its fury. Down went O’Brien again. “It blows tremendous hard now, Captain Horton.”“Well, well, if the weather becomes worse—”“It can’t be worse,” interrupted O’Brien; “it’s impossible to blow harder.”“Indeed! Well, then,” replied the captain, “let me know whenit lulls.”In the morning watch a similar circumstance took place. Mr Phillott, went down, and said that several of the convoy were out of sight astern. “Shall we heave-to, Captain Horton?”“O no,” replied he, “she will be so uneasy. Let me know if you lose sight of any more.”In another hour, the first lieutenant reported that “there were very few to be seen.”“Very well, Mr Phillott,” replied the captain, turning round to sleep; “let me know if you lose any more.”Some time elapsed, and the first lieutenant reported that “they were all out of sight.”“Very well, then,” said the captain; “call me when you see them again.” This was not very likely to take place, as we were going twelve knots an hour, and running away from them as fast as we could, so the captain remained undisturbed until he thought proper to get up to breakfast. Indeed, we never saw any more of our convoy, but taking the gale with us, in fifteen days anchored in Plymouth Sound. The orders came down for the frigate to be paid off, all standing, and re-commissioned. I received letters from my father, in which he congratulated me at my name being mentioned in Captain Kearney’s despatches, and requested me to come home as soon as I could. The admiral allowed my name to be put down on the books of the guard-ship, that I might not lose my time, and then gave me two month’s leave of absence. I bade farewell to my shipmates, shook hands with O’Brien, who proposed to go over to Ireland previous to his applying for another ship, and, with my pay in my pocket, set off in the Plymouth mail, and in three days was once more in the arms of my affectionate mother, and warmly greeted by my father, and the remainder of my family.Once more with my family, I must acquaint the reader with what had occurred since my departure. My eldest sister, Lucy, had married an officer in the army, a Captain Fielding, and his regiment having been ordered out to India, had accompanied her husband, and letters had been received just before my return, announcing their safe arrival at Ceylon. My second sister, Mary, had also been engaged to be married, and from her infancy was of extremely delicate health. She was very handsome, and much admired. Her intended husband was a baronet of good family; but unfortunately she caught a cold at the assize ball, and went off in a decline. She died about two months before my arrival, and the family were in deep mourning. My third sister, Ellen, was still unmarried; she, also, was a very beautiful girl, and now seventeen. My mother’s constitution was much shaken by the loss of my sister Mary, and the separation from her eldest child. As for my father, even the loss of his daughter appeared to be wholly forgotten in the unwelcome intelligence which he had received, that my uncle’s wife had been delivered of ason, which threw him out of the anticipated titles and estates of my grandfather. It was indeed a house of mourning. My mother’s grief I respected, and tried all I could to console her; that of my father was so evidently worldly, and so at variance with his clerical profession, that I must acknowledge I felt more of anger at it than sorrow. He had become morose and sullen, harsh to those around him, and not so kind to my mother as her state of mind and health made it his duty to be, even if inclination were wanted. He seldom passed any portion of the day with her, and in the evening she went to bed very early so that there was little communication between them. My sister was a great consolation to her, and so I hope was I; she often said so, as she embraced me, and the tears rolled down her cheeks, and I could not help surmising that those tears were doubled from the coolness and indifference, if not unkindness, with which my father behaved to her. As for my sister, she was an angel; and as I witnessed her considerate attentions to my mother, and the total forgetfulness of self which she displayed (so different from my father, who was all self), I often thought what a treasure she would prove to any man who was fortunate enough to win her love. Such was the state of my family when I returned to it.I had been at home about a week, when one evening, after dinner, I submitted to my father the propriety of trying to obtain my promotion.“I can do nothing for you, Peter; I have no interest whatever,” replied he moodily.“I do not think that much is required, sir,” replied I; “my time will be served on the 20th of next month. If I pass, which I trust I shall be able to do, my name having been mentioned in the public despatches will render it a point of no very great difficulty to obtain my commission at the request of my grandfather.”“Yes, your grandfather might succeed, I have no doubt: but I think you have little chance now in that quarter. My brother has a son, and we are thrown out. You are not aware, Peter, how selfish people are, and how little they will exert themselves for their relations. Your grandfather has never invited me, since the announcement of my brother’s increase to his family. Indeed, I have never been near him, for I know that it is of no use.”“I must think otherwise of Lord Privilege, my dear father, until your opinion is confirmed by his own conduct. That I am not so much an object of interest I grant; but still he was very kind, and appeared to be partial to me.”“Well, well, you can try all you can; but you’ll soon see of what stuff this world is made; I am sure I hope it will be so, for what is to become of you children if I die, I do not know;—I have saved little or nothing. And now all my prospects are blasted by this—” and my father dashed his fist upon the table in a manner by no means clerical, and with a look very unworthy of an apostle.I am sorry that I must thus speak of my father, but I must not disguise the truth. Still, I must say, there was much in extenuation of his conduct. He had always a dislike to the profession of the church: his ambition, as a young man, had been to enter the army; for which service he was much better qualified; but, as it has been the custom for centuries to entail all the property of the aristocracy upon the eldest son, and leave the other brothers to be supported by the state, or rather by the people, who are taxed for their provision, my father was not permitted to follow the bent of his own inclination. An elder brother had already selected the army as his profession, and it was therefore decided that my father should enter the church: and thus it is that we have had, and still have, so many people in that profession, who are not only totally unfit for, but who actually disgrace their calling. The law of primogeniture is beset with evils and injustice; yet without it, the aristocracy of a country must sink into insignificance. It appears to me, that as long as the people of a country are content to support the younger sons of the nobility, it is well that the aristocracy should be held up as a third estate, and a link between the sovereign and the people; but that if the people are either too poor, or are unwilling to be so taxed, they have a right to refuse taxation for such purposes, and to demand that the law of primogeniture should be abolished.I remained at home until my time was complete, and then set off for Plymouth to undergo my examination. The passing-day had been fixed by the admiral for the Friday, and as I arrived on Wednesday, I amused myself during the day, walking about the dock-yard, and trying all I could to obtain further information in my profession. On the Thursday, a party of soldiers from the depôt were embarking at the landing-place in men-of-war boats, and, as I understood, were about to proceed to India. I witnessed the embarkation, and waited till they shoved off, and then walked to the anchor wharf to ascertain the weights of the respective anchors of the different classes of vessels in the King’s service.I had not been there long, when I was attracted by the squabbling created by a soldier, who, it appeared, had quitted the ranks to run up to the tap in the dock-yard to obtain liquor. He was very drunk, and was followed by a young woman with a child in her arms, who was endeavouring to pacify him.“Now be quiet, Patrick, jewel,” said she, clinging to him, “sure it’s enough that you’ve left the ranks, and will come to disgrace when you get on board. Now, be quiet, Patrick, and let us ask for a boat, and then perhaps the officer will think it was all a mistake, and let you off aisy: and sure I’ll spake to Mr O’Rourke, and he’s a kind man.”“Out wid you, you cratur, it is Mr O’Rourke you’d be having a conversation wid, and he be chucking you under that chin of yours. Out wid you, Mary, and lave me to find my way on board. Is it a boat I want, when I can swim like St. Patrick, wid my head under my arm, if it wasn’t on my shoulders? At all events, I can wid my nappersack and musket to boot.”The young woman cried, and tried to restrain him, but he broke from her, and running down to the wharf, dashed off into the water. The young woman ran to the edge of the wharf, perceived him sinking, and shrieking with despair, threw up her arms in her agony. The child fell, struck on the edge of the piles, turned over, and before I could catch hold of it, sank into the sea. “The child! the child!” burst forth in another wild scream, and the poor creature lay at my feet in violent fits. I looked over, the child had disappeared; but the soldier was still struggling with his head above water. He sank and rose again—a boat was pulling towards him, but he was quite exhausted. He threw back his arms as if in despair, and was about disappearing under the wave, when, no longer able to restrain myself, I leaped off the high wharf, and swam to his assistance, just in time to lay hold of him as he was sinking for the last time. I had not been in the water a quarter of a minute before the boat came up to us, and dragged us on board. The soldier was exhausted and speechless; I, of course, was only very wet. The boat rowed to the landing-place at my request, and we were both put on shore. The knapsack which was fixed on the soldiers back, and his regimentals, indicated that he belonged to the regiment just embarked; and I stated my opinion, that as soon as he was a little recovered, he had better be taken on board. As the boat which picked us up was one of the men-of-war boats, the officer who had been embarking the troops, and had been sent on shore again to know if there were any yet left behind, consented. In a few minutes the soldier recovered, and was able to sit up and speak, and I only waited to ascertain the state of the poor young woman whom I had left on the wharf. In a few minutes she was led to us by the warder, and the scene between her and her husband was most affecting. When she had become a little composed, she turned round to me, where I stood dripping wet, and intermingled with lamentation for the child, showering down emphatic blessings on my head, inquired my name. “Give it to me!” she cried; “give it to me on paper, in writing, that I may wear it next my heart, read and kiss it every day of my life, and never forget to pray for you, and to bless you!”“I’ll tell it you. My name—”“Nay, write it down for me—write it down. Sure you’ll not refuse me. All the saints bless you, dear young man, for saving a poor woman from despair!”The officer commanding the boat handed me a pencil and a card; I wrote my name and gave it to the poor woman; she took my hand as I gave it her, kissed the card repeatedly, and put it into her bosom. The officer, impatient to shove off, ordered her husband into the boat—she followed, clinging to him, wet as he was—the boat shoved off, and I hastened up to the inn to dry my clothes. I could not help observing, at the time, how the fear of a greater evil will absorb all consideration for a minor. Satisfied that her husband had not perished, she had hardly once appeared to remember that she had lost her child.I had only brought one suit of clothes with me: they were in very good condition when I arrived, but salt water plays the devil with a uniform. I lay in bed until they were dry; but when I put them on again, not being before too large for me, for I grew very fast, they were now shrunk and shrivelled up so as to be much too small. My wrists appeared below the sleeves of my coat—my trowsers had shrunk halfway up to my knees—the buttons were all tarnished, and altogether I certainly did not wear the appearance of a gentlemanly, smart midshipman. I would have ordered another suit, but the examination was to take place at ten o’clock the next morning, and there was no time. I was therefore obliged to appear as I was, on the quarter-deck of the line-of-battle ship, on board of which the passing was to take place. Many others were there to undergo the same ordeal, all strangers to me, as I perceived by their nods and winks to each other, as they walked up and down in their smart clothes, not at all inclined to make my acquaintance.There were many before me on the list, and our hearts beat every time that a name was called, and the owner of it walked aft into the cabin. Some returned with jocund faces, and our hopes mounted with the anticipation of similar good fortune; others came out melancholy and crest-fallen, and then the expression of their countenances was communicated to our own, and we quailed with fear and apprehension. I have no hesitation in asserting, that although “passing” may be a proof of being qualified, “not passing” is certainly no proof to the contrary. I have known many of the cleverest young men turned back (while others of inferior abilities have succeeded), merely from the feeling of awe occasioned by the peculiarity of the situation; and it is not to be wondered at, when it is considered that all the labour and exertion of six years are at stake at this appalling moment. At last my name was called, and, almost breathless from anxiety, I entered the cabin, where I found myself in presence of the three captains who was to decide whether I were fit to hold a commission in His Majesty’s service. My logs and certificates were examined and approved; my time calculated and allowed to be correct. The questions in navigation which were put to me were very few, for the best of all possible reasons, that most captains in His Majesty’s service knew little or nothing of navigation. During their servitude of midshipmen, they learn it byrote, without being aware of the principles upon which the calculations they use are founded. As lieutenants, their services as to navigation are seldom required, and they rapidly forget all about it. As captains, their whole remnant of mathematical knowledge consists in being able to set down the ship’s position on the chart. As for navigating the ship, the master is answerable; and the captains not being responsible themselves, they trust entirely to his reckoning. Of course there are exceptions, but what I state is the fact; and if an order from the Admiralty were given, that all captains should pass again, although they might acquit themselves very well in seamanship, nineteen out of twenty would be turned back when they were questioned in navigation. It is from the knowledge of this fact that I think the service is injured by the present system, and the captain should be heldwhollyresponsible for the navigation of his ship. It has been long known that the officers of every other maritime state are more scientific than our own, which is easily explained, from the responsibility not being invested in our captains. The origin of masters in our service in singular. When England first became a maritime power, ships for the King’s service were found by the Cinque Ports and other parties—the fighting part of the crew was composed of soldiers sent on board. All the vessels at that time had a crew of sailors, with a master to navigate the vessel. During our bloody naval engagements with the Dutch, the same system was acted upon. I think it was the Earl of Sandwich, of whom it is stated, that his ship being in a sinking state, he took a boat to hoist his flag on board of another vessel in the fleet, but a shot cutting the boat in two, and theweight of his armourbearing him down, the Earl of Sandwich perished. But to proceed.As soon as I had answered several questions satisfactorily, I was desired to stand up. The captain who had interrogated me on navigation, was very grave in his demeanour towards me, but at the same time not uncivil. During his examination, he was not interfered with by the other two, who only undertook the examination in “seamanship.” The captain, who now desired me to stand up, spoke in a very harsh tone, and quite frightened me. I stood up pale and trembling, for I augured no good from this commencement. Several questions in seamanship were put to me, which I have no doubt I answered in a very lame way, for I cannot even now recollect what I said.“I thought so,” observed the captain; “I judged as much from your appearance. An officer who is so careless of his dress, as not even to put on a decent coat when he appears at his examination, generally turns out an idle fellow, and no seaman. One would think you had served all your time in a cutter, or a ten-gun brig, instead of dashing frigates. Come, sir, I’ll give you one more chance.”I was so hurt at what the captain said, that I could not control my feelings. I replied with a quivering lip, that “I had had no time to order another uniform”—and I burst into tears.“Indeed, Burrows, you are rather too harsh,” said the third captain; “the lad is frightened. Let him sit down and compose himself for a little while. Sit down, Mr Simple, and we will try you again directly.”I sat down, checking my grief and trying to recall my scattered senses. The captains, in the meantime, turning over the logs to pass away the time; the one who had questioned me in navigation reading the Plymouth newspaper, which had a few minutes before been brought on board and sent into the cabin. “Heh! what’s this? I say, Burrows—Keats, look here,” and he pointed to a paragraph. “Mr Simple, may I ask whether it was you who saved the soldier who leaped off the wharf yesterday.”“Yes, sir,” replied I, “and that’s the reason why my uniforms are so shabby. I spoilt them then, and had no time to order others. I did not like to say why they were spoilt.” I saw a change in the countenances of all the three, and it gave me courage. Indeed, now that my feelings had found vent, I was no longer under any apprehension.“Come, Mr Simple, stand up again,” said the captain, kindly, “that is if you feel sufficiently composed: if not, we will wait a little longer. Don’t be afraid, wewishto pass you.”I was not afraid, and stood up immediately. I answered every question satisfactorily, and finding that I did so, they put more difficult ones. “Very good, very good indeed, Mr Simple; now let me ask you one more; it’s seldom done in the service, and perhaps you may not be able to answer it. Do you know how toclub-haula ship?”“Yes, sir,” replied I, having, as the reader may recollect, witnessed the manoeuvre when serving under poor Captain Savage, and I immediately stated how it was to be done.“That is sufficient, Mr Simple; I wish to ask you no more questions. I thought at first you were a careless officer and no seaman: I now find you are a good seaman and a gallant young man. Do you wish to ask any more questions?” continued he, turning to the two others.They replied in the negative; my passing certificate was signed, and the captain did me the honour to shake hands with me, and wish me speedy promotion. Thus ended happily this severe trial to my poor nerves; and, as I came out of the cabin, no one could have imagined that I had been in such distress within, when they beheld the joy that irradiated my countenance.

