Chapter Four.A fearful catastrophe.Leaving Nancy, who could well hold her own, to battle with the broker’s men, Tom, holding Mary by the hand, and I walked on till we came to his house, which I knew well, having often been there to call him. It consisted of two small rooms—a parlour, and little inner bedchamber, and was better furnished than might have been expected; yet old Tom had at one time made a good deal of money, and had expended a portion of it in fitting up his dwelling. Had he always been sober he would now have been comfortably off.“Stay here, my dears, while I go out for a bit,” he said, bidding us sit down on an old sea-chest on one side of the fireplace. “I haven’t got much to amuse you, but here’s the little craft I cut out for you, Peter, and you can go on rigging her as I’ve been doing. No matter if you don’t do it all ship-shape. And here, Mary, is the stuff for the sails; I’ve shaped them, you see, and if you will hem them you’ll help us finely to get the craft ready for sea.”Mary gladly undertook the task allotted to her, and even smiled as Tom handed out a huge housewife full of needles and thread and buttons, and odds and ends of all sorts.“My thimble won’t suit your finger, I’ve a notion, my little maid,” he observed; “but I dare say you’ve got one of your own in your pocket. Feel for it, will you?”Mary produced a thimble, six of which would have fitted into Tom’s.“Ay, I thought so,” he said, and seeing us both busily employed, he hurried out of the house. He soon, however, returned, bringing a couple of plum buns for Mary, and some bread and cheese for me, with a small jug of milk. “There, my dears, that’ll stay your hunger till Nancy comes to cook some supper for you, and to put things to rights,” he said, as he placed them before us. “Good-bye. I’ll be back again as soon as I can,” and off he went once more.Mary and I, having eaten the provisions he brought in, worked away diligently, thankful to have some employment to occupy our attention. But she stopped every now and then, when her eyes were too full of tears to allow her to see her needle, and sobbed as if her dear heart would break. Then on she went again, sewing as fast as she could, anxious to please old Tom by showing him how much she had done. At length Nancy arrived with a big bundle on her back. “I’ve brought away all I could,” she said, as she deposited her load on the floor. “I’d a hard job to get them, and shouldn’t at all, if Tom Swatridge and two other men hadn’t come in and said they’d be answerable if everything wasn’t all square. He and they were ordering all about the funeral, and I’ve got two women to stay with the missus till she’s put all comfortable into her coffin. Alack! Alack! That I should have to talk about her coffin!” Nancy’s feelings overcame her. On recovering, she, without loss of time, began to busy herself with household duties—lighted the fire, put the kettle on to boil, and made up old Tom’s bed with some fresh sheets which she had brought. “You and I are to sleep here, Mary,” she said, “and Peter is to have a shakedown in the sitting-room.”“And where is Tom going to put up himself?” I asked.“That’s what he didn’t say but I fancy he’s going to stay at night with an old chum who has a room near here. He said his place isn’t big enough for us all, and so he’d made up his mind to turn out.”Such I found to be the case. Nothing would persuade our friend to sleep in his own house, for fear of crowding us. He and several other watermen, old shipmates, and friends of father’s, had agreed to defray the expenses of mother’s funeral, for otherwise she would have been carried to a pauper’s grave. Her furniture and all the property she had possessed were not sufficient to pay her debts contracted during her illness, in spite of all her exertions. We, too, had not Tom taken charge of us, should have been sent to the workhouse, and Nancy would have been turned out into the world to seek her fortune, for her mother was dead, and she had no other relatives. She did talk of trying to get into service, which meant becoming a drudge in a small tradesman’s family, that she might help us with her wages; but she could not bring herself to leave Mary; and Tom, indeed, said she must stay to look after her. As father had had no funeral, his old friends wished to show all the respect in their power to his widow, and a score or more attended, some carrying the coffin, and others walking two and two behind, with bits of black crêpe round their hats and arms, while Mary and I, and Nancy and Tom, followed as chief mourners all the way to Kingston Cemetery. Nancy, with the help of a friend, a poor seamstress, had managed to make a black frock for Mary and a dress for herself, out of mother’s gown, I suspect. They were not very scientifically cut, but she had sat up all night stitching at them, which showed her affection and her desire to do what she considered proper.Some weeks had passed since mother’s death, and we were getting accustomed to our mode of life. Tom sent Mary to a school near at hand every morning, and she used to impart the knowledge she obtained to me in the evening, including sometimes even sewing.During the time Mary was at school Nancy went out charing, or tending the neighbours’ children, or doing any other odd jobs of which she was capable, thus gaining enough to support herself, for she declared that she could not be beholden to the old man for her daily food. I always went out with Tom in his boat, and I was now big enough to make myself very useful. He used to make me take the helm when we were sailing, and by patiently explaining how the wind acted on the canvas, and showing me the reason of every manoeuvre, soon taught me to manage a boat as well as any man could do, so that when the wind was light I could go out by myself without the slightest fear.“You’ll do, Peter; you’ll do,” said the old man, approvingly, when one day I had taken the boat out to Spithead alongside a vessel and back, he sitting on a thwart with his arms folded, and not touching a rope, though he occasionally peered under the foot of the foresail to see that I was steering right, and used the boat-hook when we were going alongside the vessel, and shoving off, which I should have had to do if he had been steering. “You’ll now be able to gain your living, boy, and support Mary till she’s old enough to go out to service, if I’m taken from you, and that’s what I’ve been aiming at.”Often when going along the Hard a friend would ask him to step into one of the many publics facing it to take a glass of spirits or beer. “No thank ye, mate,” he would reply; “if I get the taste of one I shall be wanting another, and I shouldn’t be happy if I didn’t treat you in return, and I’ve got something else to do with my money instead of spending it on liquor.”I never saw him angry except when hard pressed by an ill-judging friend to step into a public-house.“Would you like to see Jack Trawl’s son in a ragged shirt, without shoes to his feet, and his daughter a beggar-girl, or something worse? Then don’t be asking me, mate, to take a drop of the poisonous stuff. I know what I used to be, and I know what I should be again if I was to listen to you!” he exclaimed. “Stand out of my way, now! Stand out of my way! Come along, Peter,” and, grasping my hand with a grip which made my fingers crack, he stumped along the Hard as fast as he could move his timber toe.It was a pleasure on getting home to find Mary looking bright and cheerful, with her work or books before her, and Nancy busy preparing supper. The old man and I always took our dinner with us—generally a loaf of bread, with a piece of cheese or bacon or fried fish, and sometimes Irish stew in a basin, done up in a cloth, and a stone bottle of water. I remember saying that I was born with a wooden spoon in my mouth, but when I come to reflect what excellent parents I had, and what true friends I found in Tom Swatridge and Nancy, I may say that, after all, it must have been of silver, though perhaps not quite so polished as those found in the mouths of some infants.Another change in my life was about to occur. We had taken off a gentleman from Gosport. From his way of speaking, we found that he was a foreigner, and he told us that he wanted to be put on board a foreign ship lying at Spithead.“Is dere any danger?” he asked, looking out across the Channel, and thinking what a long distance he had to go.“Not a bit, sir,” answered Tom, for the water was as smooth as a mill-pond. There was a light air from the southward, and there was not a cloud in the sky. “We might cross the Channel to France for that matter, with weather like this.”“Oh no, no! I only want to get to dat sheep out dere!” cried the foreigner, fancying that we might carry him across against his will.“Certainly, mounseer; we’ll put you aboard in a jiffy as soon as we gets a breeze to help us along,” said Tom.We pulled round Blockhouse Point, along shore, till we came off Fort Monkton, when opening Stokes Bay, the wind hauling a little to the westward, we made sail and stood for Spithead. A number of vessels were brought up there, and at the Mother-bank, off Ryde, among them a few men-of-war, but mostly merchantmen, outward bound, or lately come in waiting for orders. It was difficult as yet to distinguish the craft the foreigner wanted to be put aboard.“It won’t matter if we have to dodge about a little to find her, mounseer, for one thing’s certain: we couldn’t have a finer day for a sail,” observed old Tom, as we glided smoothly over the blue water, shining brightly in the rays of the unclouded sun.He gave me the helm while he looked out for the foreign ship.“That’s her, I’ve a notion,” he said at length, pointing to a deep-waisted craft with a raised poop and forecastle, and with much greater beam than our own wall-sided merchantmen. “Keep her away a bit, Peter. Steady! That will do.”The tide was running to the westward, so that we were some time getting up to the ship.“You’ll be aboard presently, if that is your ship, as I suppose, mounseer,” said Tom.“Yes, yes; dat is my sheep,” answered the foreigner, fumbling in his pockets, I fancied, for his purse.He uttered an exclamation of annoyance. “Ma monie gone! Some villain take it, no doubte. You come aboard de sheep, and I vill give it you, my friend,” he said. “One half guinea is de charge, eh? I have also letter to write; you take it and I vill give two shillings more.”“All right, mounseer, I will wait your pleasure, and promise to post your letter,” answered Tom.As there were several boats alongside, he told me to keep under weigh till he should hail me to come for him, and as he was as active as any man, in spite of his wooden leg, taking the foreigner by the hand, he helped him up on deck. I then hauled the tacks aboard and stood off to a little distance. I waited and waited, watching the ship, and wondering why Tom was so long on board.The wind at last began to drop, and afraid of being carried to leeward, I was on the point of running up alongside when I heard a fearful roaring thundering sound. A cloud of black smoke rose above the ship, followed by lurid names, which burst out at all her ports; her tall masts were shot into the air, her deck was cast upwards, her sides were rent asunder; and shattered fragments of planks, and of timbers and spars, and blocks, and all sorts of articles from the hold, came flying round me. I instinctively steered away from the danger, and though huge pieces of burning wreck fell hissing into the water on either side, and far beyond where I was, none of any size touched the wherry. For a minute or more I was so confounded by the awful occurrence that I did not think of my old friend. I scarcely knew where I was or what I was doing. The moment I recovered my presence of mind I put the boat about, getting out an oar to help her along, and stood back towards the burning wreck, which appeared for a moment like a vast pyramid of flame rising above the surface, and then suddenly disappeared as the waters closed over the shattered hull.I stood up, eagerly gazing towards the spot to ascertain if any human beings had survived the dreadful catastrophe, though it seemed to me impossible that a single person could have escaped. One boat alone was afloat with some people in her, but they were sitting on the thwarts or lying at the bottom, not attempting to exert themselves, all more or less injured. The other boats had been dragged down, as the ship sank. All about were shattered spars and pieces of the deck, and some way off the masts with the yards still fast to them. Here and there was a body floating with the head or a limb torn off. One man was swimming, and I saw another in the distance clinging to a spar, but the former before I could get up to him sank without a cry, and I then steered for the man on the spar, hoping against hope that he might be old Tom. I shouted to him that he might know help was coming, but he did not answer. Meantime boats from the various ships lying around were approaching. I plied my oar with all my might, fearing that the man I have spoken of might let go his hold and be lost like the other before I could reach him. The nearer I got the more I feared that he was not Tom. His face was blackened, his clothes burnt and torn. Then I saw that he had two legs, and knew for certain that he was not my old friend. Still, of course, I continued on till I got up to the spar, when I tried to help the poor man into my boat, for he was too much hurt to get on board by himself. But my strength was insufficient for the purpose, and I was afraid of letting go lest he should sink and be lost. There was no small risk also of my being dragged overboard. Still, I did my best, but could get him no higher than the gunwale.“Well done, youngster! Hold fast, and we’ll help you,” I heard a voice sing out, and presently a man-of-war’s boat dashing up, two of her crew springing into the wherry quickly hauled the man on board.“We must take him to our ship, lads, to let the surgeon attend to him,” said the officer, a master’s mate in charge of the man-of-war’s boat.The man was accordingly lifted into her. It appeared to me, from his sad condition, that the surgeon would be unable to do him any good.“What, did you come out here all by yourself, youngster?” asked the officer.“No, sir, I came out with old Tom Swatridge, who went on board the ship which blew up,” I answered.“Then I fear he must have been blown up with her, my lad,” said the officer.“I hope not, sir, I hope not,” I cried out, my heart ready to break as I began to realise that such might be the case.
Leaving Nancy, who could well hold her own, to battle with the broker’s men, Tom, holding Mary by the hand, and I walked on till we came to his house, which I knew well, having often been there to call him. It consisted of two small rooms—a parlour, and little inner bedchamber, and was better furnished than might have been expected; yet old Tom had at one time made a good deal of money, and had expended a portion of it in fitting up his dwelling. Had he always been sober he would now have been comfortably off.
“Stay here, my dears, while I go out for a bit,” he said, bidding us sit down on an old sea-chest on one side of the fireplace. “I haven’t got much to amuse you, but here’s the little craft I cut out for you, Peter, and you can go on rigging her as I’ve been doing. No matter if you don’t do it all ship-shape. And here, Mary, is the stuff for the sails; I’ve shaped them, you see, and if you will hem them you’ll help us finely to get the craft ready for sea.”
Mary gladly undertook the task allotted to her, and even smiled as Tom handed out a huge housewife full of needles and thread and buttons, and odds and ends of all sorts.
“My thimble won’t suit your finger, I’ve a notion, my little maid,” he observed; “but I dare say you’ve got one of your own in your pocket. Feel for it, will you?”
Mary produced a thimble, six of which would have fitted into Tom’s.
“Ay, I thought so,” he said, and seeing us both busily employed, he hurried out of the house. He soon, however, returned, bringing a couple of plum buns for Mary, and some bread and cheese for me, with a small jug of milk. “There, my dears, that’ll stay your hunger till Nancy comes to cook some supper for you, and to put things to rights,” he said, as he placed them before us. “Good-bye. I’ll be back again as soon as I can,” and off he went once more.
Mary and I, having eaten the provisions he brought in, worked away diligently, thankful to have some employment to occupy our attention. But she stopped every now and then, when her eyes were too full of tears to allow her to see her needle, and sobbed as if her dear heart would break. Then on she went again, sewing as fast as she could, anxious to please old Tom by showing him how much she had done. At length Nancy arrived with a big bundle on her back. “I’ve brought away all I could,” she said, as she deposited her load on the floor. “I’d a hard job to get them, and shouldn’t at all, if Tom Swatridge and two other men hadn’t come in and said they’d be answerable if everything wasn’t all square. He and they were ordering all about the funeral, and I’ve got two women to stay with the missus till she’s put all comfortable into her coffin. Alack! Alack! That I should have to talk about her coffin!” Nancy’s feelings overcame her. On recovering, she, without loss of time, began to busy herself with household duties—lighted the fire, put the kettle on to boil, and made up old Tom’s bed with some fresh sheets which she had brought. “You and I are to sleep here, Mary,” she said, “and Peter is to have a shakedown in the sitting-room.”
“And where is Tom going to put up himself?” I asked.
“That’s what he didn’t say but I fancy he’s going to stay at night with an old chum who has a room near here. He said his place isn’t big enough for us all, and so he’d made up his mind to turn out.”
Such I found to be the case. Nothing would persuade our friend to sleep in his own house, for fear of crowding us. He and several other watermen, old shipmates, and friends of father’s, had agreed to defray the expenses of mother’s funeral, for otherwise she would have been carried to a pauper’s grave. Her furniture and all the property she had possessed were not sufficient to pay her debts contracted during her illness, in spite of all her exertions. We, too, had not Tom taken charge of us, should have been sent to the workhouse, and Nancy would have been turned out into the world to seek her fortune, for her mother was dead, and she had no other relatives. She did talk of trying to get into service, which meant becoming a drudge in a small tradesman’s family, that she might help us with her wages; but she could not bring herself to leave Mary; and Tom, indeed, said she must stay to look after her. As father had had no funeral, his old friends wished to show all the respect in their power to his widow, and a score or more attended, some carrying the coffin, and others walking two and two behind, with bits of black crêpe round their hats and arms, while Mary and I, and Nancy and Tom, followed as chief mourners all the way to Kingston Cemetery. Nancy, with the help of a friend, a poor seamstress, had managed to make a black frock for Mary and a dress for herself, out of mother’s gown, I suspect. They were not very scientifically cut, but she had sat up all night stitching at them, which showed her affection and her desire to do what she considered proper.
Some weeks had passed since mother’s death, and we were getting accustomed to our mode of life. Tom sent Mary to a school near at hand every morning, and she used to impart the knowledge she obtained to me in the evening, including sometimes even sewing.
During the time Mary was at school Nancy went out charing, or tending the neighbours’ children, or doing any other odd jobs of which she was capable, thus gaining enough to support herself, for she declared that she could not be beholden to the old man for her daily food. I always went out with Tom in his boat, and I was now big enough to make myself very useful. He used to make me take the helm when we were sailing, and by patiently explaining how the wind acted on the canvas, and showing me the reason of every manoeuvre, soon taught me to manage a boat as well as any man could do, so that when the wind was light I could go out by myself without the slightest fear.
“You’ll do, Peter; you’ll do,” said the old man, approvingly, when one day I had taken the boat out to Spithead alongside a vessel and back, he sitting on a thwart with his arms folded, and not touching a rope, though he occasionally peered under the foot of the foresail to see that I was steering right, and used the boat-hook when we were going alongside the vessel, and shoving off, which I should have had to do if he had been steering. “You’ll now be able to gain your living, boy, and support Mary till she’s old enough to go out to service, if I’m taken from you, and that’s what I’ve been aiming at.”
Often when going along the Hard a friend would ask him to step into one of the many publics facing it to take a glass of spirits or beer. “No thank ye, mate,” he would reply; “if I get the taste of one I shall be wanting another, and I shouldn’t be happy if I didn’t treat you in return, and I’ve got something else to do with my money instead of spending it on liquor.”
I never saw him angry except when hard pressed by an ill-judging friend to step into a public-house.
“Would you like to see Jack Trawl’s son in a ragged shirt, without shoes to his feet, and his daughter a beggar-girl, or something worse? Then don’t be asking me, mate, to take a drop of the poisonous stuff. I know what I used to be, and I know what I should be again if I was to listen to you!” he exclaimed. “Stand out of my way, now! Stand out of my way! Come along, Peter,” and, grasping my hand with a grip which made my fingers crack, he stumped along the Hard as fast as he could move his timber toe.
It was a pleasure on getting home to find Mary looking bright and cheerful, with her work or books before her, and Nancy busy preparing supper. The old man and I always took our dinner with us—generally a loaf of bread, with a piece of cheese or bacon or fried fish, and sometimes Irish stew in a basin, done up in a cloth, and a stone bottle of water. I remember saying that I was born with a wooden spoon in my mouth, but when I come to reflect what excellent parents I had, and what true friends I found in Tom Swatridge and Nancy, I may say that, after all, it must have been of silver, though perhaps not quite so polished as those found in the mouths of some infants.
Another change in my life was about to occur. We had taken off a gentleman from Gosport. From his way of speaking, we found that he was a foreigner, and he told us that he wanted to be put on board a foreign ship lying at Spithead.
“Is dere any danger?” he asked, looking out across the Channel, and thinking what a long distance he had to go.
“Not a bit, sir,” answered Tom, for the water was as smooth as a mill-pond. There was a light air from the southward, and there was not a cloud in the sky. “We might cross the Channel to France for that matter, with weather like this.”
“Oh no, no! I only want to get to dat sheep out dere!” cried the foreigner, fancying that we might carry him across against his will.
“Certainly, mounseer; we’ll put you aboard in a jiffy as soon as we gets a breeze to help us along,” said Tom.
We pulled round Blockhouse Point, along shore, till we came off Fort Monkton, when opening Stokes Bay, the wind hauling a little to the westward, we made sail and stood for Spithead. A number of vessels were brought up there, and at the Mother-bank, off Ryde, among them a few men-of-war, but mostly merchantmen, outward bound, or lately come in waiting for orders. It was difficult as yet to distinguish the craft the foreigner wanted to be put aboard.
“It won’t matter if we have to dodge about a little to find her, mounseer, for one thing’s certain: we couldn’t have a finer day for a sail,” observed old Tom, as we glided smoothly over the blue water, shining brightly in the rays of the unclouded sun.
He gave me the helm while he looked out for the foreign ship.
“That’s her, I’ve a notion,” he said at length, pointing to a deep-waisted craft with a raised poop and forecastle, and with much greater beam than our own wall-sided merchantmen. “Keep her away a bit, Peter. Steady! That will do.”
The tide was running to the westward, so that we were some time getting up to the ship.
“You’ll be aboard presently, if that is your ship, as I suppose, mounseer,” said Tom.
“Yes, yes; dat is my sheep,” answered the foreigner, fumbling in his pockets, I fancied, for his purse.
He uttered an exclamation of annoyance. “Ma monie gone! Some villain take it, no doubte. You come aboard de sheep, and I vill give it you, my friend,” he said. “One half guinea is de charge, eh? I have also letter to write; you take it and I vill give two shillings more.”
“All right, mounseer, I will wait your pleasure, and promise to post your letter,” answered Tom.
As there were several boats alongside, he told me to keep under weigh till he should hail me to come for him, and as he was as active as any man, in spite of his wooden leg, taking the foreigner by the hand, he helped him up on deck. I then hauled the tacks aboard and stood off to a little distance. I waited and waited, watching the ship, and wondering why Tom was so long on board.
The wind at last began to drop, and afraid of being carried to leeward, I was on the point of running up alongside when I heard a fearful roaring thundering sound. A cloud of black smoke rose above the ship, followed by lurid names, which burst out at all her ports; her tall masts were shot into the air, her deck was cast upwards, her sides were rent asunder; and shattered fragments of planks, and of timbers and spars, and blocks, and all sorts of articles from the hold, came flying round me. I instinctively steered away from the danger, and though huge pieces of burning wreck fell hissing into the water on either side, and far beyond where I was, none of any size touched the wherry. For a minute or more I was so confounded by the awful occurrence that I did not think of my old friend. I scarcely knew where I was or what I was doing. The moment I recovered my presence of mind I put the boat about, getting out an oar to help her along, and stood back towards the burning wreck, which appeared for a moment like a vast pyramid of flame rising above the surface, and then suddenly disappeared as the waters closed over the shattered hull.
I stood up, eagerly gazing towards the spot to ascertain if any human beings had survived the dreadful catastrophe, though it seemed to me impossible that a single person could have escaped. One boat alone was afloat with some people in her, but they were sitting on the thwarts or lying at the bottom, not attempting to exert themselves, all more or less injured. The other boats had been dragged down, as the ship sank. All about were shattered spars and pieces of the deck, and some way off the masts with the yards still fast to them. Here and there was a body floating with the head or a limb torn off. One man was swimming, and I saw another in the distance clinging to a spar, but the former before I could get up to him sank without a cry, and I then steered for the man on the spar, hoping against hope that he might be old Tom. I shouted to him that he might know help was coming, but he did not answer. Meantime boats from the various ships lying around were approaching. I plied my oar with all my might, fearing that the man I have spoken of might let go his hold and be lost like the other before I could reach him. The nearer I got the more I feared that he was not Tom. His face was blackened, his clothes burnt and torn. Then I saw that he had two legs, and knew for certain that he was not my old friend. Still, of course, I continued on till I got up to the spar, when I tried to help the poor man into my boat, for he was too much hurt to get on board by himself. But my strength was insufficient for the purpose, and I was afraid of letting go lest he should sink and be lost. There was no small risk also of my being dragged overboard. Still, I did my best, but could get him no higher than the gunwale.
“Well done, youngster! Hold fast, and we’ll help you,” I heard a voice sing out, and presently a man-of-war’s boat dashing up, two of her crew springing into the wherry quickly hauled the man on board.