The day after Captain Kearney’s decease, his acting successor made his appearance on board. The character of Captain Horton was well-known to us from the complaints made by the officers belonging to his ship, of his apathy and indolence; indeed, he went by thesobriquetof “the Sloth.” It certainly was very annoying to his officers to witness so many opportunities of prize-money and distinction thrown away through the indolence of his disposition. Captain Horton was a young man of family who had advanced rapidly in the service from interest, and from occasionally distinguishing himself. In the several cutting out expeditions, on which he had not volunteered but had been ordered, he had shown, not only courage, but a remarkable degree of coolness in danger and difficulty, which had gained him much approbation; but it was said, that this coolness arose from his very fault—an unaccountable laziness. He would walk away, as it were, from the enemy’s fire, when others would hasten, merely because he was so apathetic that he would not exert himself to run. In one cutting-out expedition in which he distinguished himself, it is said, that having to board a very high vessel, and that in a shower of grape and musketry, when the boat dashed alongside, and the men were springing up, he looked up at the height of the vessel’s sides, and exclaimed with a look of despair, “My God! must we really climb up that vessel’s decks?” When he had gained the deck, and became excited, he then proved how little fear had to do with the remark, the captain of the ship falling by his hand, as he fought in advance of his own men. But this peculiarity, which in a junior officer was of little consequence, and a subject of mirth, in a captain became of a very serious nature. The admiral was aware how often he had neglected to annoy or capture the enemy when he might have done it; and by such neglect, Captain Horton infringed one of the articles of war, the punishment awarded to which infringement isdeath. His appointment, therefore, to theSanglierwas as annoying to us, as his quitting his former ship was agreeable to those on board of her.

As it happened, it proved of little consequence: the admiral had instructions from home to advance Captain Horton to the first vacancy, which of course he was obliged to comply with; but not wishing to keep on the station an officer who would not exert himself, he resolved to send her to England with despatches, and retain the other frigate which had been ordered home, and which we had been sent up to replace. We therefore heard it announced with feelings of joy, mingled with regret, that we were immediately to proceed to England. For my part, I was glad of it. I had now served my time as midshipman, to within five months, and I thought that I had a better chance of being made in England than abroad. I was also very anxious to go home, for family reasons, which I have already explained. In a fortnight we sailed with several vessels, and directions to take charge of a large convoy from Quebec, which was to meet us off the island of St. John’s. In a few days we joined our convoy, and with a fair wind bore up for England. The weather soon became very bad, and we were scudding before a heavy gale, under bare poles. Our captain seldom quitted the cabin, but remained there on a sofa, stretched at his length, reading a novel, or dozing, as he found most agreeable.

I recollect a circumstance which occurred, which will prove the apathy of his disposition, and how unfit he was to command so fine a frigate. We had been scudding three days when the weather became much worse. O’Brien, who had the middle watch, went down to report that “it blew very hard.”

“Very well,” said the captain; “let me know if it blow harder.”

In about an hour more the gale increased, and O’Brien went down again. “It blows much harder, Captain Horton.”

“Very well,” answered Captain Horton, turning in his cot; “you may call me again when itblows harder.”

At about six bells the gale was at its height, and the wind roared in its fury. Down went O’Brien again. “It blows tremendous hard now, Captain Horton.”

“Well, well, if the weather becomes worse—”

“It can’t be worse,” interrupted O’Brien; “it’s impossible to blow harder.”

“Indeed! Well, then,” replied the captain, “let me know whenit lulls.”

In the morning watch a similar circumstance took place. Mr Phillott, went down, and said that several of the convoy were out of sight astern. “Shall we heave-to, Captain Horton?”

“O no,” replied he, “she will be so uneasy. Let me know if you lose sight of any more.”

In another hour, the first lieutenant reported that “there were very few to be seen.”

“Very well, Mr Phillott,” replied the captain, turning round to sleep; “let me know if you lose any more.”

Some time elapsed, and the first lieutenant reported that “they were all out of sight.”

“Very well, then,” said the captain; “call me when you see them again.” This was not very likely to take place, as we were going twelve knots an hour, and running away from them as fast as we could, so the captain remained undisturbed until he thought proper to get up to breakfast. Indeed, we never saw any more of our convoy, but taking the gale with us, in fifteen days anchored in Plymouth Sound. The orders came down for the frigate to be paid off, all standing, and re-commissioned. I received letters from my father, in which he congratulated me at my name being mentioned in Captain Kearney’s despatches, and requested me to come home as soon as I could. The admiral allowed my name to be put down on the books of the guard-ship, that I might not lose my time, and then gave me two month’s leave of absence. I bade farewell to my shipmates, shook hands with O’Brien, who proposed to go over to Ireland previous to his applying for another ship, and, with my pay in my pocket, set off in the Plymouth mail, and in three days was once more in the arms of my affectionate mother, and warmly greeted by my father, and the remainder of my family.

Once more with my family, I must acquaint the reader with what had occurred since my departure. My eldest sister, Lucy, had married an officer in the army, a Captain Fielding, and his regiment having been ordered out to India, had accompanied her husband, and letters had been received just before my return, announcing their safe arrival at Ceylon. My second sister, Mary, had also been engaged to be married, and from her infancy was of extremely delicate health. She was very handsome, and much admired. Her intended husband was a baronet of good family; but unfortunately she caught a cold at the assize ball, and went off in a decline. She died about two months before my arrival, and the family were in deep mourning. My third sister, Ellen, was still unmarried; she, also, was a very beautiful girl, and now seventeen. My mother’s constitution was much shaken by the loss of my sister Mary, and the separation from her eldest child. As for my father, even the loss of his daughter appeared to be wholly forgotten in the unwelcome intelligence which he had received, that my uncle’s wife had been delivered of ason, which threw him out of the anticipated titles and estates of my grandfather. It was indeed a house of mourning. My mother’s grief I respected, and tried all I could to console her; that of my father was so evidently worldly, and so at variance with his clerical profession, that I must acknowledge I felt more of anger at it than sorrow. He had become morose and sullen, harsh to those around him, and not so kind to my mother as her state of mind and health made it his duty to be, even if inclination were wanted. He seldom passed any portion of the day with her, and in the evening she went to bed very early so that there was little communication between them. My sister was a great consolation to her, and so I hope was I; she often said so, as she embraced me, and the tears rolled down her cheeks, and I could not help surmising that those tears were doubled from the coolness and indifference, if not unkindness, with which my father behaved to her. As for my sister, she was an angel; and as I witnessed her considerate attentions to my mother, and the total forgetfulness of self which she displayed (so different from my father, who was all self), I often thought what a treasure she would prove to any man who was fortunate enough to win her love. Such was the state of my family when I returned to it.

I had been at home about a week, when one evening, after dinner, I submitted to my father the propriety of trying to obtain my promotion.

“I can do nothing for you, Peter; I have no interest whatever,” replied he moodily.