“We must take him to our ship, lads, to let the surgeon attend to him,” said the officer, a master’s mate in charge of the man-of-war’s boat.
The man was accordingly lifted into her. It appeared to me, from his sad condition, that the surgeon would be unable to do him any good.
“What, did you come out here all by yourself, youngster?” asked the officer.
“No, sir, I came out with old Tom Swatridge, who went on board the ship which blew up,” I answered.
“Then I fear he must have been blown up with her, my lad,” said the officer.
“I hope not, sir, I hope not,” I cried out, my heart ready to break as I began to realise that such might be the case.
Chapter Five.A friend lost and a friend gained.It seemed but a moment since the ship blew up. I could not believe that old Tom had perished.“Some people have been picked up out there, sir, I think,” observed the coxswain to the officer, pointing as he spoke to several boats surrounding the one I had before remarked with the injured men in her. “Maybe the old man the lad speaks of is among them.”“Make the wherry fast astern, and we’ll pull on and ascertain,” said the officer.“If he is not found, or if found is badly hurt, I’ll get leave for a couple of hands to help you back with your boat to Portsmouth.”“I can take her back easily enough by myself if the wind holds as it does now; thank you all the same, sir,” I answered.I felt, indeed, that if my faithful friend really was lost, which I could scarcely yet believe, I would rather be alone; and I had no fear about managing the wherry single-handed.As may be supposed, my anxiety became intense as we approached the boat. “Is old Tom Swatridge saved?” I shouted out.No answer came.“Tom! Tell me, Tom, if you are there!” I again shouted.“Step aboard the boat and see if your friend is among the injured men,” said the good-natured officer, assisting me to get alongside.I eagerly scanned the blackened faces of the men sitting up, all of whom had been more or less scorched or burnt. A surgeon who had come off from one of the ships was attending to them. They were strangers to me. Two others lay dead in the bottom of the boat, but neither of them was old Tom. He was gone, of that I could no longer have a doubt.With a sad heart I returned to the wherry. The other boats had not succeeded in saving any of the hapless crew. The ship had been loaded with arms and gunpowder, bound for South America, I heard some one say.“Cheer up, my lad!” said the officer; “you must come aboard theLapwing, and we’ll then send you into Portsmouth, as we must have this poor fellow looked to by our surgeon before he is taken to the hospital.”The name of theLapwingaroused me; she was the brig in which my brother Jack had gone to sea. For a moment I forgot my heavy loss with the thoughts that I might presently see dear Jack again. But it was only for a moment. As I sat steering the wherry towed by the man-of-war’s boat my eyes filled with tears. What sad news I had to give to Jack! What would become of Mary and Nancy? For myself I did not care, as I knew that I could obtain employment at home, or could go to sea; but then I could not hope for a long time to come to make enough to support them. My chief feeling, however, was grief at the loss of my true-hearted old friend.Soon after we got alongside the brig of war the master’s mate told me to come up on deck, while one of the men took charge of the wherry. He at once led me aft to the commander, who questioned me as to how I came to be in the wherry by myself. I described to him all that had happened.“You acted a brave part in trying to save the man from the ship which blew up. Indeed, had you not held on to him he would have been lost,” he observed. “I must see that you are rewarded. What is your name?”“Peter Trawl, sir,” I answered, and, eager to see Jack, for whom I had been looking out since I got out of the boat, thinking that we should know each other, I added, “I have a brother, sir, who went to sea aboard this brig, and we have been looking out for him ever so long to come home. Please, sir, can I go and find him?”The commander’s countenance assumed a look of concern. “Poor fellow! I wish that he was on board for his sake and yours, my lad,” he answered. “I cannot say positively that he is dead, but I have too much reason to believe that he is. While we were cruising among the islands of the East Indian Archipelago he formed one of a boat’s crew which was, while at a distance from the ship, attacked by a large body of Malay pirates. When we got up we found only on man, mortally wounded, in the bottom of the boat, who before he died said that, to the best of his belief, the officer in charge and the rest of the men had been killed, as he had seen several dragged on board the proas, and then hacked to pieces and hove overboard.“We chased and sank some of the pirate fleet, and made every possible search for the missing men, in case any of them should have escaped on shore, to which they were close at the time of the attack, but no traces of them could be discovered. I left an account of the occurrence with the vessel which relieved me on the station, and should any of the poor fellows have been found I should have been informed of it. It was my intention, as soon as I was paid off theLapwing, to come down to Portsmouth to break the news to his father. Say this from me, and that I yet hope to see him shortly.”Commander Rogers seemed very sorry when I told him that father and mother were both dead. He asked me where I lived. I told him, as well as I could describe the house, forgetting that, too probably, Mary and I and Nancy would not be long allowed to remain there.“When I commission another ship, would you like to go with me, my lad?” he asked.“Very much, sir,” I answered. “But I have a sister, and I couldn’t go away with no one to take care of her; so I must not think of it now Tom Swatridge has gone. All the same, I thank you kindly, sir.”“Well, well, my lad; we will see what can be done,” he said, and just then a midshipman came up to report that the boat was ready to carry the rescued man, with the surgeon, to the shore.I found that the master’s mate, Mr Harvey, and one of the men were going in my boat, and of course I did not like to say that I could get into the harbour very well without them. I touched my hat to the commander, who gave me a kind nod—it would not have done for him, I suppose, to shake hands with a poor boy on his quarter-deck even if he had been so disposed—and then I hurried down the side.I made sail, and took the helm just as if I had been by myself, Mr Harvey sitting by my side, while the seaman had merely to rig out the mainsail with the boat-hook, as we were directly before the wind.“You are in luck, youngster,” observed Mr Harvey; “though you have lost one friend you’ve gained another, for our commander always means what he says, and, depend on it, he’ll not lose sight of you.”He seemed a very free-and-easy gentleman, and made me tell him all about myself, and how we had lost father and mother, and how Tom Swatridge had taken charge of Mary and me. His cheerful way of talking made me dwell less on my grief than I should have done had I sailed into the harbour all alone.“I should like to go and see your little sister and the faithful Nancy,” he said, “but I must return to the brig as soon as that poor man has been carried to the hospital, and I have several things to do on shore. Land me at the Point, you can find your way to the Hard by yourself, I’ve no doubt.”“The boat would find her way alone, sir, she’s so accustomed to it,” I answered.We ran in among a number of wherries with people embarking from the Point or landing at it. The Point, it should be understood by those who do not know Portsmouth, is a hard shingly beach on the east side, at the mouth of the harbour, and there was at that time close to it an old round stone tower, from which an iron chain formerly extended across to Blockhouse Fort, on the Gosport side, to prevent vessels from coming in without leave.“Here, my lad, is my fare,” said Mr Harvey, slipping half a guinea into my hand as he stepped on shore, followed by the seaman; “it will help to keep Nancy’s pot boiling till you can look about you and find friends. They will appear, depend on it.”Before I could thank him he was away among the motley crowd of persons thronging the Point. I was thankful that no one asked me for old Tom, and, shoving out from among the other boats, I quickly ran on to the Hard.When I landed the trial came. A waterman had gained an inkling of what had occurred from one of the crew of theLapwingsboat, and I was soon surrounded by people asking questions of how it happened.“I can’t tell you more,” I answered, at length breaking from them. “Tom’s gone, and brother Jack’s gone, and I must go and look after poor Mary.”It was late by the time I reached home. Nancy had got supper ready on the table, and Mary had placed old Tom’s chair for him in a snug corner by the fire. They saw that something was the matter, for I couldn’t speak for a minute or more, not knowing how to break the news to them. At last I said, with a choking voice, pointing to the chair, “He’ll never sit there more!”Dear me, I thought Mary’s and Nancy’s hearts would break outright when they understood what had happened. It was evident how much they loved the rough old man—I loved him too, but in a different way, I suppose, for I could not ease my heart by crying; indeed I was thinking about what Mary and Nancy would do, and of brother Jack’s loss. I did not like to tell Mary of that at first, but it had to come out, and, strange as it may seem, it made her think for the time less about what was to us by far the greater loss. Supper remained long untasted, but at last I felt that I must eat, and so I fell to, and after a time Nancy followed my example and made Mary take something.Nancy then began to talk of what we must do to gain our living, and we sat up till late at night discussing our plans. There was the wherry, and I must get a mate, and I should do very well; then we had the house, for we never dreamed that we should not go on living in it, as we were sure Tom would have wished us to do. Nancy was very sanguine as to how she could manage. Her plain, pock-marked face beamed as she spoke of getting three times as much work as before. Short and awkward as was her figure, Nancy had an heroic soul. Mary must continue to attend school, and in time would be able to do something to help also.We talked on till we almost fell asleep on our seats. The next morning we were up betimes. Nancy got out some black stuff we had worn for mother, a piece of which she fastened round my arm to show respect to old Tom’s memory, and after breakfast I hurried out to try and find a mate, that I might lose no time in doing what I could with the wherry. I had thought of Jim Pulley, a stout strong lad, a year or two older than myself, who, though not very bright, was steady and honest, and I knew that I could trust him; his strength would supply my want of it for certain work we had to do. Jim was the first person I met on the Hard. I made my offer to him; he at once accepted it.“To tell the truth, Peter, I was a-coming to say, that if thou hadst not got any one to go in the place of Tom Swatridge, I would help thee till thou art suited for nothing, or if thou wilt find me in bread and cheese I’ll be thankful.”In a few minutes after this Jim and I were plying for hire in the harbour, and we had not long to wait before we got a fare. The first day we did very well, and I gave Jim a quarter of what we took, with which he was perfectly content.“I wouldn’t ask for more, Peter,” he said, “for thou hast three mouths to feed, and I have only one.”The next few days we were equally successful; indeed I went home every evening in good spirits as to my prospects. I made enough for all expenses, and could lay by something for the repairs of the wherry.Though Jim and I were mere boys, while the weather was fine people took our boat as willingly as they did those of grown men. Sometimes we got parties to go off to theVictory, at others across to the Victualling Yard, and occasionally up the harbour to Porchester Castle.We worked early and late, and Jim or I was always on the look-out for a fare.When I got home at night I had generally a good account to give of the day’s proceedings. Now and then I asked Jim in to take a cup of tea, and many a hearty laugh we had at what the ladies and gentlemen we had taken out had said and done. Seeing that we were but boys they fancied that they could talk before us in a way they wouldn’t have thought of doing if we had been grown men.It must not be supposed that we were able to save much, but still I put by something every week for the repairs of the boat I had got enough to give her a fresh coat of paint, which she much wanted, and we agreed that we would haul her up on Saturday afternoon for the purpose, so that she would be ready for Monday.We carried out our intentions, though it took every shilling I had put by, and we lost more than one fare by so doing. But the wherry looked so fresh and gay, that we hoped to make up for it the next week. Jim went to chapel on the Sunday with Mary and Nancy and me, and spent most of the day with us. He was so quiet and unassuming that we all liked him much. As we had put plenty of dryers in the paint, and the sun was hot on Sunday, by Monday forenoon we were able to ply as usual. We had taken a fare across to Gosport, when a person, whom we supposed to be a gentleman from his gay waistcoat and chains, and his top-boots, and hat stuck on one side, came down to the beach and told us to take him over to Portsea. We soon guessed by the way he talked that, in spite of his fine clothes, he was not a gentleman.“I say, you fellow, do you happen to know whereabouts an old chap, one Tom Swatridge, lives?” he asked of Jim.“He doesn’t live anywhere; he’s dead,” answered Jim.“Dead! Dead, do you say?” he exclaimed. “Who’s got his property?”“He had no property that I knows on,” answered Jim; “except, maybe—”“Oh yes, he had; and if the old fellow had lived he would have been the possessor of a good round sum; but, as I am his nephew, that will be mine, and everything else he left behind him, the lawyer, Master Six-and-eightpence, as I call him, tells me.”All this time I had not liked to say anything, but the last remark made me feel very uncomfortable. The speaker presently took a letter out of his pocket, and, reading it, said, “Ah! I see Mr Gull is the man I’ve got to go to. Can you show me where Mr Gull, the attorney, lives?” he asked of Jim; “he’ll settle up this matter.”Jim made no answer, for we were getting near the shore, and had to keep out of the way of two craft coming up the harbour. We soon ran up to the Hard, when the man, stepping out, offered Jim a sixpence.“A shilling’s the fare, sir,” said Jim, keeping back his hand.“No, no, you young rascal! I know better; but I’ll give you another sixpence if you will show me the way to Mr Gull’s.”“You may find it by yourself,” answered Jim, indignantly, as he picked up the sixpence thrown to him by our fare, who walked off.“Half a loaf is better than no bread, Peter, so it’s as well not to lose the sixpence,” said Jim, laughing. “But no gentleman would have offered less than a shilling. I wonder whether he really is old Tom’s nephew?”
It seemed but a moment since the ship blew up. I could not believe that old Tom had perished.
“Some people have been picked up out there, sir, I think,” observed the coxswain to the officer, pointing as he spoke to several boats surrounding the one I had before remarked with the injured men in her. “Maybe the old man the lad speaks of is among them.”
“Make the wherry fast astern, and we’ll pull on and ascertain,” said the officer.
“If he is not found, or if found is badly hurt, I’ll get leave for a couple of hands to help you back with your boat to Portsmouth.”
“I can take her back easily enough by myself if the wind holds as it does now; thank you all the same, sir,” I answered.
I felt, indeed, that if my faithful friend really was lost, which I could scarcely yet believe, I would rather be alone; and I had no fear about managing the wherry single-handed.
As may be supposed, my anxiety became intense as we approached the boat. “Is old Tom Swatridge saved?” I shouted out.
No answer came.
“Tom! Tell me, Tom, if you are there!” I again shouted.
“Step aboard the boat and see if your friend is among the injured men,” said the good-natured officer, assisting me to get alongside.
I eagerly scanned the blackened faces of the men sitting up, all of whom had been more or less scorched or burnt. A surgeon who had come off from one of the ships was attending to them. They were strangers to me. Two others lay dead in the bottom of the boat, but neither of them was old Tom. He was gone, of that I could no longer have a doubt.
With a sad heart I returned to the wherry. The other boats had not succeeded in saving any of the hapless crew. The ship had been loaded with arms and gunpowder, bound for South America, I heard some one say.
“Cheer up, my lad!” said the officer; “you must come aboard theLapwing, and we’ll then send you into Portsmouth, as we must have this poor fellow looked to by our surgeon before he is taken to the hospital.”
The name of theLapwingaroused me; she was the brig in which my brother Jack had gone to sea. For a moment I forgot my heavy loss with the thoughts that I might presently see dear Jack again. But it was only for a moment. As I sat steering the wherry towed by the man-of-war’s boat my eyes filled with tears. What sad news I had to give to Jack! What would become of Mary and Nancy? For myself I did not care, as I knew that I could obtain employment at home, or could go to sea; but then I could not hope for a long time to come to make enough to support them. My chief feeling, however, was grief at the loss of my true-hearted old friend.
Soon after we got alongside the brig of war the master’s mate told me to come up on deck, while one of the men took charge of the wherry. He at once led me aft to the commander, who questioned me as to how I came to be in the wherry by myself. I described to him all that had happened.
“You acted a brave part in trying to save the man from the ship which blew up. Indeed, had you not held on to him he would have been lost,” he observed. “I must see that you are rewarded. What is your name?”
“Peter Trawl, sir,” I answered, and, eager to see Jack, for whom I had been looking out since I got out of the boat, thinking that we should know each other, I added, “I have a brother, sir, who went to sea aboard this brig, and we have been looking out for him ever so long to come home. Please, sir, can I go and find him?”
The commander’s countenance assumed a look of concern. “Poor fellow! I wish that he was on board for his sake and yours, my lad,” he answered. “I cannot say positively that he is dead, but I have too much reason to believe that he is. While we were cruising among the islands of the East Indian Archipelago he formed one of a boat’s crew which was, while at a distance from the ship, attacked by a large body of Malay pirates. When we got up we found only on man, mortally wounded, in the bottom of the boat, who before he died said that, to the best of his belief, the officer in charge and the rest of the men had been killed, as he had seen several dragged on board the proas, and then hacked to pieces and hove overboard.
“We chased and sank some of the pirate fleet, and made every possible search for the missing men, in case any of them should have escaped on shore, to which they were close at the time of the attack, but no traces of them could be discovered. I left an account of the occurrence with the vessel which relieved me on the station, and should any of the poor fellows have been found I should have been informed of it. It was my intention, as soon as I was paid off theLapwing, to come down to Portsmouth to break the news to his father. Say this from me, and that I yet hope to see him shortly.”
Commander Rogers seemed very sorry when I told him that father and mother were both dead. He asked me where I lived. I told him, as well as I could describe the house, forgetting that, too probably, Mary and I and Nancy would not be long allowed to remain there.
“When I commission another ship, would you like to go with me, my lad?” he asked.
“Very much, sir,” I answered. “But I have a sister, and I couldn’t go away with no one to take care of her; so I must not think of it now Tom Swatridge has gone. All the same, I thank you kindly, sir.”
“Well, well, my lad; we will see what can be done,” he said, and just then a midshipman came up to report that the boat was ready to carry the rescued man, with the surgeon, to the shore.
I found that the master’s mate, Mr Harvey, and one of the men were going in my boat, and of course I did not like to say that I could get into the harbour very well without them. I touched my hat to the commander, who gave me a kind nod—it would not have done for him, I suppose, to shake hands with a poor boy on his quarter-deck even if he had been so disposed—and then I hurried down the side.
I made sail, and took the helm just as if I had been by myself, Mr Harvey sitting by my side, while the seaman had merely to rig out the mainsail with the boat-hook, as we were directly before the wind.
“You are in luck, youngster,” observed Mr Harvey; “though you have lost one friend you’ve gained another, for our commander always means what he says, and, depend on it, he’ll not lose sight of you.”
He seemed a very free-and-easy gentleman, and made me tell him all about myself, and how we had lost father and mother, and how Tom Swatridge had taken charge of Mary and me. His cheerful way of talking made me dwell less on my grief than I should have done had I sailed into the harbour all alone.
“I should like to go and see your little sister and the faithful Nancy,” he said, “but I must return to the brig as soon as that poor man has been carried to the hospital, and I have several things to do on shore. Land me at the Point, you can find your way to the Hard by yourself, I’ve no doubt.”
“The boat would find her way alone, sir, she’s so accustomed to it,” I answered.
We ran in among a number of wherries with people embarking from the Point or landing at it. The Point, it should be understood by those who do not know Portsmouth, is a hard shingly beach on the east side, at the mouth of the harbour, and there was at that time close to it an old round stone tower, from which an iron chain formerly extended across to Blockhouse Fort, on the Gosport side, to prevent vessels from coming in without leave.
“Here, my lad, is my fare,” said Mr Harvey, slipping half a guinea into my hand as he stepped on shore, followed by the seaman; “it will help to keep Nancy’s pot boiling till you can look about you and find friends. They will appear, depend on it.”
Before I could thank him he was away among the motley crowd of persons thronging the Point. I was thankful that no one asked me for old Tom, and, shoving out from among the other boats, I quickly ran on to the Hard.
When I landed the trial came. A waterman had gained an inkling of what had occurred from one of the crew of theLapwingsboat, and I was soon surrounded by people asking questions of how it happened.
“I can’t tell you more,” I answered, at length breaking from them. “Tom’s gone, and brother Jack’s gone, and I must go and look after poor Mary.”
It was late by the time I reached home. Nancy had got supper ready on the table, and Mary had placed old Tom’s chair for him in a snug corner by the fire. They saw that something was the matter, for I couldn’t speak for a minute or more, not knowing how to break the news to them. At last I said, with a choking voice, pointing to the chair, “He’ll never sit there more!”
Dear me, I thought Mary’s and Nancy’s hearts would break outright when they understood what had happened. It was evident how much they loved the rough old man—I loved him too, but in a different way, I suppose, for I could not ease my heart by crying; indeed I was thinking about what Mary and Nancy would do, and of brother Jack’s loss. I did not like to tell Mary of that at first, but it had to come out, and, strange as it may seem, it made her think for the time less about what was to us by far the greater loss. Supper remained long untasted, but at last I felt that I must eat, and so I fell to, and after a time Nancy followed my example and made Mary take something.
Nancy then began to talk of what we must do to gain our living, and we sat up till late at night discussing our plans. There was the wherry, and I must get a mate, and I should do very well; then we had the house, for we never dreamed that we should not go on living in it, as we were sure Tom would have wished us to do. Nancy was very sanguine as to how she could manage. Her plain, pock-marked face beamed as she spoke of getting three times as much work as before. Short and awkward as was her figure, Nancy had an heroic soul. Mary must continue to attend school, and in time would be able to do something to help also.
We talked on till we almost fell asleep on our seats. The next morning we were up betimes. Nancy got out some black stuff we had worn for mother, a piece of which she fastened round my arm to show respect to old Tom’s memory, and after breakfast I hurried out to try and find a mate, that I might lose no time in doing what I could with the wherry. I had thought of Jim Pulley, a stout strong lad, a year or two older than myself, who, though not very bright, was steady and honest, and I knew that I could trust him; his strength would supply my want of it for certain work we had to do. Jim was the first person I met on the Hard. I made my offer to him; he at once accepted it.
“To tell the truth, Peter, I was a-coming to say, that if thou hadst not got any one to go in the place of Tom Swatridge, I would help thee till thou art suited for nothing, or if thou wilt find me in bread and cheese I’ll be thankful.”
In a few minutes after this Jim and I were plying for hire in the harbour, and we had not long to wait before we got a fare. The first day we did very well, and I gave Jim a quarter of what we took, with which he was perfectly content.
“I wouldn’t ask for more, Peter,” he said, “for thou hast three mouths to feed, and I have only one.”
The next few days we were equally successful; indeed I went home every evening in good spirits as to my prospects. I made enough for all expenses, and could lay by something for the repairs of the wherry.
Though Jim and I were mere boys, while the weather was fine people took our boat as willingly as they did those of grown men. Sometimes we got parties to go off to theVictory, at others across to the Victualling Yard, and occasionally up the harbour to Porchester Castle.
We worked early and late, and Jim or I was always on the look-out for a fare.
When I got home at night I had generally a good account to give of the day’s proceedings. Now and then I asked Jim in to take a cup of tea, and many a hearty laugh we had at what the ladies and gentlemen we had taken out had said and done. Seeing that we were but boys they fancied that they could talk before us in a way they wouldn’t have thought of doing if we had been grown men.
It must not be supposed that we were able to save much, but still I put by something every week for the repairs of the boat I had got enough to give her a fresh coat of paint, which she much wanted, and we agreed that we would haul her up on Saturday afternoon for the purpose, so that she would be ready for Monday.
We carried out our intentions, though it took every shilling I had put by, and we lost more than one fare by so doing. But the wherry looked so fresh and gay, that we hoped to make up for it the next week. Jim went to chapel on the Sunday with Mary and Nancy and me, and spent most of the day with us. He was so quiet and unassuming that we all liked him much. As we had put plenty of dryers in the paint, and the sun was hot on Sunday, by Monday forenoon we were able to ply as usual. We had taken a fare across to Gosport, when a person, whom we supposed to be a gentleman from his gay waistcoat and chains, and his top-boots, and hat stuck on one side, came down to the beach and told us to take him over to Portsea. We soon guessed by the way he talked that, in spite of his fine clothes, he was not a gentleman.