“I do not think that much is required, sir,” replied I; “my time will be served on the 20th of next month. If I pass, which I trust I shall be able to do, my name having been mentioned in the public despatches will render it a point of no very great difficulty to obtain my commission at the request of my grandfather.”

“Yes, your grandfather might succeed, I have no doubt: but I think you have little chance now in that quarter. My brother has a son, and we are thrown out. You are not aware, Peter, how selfish people are, and how little they will exert themselves for their relations. Your grandfather has never invited me, since the announcement of my brother’s increase to his family. Indeed, I have never been near him, for I know that it is of no use.”

“I must think otherwise of Lord Privilege, my dear father, until your opinion is confirmed by his own conduct. That I am not so much an object of interest I grant; but still he was very kind, and appeared to be partial to me.”

“Well, well, you can try all you can; but you’ll soon see of what stuff this world is made; I am sure I hope it will be so, for what is to become of you children if I die, I do not know;—I have saved little or nothing. And now all my prospects are blasted by this—” and my father dashed his fist upon the table in a manner by no means clerical, and with a look very unworthy of an apostle.

I am sorry that I must thus speak of my father, but I must not disguise the truth. Still, I must say, there was much in extenuation of his conduct. He had always a dislike to the profession of the church: his ambition, as a young man, had been to enter the army; for which service he was much better qualified; but, as it has been the custom for centuries to entail all the property of the aristocracy upon the eldest son, and leave the other brothers to be supported by the state, or rather by the people, who are taxed for their provision, my father was not permitted to follow the bent of his own inclination. An elder brother had already selected the army as his profession, and it was therefore decided that my father should enter the church: and thus it is that we have had, and still have, so many people in that profession, who are not only totally unfit for, but who actually disgrace their calling. The law of primogeniture is beset with evils and injustice; yet without it, the aristocracy of a country must sink into insignificance. It appears to me, that as long as the people of a country are content to support the younger sons of the nobility, it is well that the aristocracy should be held up as a third estate, and a link between the sovereign and the people; but that if the people are either too poor, or are unwilling to be so taxed, they have a right to refuse taxation for such purposes, and to demand that the law of primogeniture should be abolished.

I remained at home until my time was complete, and then set off for Plymouth to undergo my examination. The passing-day had been fixed by the admiral for the Friday, and as I arrived on Wednesday, I amused myself during the day, walking about the dock-yard, and trying all I could to obtain further information in my profession. On the Thursday, a party of soldiers from the depôt were embarking at the landing-place in men-of-war boats, and, as I understood, were about to proceed to India. I witnessed the embarkation, and waited till they shoved off, and then walked to the anchor wharf to ascertain the weights of the respective anchors of the different classes of vessels in the King’s service.

I had not been there long, when I was attracted by the squabbling created by a soldier, who, it appeared, had quitted the ranks to run up to the tap in the dock-yard to obtain liquor. He was very drunk, and was followed by a young woman with a child in her arms, who was endeavouring to pacify him.

“Now be quiet, Patrick, jewel,” said she, clinging to him, “sure it’s enough that you’ve left the ranks, and will come to disgrace when you get on board. Now, be quiet, Patrick, and let us ask for a boat, and then perhaps the officer will think it was all a mistake, and let you off aisy: and sure I’ll spake to Mr O’Rourke, and he’s a kind man.”

“Out wid you, you cratur, it is Mr O’Rourke you’d be having a conversation wid, and he be chucking you under that chin of yours. Out wid you, Mary, and lave me to find my way on board. Is it a boat I want, when I can swim like St. Patrick, wid my head under my arm, if it wasn’t on my shoulders? At all events, I can wid my nappersack and musket to boot.”

The young woman cried, and tried to restrain him, but he broke from her, and running down to the wharf, dashed off into the water. The young woman ran to the edge of the wharf, perceived him sinking, and shrieking with despair, threw up her arms in her agony. The child fell, struck on the edge of the piles, turned over, and before I could catch hold of it, sank into the sea. “The child! the child!” burst forth in another wild scream, and the poor creature lay at my feet in violent fits. I looked over, the child had disappeared; but the soldier was still struggling with his head above water. He sank and rose again—a boat was pulling towards him, but he was quite exhausted. He threw back his arms as if in despair, and was about disappearing under the wave, when, no longer able to restrain myself, I leaped off the high wharf, and swam to his assistance, just in time to lay hold of him as he was sinking for the last time. I had not been in the water a quarter of a minute before the boat came up to us, and dragged us on board. The soldier was exhausted and speechless; I, of course, was only very wet. The boat rowed to the landing-place at my request, and we were both put on shore. The knapsack which was fixed on the soldiers back, and his regimentals, indicated that he belonged to the regiment just embarked; and I stated my opinion, that as soon as he was a little recovered, he had better be taken on board. As the boat which picked us up was one of the men-of-war boats, the officer who had been embarking the troops, and had been sent on shore again to know if there were any yet left behind, consented. In a few minutes the soldier recovered, and was able to sit up and speak, and I only waited to ascertain the state of the poor young woman whom I had left on the wharf. In a few minutes she was led to us by the warder, and the scene between her and her husband was most affecting. When she had become a little composed, she turned round to me, where I stood dripping wet, and intermingled with lamentation for the child, showering down emphatic blessings on my head, inquired my name. “Give it to me!” she cried; “give it to me on paper, in writing, that I may wear it next my heart, read and kiss it every day of my life, and never forget to pray for you, and to bless you!”

“I’ll tell it you. My name—”

“Nay, write it down for me—write it down. Sure you’ll not refuse me. All the saints bless you, dear young man, for saving a poor woman from despair!”

The officer commanding the boat handed me a pencil and a card; I wrote my name and gave it to the poor woman; she took my hand as I gave it her, kissed the card repeatedly, and put it into her bosom. The officer, impatient to shove off, ordered her husband into the boat—she followed, clinging to him, wet as he was—the boat shoved off, and I hastened up to the inn to dry my clothes. I could not help observing, at the time, how the fear of a greater evil will absorb all consideration for a minor. Satisfied that her husband had not perished, she had hardly once appeared to remember that she had lost her child.

I had only brought one suit of clothes with me: they were in very good condition when I arrived, but salt water plays the devil with a uniform. I lay in bed until they were dry; but when I put them on again, not being before too large for me, for I grew very fast, they were now shrunk and shrivelled up so as to be much too small. My wrists appeared below the sleeves of my coat—my trowsers had shrunk halfway up to my knees—the buttons were all tarnished, and altogether I certainly did not wear the appearance of a gentlemanly, smart midshipman. I would have ordered another suit, but the examination was to take place at ten o’clock the next morning, and there was no time. I was therefore obliged to appear as I was, on the quarter-deck of the line-of-battle ship, on board of which the passing was to take place. Many others were there to undergo the same ordeal, all strangers to me, as I perceived by their nods and winks to each other, as they walked up and down in their smart clothes, not at all inclined to make my acquaintance.

There were many before me on the list, and our hearts beat every time that a name was called, and the owner of it walked aft into the cabin. Some returned with jocund faces, and our hopes mounted with the anticipation of similar good fortune; others came out melancholy and crest-fallen, and then the expression of their countenances was communicated to our own, and we quailed with fear and apprehension. I have no hesitation in asserting, that although “passing” may be a proof of being qualified, “not passing” is certainly no proof to the contrary. I have known many of the cleverest young men turned back (while others of inferior abilities have succeeded), merely from the feeling of awe occasioned by the peculiarity of the situation; and it is not to be wondered at, when it is considered that all the labour and exertion of six years are at stake at this appalling moment. At last my name was called, and, almost breathless from anxiety, I entered the cabin, where I found myself in presence of the three captains who was to decide whether I were fit to hold a commission in His Majesty’s service. My logs and certificates were examined and approved; my time calculated and allowed to be correct. The questions in navigation which were put to me were very few, for the best of all possible reasons, that most captains in His Majesty’s service knew little or nothing of navigation. During their servitude of midshipmen, they learn it byrote, without being aware of the principles upon which the calculations they use are founded. As lieutenants, their services as to navigation are seldom required, and they rapidly forget all about it. As captains, their whole remnant of mathematical knowledge consists in being able to set down the ship’s position on the chart. As for navigating the ship, the master is answerable; and the captains not being responsible themselves, they trust entirely to his reckoning. Of course there are exceptions, but what I state is the fact; and if an order from the Admiralty were given, that all captains should pass again, although they might acquit themselves very well in seamanship, nineteen out of twenty would be turned back when they were questioned in navigation. It is from the knowledge of this fact that I think the service is injured by the present system, and the captain should be heldwhollyresponsible for the navigation of his ship. It has been long known that the officers of every other maritime state are more scientific than our own, which is easily explained, from the responsibility not being invested in our captains. The origin of masters in our service in singular. When England first became a maritime power, ships for the King’s service were found by the Cinque Ports and other parties—the fighting part of the crew was composed of soldiers sent on board. All the vessels at that time had a crew of sailors, with a master to navigate the vessel. During our bloody naval engagements with the Dutch, the same system was acted upon. I think it was the Earl of Sandwich, of whom it is stated, that his ship being in a sinking state, he took a boat to hoist his flag on board of another vessel in the fleet, but a shot cutting the boat in two, and theweight of his armourbearing him down, the Earl of Sandwich perished. But to proceed.

As soon as I had answered several questions satisfactorily, I was desired to stand up. The captain who had interrogated me on navigation, was very grave in his demeanour towards me, but at the same time not uncivil. During his examination, he was not interfered with by the other two, who only undertook the examination in “seamanship.” The captain, who now desired me to stand up, spoke in a very harsh tone, and quite frightened me. I stood up pale and trembling, for I augured no good from this commencement. Several questions in seamanship were put to me, which I have no doubt I answered in a very lame way, for I cannot even now recollect what I said.

“I thought so,” observed the captain; “I judged as much from your appearance. An officer who is so careless of his dress, as not even to put on a decent coat when he appears at his examination, generally turns out an idle fellow, and no seaman. One would think you had served all your time in a cutter, or a ten-gun brig, instead of dashing frigates. Come, sir, I’ll give you one more chance.”

I was so hurt at what the captain said, that I could not control my feelings. I replied with a quivering lip, that “I had had no time to order another uniform”—and I burst into tears.

“Indeed, Burrows, you are rather too harsh,” said the third captain; “the lad is frightened. Let him sit down and compose himself for a little while. Sit down, Mr Simple, and we will try you again directly.”

I sat down, checking my grief and trying to recall my scattered senses. The captains, in the meantime, turning over the logs to pass away the time; the one who had questioned me in navigation reading the Plymouth newspaper, which had a few minutes before been brought on board and sent into the cabin. “Heh! what’s this? I say, Burrows—Keats, look here,” and he pointed to a paragraph. “Mr Simple, may I ask whether it was you who saved the soldier who leaped off the wharf yesterday.”

“Yes, sir,” replied I, “and that’s the reason why my uniforms are so shabby. I spoilt them then, and had no time to order others. I did not like to say why they were spoilt.” I saw a change in the countenances of all the three, and it gave me courage. Indeed, now that my feelings had found vent, I was no longer under any apprehension.

“Come, Mr Simple, stand up again,” said the captain, kindly, “that is if you feel sufficiently composed: if not, we will wait a little longer. Don’t be afraid, wewishto pass you.”