“I say, you fellow, do you happen to know whereabouts an old chap, one Tom Swatridge, lives?” he asked of Jim.
“He doesn’t live anywhere; he’s dead,” answered Jim.
“Dead! Dead, do you say?” he exclaimed. “Who’s got his property?”
“He had no property that I knows on,” answered Jim; “except, maybe—”
“Oh yes, he had; and if the old fellow had lived he would have been the possessor of a good round sum; but, as I am his nephew, that will be mine, and everything else he left behind him, the lawyer, Master Six-and-eightpence, as I call him, tells me.”
All this time I had not liked to say anything, but the last remark made me feel very uncomfortable. The speaker presently took a letter out of his pocket, and, reading it, said, “Ah! I see Mr Gull is the man I’ve got to go to. Can you show me where Mr Gull, the attorney, lives?” he asked of Jim; “he’ll settle up this matter.”
Jim made no answer, for we were getting near the shore, and had to keep out of the way of two craft coming up the harbour. We soon ran up to the Hard, when the man, stepping out, offered Jim a sixpence.
“A shilling’s the fare, sir,” said Jim, keeping back his hand.
“No, no, you young rascal! I know better; but I’ll give you another sixpence if you will show me the way to Mr Gull’s.”
“You may find it by yourself,” answered Jim, indignantly, as he picked up the sixpence thrown to him by our fare, who walked off.
“Half a loaf is better than no bread, Peter, so it’s as well not to lose the sixpence,” said Jim, laughing. “But no gentleman would have offered less than a shilling. I wonder whether he really is old Tom’s nephew?”
Chapter Six.Turned out of house and home.We had just landed the gaily-dressed individual who had announced himself the nephew of old Tom Swatridge. Thinking that he might possibly be the person he said he was, and not knowing what tricks he might play, I was intending to row home, when a gentleman, with two young ladies and a boy, who I knew by their dress to be Quakers, came down, wishing to take a row round the harbour, and afterwards to visit the Victualling Yard.After we had pulled off some way, I asked if they would like to go aboard theVictory.“No, thank thee, young friend, we take no pleasure in visiting scenes, afloat or on shore, where the blood of our fellow-creatures has been shed,” answered the gentleman.As he spoke I thought by his look and the tone of his voice that he must be Mr Silas Gray, who had come to our house when the poor girl mother took in was dying, but I did not like to ask him. The young people called him father. At last he began to ask Jim and me questions, and how, young as we were, we came to have a boat by ourselves.“I suppose thy father is ill on shore?” he said.Then I told him how he was lost at Spithead, and mother had died, and old Tom had been blown up, and I had taken his wherry, seeing there was no one else to own her; and how Mary and Nancy and I lived on in his house.“And art thou and this other lad brothers?” he inquired.“No, sir; but Jim Pulley and I feel very much as if we were,” I answered. “My name is Peter Trawl.”“And was thy mother a bumboat-woman, a true, honest soul, one of the excellent of the earth?” he asked.“Ay, ay, sir! That was my mother,” I said, my heart beating with pleasure to hear her so spoken of.Then he told me that he was Mr Silas Gray, and asked if I remembered the visits he used to pay to our house. Of course I did. The young ladies and his son joined in the conversation, and very pleasant it was to hear them talk.We were out the whole afternoon, and it was quite late when we got back to Portsea. Mr Gray said that he was going away the next morning with his family to London, but that when he returned he would pay Mary a visit, and hoped before the summer was over to take some more trips in my wherry. He paid us liberally, and he and the young people gave us kind smiles and nods as they stepped on shore.While we were out I had not thought much about the fare we had brought across from Gosport in the morning, but now, recollecting what he had said, I hurried home, anxious to hear if he had found out the house. I had not to ask, for directly I appeared Nancy told me that while Mary was at school an impudent fellow had walked in and asked if old Tom Swatridge had once lived there, and when she said “Yes,” had taken a note of everything, and then sat down and lighted his pipe, and told her to run out and bring him a jug of ale.“‘A likely thing, indeed!’ I answered him,” said Nancy; “‘what! When I come back to find whatever is worth taking carried off, or maybe the door locked and I unable to get in!’ The fellow laughed when I said this—a nasty sort of a laugh it was—and said, ‘Ay! Just so.’ I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but presently he sang out, ‘What! Are you not gone yet, gal?’ ‘No, and I shan’t,’ I answered; ‘and when Peter and Jim come in you’ll pretty quickly find who has to go.’ On this he thundered out, trying to frighten me, ‘Do you know that I am old Tom Swatridge’s nephew and heir-at-law,’ (I think that’s what he called himself), ‘and that this house and everything in it is mine, and the wherry, and any money the old chap left behind him? I’ll soon prove that you and your brother are swindlers, and you’ll be sent off to prison, let me tell you.’ He took me for Mary, do you see, Peter; and I was not going to undeceive him? I felt somewhat nonplussed when he said this, but without answering I walked to the window, working with my needle as I was doing when he came in, and looked out as if I was expecting you and Jim to be coming. I would give him no food, nor even a drink of water; so at last he grew tired, and, saying I should see him again soon, swinging his cane and whistling, he walked away.”“What do you think, Peter? Can he really be old Tom’s nephew?” asked Mary, when Nancy ceased speaking.“One thing is certain, that if he proves himself to be so we shall be bound to turn out of this house, and to give up the wherry,” I answered.“Oh, Peter! What shall we do, then?” exclaimed Mary.“The best we can, my sister,” I said. “Perhaps the man may not be able to prove that he is what he calls himself. I have heard of impostors playing all sorts of tricks. We’ll hope for the best. And now, Nancy, let us have some supper.”Though I tried to keep up the spirits of Mary and Nancy, I felt very anxious, and could scarcely sleep for thinking on the subject. Whatever might happen for myself I did not care, but I was greatly troubled about what Mary and Nancy would do. I naturally thought of Commander Rogers, from whom all this time I had heard nothing, though he had promised to come and see after Mary and me. Mr Gray had said that he was going away again, so that I could not obtain advice from him. “I have God to trust to, that’s a comfort,” I thought, and I soon dropped off to sleep.The next morning I remained at home to a later hour than usual. Just as I was going out a man came to the door, who said he was sent by Lawyer Gull, and put a paper into my hand, which he told me was a something I could not exactly make out, to quit the house within twenty-four hours. “His client, the owner of the property, wishes not to act harshly, so refrains from taking stronger measures at present,” said the clerk, who, having performed his task, went away. I stopped a few minutes to talk with Mary and Nancy. Mary said quietly that if we must go we must, and that we had better look out for cheap lodgings at once. Nancy was very indignant, and declared that we had no business to turn out for such a scamp as that. Old Tom had never spoken of having a nephew; she did not believe the fellow was his nephew, and certainly, if he was, Tom would not have left his property to him. She advised me, however, to go out and try to get advice from some one who knew more about the law than she did. I accordingly set off for the Hard, where I was sure to find several friends among the watermen. I had not got far when I met Jim Pulley, looking very disconsolate.“What is the matter, Jim,” I asked.“We’ve lost the wherry!” he exclaimed, nearly blubbering. “Two big fellows came down, and, asking what boat she was, told me to step ashore: and when I said I wouldn’t for them, or for any one but you, they took me, crop and heels, and trundled me out of her.”“That is only what I feared,” I said. “I was coming down to find some one to advise us what to do.”“Then you couldn’t ask any better man than Bob Fox, he’s been in prison half a score of times for smuggling and such like, so he must know a mighty deal about law,” he answered.We soon found Bob Fox, who was considered an oracle on the Hard, and a number of men gathered round while he expressed his opinion.“Why, you see, mates, it’s just this,” he said, extending one of his hands to enforce his remarks; “you must either give in or go to prison when they brings anything agen you, and that, maybe, is the cheapest in the end; or, as there’s always a lawyer on t’other side, you must set another lawyer on to fight him, and that’s what I’d advise to be done in this here case. Now I knows a chap, one Lawyer Chalk, who’s as sharp as a needle, and if any man can help young Peter and his sister to keep what is their own he’ll do it. I’m ready to come down with some shiners to pay him, for, you see, these lawyer folk don’t argify for nothing, and I’m sure some on you who loves justice will help Jack and Polly Trawl’s children; so round goes the hat.”Suiting the action to the word, Bob, taking off his tarpaulin, threw a handful of silver into it, and his example being followed by a number of other men, he grasped me by the hand, and set off forthwith to consult Lawyer Chalk.We quickly reached his office. Mr Chalk, a quiet-looking little man, with easy familiar manners, which won the confidence of his illiterate constituents, knowing Bob Fox well, received us graciously. His eyes glittered as he heard the money chink in Bob’s pocket.“It’s all as clear as a pikestaff,” he observed, when he heard what I had got to say. “They must prove first that this fellow who has turned up is Tom Swatridge’s nephew; then that he is his heir-at-law, and finally that the house and boat belonged to the deceased. Now possession is nine-tenths of the law; you’ve got them, and you must hold them till the law turns you out.”“I couldn’t, sir, if another has a better right to them than I have,” I answered. “I lived on in the house and used the wherry because I was sure that old Tom would have wished me to do so, but then I didn’t know that he had any relation to claim them.”“And you don’t know that he has any relation now,” said Mr Chalk; “that has to be proved, my lad. The law requires proof; that’s the beauty of the law. The man may swear till he’s black in the face that he is the deceased’s nephew, but if he has no proof he’ll not gain his cause.”Bob Fox was highly delighted with our visit to the lawyer.“I told you so, lad; I told you so!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands; “t’other chap will find he has met his match. Bless you! Old Chalk’s as keen as a razor.”As I could not use the wherry, I went home feeling in much better spirits than before about our prospects. I was able even to cheer up Mary and Nancy. I told them that, by Lawyer Chalk’s advice, we were not to quit the house, and that he would manage everything. No one appeared during the day. The next morning we had breakfast as usual, and as the time went by I was beginning to hope that we should be unmolested, when two rough-looking men came to the door, and, though Nancy sprang up to bar them out, in they walked. One of them then thrust a paper out to her, but she drew back her hand as if it had been a hot iron. The man again attempted to make her take it. “One of you must have it,” he growled out.“No, no! I couldn’t make head or tail of it if I did,” answered Nancy, still drawing back.“Let me have it,” I said, wishing to know what the men really came for.“The sum total is, that you and the rest of you are to move away from this, and if you don’t go sharp we’re to turn you out!” exclaimed the bailiff, losing patience at the time I took to read the document. “It’s an order of ejectment, you’ll understand.”“Don’t you mind what it is, Peter!” exclaimed Nancy; “Mr Chalk said we was to stay here, and stay we will for all the scraps of paper in the world!” And Nancy, seating herself in a chair, folded her arms, and cast defiant looks at the officers of the law.They were, however, up to the emergency. Before either she or I were aware of what they were about to do, they had secured her arms to the back of the chair, and then, lifting it and her up, carried her out of the house and deposited her in the street, in spite of the incautious attempt I made to effect a rescue. The moment I got outside the house one of the bailiffs, turning round, seized me in a vice-like grasp, and the other then entering, led out Mary, who saw that resistance was hopeless. He next walked back, took the key from the door, and, having locked it, released Nancy and re-entered the house with the chair. Before Nancy could follow him he had shut himself in, while his companion, letting me go with a shove which sent me staggering across the street, walked off, I concluded to tell the lawyer who sent him and his mate that they had got possession of the house.Nancy was standing, with her fists clenched, too much astonished at the way she had been treated to speak. Mary was in tears, trembling all over.“Oh, Peter, what are we to do?” she asked.“I’ll go to Lawyer Chalk and hear what he says,” I answered. “If the house and boat ought to be ours, he’ll get them back; if not, I can’t say just now what we must do. Meantime do you and Nancy go to Widow Simmons’s, and wait there. She was always a friend of mother’s, and will be glad to help you.”Mary agreed, but Nancy, who at length found her tongue, declared that she wasn’t going to lose sight of the house, and that she would stay where she was and watch and tell the folks who passed how we had been treated. As nothing I could say would induce her to move, I accompanied Mary to the widow’s, where I left her, and hastened on to Mr Chalk’s. The lawyer made a long face when I told him how we had been treated.“I told you that ‘possession is nine-tenths of the law,’ my lad, and now they are in and you are out,” he answered. “It’s a bad job—but we’ll see what can be done. We must obtain at all events your clothes, and any other private property you may possess. Now go, my lad, and call upon me in a week or two; I shall see Bob Fox in the meantime.”Soon after leaving the lawyer’s I met Jim Pulley. Having seen Nancy, he was fuming with indignation at our having been turned out of our home, and proposed trying to break into the house to regain possession, but I had sense enough to know that we must abide by the law, whichever way that decided I found Nancy still keeping watch before the door, and vehemently appealing to all who would stop to listen to her. It was with some difficulty that I at length persuaded her to go with me to Mrs Simmons’s. The kind widow was willing to give us shelter, and as Mary had fortunately my savings in her pocket, we had sufficient to pay for our food for some days. The next morning Mary went as usual to school; Nancy left the house, saying that she was going to look for work, and I set out, hoping to find employment in a wherry with one of the men who knew me.