I was not afraid, and stood up immediately. I answered every question satisfactorily, and finding that I did so, they put more difficult ones. “Very good, very good indeed, Mr Simple; now let me ask you one more; it’s seldom done in the service, and perhaps you may not be able to answer it. Do you know how toclub-haula ship?”

“Yes, sir,” replied I, having, as the reader may recollect, witnessed the manoeuvre when serving under poor Captain Savage, and I immediately stated how it was to be done.

“That is sufficient, Mr Simple; I wish to ask you no more questions. I thought at first you were a careless officer and no seaman: I now find you are a good seaman and a gallant young man. Do you wish to ask any more questions?” continued he, turning to the two others.

They replied in the negative; my passing certificate was signed, and the captain did me the honour to shake hands with me, and wish me speedy promotion. Thus ended happily this severe trial to my poor nerves; and, as I came out of the cabin, no one could have imagined that I had been in such distress within, when they beheld the joy that irradiated my countenance.

Chapter Thirty Nine.Is a chapter of plots—Catholic casuistry in a new cassock—Plotting promotes promotion—A peasant’s love, and a peer’s peevishness—Prospects of prosperity.As soon as I arrived at the hotel, I sent for a Plymouth paper, and cut out the paragraph which had been of such importance to me in my emergency, and the next morning returned home to receive the congratulations of my family. I found a letter from O’Brien, which had arrived the day before. It was as follows:—“My dear Peter,—Some people, they say, are lucky to ‘have a father born before them,’ because they are helped on in the world—upon which principle, mine was bornafterme, that’s certain; however, that can’t be helped. I found all my family well and hearty: but they all shook a cloth in the wind with respect to toggery. As for Father McGrath’s cassock, he didn’t complain of it without reason. It was the ghost of a garment; but, however, with the blessing of God, my last quarterly bill, and the help of a tailor, we have had a regular refit, and the ancient family of the O’Briens of Ballyhinch are now rigged from stem to stern. My two sisters are both to be spliced to young squireens in the neighbourhood; it appears that they only waited for a dacent town gown to go to the church in. They will be turned off next Friday, and I only wish, Peter, you were here to dance at the weddings. Never mind, I’ll dance for you and for myself too. In the meantime, I’ll just tell you what Father McGrath and I have been doing, all about and consarning that thief of an uncle of yours.“It’s very little or nothing at all that Father McGrath did before I came back, seeing as how Father O’Toole had a new cassock, and Father McGrath’s was so shabby that he couldn’t face him under such a disadvantage: but still Father McGrath spied about him, and had several hints from here and from there, all of which, when I came to add them up, amounted to nothing at all.“But since I came home, we have been busy. Father McGrath went down to Ballycleuch, as bold as a lion, in his new clothing, swearing that he’d lead Father O’Toole by the nose for slamming the door in his face, and so he would have done, if he could have found him; but as he wasn’t to be found, Father McGrath came back again just as wise, and quite as brave, as he went out.“So, Peter, I just took a walk that way myself, and, as I surrounded the old house where your uncle had taken up his quarters, who should I meet but the little girl, Ella Flanagan, who was in his service; and I said to myself, ‘There’s two ways of obtaining things in this world, one is for love, and the other is for money.’ The O’Briens are better off in the first article than in the last, as most of their countrymen are, so I’ve been spending it very freely in your service, Peter.“‘Sure,’ says I, ‘you are the little girl that my eyes were ever looking upon when last I was this way.’“‘And who are you?’ says she.“‘Lieutenant O’Brien, of His Majesty’s service, just come home for a minute to look out for a wife,’ says I; ‘and it’s one about your make, and shape, and discretion, that would please my fancy.’“And then I praised her eyes, and her nose, and her forehead, and so downwards, until I came to the soles of her feet; and asked her leave to see her again, and when she would meet me in the wood and tell me her mind. At first, she thought (sure enough) that I couldn’t be in earnest, but I swore by all the saints that she was the prettiest girl in the parts—and so she is altogether—and then she listened to my blarney. The devil a word did I say about your uncle or your aunt, or Father McGrath, that she might not suspect, for I’ve an idea that they’re all in the story. I only talked about my love for her pretty self, and that blinded her, as it will all women, ’cute as they may be.“And now, Peter, it’s three weeks last Sunday, that I’ve been bespeaking this poor girl for your sake, and my conscience tells me that it’s not right to make a poor cratur fond of me, seeing as how that I don’t care a fig for her in the way of a wife, and in any other way it would be the ruin of the poor thing. I have spoken to Father McGrath on the subject, who says ‘that we may do evil that good may come, and, that if she had been a party to the deceit, it’s nothing but proper that she should be punished in this world, and that will, perhaps, save her in the next;’ still I don’t like it, Peter, and it’s only for you among the living that I’d do such a thing; for the poor creature now hangs upon me so fondly and talks about the wedding day; and tells me long stories about the connections which have taken place between the O’Flanagans and the O’Briens, times gone by, when they were all in their glory. Yesterday as we sat in the wood, with her arm round my waist, ‘Ella, dear,’ says I ‘who are these people that you stay with?’ And then she told me all she knew about their history, and how Mary Sullivan was a nurse to the baby.“‘And what is the baby?’ says I.“‘A boy, sure,’ says she.“‘And Sullivan’s baby?’“‘That’s a girl.’“‘And is Mary Sullivan there now?’“‘No,’ says she; ‘it’s yestreen she left with her husband and baby, to join the regiment that’s going out to Ingy.’“‘Yesterday she left?’ says I, starting up.“‘Yes,’ replies she, ‘and what do you care about them?’“‘It’s very much I care,’ replied I, ‘for a little bird has whispered a secret to me.’“‘And what may that be?’ says she.“‘Only that the childer were changed, and you know it as well as I do.’ But she swore that she knew nothing about it, and that she was not there when either of the children were born, and I believe that she told the truth. ‘Well,’ says I, ‘who tended the lady?’“‘My own mother,’ says Ella. ‘And if it were so, who can know but she?’“‘Then,’ says I, ‘Ella, jewel, I’ve made a vow that I’ll never marry, till I find out the truth of this matter; so the sooner you get it out of your mother the better.’ Then she cried very much, and I was almost ready to cry too, to see how the poor thing was vexed at the idea of not being married. After a while she swabbed up her cheeks, and kissing me, wished me good-bye, swearing by all the saints that the truth should come out somehow or another.“It’s this morning that I saw her again, as agreed upon yesterday, and red her eyes were with weeping, poor thing; and she clung to me and begged me to forgive her, and not to leave her; and then she told me that her mother was startled when she put the question to her, and chewed it, and cursed her when she insisted upon the truth; and how she had fallen on her knees, and begged her mother not to stand in the way of her happiness, as she would die if she did (I leave you to guess if my heart didn’t smite me when she said that, Peter, but the mischief was done), and how her mother had talked about her oath and Father O’Toole, and said that she would speak to him.“Now, Peter, I’m sure that the childer have been changed and that the nurse has been sent to the Indies to be out of the way. They say they were to go to Plymouth. The husband’s name is, of course, O’Sullivan; so I’d recommend you to take a coach and see what you can do in that quarter; in the meantime, I’ll try all I can for the truth in this, and will write again as soon as I can find out any thing more. All I want to do is to get Father McGrath to go to the old devil of a mother, and I’ll answer for it, he’ll frighten her into swearing anything. God bless you, Peter and give my love to all the family.“Yours ever,“Terence O’Brien.”This letter of O’Brien was the subject of much meditation. The advice to go to Plymouth was too late, the troops having sailed some time; and I had no doubt but that Mary Sullivan and her husband were among those who had embarked at the time that I was at the port to pass my examination. Show the letter to my father I would not, as it would only have put him in a fever, and his interference would, in all probability, have done more harm than good. I therefore waited quietly for more intelligence, and resolved to apply to my grandfather to obtain my promotion.A few days afterwards I set off for Eagle Park, and arrived about eleven o’clock in the morning. I sent in my name and was admitted into the library, where I found Lord Privilege in his easy chair as usual.“Well, child,” said he, remaining on his chair, and not offering even one finger to me, “what do you want, that you come here without an invitation?”“Only, my lord, to inquire after your health, and to thank you for your kindness to me in procuring me and Mr O’Brien the appointment to a fine frigate.”“Yes,” replied his lordship, “I recollect—I think I did so, at your request, and I think I heard some one say that you have behaved well, and had been mentioned in the despatches.”“Yes, my lord,” replied I, “and I have since passed my examination for lieutenant.”“Well, child, I’m glad to hear it. Remember me to your father and family.” And his lordship cast his eyes down upon his book which he had been reading.My father’s observations appeared to be well grounded, but I would not leave the room until I had made some further attempt.“Has your lordship heard from my uncle?”“Yes,” replied he, “I had a letter from him yesterday. The child is quite well. I expect them all here in a fortnight or three weeks, to live with me altogether. I am old—getting very old, and I shall have much to arrange with your uncle before I die.”“If I might request a favour of your lordship, it would be to beg that you would interest yourself a little in obtaining my promotion. A letter from your lordship to the First Lord—only a few lines—”“Well, child, I see no objection—only I am very old, too old to write now.” And his lordship again commenced reading.I must do Lord Privilege the justice to state that he evidently was fast verging to a state of second childhood. He was much bowed down since I had last seen him, and appeared infirm in body as well as mind.I waited at least a quarter of an hour before his lordship looked up.“What, not gone yet, child? I thought you had gone home.”“Your lordship was kind enough to say that you had no objection to write a few lines to the First Lord in my behalf. I trust your lordship will not refuse me—”“Well,” replied he, peevishly, “so I did—but I am too old, too old to write—I cannot see—I can hardly hold a pen.”“Will your lordship allow me the honour of writing the letter for your lordship’s signature?”“Well, child,—yes—I’ve no objection. Write as follows—no—write anything you please—and I’ll sign it. I wish your uncle William was come.”This was more than I did. I had a great mind to show him O’Brien’s letter, but I thought it would be cruel to raise doubts, and, harass the mind of a person so close to the brink of the grave. The truth would never be ascertained during his life, I thought; and why, therefore, should I give him pain? At all events, although I had the letter in my pocket, I resolved not to make use of it except as adernierresort.I went to another table, and sat down to write the letter. As his lordship had said that I might write what I pleased, it occurred to me that I might assist O’Brien, and I felt sure that his lordship would not take the trouble to read the letter. I therefore wrote as follows, while Lord Privilege continued to read his book:—“My Lord,—You will confer a very great favour upon me, if you will hasten the commission which, I have no doubt, is in preparation for my grandson Mr Simple, who has passed his examination, and has been mentioned in the public despatches; and also that you will not lose sight of Lieutenant O’Brien, who has so distinguished himself by his gallantry in the various cutting-out expeditions in the West Indies. Trusting that your lordship will not fail to comply with my earnest request, I have the honour to be your lordship’s very obedient humble servant.”I brought this letter, with a pen full of ink, and the noise of my approach induced his lordship to look up. He stared at first, as having forgotten the whole circumstance—then said—“O yes! I recollect, so I did—give me the pen.” With a trembling hand he signed his name, and gave me back the letter without reading it, as I expected.“There, child, don’t tease me any more. Good-bye; remember me to your father.”I wished his lordship a good morning, and went away well satisfied with the result of my expedition. On my arrival I showed the letter to my father, who was much surprised at my success, and he assured me that my grandfather’s interest was so great with the Administration, that I might consider my promotion as certain. That no accident might happen, I immediately set off for London, and delivered the letter at the door of the First Lord with my own hands, leaving my address with the porter.

As soon as I arrived at the hotel, I sent for a Plymouth paper, and cut out the paragraph which had been of such importance to me in my emergency, and the next morning returned home to receive the congratulations of my family. I found a letter from O’Brien, which had arrived the day before. It was as follows:—

“My dear Peter,—Some people, they say, are lucky to ‘have a father born before them,’ because they are helped on in the world—upon which principle, mine was bornafterme, that’s certain; however, that can’t be helped. I found all my family well and hearty: but they all shook a cloth in the wind with respect to toggery. As for Father McGrath’s cassock, he didn’t complain of it without reason. It was the ghost of a garment; but, however, with the blessing of God, my last quarterly bill, and the help of a tailor, we have had a regular refit, and the ancient family of the O’Briens of Ballyhinch are now rigged from stem to stern. My two sisters are both to be spliced to young squireens in the neighbourhood; it appears that they only waited for a dacent town gown to go to the church in. They will be turned off next Friday, and I only wish, Peter, you were here to dance at the weddings. Never mind, I’ll dance for you and for myself too. In the meantime, I’ll just tell you what Father McGrath and I have been doing, all about and consarning that thief of an uncle of yours.“It’s very little or nothing at all that Father McGrath did before I came back, seeing as how Father O’Toole had a new cassock, and Father McGrath’s was so shabby that he couldn’t face him under such a disadvantage: but still Father McGrath spied about him, and had several hints from here and from there, all of which, when I came to add them up, amounted to nothing at all.“But since I came home, we have been busy. Father McGrath went down to Ballycleuch, as bold as a lion, in his new clothing, swearing that he’d lead Father O’Toole by the nose for slamming the door in his face, and so he would have done, if he could have found him; but as he wasn’t to be found, Father McGrath came back again just as wise, and quite as brave, as he went out.“So, Peter, I just took a walk that way myself, and, as I surrounded the old house where your uncle had taken up his quarters, who should I meet but the little girl, Ella Flanagan, who was in his service; and I said to myself, ‘There’s two ways of obtaining things in this world, one is for love, and the other is for money.’ The O’Briens are better off in the first article than in the last, as most of their countrymen are, so I’ve been spending it very freely in your service, Peter.“‘Sure,’ says I, ‘you are the little girl that my eyes were ever looking upon when last I was this way.’“‘And who are you?’ says she.“‘Lieutenant O’Brien, of His Majesty’s service, just come home for a minute to look out for a wife,’ says I; ‘and it’s one about your make, and shape, and discretion, that would please my fancy.’“And then I praised her eyes, and her nose, and her forehead, and so downwards, until I came to the soles of her feet; and asked her leave to see her again, and when she would meet me in the wood and tell me her mind. At first, she thought (sure enough) that I couldn’t be in earnest, but I swore by all the saints that she was the prettiest girl in the parts—and so she is altogether—and then she listened to my blarney. The devil a word did I say about your uncle or your aunt, or Father McGrath, that she might not suspect, for I’ve an idea that they’re all in the story. I only talked about my love for her pretty self, and that blinded her, as it will all women, ’cute as they may be.“And now, Peter, it’s three weeks last Sunday, that I’ve been bespeaking this poor girl for your sake, and my conscience tells me that it’s not right to make a poor cratur fond of me, seeing as how that I don’t care a fig for her in the way of a wife, and in any other way it would be the ruin of the poor thing. I have spoken to Father McGrath on the subject, who says ‘that we may do evil that good may come, and, that if she had been a party to the deceit, it’s nothing but proper that she should be punished in this world, and that will, perhaps, save her in the next;’ still I don’t like it, Peter, and it’s only for you among the living that I’d do such a thing; for the poor creature now hangs upon me so fondly and talks about the wedding day; and tells me long stories about the connections which have taken place between the O’Flanagans and the O’Briens, times gone by, when they were all in their glory. Yesterday as we sat in the wood, with her arm round my waist, ‘Ella, dear,’ says I ‘who are these people that you stay with?’ And then she told me all she knew about their history, and how Mary Sullivan was a nurse to the baby.“‘And what is the baby?’ says I.“‘A boy, sure,’ says she.“‘And Sullivan’s baby?’“‘That’s a girl.’“‘And is Mary Sullivan there now?’“‘No,’ says she; ‘it’s yestreen she left with her husband and baby, to join the regiment that’s going out to Ingy.’“‘Yesterday she left?’ says I, starting up.“‘Yes,’ replies she, ‘and what do you care about them?’“‘It’s very much I care,’ replied I, ‘for a little bird has whispered a secret to me.’“‘And what may that be?’ says she.“‘Only that the childer were changed, and you know it as well as I do.’ But she swore that she knew nothing about it, and that she was not there when either of the children were born, and I believe that she told the truth. ‘Well,’ says I, ‘who tended the lady?’“‘My own mother,’ says Ella. ‘And if it were so, who can know but she?’“‘Then,’ says I, ‘Ella, jewel, I’ve made a vow that I’ll never marry, till I find out the truth of this matter; so the sooner you get it out of your mother the better.’ Then she cried very much, and I was almost ready to cry too, to see how the poor thing was vexed at the idea of not being married. After a while she swabbed up her cheeks, and kissing me, wished me good-bye, swearing by all the saints that the truth should come out somehow or another.“It’s this morning that I saw her again, as agreed upon yesterday, and red her eyes were with weeping, poor thing; and she clung to me and begged me to forgive her, and not to leave her; and then she told me that her mother was startled when she put the question to her, and chewed it, and cursed her when she insisted upon the truth; and how she had fallen on her knees, and begged her mother not to stand in the way of her happiness, as she would die if she did (I leave you to guess if my heart didn’t smite me when she said that, Peter, but the mischief was done), and how her mother had talked about her oath and Father O’Toole, and said that she would speak to him.“Now, Peter, I’m sure that the childer have been changed and that the nurse has been sent to the Indies to be out of the way. They say they were to go to Plymouth. The husband’s name is, of course, O’Sullivan; so I’d recommend you to take a coach and see what you can do in that quarter; in the meantime, I’ll try all I can for the truth in this, and will write again as soon as I can find out any thing more. All I want to do is to get Father McGrath to go to the old devil of a mother, and I’ll answer for it, he’ll frighten her into swearing anything. God bless you, Peter and give my love to all the family.“Yours ever,“Terence O’Brien.”

“My dear Peter,—Some people, they say, are lucky to ‘have a father born before them,’ because they are helped on in the world—upon which principle, mine was bornafterme, that’s certain; however, that can’t be helped. I found all my family well and hearty: but they all shook a cloth in the wind with respect to toggery. As for Father McGrath’s cassock, he didn’t complain of it without reason. It was the ghost of a garment; but, however, with the blessing of God, my last quarterly bill, and the help of a tailor, we have had a regular refit, and the ancient family of the O’Briens of Ballyhinch are now rigged from stem to stern. My two sisters are both to be spliced to young squireens in the neighbourhood; it appears that they only waited for a dacent town gown to go to the church in. They will be turned off next Friday, and I only wish, Peter, you were here to dance at the weddings. Never mind, I’ll dance for you and for myself too. In the meantime, I’ll just tell you what Father McGrath and I have been doing, all about and consarning that thief of an uncle of yours.

“It’s very little or nothing at all that Father McGrath did before I came back, seeing as how Father O’Toole had a new cassock, and Father McGrath’s was so shabby that he couldn’t face him under such a disadvantage: but still Father McGrath spied about him, and had several hints from here and from there, all of which, when I came to add them up, amounted to nothing at all.

“But since I came home, we have been busy. Father McGrath went down to Ballycleuch, as bold as a lion, in his new clothing, swearing that he’d lead Father O’Toole by the nose for slamming the door in his face, and so he would have done, if he could have found him; but as he wasn’t to be found, Father McGrath came back again just as wise, and quite as brave, as he went out.

“So, Peter, I just took a walk that way myself, and, as I surrounded the old house where your uncle had taken up his quarters, who should I meet but the little girl, Ella Flanagan, who was in his service; and I said to myself, ‘There’s two ways of obtaining things in this world, one is for love, and the other is for money.’ The O’Briens are better off in the first article than in the last, as most of their countrymen are, so I’ve been spending it very freely in your service, Peter.

“‘Sure,’ says I, ‘you are the little girl that my eyes were ever looking upon when last I was this way.’

“‘And who are you?’ says she.

“‘Lieutenant O’Brien, of His Majesty’s service, just come home for a minute to look out for a wife,’ says I; ‘and it’s one about your make, and shape, and discretion, that would please my fancy.’

“And then I praised her eyes, and her nose, and her forehead, and so downwards, until I came to the soles of her feet; and asked her leave to see her again, and when she would meet me in the wood and tell me her mind. At first, she thought (sure enough) that I couldn’t be in earnest, but I swore by all the saints that she was the prettiest girl in the parts—and so she is altogether—and then she listened to my blarney. The devil a word did I say about your uncle or your aunt, or Father McGrath, that she might not suspect, for I’ve an idea that they’re all in the story. I only talked about my love for her pretty self, and that blinded her, as it will all women, ’cute as they may be.

“And now, Peter, it’s three weeks last Sunday, that I’ve been bespeaking this poor girl for your sake, and my conscience tells me that it’s not right to make a poor cratur fond of me, seeing as how that I don’t care a fig for her in the way of a wife, and in any other way it would be the ruin of the poor thing. I have spoken to Father McGrath on the subject, who says ‘that we may do evil that good may come, and, that if she had been a party to the deceit, it’s nothing but proper that she should be punished in this world, and that will, perhaps, save her in the next;’ still I don’t like it, Peter, and it’s only for you among the living that I’d do such a thing; for the poor creature now hangs upon me so fondly and talks about the wedding day; and tells me long stories about the connections which have taken place between the O’Flanagans and the O’Briens, times gone by, when they were all in their glory. Yesterday as we sat in the wood, with her arm round my waist, ‘Ella, dear,’ says I ‘who are these people that you stay with?’ And then she told me all she knew about their history, and how Mary Sullivan was a nurse to the baby.

“‘And what is the baby?’ says I.

“‘A boy, sure,’ says she.

“‘And Sullivan’s baby?’

“‘That’s a girl.’

“‘And is Mary Sullivan there now?’

“‘No,’ says she; ‘it’s yestreen she left with her husband and baby, to join the regiment that’s going out to Ingy.’

“‘Yesterday she left?’ says I, starting up.

“‘Yes,’ replies she, ‘and what do you care about them?’

“‘It’s very much I care,’ replied I, ‘for a little bird has whispered a secret to me.’

“‘And what may that be?’ says she.

“‘Only that the childer were changed, and you know it as well as I do.’ But she swore that she knew nothing about it, and that she was not there when either of the children were born, and I believe that she told the truth. ‘Well,’ says I, ‘who tended the lady?’

“‘My own mother,’ says Ella. ‘And if it were so, who can know but she?’

“‘Then,’ says I, ‘Ella, jewel, I’ve made a vow that I’ll never marry, till I find out the truth of this matter; so the sooner you get it out of your mother the better.’ Then she cried very much, and I was almost ready to cry too, to see how the poor thing was vexed at the idea of not being married. After a while she swabbed up her cheeks, and kissing me, wished me good-bye, swearing by all the saints that the truth should come out somehow or another.