We had just landed the gaily-dressed individual who had announced himself the nephew of old Tom Swatridge. Thinking that he might possibly be the person he said he was, and not knowing what tricks he might play, I was intending to row home, when a gentleman, with two young ladies and a boy, who I knew by their dress to be Quakers, came down, wishing to take a row round the harbour, and afterwards to visit the Victualling Yard.
After we had pulled off some way, I asked if they would like to go aboard theVictory.
“No, thank thee, young friend, we take no pleasure in visiting scenes, afloat or on shore, where the blood of our fellow-creatures has been shed,” answered the gentleman.
As he spoke I thought by his look and the tone of his voice that he must be Mr Silas Gray, who had come to our house when the poor girl mother took in was dying, but I did not like to ask him. The young people called him father. At last he began to ask Jim and me questions, and how, young as we were, we came to have a boat by ourselves.
“I suppose thy father is ill on shore?” he said.
Then I told him how he was lost at Spithead, and mother had died, and old Tom had been blown up, and I had taken his wherry, seeing there was no one else to own her; and how Mary and Nancy and I lived on in his house.
“And art thou and this other lad brothers?” he inquired.
“No, sir; but Jim Pulley and I feel very much as if we were,” I answered. “My name is Peter Trawl.”
“And was thy mother a bumboat-woman, a true, honest soul, one of the excellent of the earth?” he asked.
“Ay, ay, sir! That was my mother,” I said, my heart beating with pleasure to hear her so spoken of.
Then he told me that he was Mr Silas Gray, and asked if I remembered the visits he used to pay to our house. Of course I did. The young ladies and his son joined in the conversation, and very pleasant it was to hear them talk.
We were out the whole afternoon, and it was quite late when we got back to Portsea. Mr Gray said that he was going away the next morning with his family to London, but that when he returned he would pay Mary a visit, and hoped before the summer was over to take some more trips in my wherry. He paid us liberally, and he and the young people gave us kind smiles and nods as they stepped on shore.
While we were out I had not thought much about the fare we had brought across from Gosport in the morning, but now, recollecting what he had said, I hurried home, anxious to hear if he had found out the house. I had not to ask, for directly I appeared Nancy told me that while Mary was at school an impudent fellow had walked in and asked if old Tom Swatridge had once lived there, and when she said “Yes,” had taken a note of everything, and then sat down and lighted his pipe, and told her to run out and bring him a jug of ale.
“‘A likely thing, indeed!’ I answered him,” said Nancy; “‘what! When I come back to find whatever is worth taking carried off, or maybe the door locked and I unable to get in!’ The fellow laughed when I said this—a nasty sort of a laugh it was—and said, ‘Ay! Just so.’ I didn’t know exactly what he meant, but presently he sang out, ‘What! Are you not gone yet, gal?’ ‘No, and I shan’t,’ I answered; ‘and when Peter and Jim come in you’ll pretty quickly find who has to go.’ On this he thundered out, trying to frighten me, ‘Do you know that I am old Tom Swatridge’s nephew and heir-at-law,’ (I think that’s what he called himself), ‘and that this house and everything in it is mine, and the wherry, and any money the old chap left behind him? I’ll soon prove that you and your brother are swindlers, and you’ll be sent off to prison, let me tell you.’ He took me for Mary, do you see, Peter; and I was not going to undeceive him? I felt somewhat nonplussed when he said this, but without answering I walked to the window, working with my needle as I was doing when he came in, and looked out as if I was expecting you and Jim to be coming. I would give him no food, nor even a drink of water; so at last he grew tired, and, saying I should see him again soon, swinging his cane and whistling, he walked away.”
“What do you think, Peter? Can he really be old Tom’s nephew?” asked Mary, when Nancy ceased speaking.
“One thing is certain, that if he proves himself to be so we shall be bound to turn out of this house, and to give up the wherry,” I answered.
“Oh, Peter! What shall we do, then?” exclaimed Mary.
“The best we can, my sister,” I said. “Perhaps the man may not be able to prove that he is what he calls himself. I have heard of impostors playing all sorts of tricks. We’ll hope for the best. And now, Nancy, let us have some supper.”
Though I tried to keep up the spirits of Mary and Nancy, I felt very anxious, and could scarcely sleep for thinking on the subject. Whatever might happen for myself I did not care, but I was greatly troubled about what Mary and Nancy would do. I naturally thought of Commander Rogers, from whom all this time I had heard nothing, though he had promised to come and see after Mary and me. Mr Gray had said that he was going away again, so that I could not obtain advice from him. “I have God to trust to, that’s a comfort,” I thought, and I soon dropped off to sleep.
The next morning I remained at home to a later hour than usual. Just as I was going out a man came to the door, who said he was sent by Lawyer Gull, and put a paper into my hand, which he told me was a something I could not exactly make out, to quit the house within twenty-four hours. “His client, the owner of the property, wishes not to act harshly, so refrains from taking stronger measures at present,” said the clerk, who, having performed his task, went away. I stopped a few minutes to talk with Mary and Nancy. Mary said quietly that if we must go we must, and that we had better look out for cheap lodgings at once. Nancy was very indignant, and declared that we had no business to turn out for such a scamp as that. Old Tom had never spoken of having a nephew; she did not believe the fellow was his nephew, and certainly, if he was, Tom would not have left his property to him. She advised me, however, to go out and try to get advice from some one who knew more about the law than she did. I accordingly set off for the Hard, where I was sure to find several friends among the watermen. I had not got far when I met Jim Pulley, looking very disconsolate.
“What is the matter, Jim,” I asked.
“We’ve lost the wherry!” he exclaimed, nearly blubbering. “Two big fellows came down, and, asking what boat she was, told me to step ashore: and when I said I wouldn’t for them, or for any one but you, they took me, crop and heels, and trundled me out of her.”
“That is only what I feared,” I said. “I was coming down to find some one to advise us what to do.”
“Then you couldn’t ask any better man than Bob Fox, he’s been in prison half a score of times for smuggling and such like, so he must know a mighty deal about law,” he answered.
We soon found Bob Fox, who was considered an oracle on the Hard, and a number of men gathered round while he expressed his opinion.
“Why, you see, mates, it’s just this,” he said, extending one of his hands to enforce his remarks; “you must either give in or go to prison when they brings anything agen you, and that, maybe, is the cheapest in the end; or, as there’s always a lawyer on t’other side, you must set another lawyer on to fight him, and that’s what I’d advise to be done in this here case. Now I knows a chap, one Lawyer Chalk, who’s as sharp as a needle, and if any man can help young Peter and his sister to keep what is their own he’ll do it. I’m ready to come down with some shiners to pay him, for, you see, these lawyer folk don’t argify for nothing, and I’m sure some on you who loves justice will help Jack and Polly Trawl’s children; so round goes the hat.”
Suiting the action to the word, Bob, taking off his tarpaulin, threw a handful of silver into it, and his example being followed by a number of other men, he grasped me by the hand, and set off forthwith to consult Lawyer Chalk.
We quickly reached his office. Mr Chalk, a quiet-looking little man, with easy familiar manners, which won the confidence of his illiterate constituents, knowing Bob Fox well, received us graciously. His eyes glittered as he heard the money chink in Bob’s pocket.
“It’s all as clear as a pikestaff,” he observed, when he heard what I had got to say. “They must prove first that this fellow who has turned up is Tom Swatridge’s nephew; then that he is his heir-at-law, and finally that the house and boat belonged to the deceased. Now possession is nine-tenths of the law; you’ve got them, and you must hold them till the law turns you out.”
“I couldn’t, sir, if another has a better right to them than I have,” I answered. “I lived on in the house and used the wherry because I was sure that old Tom would have wished me to do so, but then I didn’t know that he had any relation to claim them.”
“And you don’t know that he has any relation now,” said Mr Chalk; “that has to be proved, my lad. The law requires proof; that’s the beauty of the law. The man may swear till he’s black in the face that he is the deceased’s nephew, but if he has no proof he’ll not gain his cause.”
Bob Fox was highly delighted with our visit to the lawyer.
“I told you so, lad; I told you so!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands; “t’other chap will find he has met his match. Bless you! Old Chalk’s as keen as a razor.”
As I could not use the wherry, I went home feeling in much better spirits than before about our prospects. I was able even to cheer up Mary and Nancy. I told them that, by Lawyer Chalk’s advice, we were not to quit the house, and that he would manage everything. No one appeared during the day. The next morning we had breakfast as usual, and as the time went by I was beginning to hope that we should be unmolested, when two rough-looking men came to the door, and, though Nancy sprang up to bar them out, in they walked. One of them then thrust a paper out to her, but she drew back her hand as if it had been a hot iron. The man again attempted to make her take it. “One of you must have it,” he growled out.
“No, no! I couldn’t make head or tail of it if I did,” answered Nancy, still drawing back.
“Let me have it,” I said, wishing to know what the men really came for.
“The sum total is, that you and the rest of you are to move away from this, and if you don’t go sharp we’re to turn you out!” exclaimed the bailiff, losing patience at the time I took to read the document. “It’s an order of ejectment, you’ll understand.”
“Don’t you mind what it is, Peter!” exclaimed Nancy; “Mr Chalk said we was to stay here, and stay we will for all the scraps of paper in the world!” And Nancy, seating herself in a chair, folded her arms, and cast defiant looks at the officers of the law.
They were, however, up to the emergency. Before either she or I were aware of what they were about to do, they had secured her arms to the back of the chair, and then, lifting it and her up, carried her out of the house and deposited her in the street, in spite of the incautious attempt I made to effect a rescue. The moment I got outside the house one of the bailiffs, turning round, seized me in a vice-like grasp, and the other then entering, led out Mary, who saw that resistance was hopeless. He next walked back, took the key from the door, and, having locked it, released Nancy and re-entered the house with the chair. Before Nancy could follow him he had shut himself in, while his companion, letting me go with a shove which sent me staggering across the street, walked off, I concluded to tell the lawyer who sent him and his mate that they had got possession of the house.
Nancy was standing, with her fists clenched, too much astonished at the way she had been treated to speak. Mary was in tears, trembling all over.
“Oh, Peter, what are we to do?” she asked.
“I’ll go to Lawyer Chalk and hear what he says,” I answered. “If the house and boat ought to be ours, he’ll get them back; if not, I can’t say just now what we must do. Meantime do you and Nancy go to Widow Simmons’s, and wait there. She was always a friend of mother’s, and will be glad to help you.”