“It’s this morning that I saw her again, as agreed upon yesterday, and red her eyes were with weeping, poor thing; and she clung to me and begged me to forgive her, and not to leave her; and then she told me that her mother was startled when she put the question to her, and chewed it, and cursed her when she insisted upon the truth; and how she had fallen on her knees, and begged her mother not to stand in the way of her happiness, as she would die if she did (I leave you to guess if my heart didn’t smite me when she said that, Peter, but the mischief was done), and how her mother had talked about her oath and Father O’Toole, and said that she would speak to him.

“Now, Peter, I’m sure that the childer have been changed and that the nurse has been sent to the Indies to be out of the way. They say they were to go to Plymouth. The husband’s name is, of course, O’Sullivan; so I’d recommend you to take a coach and see what you can do in that quarter; in the meantime, I’ll try all I can for the truth in this, and will write again as soon as I can find out any thing more. All I want to do is to get Father McGrath to go to the old devil of a mother, and I’ll answer for it, he’ll frighten her into swearing anything. God bless you, Peter and give my love to all the family.

“Yours ever,

“Terence O’Brien.”

This letter of O’Brien was the subject of much meditation. The advice to go to Plymouth was too late, the troops having sailed some time; and I had no doubt but that Mary Sullivan and her husband were among those who had embarked at the time that I was at the port to pass my examination. Show the letter to my father I would not, as it would only have put him in a fever, and his interference would, in all probability, have done more harm than good. I therefore waited quietly for more intelligence, and resolved to apply to my grandfather to obtain my promotion.

A few days afterwards I set off for Eagle Park, and arrived about eleven o’clock in the morning. I sent in my name and was admitted into the library, where I found Lord Privilege in his easy chair as usual.

“Well, child,” said he, remaining on his chair, and not offering even one finger to me, “what do you want, that you come here without an invitation?”

“Only, my lord, to inquire after your health, and to thank you for your kindness to me in procuring me and Mr O’Brien the appointment to a fine frigate.”

“Yes,” replied his lordship, “I recollect—I think I did so, at your request, and I think I heard some one say that you have behaved well, and had been mentioned in the despatches.”

“Yes, my lord,” replied I, “and I have since passed my examination for lieutenant.”

“Well, child, I’m glad to hear it. Remember me to your father and family.” And his lordship cast his eyes down upon his book which he had been reading.

My father’s observations appeared to be well grounded, but I would not leave the room until I had made some further attempt.

“Has your lordship heard from my uncle?”

“Yes,” replied he, “I had a letter from him yesterday. The child is quite well. I expect them all here in a fortnight or three weeks, to live with me altogether. I am old—getting very old, and I shall have much to arrange with your uncle before I die.”

“If I might request a favour of your lordship, it would be to beg that you would interest yourself a little in obtaining my promotion. A letter from your lordship to the First Lord—only a few lines—”

“Well, child, I see no objection—only I am very old, too old to write now.” And his lordship again commenced reading.

I must do Lord Privilege the justice to state that he evidently was fast verging to a state of second childhood. He was much bowed down since I had last seen him, and appeared infirm in body as well as mind.

I waited at least a quarter of an hour before his lordship looked up.

“What, not gone yet, child? I thought you had gone home.”

“Your lordship was kind enough to say that you had no objection to write a few lines to the First Lord in my behalf. I trust your lordship will not refuse me—”

“Well,” replied he, peevishly, “so I did—but I am too old, too old to write—I cannot see—I can hardly hold a pen.”

“Will your lordship allow me the honour of writing the letter for your lordship’s signature?”

“Well, child,—yes—I’ve no objection. Write as follows—no—write anything you please—and I’ll sign it. I wish your uncle William was come.”

This was more than I did. I had a great mind to show him O’Brien’s letter, but I thought it would be cruel to raise doubts, and, harass the mind of a person so close to the brink of the grave. The truth would never be ascertained during his life, I thought; and why, therefore, should I give him pain? At all events, although I had the letter in my pocket, I resolved not to make use of it except as adernierresort.

I went to another table, and sat down to write the letter. As his lordship had said that I might write what I pleased, it occurred to me that I might assist O’Brien, and I felt sure that his lordship would not take the trouble to read the letter. I therefore wrote as follows, while Lord Privilege continued to read his book:—

“My Lord,—You will confer a very great favour upon me, if you will hasten the commission which, I have no doubt, is in preparation for my grandson Mr Simple, who has passed his examination, and has been mentioned in the public despatches; and also that you will not lose sight of Lieutenant O’Brien, who has so distinguished himself by his gallantry in the various cutting-out expeditions in the West Indies. Trusting that your lordship will not fail to comply with my earnest request, I have the honour to be your lordship’s very obedient humble servant.”

“My Lord,—You will confer a very great favour upon me, if you will hasten the commission which, I have no doubt, is in preparation for my grandson Mr Simple, who has passed his examination, and has been mentioned in the public despatches; and also that you will not lose sight of Lieutenant O’Brien, who has so distinguished himself by his gallantry in the various cutting-out expeditions in the West Indies. Trusting that your lordship will not fail to comply with my earnest request, I have the honour to be your lordship’s very obedient humble servant.”

I brought this letter, with a pen full of ink, and the noise of my approach induced his lordship to look up. He stared at first, as having forgotten the whole circumstance—then said—“O yes! I recollect, so I did—give me the pen.” With a trembling hand he signed his name, and gave me back the letter without reading it, as I expected.

“There, child, don’t tease me any more. Good-bye; remember me to your father.”

I wished his lordship a good morning, and went away well satisfied with the result of my expedition. On my arrival I showed the letter to my father, who was much surprised at my success, and he assured me that my grandfather’s interest was so great with the Administration, that I might consider my promotion as certain. That no accident might happen, I immediately set off for London, and delivered the letter at the door of the First Lord with my own hands, leaving my address with the porter.