Mary agreed, but Nancy, who at length found her tongue, declared that she wasn’t going to lose sight of the house, and that she would stay where she was and watch and tell the folks who passed how we had been treated. As nothing I could say would induce her to move, I accompanied Mary to the widow’s, where I left her, and hastened on to Mr Chalk’s. The lawyer made a long face when I told him how we had been treated.
“I told you that ‘possession is nine-tenths of the law,’ my lad, and now they are in and you are out,” he answered. “It’s a bad job—but we’ll see what can be done. We must obtain at all events your clothes, and any other private property you may possess. Now go, my lad, and call upon me in a week or two; I shall see Bob Fox in the meantime.”
Soon after leaving the lawyer’s I met Jim Pulley. Having seen Nancy, he was fuming with indignation at our having been turned out of our home, and proposed trying to break into the house to regain possession, but I had sense enough to know that we must abide by the law, whichever way that decided I found Nancy still keeping watch before the door, and vehemently appealing to all who would stop to listen to her. It was with some difficulty that I at length persuaded her to go with me to Mrs Simmons’s. The kind widow was willing to give us shelter, and as Mary had fortunately my savings in her pocket, we had sufficient to pay for our food for some days. The next morning Mary went as usual to school; Nancy left the house, saying that she was going to look for work, and I set out, hoping to find employment in a wherry with one of the men who knew me.
Chapter Seven.Help comes when least expected.I found it more difficult to obtain employment with wages sufficient to support Mary and me, not to speak of Nancy, than I had expected. Jim and I tried to hire a boat, but we could not obtain one to suit us for any sum we could hope to pay. Ours, for so we still called her, had been carried off, and locked up in a shed at Portsmouth. He and I picked up a sixpence or a shilling now and then, but some days we got nothing. There was a great risk of our becoming what my father had so strongly objected to “long-shore loafers.” I would not desert Jim, who had served me so faithfully, and so we tried, as far as we could, to work together. Sometimes he talked of going off to sea, but as I could not leave Mary his heart failed him at the thought of going without me. At the time appointed I called on Lawyer Chalk.“Sorry to say we are beaten, my lad,” were the words with which he greeted me. “I fought hard, but there’s no doubt that Mr Gull’s client is the nephew of Tom Swatridge, who died intestate, consequently his nephew is his heir. Had the old man wisely come to me I would have drawn up a will for him, securing his property to you or any one he might have desired. I am very sorry for you, but law is law, and it can’t be helped. I hope that you will find employment somewhere soon. Good-day to you.” And he waved me out of his office.In consequence of his failure in my cause, Lawyer Chalk sank considerably in the estimation of Bob Fox and his friends, who declared that the next time they wanted legal advice they would try what Lawyer Gull could do for them. I should have said that a day or two before he had sent a clerk armed with due authority to accompany Nancy and Mary, who brought away our clothing and all the articles which we had purchased with our own money. Curiously enough, I did not again set eyes on Mr Eben Swatridge, who was, I understood, the son of a younger brother of old Tom, who had gone into business in London and made money. Some property having been left to the two brothers, or to the survivor of either, Eben had been compelled to make inquiries respecting his long unrecognised uncle, and had thus been induced to pay the visit to Portsea which had produced such disastrous results to Mary and me.The house and furniture and wherry were sold, and directly afterwards he disappeared from Portsmouth. Perhaps he thought it wise to keep out of the way of Bob Fox and the other sturdy old salts who supported me. Not that one of them would have laid a finger on him, and Mary and I agreed that, far from having any ill-feeling, we should have been ready, for his uncle’s sake, to have been friends if he had explained to us at the first who he was and his just rights in a quiet way. We had now a hard struggle to make the two ends meet. Mrs Simmons fell ill, and Mary, who could no longer go to school, had to attend on her, and I had to find food and, as it turned out, to pay her rent, she being no longer able to work for her own support. I did not grumble at this, for I was grateful to her for her kindness to us; but though we stinted ourselves to the utmost, we often had not a sixpence in the house to buy fit nourishment for the poor old lady. Nancy was ready to slave from morning to night, but was often unsuccessful in obtaining work, so that she made scarcely enough to support herself; she might have got a situation, but she would not leave Mary. Whenever honest Jim Pulley could save a shilling he brought it, as he said, for the widow, though I knew that besides his wish to help her he was much influenced by his regard for us. I often thought when the winter came what he and I should do then. I did not say anything to Mary about the future, but tried to keep up her spirits, for I saw that her cheek was becoming pale, and she was growing thinner and thinner every day. At last one morning, when I had got up just at daylight, and having taken a crust of bread and a drink of water for breakfast, was about to go out in search of work, Nancy came into the room, and said—“I don’t know what has come over Mary, but she has been talking and talking ever so strangely all night, and her cheek is as hot as a live cinder.”I hurried into the little back room Mary and Nancy occupied next to the widow’s. A glance told me that my dear little sister was in a high fever. My heart was ready to burst, for she did not know me Mrs Simmons was too ill to get up and say what she thought of its nature.“I must run for the doctor, Nancy,” I exclaimed; “there’s not a moment to lose;” and snatching up my hat I rushed out of the house, assured that Nancy would do her best in the meantime.I had caught sight of Dr Rolt passing along the street on the previous day, so I knew that he was at home, and I felt more inclined to go to him than to Mr Jones. I ran as I had not run for a long time, and no one ventured to stop me now. The doctor was on foot, early as was the hour. He remembered mother and Mary and me the moment I mentioned my name.“I’ll come to see your little sister directly,” he said.I waited for him, fearing that he might not find the house. He was soon ready, and, considering his age, I was surprised how well he kept up with me. I eagerly ushered him into the house. He had not been long with Mary before he sent me off to the chemist to get some medicine, for which I had fortunately enough in my pocket to pay. When I came back he gave it to her himself, and said that he would send some more in the evening; but he would not tell me what he thought of her.I will not dwell on this unhappy time. The doctor came twice every day and sometimes oftener, but Mary seemed to be getting no better. I had to go out to get work, but all I could make was not sufficient for our expenses, and I had to run into debt, besides which the widow’s rent was due, and she could not pay it.One day Jim brought me a few shillings, which he said the watermen had given him, but times were bad with most of them, and they could do but little. This enabled me to get some things absolutely necessary for Mary and food for the rest of us. The landlord called two or three times for rent, and at last said that he must put in a distress if it was not paid. The thought of what the consequence of this would be to Mary made me tremble with fear. Ill as she and Mrs Simmons were, their beds might, notwithstanding, be taken from beneath them. The widow might be carried off to the workhouse, and we should be turned into the street I begged hard for delay, and promised that I would do all I could to raise the money. The landlord replied that he would give us two days more, but would not listen to anything further I had to say. The doctor had just before called, so that I could not then tell him of our difficulty. He had not yet given me any assurance that he thought Mary would recover. Nancy could not leave the house, as she was required every moment to attend on her and Mrs Simmons. I was not likely to find Dr Rolt till the evening, so I determined to consult Jim and Bob Fox. I soon met Jim; he was ready to cry when I told him. He scratched his head and rubbed his brow, in vain trying to suggest something.“Bob can’t help us either,” he said, at length. “He’s got into trouble. Went away three days ago over to France in a smuggling lugger, theSmiling Lass, and she was catched last night with tubs aboard, so he’s sure to want all the money he can get to pay Lawyer Chalk to keep him out of prison, if that’s to be done, but I’m afeared even old Chalk will be nonplussed this time.”“I wonder whether Lawyer Chalk would lend me the money,” I said.“Might as well expect to get a hen’s egg out of a block of granite,” answered Jim.On inquiry I found that all my friends from whom I had the slightest hope of assistance were away over at Ryde, Cowes, or Southampton.“I tell you, Peter, as I knowed how much you wanted money, I’d a great mind to go aboard theSmiling Lasst’other day, when Bob axed me. It’s a good job I didn’t, isn’t it?”“I am very glad you didn’t, not only because you would have been taken, but because you would have broken the law,” I answered. “Father always set his face against smuggling.”“Yes, maybe he did,” said Jim, who did not see that smuggling was wrong as clearly as I did. “But now what’s to be done?”“We’ll go down to the Hard, and try to pick up a job,” I answered. “A few pence will be better than nothing.”We each got a job in different boats. The one I was in took some passengers over to Ryde, and thence some others to Spithead and back, so that it was late when I got home with a shilling and a few pence in my pocket. Mary was no better. The doctor had been, and Nancy had told him of the landlord’s threats, but he had made no remark.“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Nancy,” I said; “I’ll offer the landlord this shilling when he comes to-morrow to show that I am in earnest, and perhaps he will let us off for another day or two.”“Better hear what the doctor thinks when he comes in the morning. I don’t think that he’ll allow Mary and Widow Simmons to have their beds taken from under them. Cheer up, Peter! Cheer up!”I did cheer up a little when Jim came in and brought another shilling, his day’s earnings, declaring that he’d had a good dinner, and had still some coppers in his pocket to pay for the next day’s breakfast. He, however, could not resist eating some bread and cheese which Nancy pressed on him before he went away.I could scarcely close my eyes for thinking of what the morrow might bring forth. About midnight Nancy came in and told me that Mary was sleeping more calmly than she had done since she was taken ill. Hoping that this was a good sign my mind became less disquieted, and I fell asleep. The next morning the usual hour for the doctor’s coming passed and he did not appear. We waited and waited, anxious to know whether Mary really was better. At last there came a knocking at the door, and in walked the landlord, with a couple of men at his heels.“Have you the rent ready, good people?” he asked, in a gruff tone.“No, sir; but I have two shillings, and I promise to pay as much as I can every day till you’ve got what you demand,” I said, as fast as I could speak.The men laughed as I said this.“Two shillings! That won’t go no way, my lad,” cried the landlord. “Let me see, why this old pot and kettle and the cups and plates, and table and chairs, and everything in this room won’t sell for more than half my demands, so we must have the bedsteads and bedding and a chest of drawers or so; and as the old woman in there won’t ever be able to pay me more rent, she and all of you must turn out with what remains! So now, Crouch and Scroggins, do your duty.”The moment he had entered the house Nancy, passing behind me, had locked Mary’s and Mrs Simmons’s doors, and having put the keys in her pocket, had slipped into the scullery or little back kitchen, where we often cooked in summer. One of the men was in the act of placing one chair upon another, and his companion was approaching Mary’s room, when suddenly Nancy rushed out of the back kitchen with a red-hot poker in her hand, and placing herself before it, exclaimed—“Step an inch nearer if ye dare, ye cowards! Out on ye, Mr Grimes, to come and disturb a fever-sick girl and an old dying woman for the sake of a few filthy shillings! Peter here has offered you some, and has promised to pay you more when he can get them, and I promise too; and now let me see if one of you dare to lay a finger on any of Missus Simmons’s things! Get out of this house! Get out of this house, I say!”And she began flourishing her poker and advancing towards the intruders in a way which made them beat a rapid retreat towards the door, Mr Grimes scrambling off the first, and shouting out—“Assault and battery! I’ll make you pay for this, you young vixen!”“I don’t mind your salt and butter, nor what you call me either,” cried Nancy; and she was just slamming the door behind them, when two persons appeared as if about to enter, one of whom exclaimed, in a voice which I recognised as that of Dr Rolt—“Why, my good girl, what is all this about?”“They said that they was a-going to take Mary’s and the widow’s beds and all the things away, sir, and I wouldn’t let them,” she answered, panting and still grasping the hot poker.“Verily, daughter, thou hast taken a very effectual way of preventing them,” said the other person, who I now saw to my great joy was Mr Silas Gray. He and the doctor at once entered the house.