Chapter Forty.O’Brien and myself take a step each, “pari passu”—A family reunion, productive of anything but unity—My uncle, not always the best friend.A few days afterwards I left my card with my address with the First Lord, and the next day received a letter from his secretary, which, to my delight, informed me that my commission had been made out some days before. I hardly need say that I hastened to take it up, and when paying my fee to the clerk, I ventured, at a hazard, to inquire whether he knew the address of Lieutenant O’Brien.“No,” replied he, “I wish to find it out, for he has this day been promoted to the rank of Commander.”I almost leaped with joy when I heard this good news; I gave O’Brien’s address to the clerk, hastened away with my invaluable piece of parchment in my hand, and set off immediately for my father’s house.But I was met with sorrow. My mother had been taken severely ill, and I found the house in commotion—doctors, and apothecaries, and nurses, running to and fro, my father in a state of excitement, and my dear sister in tears. Spasm succeeded spasm; and although every remedy was applied, the next evening she breathed her last. I will not attempt to describe the grief of my father, who appeared to feel remorse at his late unkind treatment of her, my sister, and myself. These scenes must be imagined by those who have suffered under similar bereavements. I exerted myself to console my poor sister, who appeared to cling to me as to her only support, and, after the funeral was over, we recovered our tranquillity, although the mourning was still deeper in our hearts than in our outward dress. I had written to O’Brien to announce the mournful intelligence, and, like a true friend, he immediately made his appearance to console me.O’Brien had received the letter from the Admiralty, acquainting him with his promotion; and, two days after he arrived, went to take up his commission. I told him frankly by what means he had obtained it, and he again concluded his thanks by a reference to the mistake of the former supposition, that of my being “the fool of the family.”“By the powers, it would be well for any man if he had a few of such foolish friends about him,” continued he; “but I won’t blarney you, Peter; you know what my opinion always has been, so we’ll say no more about it.”When he came back, we had a long consultation as to the best method of proceeding to obtain employment, for O’Brien was anxious to be again afloat, and so was I. I regretted parting with my sister, but my father was so morose and ill-tempered, that I had no pleasure at home, except in her company. Indeed, my sister was of opinion, that it would be better if I were away, as my father’s misanthropy, now unchecked by my mother, appeared to have increased, and he seemed to view me with positive dislike. It was, therefore, agreed unanimously between my sister, and me, and O’Brien, who was always of our councils, that it would be advisable that I should be again afloat.“I can manage him much better when alone, Peter; I shall have nothing to occupy me, and take me away from him, as your presence does now; and, painful as it is to part with you, my duty to my father, and my wish for your advancement, induce me to request that you will, if possible, find some means of obtaining employment.”“Spoken like a hero, as ye are, Miss Ellen, notwithstanding your pretty face and soft eyes,” said O’Brien. “And now, Peter, for the means to bring it about. If I can get a ship, there is no fear for you, as I shall choose you for my lieutenant; but how is that to be managed? Do you think that you can come over the old gentleman at Eagle Park?”“At all events I’ll try,” replied I; “I can but be floored, O’Brien.”Accordingly, the next day I set off for my grandfather’s, and was put down at the lodge, at the usual hour, about eleven o’clock. I walked up the avenue, and knocked at the door: when it was opened, I perceived a hesitation among the servants, and a constrained air which I did not like. I inquired after Lord Privilege—the answer was, that he was pretty well, but did not seeanybody.“Is my uncle here,” said I.“Yes, sir,” replied the servant, with a significant look, “and all his family are here too.”“Are you sure that I cannot see mygrandfather,” said I, laying a stress upon the word.“I will tell him that you are here, sir,” replied the man, “but even that is against orders.”I had never seen my uncle since I was a child, and could not even recollect him—my cousins, or my aunt, I had never met with. In a minute, an answer was brought, requesting that I would walk into the library. When I was ushered in, I found myself in the presence of Lord Privilege, who sat in his usual place, and a tall gentleman, whom I knew at once to be my uncle, from his likeness to my father.“Here is the young gentleman, my lord,” said my uncle, looking at me sternly.“Heh! what—oh! I recollect. Well, child, so you’ve been behaving very ill—sorry to hear it. Good-bye.”“Behaving ill, my lord!” replied I. “I am not aware of having so done.”“Reports are certainly very much against you, nephew,” observed my uncle dryly. “Some one has told your grandfather what has much displeased him. I know nothing about it myself.”“Then some rascal has slandered me, sir,” replied I.My uncle started at the word rascal; and then recovering himself, replied, “Well, nephew what is it that you require of Lord Privilege, for I presume this visit is not without a cause?”“Sir,” replied I, “my visit to Lord Privilege was, first to thank him for having procured me my commission as lieutenant, and to request the favour that he would obtain me active employment, which a line from him will effect immediately.”“I was not aware, nephew, that you had been made lieutenant; but I agree with you, that the more you are at sea the better. His lordship shall sign the letter. Sit down.”“Shall I write it, sir?” said I to my uncle: “I know what to say.”“Yes; and bring it to me when it is written.”I felt convinced that the only reason which induced my uncle to obtain me employment, was the idea that I should be better out of the way, and that there was more risk at sea than on shore. I took a sheet of paper and wrote as follows:—“My Lord,—May I request that your lordship will be pleased to appoint the bearer of this to a ship, as soon as convenient, as I wish him to be actively employed.“I am, my lord, etcetera, etc.”“Why not mention your name?”“It is of no consequence,” replied I, “as it will be delivered in person, and that will insure my speedy appointment.”The letter was placed before his lordship for signature. It was with some difficulty that he was made to understand that he was to sign it. The old gentleman appeared much more imbecile than when I last saw him. I thanked him, folded up the letter, and put it in my pocket. At last, he looked at me, and a sudden flash of recollection appeared to come across his mind.“Well, child—so you escaped from the French prison—heh! and how’s your friend—what is his name, heh?”“O’Brien, my lord.”“O’Brien!” cried my uncle, “he isyourfriend; then, sir, I presume it is you am indebted for all the inquiries and reports which are so industriously circulated in Ireland—the tampering with my servants—and other impertinences?”I did not choose to deny the truth, although I was a little fluttered by the sudden manner in which it came to light. I replied, “I never tamper with any people’s servants, sir.”“No,” said he, “but you employ others so to do. I discovered the whole of your proceedings, after the scoundrel left for England.”“If you apply the word scoundrel to Captain O’Brien, sir, in his name I contradict it.”“As you please, sir,” replied my uncle, in a passion; “but you will oblige me by quitting this house immediately, and expect nothing more, either from the present or the future Lord Privilege, except that retaliation which your infamous conduct has deserved.”I felt much irritated, and replied very sharply, “From the present Lord Privilege I certainly expect nothing more, neither do I from his successor;—but after your death, uncle, I expect that the person who succeeds to the title will do all he can for your humble servant. I wish you a good morning, uncle.”My uncle’s eyes flashed fire as I finished my speech, which indeed was a very bold, and a very foolish one too, as it afterwards proved. I hastened out of the room, not only from the fear of being turned out of the house before all the servants, but also from the dread that my letter to the first Lord might be taken from me by force; but I never shall forget the scowl of vengeance which crossed my uncle’s brows as I turned round and looked at him as I shut the door. I found my way out without the assistance of the servants, and hastened home as fast as I could.“O’Brien,” said I, on my return, “there is no time to be lost; the sooner you hasten to town with this letter of introduction, the better it will be, for depend upon it my uncle will do me all the harm that he can.” I then repeated to him all that had passed, and it was agreed, that O’Brien should take the letter, which having reference to the bearer, would do as well for him as for me; and, if O’Brien obtained on appointment, I was sure not only of being one of his lieutenants, but also of sailing with a dear friend. The next morning, O’Brien set off for London, and fortunately saw the First Lord the day after his arrival, which was alevéeday. The First Lord received the letter from O’Brien, and requested him to sit down. He then read it, inquired after his lordship, asked whether his health was good, etc.O’Brien replied that, “with the blessing of God, his lordship might live many years: that he had never heard him complain of ill health.” All which was not false, if not true. I could not help observing to O’Brien, when he returned home and told me what had passed, that “I thought, considering what he had expressed with respect to white lies and black lies, that he had not latterly adhered to his own creed.”“That’s very true, Peter; and I’ve thought of it myself, but it is my creed nevertheless. We all know what’s right, but we don’t always follow it. The fact is, I begin to think that it is absolutely necessary to fight the world with it own weapons. I spoke to Father McGrath on the subject, and he replied, ‘That if any one, by doing wrong, necessitated another to do wrong to circumvent him, that the first party was answerable, not only for his own sin, but also for the sin committed in self-defence.’”“But O’Brien, I do not fix my faith so implicitly upon Father McGrath; and I do not much admire many of his directions.”“No more do I, Peter, when I think upon them; but how am I to puzzle my head upon these points? All I know is, that when you are divided between your inclination and your duty, it’s mighty convenient to have a priest like Father McGrath to decide for you, and to look after your soul into the bargain.”It occurred to me, that I myself, when finding fault with O’Brien, had, in the instance of both the letters from Lord Privilege, been also guilty of deceit. I was therefore blaming him for the same fault committed by myself; and I am afraid that I was too ready in consoling myself with Father McGrath’s maxim, “That one might do evil, that good might come.” But to return to O’Brien’s interview.After some little conversation, the First Lord said, “Captain O’Brien, I am always very ready to oblige Lord Privilege, and the more so as his recommendation is of an officer of your merit. In a day or two, if you will call at the Admiralty, you will hear further.” O’Brien wrote to us immediately, and we waited with impatience for his next letter; but instead of this letter, he made his appearance on the third day, and first hugging me in his arms, he then came to my sister, embraced her, and skipped and danced about the room.“What is the matter, O’Brien?” said I, while Ellen retreated in confusion.O’Brien pulled a parchment out of his pocket. “Here, Peter, my dear Peter; now for honour and glory. An eighteen-gun brig, Peter. TheRattlesnake—Captain O’Brien—West India station. By the holy father! my heart’s bursting with joy,” and down he sank into an easy chair “A’n’t I almost beside myself?” inquired he, after a short pause.“Ellen thinks so, I daresay,” replied I, looking at my sister, who stood in a corner of the room, thinking O’Brien was really out of his senses, and still red with confusion.O’Brien, who then called to mind what a slip of decorum he had been guilty of, immediately rose, and resuming his usual unsophisticated politeness, as he walked up to my sister, took her hand and said, “Excuse me, my dear Miss Ellen: I must apologise for my rudeness; but my delight was so great and my gratitude to your brother so intense, that I am afraid that in my warmth, I allowed the expressions of my feelings to extend to one so dear to him, and so like him in person and in mind. Will you only consider that you received the overflowings of a grateful heart towards your brother, and for his sake pardon my indiscretion?”Ellen smiled, and held out her hand to O’Brien, who led her to the sofa, where we all three sat down: and O’Brien commenced a more intelligible narrative of what had passed. He had called on the day appointed, and sent up his card. The First Lord could not see him, but referred him to the private secretary, who presented him with his commission to theRattlesnake, eighteen-gun brig. The secretary smiled most graciously, and told O’Brien in confidence, that he would proceed to the West India station as soon as his vessel was manned and ready for sea. He inquired of O’Brien whom he wished as his first lieutenant. O’Brien replied that he wished for me; but as, in all probability, I should not be of sufficient standing to be first lieutenant, that the Admiralty might appoint any other to the duty, provided I joined the ship. The secretary made a minute of O’Brien’s wish, and requested him, if he had a vacancy to spare as midshipman, to allow him to send one on board; to which O’Brien willingly acceded, shook hands with him, and O’Brien quitted the Admiralty to hasten down to us with the pleasing intelligence.“And now,” said O’Brien, “I have made up my mind how to proceed. I shall first run down to Plymouth and hoist my pennant; then I shall ask for a fortnight’s leave, and go to Ireland to see how they get on, and what Father McGrath may be about. So, Peter, let’s pass this evening as happily as we can: for though you and I shall soon meet again, yet it may be years, or perhaps never, that we three shall sit down on the same sofa as we do now.”Ellen, who was still nervous from the late death of my mother, looked down, and I perceived the tears start in her eyes at the remark of O’Brien, that perhaps we should never meet again. And I did pass a happy evening: my father dined out, and did not interrupt us. I had a dear sister on one side of me, and a sincere friend on the other. How few situations more enviable.O’Brien left us early the next morning, and, at breakfast time, a letter was handed to my father. It was from my uncle, coldly communicating to him that Lord Privilege had died the night before very suddenly, and informing him that the burial would take place on that day week, and that the will would be opened immediately after the funeral. My father handed the letter over to me without saying a word, and sipped his tea with his tea-spoon. I cannot say that I felt very much on the occasion; but I did feel, because he had been kind to me at one time: as for my father’s feelings, I could not—or rather I should say, I did not wish to analyse them. As soon as he had finished his cup of tea, he left the breakfast-table, and went into his study. I then communicated the intelligence to my sister Ellen.“My God!” said she, after a pause, putting her hand up to her eyes, “what a strange, unnatural state of society must we have arrived at when my father can thus receive the intelligence of a parent’s death. Is it not dreadful?”“It is, my dearest girl,” replied I; “but every feeling has been sacrificed to worldly considerations and an empty name. The younger sons have been neglected, if not deserted. Virtue, talent, everything set at naught—intrinsic value despised—and the only claim to consideration admitted, that of being the heir entail. When all the ties of nature are cast loose by the parents, can you be surprised if the children are no longer bound by them? Most truly do you observe, that it is a detestable state of society.”“I did not say detestable, brother; I said strange and unnatural.”“Had you said what I said, Ellen, you would not have been wrong. I would not, for the title and wealth which it brings, be the heartless, isolated, I may say neglected, being that my grandfather was: were it offered now, I would not barter for it Ellen’s love.”Ellen threw herself in my arms; we then walked into the garden, where we had a long conversation relative to our future wishes, hopes and, prospects.

A few days afterwards I left my card with my address with the First Lord, and the next day received a letter from his secretary, which, to my delight, informed me that my commission had been made out some days before. I hardly need say that I hastened to take it up, and when paying my fee to the clerk, I ventured, at a hazard, to inquire whether he knew the address of Lieutenant O’Brien.

“No,” replied he, “I wish to find it out, for he has this day been promoted to the rank of Commander.”

I almost leaped with joy when I heard this good news; I gave O’Brien’s address to the clerk, hastened away with my invaluable piece of parchment in my hand, and set off immediately for my father’s house.

But I was met with sorrow. My mother had been taken severely ill, and I found the house in commotion—doctors, and apothecaries, and nurses, running to and fro, my father in a state of excitement, and my dear sister in tears. Spasm succeeded spasm; and although every remedy was applied, the next evening she breathed her last. I will not attempt to describe the grief of my father, who appeared to feel remorse at his late unkind treatment of her, my sister, and myself. These scenes must be imagined by those who have suffered under similar bereavements. I exerted myself to console my poor sister, who appeared to cling to me as to her only support, and, after the funeral was over, we recovered our tranquillity, although the mourning was still deeper in our hearts than in our outward dress. I had written to O’Brien to announce the mournful intelligence, and, like a true friend, he immediately made his appearance to console me.

O’Brien had received the letter from the Admiralty, acquainting him with his promotion; and, two days after he arrived, went to take up his commission. I told him frankly by what means he had obtained it, and he again concluded his thanks by a reference to the mistake of the former supposition, that of my being “the fool of the family.”

“By the powers, it would be well for any man if he had a few of such foolish friends about him,” continued he; “but I won’t blarney you, Peter; you know what my opinion always has been, so we’ll say no more about it.”

When he came back, we had a long consultation as to the best method of proceeding to obtain employment, for O’Brien was anxious to be again afloat, and so was I. I regretted parting with my sister, but my father was so morose and ill-tempered, that I had no pleasure at home, except in her company. Indeed, my sister was of opinion, that it would be better if I were away, as my father’s misanthropy, now unchecked by my mother, appeared to have increased, and he seemed to view me with positive dislike. It was, therefore, agreed unanimously between my sister, and me, and O’Brien, who was always of our councils, that it would be advisable that I should be again afloat.

“I can manage him much better when alone, Peter; I shall have nothing to occupy me, and take me away from him, as your presence does now; and, painful as it is to part with you, my duty to my father, and my wish for your advancement, induce me to request that you will, if possible, find some means of obtaining employment.”

“Spoken like a hero, as ye are, Miss Ellen, notwithstanding your pretty face and soft eyes,” said O’Brien. “And now, Peter, for the means to bring it about. If I can get a ship, there is no fear for you, as I shall choose you for my lieutenant; but how is that to be managed? Do you think that you can come over the old gentleman at Eagle Park?”

“At all events I’ll try,” replied I; “I can but be floored, O’Brien.”

Accordingly, the next day I set off for my grandfather’s, and was put down at the lodge, at the usual hour, about eleven o’clock. I walked up the avenue, and knocked at the door: when it was opened, I perceived a hesitation among the servants, and a constrained air which I did not like. I inquired after Lord Privilege—the answer was, that he was pretty well, but did not seeanybody.

“Is my uncle here,” said I.

“Yes, sir,” replied the servant, with a significant look, “and all his family are here too.”

“Are you sure that I cannot see mygrandfather,” said I, laying a stress upon the word.

“I will tell him that you are here, sir,” replied the man, “but even that is against orders.”

I had never seen my uncle since I was a child, and could not even recollect him—my cousins, or my aunt, I had never met with. In a minute, an answer was brought, requesting that I would walk into the library. When I was ushered in, I found myself in the presence of Lord Privilege, who sat in his usual place, and a tall gentleman, whom I knew at once to be my uncle, from his likeness to my father.

“Here is the young gentleman, my lord,” said my uncle, looking at me sternly.

“Heh! what—oh! I recollect. Well, child, so you’ve been behaving very ill—sorry to hear it. Good-bye.”

“Behaving ill, my lord!” replied I. “I am not aware of having so done.”

“Reports are certainly very much against you, nephew,” observed my uncle dryly. “Some one has told your grandfather what has much displeased him. I know nothing about it myself.”

“Then some rascal has slandered me, sir,” replied I.

My uncle started at the word rascal; and then recovering himself, replied, “Well, nephew what is it that you require of Lord Privilege, for I presume this visit is not without a cause?”

“Sir,” replied I, “my visit to Lord Privilege was, first to thank him for having procured me my commission as lieutenant, and to request the favour that he would obtain me active employment, which a line from him will effect immediately.”

“I was not aware, nephew, that you had been made lieutenant; but I agree with you, that the more you are at sea the better. His lordship shall sign the letter. Sit down.”

“Shall I write it, sir?” said I to my uncle: “I know what to say.”

“Yes; and bring it to me when it is written.”

I felt convinced that the only reason which induced my uncle to obtain me employment, was the idea that I should be better out of the way, and that there was more risk at sea than on shore. I took a sheet of paper and wrote as follows:—

“My Lord,—May I request that your lordship will be pleased to appoint the bearer of this to a ship, as soon as convenient, as I wish him to be actively employed.“I am, my lord, etcetera, etc.”

“My Lord,—May I request that your lordship will be pleased to appoint the bearer of this to a ship, as soon as convenient, as I wish him to be actively employed.

“I am, my lord, etcetera, etc.”

“Why not mention your name?”

“It is of no consequence,” replied I, “as it will be delivered in person, and that will insure my speedy appointment.”

The letter was placed before his lordship for signature. It was with some difficulty that he was made to understand that he was to sign it. The old gentleman appeared much more imbecile than when I last saw him. I thanked him, folded up the letter, and put it in my pocket. At last, he looked at me, and a sudden flash of recollection appeared to come across his mind.

“Well, child—so you escaped from the French prison—heh! and how’s your friend—what is his name, heh?”

“O’Brien, my lord.”

“O’Brien!” cried my uncle, “he isyourfriend; then, sir, I presume it is you am indebted for all the inquiries and reports which are so industriously circulated in Ireland—the tampering with my servants—and other impertinences?”

I did not choose to deny the truth, although I was a little fluttered by the sudden manner in which it came to light. I replied, “I never tamper with any people’s servants, sir.”

“No,” said he, “but you employ others so to do. I discovered the whole of your proceedings, after the scoundrel left for England.”

“If you apply the word scoundrel to Captain O’Brien, sir, in his name I contradict it.”

“As you please, sir,” replied my uncle, in a passion; “but you will oblige me by quitting this house immediately, and expect nothing more, either from the present or the future Lord Privilege, except that retaliation which your infamous conduct has deserved.”

I felt much irritated, and replied very sharply, “From the present Lord Privilege I certainly expect nothing more, neither do I from his successor;—but after your death, uncle, I expect that the person who succeeds to the title will do all he can for your humble servant. I wish you a good morning, uncle.”

My uncle’s eyes flashed fire as I finished my speech, which indeed was a very bold, and a very foolish one too, as it afterwards proved. I hastened out of the room, not only from the fear of being turned out of the house before all the servants, but also from the dread that my letter to the first Lord might be taken from me by force; but I never shall forget the scowl of vengeance which crossed my uncle’s brows as I turned round and looked at him as I shut the door. I found my way out without the assistance of the servants, and hastened home as fast as I could.

“O’Brien,” said I, on my return, “there is no time to be lost; the sooner you hasten to town with this letter of introduction, the better it will be, for depend upon it my uncle will do me all the harm that he can.” I then repeated to him all that had passed, and it was agreed, that O’Brien should take the letter, which having reference to the bearer, would do as well for him as for me; and, if O’Brien obtained on appointment, I was sure not only of being one of his lieutenants, but also of sailing with a dear friend. The next morning, O’Brien set off for London, and fortunately saw the First Lord the day after his arrival, which was alevéeday. The First Lord received the letter from O’Brien, and requested him to sit down. He then read it, inquired after his lordship, asked whether his health was good, etc.

O’Brien replied that, “with the blessing of God, his lordship might live many years: that he had never heard him complain of ill health.” All which was not false, if not true. I could not help observing to O’Brien, when he returned home and told me what had passed, that “I thought, considering what he had expressed with respect to white lies and black lies, that he had not latterly adhered to his own creed.”

“That’s very true, Peter; and I’ve thought of it myself, but it is my creed nevertheless. We all know what’s right, but we don’t always follow it. The fact is, I begin to think that it is absolutely necessary to fight the world with it own weapons. I spoke to Father McGrath on the subject, and he replied, ‘That if any one, by doing wrong, necessitated another to do wrong to circumvent him, that the first party was answerable, not only for his own sin, but also for the sin committed in self-defence.’”

“But O’Brien, I do not fix my faith so implicitly upon Father McGrath; and I do not much admire many of his directions.”

“No more do I, Peter, when I think upon them; but how am I to puzzle my head upon these points? All I know is, that when you are divided between your inclination and your duty, it’s mighty convenient to have a priest like Father McGrath to decide for you, and to look after your soul into the bargain.”

It occurred to me, that I myself, when finding fault with O’Brien, had, in the instance of both the letters from Lord Privilege, been also guilty of deceit. I was therefore blaming him for the same fault committed by myself; and I am afraid that I was too ready in consoling myself with Father McGrath’s maxim, “That one might do evil, that good might come.” But to return to O’Brien’s interview.

After some little conversation, the First Lord said, “Captain O’Brien, I am always very ready to oblige Lord Privilege, and the more so as his recommendation is of an officer of your merit. In a day or two, if you will call at the Admiralty, you will hear further.” O’Brien wrote to us immediately, and we waited with impatience for his next letter; but instead of this letter, he made his appearance on the third day, and first hugging me in his arms, he then came to my sister, embraced her, and skipped and danced about the room.

“What is the matter, O’Brien?” said I, while Ellen retreated in confusion.

O’Brien pulled a parchment out of his pocket. “Here, Peter, my dear Peter; now for honour and glory. An eighteen-gun brig, Peter. TheRattlesnake—Captain O’Brien—West India station. By the holy father! my heart’s bursting with joy,” and down he sank into an easy chair “A’n’t I almost beside myself?” inquired he, after a short pause.

“Ellen thinks so, I daresay,” replied I, looking at my sister, who stood in a corner of the room, thinking O’Brien was really out of his senses, and still red with confusion.

O’Brien, who then called to mind what a slip of decorum he had been guilty of, immediately rose, and resuming his usual unsophisticated politeness, as he walked up to my sister, took her hand and said, “Excuse me, my dear Miss Ellen: I must apologise for my rudeness; but my delight was so great and my gratitude to your brother so intense, that I am afraid that in my warmth, I allowed the expressions of my feelings to extend to one so dear to him, and so like him in person and in mind. Will you only consider that you received the overflowings of a grateful heart towards your brother, and for his sake pardon my indiscretion?”

Ellen smiled, and held out her hand to O’Brien, who led her to the sofa, where we all three sat down: and O’Brien commenced a more intelligible narrative of what had passed. He had called on the day appointed, and sent up his card. The First Lord could not see him, but referred him to the private secretary, who presented him with his commission to theRattlesnake, eighteen-gun brig. The secretary smiled most graciously, and told O’Brien in confidence, that he would proceed to the West India station as soon as his vessel was manned and ready for sea. He inquired of O’Brien whom he wished as his first lieutenant. O’Brien replied that he wished for me; but as, in all probability, I should not be of sufficient standing to be first lieutenant, that the Admiralty might appoint any other to the duty, provided I joined the ship. The secretary made a minute of O’Brien’s wish, and requested him, if he had a vacancy to spare as midshipman, to allow him to send one on board; to which O’Brien willingly acceded, shook hands with him, and O’Brien quitted the Admiralty to hasten down to us with the pleasing intelligence.

“And now,” said O’Brien, “I have made up my mind how to proceed. I shall first run down to Plymouth and hoist my pennant; then I shall ask for a fortnight’s leave, and go to Ireland to see how they get on, and what Father McGrath may be about. So, Peter, let’s pass this evening as happily as we can: for though you and I shall soon meet again, yet it may be years, or perhaps never, that we three shall sit down on the same sofa as we do now.”

Ellen, who was still nervous from the late death of my mother, looked down, and I perceived the tears start in her eyes at the remark of O’Brien, that perhaps we should never meet again. And I did pass a happy evening: my father dined out, and did not interrupt us. I had a dear sister on one side of me, and a sincere friend on the other. How few situations more enviable.

O’Brien left us early the next morning, and, at breakfast time, a letter was handed to my father. It was from my uncle, coldly communicating to him that Lord Privilege had died the night before very suddenly, and informing him that the burial would take place on that day week, and that the will would be opened immediately after the funeral. My father handed the letter over to me without saying a word, and sipped his tea with his tea-spoon. I cannot say that I felt very much on the occasion; but I did feel, because he had been kind to me at one time: as for my father’s feelings, I could not—or rather I should say, I did not wish to analyse them. As soon as he had finished his cup of tea, he left the breakfast-table, and went into his study. I then communicated the intelligence to my sister Ellen.

“My God!” said she, after a pause, putting her hand up to her eyes, “what a strange, unnatural state of society must we have arrived at when my father can thus receive the intelligence of a parent’s death. Is it not dreadful?”

“It is, my dearest girl,” replied I; “but every feeling has been sacrificed to worldly considerations and an empty name. The younger sons have been neglected, if not deserted. Virtue, talent, everything set at naught—intrinsic value despised—and the only claim to consideration admitted, that of being the heir entail. When all the ties of nature are cast loose by the parents, can you be surprised if the children are no longer bound by them? Most truly do you observe, that it is a detestable state of society.”

“I did not say detestable, brother; I said strange and unnatural.”

“Had you said what I said, Ellen, you would not have been wrong. I would not, for the title and wealth which it brings, be the heartless, isolated, I may say neglected, being that my grandfather was: were it offered now, I would not barter for it Ellen’s love.”

Ellen threw herself in my arms; we then walked into the garden, where we had a long conversation relative to our future wishes, hopes and, prospects.

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