“Now listen to me, damsel,” he continued. “Thou hast been prompted by affectionate zeal to defend thy friends, I doubt not, but nevertheless thou hast acted illegally, and the consequences to thyself may be serious; however, I will say no more on the subject at present. Put back thy weapon into the fireplace and attend on friend Rolt, who desires to see his patients.”I saw Mr Gray and the doctor exchange smiles as Nancy, producing the keys from her pocket, unlocked the doors. He now, observing me, said—“Tell me, my lad, how all this happened. I thought that thou wast doing well with thy wherry.”So while the doctor was seeing Mary and Mrs Simmons, I gave him an exact account of all that had happened since the day he and his family were out with Jim and me on the water. I had just finished, when the doctor came into the room.“I can give you a favourable account of your young sister, my lad,” said Dr Rolt. “Her patience and obedience, aided by Nancy’s care, have been much in her favour, and she will, I trust, shortly recover. As soon as she has gained sufficient strength our friend Mr Gray wishes her to be removed to his house, and Nancy can remain here to look after the poor widow, whose days on earth are numbered.”“Oh, thank you, gentlemen; thank you!” I exclaimed, my heart swelling so that I could scarcely utter the words.“And what about yourself, my son?” asked Mr Gray.“Oh, Jim and I will try to rub on together, and I’ll try to pay the widow’s rent as I promised, if you’ll speak a word, sir, to Mr Grimes and get him not to press for payment,” I answered.“Set thy mind at rest on that point. I will satisfy the demands of the widow’s landlord,” said Mr Gray; and he then added, “Come to my house to-morrow, and I will meantime consider what can be done to put you in the way of gaining your daily bread. I desire to show thee that I am pleased with thy conduct, but it were small kindness were I to enable thee to live in idleness.”Again thanking Mr Gray from the bottom of my heart, I said, “What I want, sir, is work. Help me to get that, and it will be all I ask.”Before going away Mr Gray saw Mary for a short time, and paid a long visit to poor Mrs Simmons, which she said did her heart good.I had never felt so happy in my life, and could not resist going out to tell Jim Pulley.“Ask him to set thee up with a wherry and we’ll go out together again as we used to do. That will be fine, and we’ll be as merry as two crickets!” he exclaimed.“I think I ought to leave it with him,” I answered. “A wherry costs a lot of money, and he has already been very generous, though I should like him to do as you propose, and I promise you, Jim, whatever he proposes, to stick by you.”“That’s all I care for,” answered my friend.He accompanied me to the door, but would not come in for fear of disturbing Mary.The next day I went to see Mr Gray, who lived in a pretty house some way out of Portsmouth. He and his daughters received me very kindly. He had, he said, been considering what he could do for me. He would obtain a wherry for me, but he considered that the life of a waterman was not suited to a lad like me, and he then said that he was a shipowner, and was about to despatch a brig in a few days to the coast of Norway for timber, and that, if I pleased, he would send me on board her as an apprentice. Also, as he considered that I was already a seaman, he would give me a trifle of pay. Remembering what my father used to say about not wishing Jack “to become a long-shore lubber,” I at once replied that I would thankfully have accepted his offer, but that I could not desert Jim Pulley, who would well-nigh break his heart, if I were to go away without him.“Nor need thee do that, my son,” he answered. “I will provide a berth also for thy friend on board theGood Intent, and he and thou need not be parted. I approve of thy constancy to him and of his faithfulness to thee. A long-shore life, such as thou wouldst lead if thou wast owner of a wherry, would be dangerous if not demoralising, albeit thou might live comfortably enough.”“But, sir, what will my sister do without me when she recovers and leaves you, and where will Nancy go when the widow dies?”“I will be chargeable for both of them. Set thy mind at rest on that point. Should I be called away—and no man knows how long he has to live—I will direct my daughters to watch over them. Thou and thy friend Jim can, in the meantime, follow thy vocation of watermen, so that thou mayest eat the fruit of thy labours, which is sweeter far to brave hearts like thine than food, bestowed in charity.”I did my best to thank Mr Gray as I ought, and hastened back to tell Mary and Nancy and Jim.“I’d have gone with thee, Peter, even if it had been to Botany Bay, or any of them outlandish parts,” exclaimed Jim, when I told him what Mr Gray had promised. “I am glad; yes, I am glad!”We both tried at once to get employment, and did very well that afternoon and on the two following days.When I got home on the evening of the last I found that a message had been left by Mr Gray when he visited the widow and Mary, directing Jim and me to go the next morning at nine o’clock on board theGood Intent, which had just come into the Commercial Dock. I hastened off to tell Jim at once. As may be supposed, we were up betimes, and as we got to the dock before the hour appointed we were able to examine theGood Intentat our leisure. She was a fair enough looking craft, but as she was deep in the water, having only just begun to discharge a cargo of coals brought from the north, and had a dingy appearance, from the black dust flying about, we could not judge of her properly.As the bells of Saint Thomas’s Church began to strike nine we stepped on board, and directly afterwards Mr Gray, followed by a short, broad, oldish man, who had not a bit the look of a skipper, though such I guessed he was, came out of the cabin.“Right! Punctuality saves precious hours,” said Mr Gray, with an approving nod. “These are the lads I desire to commit to thy care, Captain Finlay. Instruct them in their duties, so that they may become able seamen, and they will repay thy teaching.”“I’ll act justly by the laddies, Mr Gray, but there’s an auld saying that ‘ye canna make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’ If they dinna keep their wits awake, or if they ha’ na wits to keep awake, all the teaching in the world will na make them sailors.”“They are fair sailors already, and thou wilt find them handy enough, I hope,” observed Mr Gray.After putting a few questions, Captain Finlay told us to come aboard the next day but one with our bags, by which time the cargo would be discharged. We set off home greatly pleased, though puzzled to know how we should obtain a decent kit. With Nancy’s help, I might be pretty well off, but poor Jim had scarcely a rag to his back besides the clothes he stood in. In the evening, however, a note came from Mr Gray with an order on an outfitter to give us each a complete kit suited to a cold climate. We were not slow to avail ourselves of it. The next day Dr Rolt considered Mary sufficiently well to be removed, and Mr Gray sent a closed carriage to convey her to his house. The doctor told me to be ready to accompany her, and kindly came himself. It was the first time I had ever been in a coach, and the rolling and pitching made me feel very queer. The young ladies received us as if we had been one of themselves, and Mary was carried up into a pretty, neat room, with white dimity curtains to the bed, and the fresh air blowing in at the open window.“I’ll leave her to you, now, Miss Hannah,” said the doctor. “This is all she requires, with your watchful care.”After I had had a short talk with Mary alone I took my leave, and Miss Hannah told me to be sure to come back and see them before theGood Intentsailed. It was not likely I should forget to do that.Jim and I now went to live on board the brig. We had plenty of work, cleaning out the hold and getting rid of the coal-dust, and then we scrubbed the deck, and blacked down the rigging, and painted the bulwarks and masts, till the change in the appearance of the dingy collier was like that of a scullery-maid when she puts on her Sunday best. We did not mind the hard work, though it was a good deal harder than any we had been accustomed to, but the master and the rest of the crew set us a good example. There was little grumbling, and what surprised me, no swearing, such as I had been accustomed to hear on the Hard. Captain Finlay would not allow it, and the mate supported him in checking any wrong expressions which some of the men had been in the habit of uttering.I got leave to run up and see Mary and to bid Nancy and Mrs Simmons good-bye. Miss Hannah and her sisters seemed to be making a great deal of Mary. It was evident they liked her much, and I was not surprised at that. The widow I never expected to see again. Nancy would scarcely let me go.“Oh, Peter, Peter! What should us do if anything was to happen to ye out on the cruel sea!” she cried, as she held my hand and rubbed her eyes with her apron.The next day theGood Intentwent out of harbour, and I began in earnest the seafaring life I was destined to lead.
I found it more difficult to obtain employment with wages sufficient to support Mary and me, not to speak of Nancy, than I had expected. Jim and I tried to hire a boat, but we could not obtain one to suit us for any sum we could hope to pay. Ours, for so we still called her, had been carried off, and locked up in a shed at Portsmouth. He and I picked up a sixpence or a shilling now and then, but some days we got nothing. There was a great risk of our becoming what my father had so strongly objected to “long-shore loafers.” I would not desert Jim, who had served me so faithfully, and so we tried, as far as we could, to work together. Sometimes he talked of going off to sea, but as I could not leave Mary his heart failed him at the thought of going without me. At the time appointed I called on Lawyer Chalk.
“Sorry to say we are beaten, my lad,” were the words with which he greeted me. “I fought hard, but there’s no doubt that Mr Gull’s client is the nephew of Tom Swatridge, who died intestate, consequently his nephew is his heir. Had the old man wisely come to me I would have drawn up a will for him, securing his property to you or any one he might have desired. I am very sorry for you, but law is law, and it can’t be helped. I hope that you will find employment somewhere soon. Good-day to you.” And he waved me out of his office.
In consequence of his failure in my cause, Lawyer Chalk sank considerably in the estimation of Bob Fox and his friends, who declared that the next time they wanted legal advice they would try what Lawyer Gull could do for them. I should have said that a day or two before he had sent a clerk armed with due authority to accompany Nancy and Mary, who brought away our clothing and all the articles which we had purchased with our own money. Curiously enough, I did not again set eyes on Mr Eben Swatridge, who was, I understood, the son of a younger brother of old Tom, who had gone into business in London and made money. Some property having been left to the two brothers, or to the survivor of either, Eben had been compelled to make inquiries respecting his long unrecognised uncle, and had thus been induced to pay the visit to Portsea which had produced such disastrous results to Mary and me.
The house and furniture and wherry were sold, and directly afterwards he disappeared from Portsmouth. Perhaps he thought it wise to keep out of the way of Bob Fox and the other sturdy old salts who supported me. Not that one of them would have laid a finger on him, and Mary and I agreed that, far from having any ill-feeling, we should have been ready, for his uncle’s sake, to have been friends if he had explained to us at the first who he was and his just rights in a quiet way. We had now a hard struggle to make the two ends meet. Mrs Simmons fell ill, and Mary, who could no longer go to school, had to attend on her, and I had to find food and, as it turned out, to pay her rent, she being no longer able to work for her own support. I did not grumble at this, for I was grateful to her for her kindness to us; but though we stinted ourselves to the utmost, we often had not a sixpence in the house to buy fit nourishment for the poor old lady. Nancy was ready to slave from morning to night, but was often unsuccessful in obtaining work, so that she made scarcely enough to support herself; she might have got a situation, but she would not leave Mary. Whenever honest Jim Pulley could save a shilling he brought it, as he said, for the widow, though I knew that besides his wish to help her he was much influenced by his regard for us. I often thought when the winter came what he and I should do then. I did not say anything to Mary about the future, but tried to keep up her spirits, for I saw that her cheek was becoming pale, and she was growing thinner and thinner every day. At last one morning, when I had got up just at daylight, and having taken a crust of bread and a drink of water for breakfast, was about to go out in search of work, Nancy came into the room, and said—
“I don’t know what has come over Mary, but she has been talking and talking ever so strangely all night, and her cheek is as hot as a live cinder.”
I hurried into the little back room Mary and Nancy occupied next to the widow’s. A glance told me that my dear little sister was in a high fever. My heart was ready to burst, for she did not know me Mrs Simmons was too ill to get up and say what she thought of its nature.
“I must run for the doctor, Nancy,” I exclaimed; “there’s not a moment to lose;” and snatching up my hat I rushed out of the house, assured that Nancy would do her best in the meantime.
I had caught sight of Dr Rolt passing along the street on the previous day, so I knew that he was at home, and I felt more inclined to go to him than to Mr Jones. I ran as I had not run for a long time, and no one ventured to stop me now. The doctor was on foot, early as was the hour. He remembered mother and Mary and me the moment I mentioned my name.
“I’ll come to see your little sister directly,” he said.
I waited for him, fearing that he might not find the house. He was soon ready, and, considering his age, I was surprised how well he kept up with me. I eagerly ushered him into the house. He had not been long with Mary before he sent me off to the chemist to get some medicine, for which I had fortunately enough in my pocket to pay. When I came back he gave it to her himself, and said that he would send some more in the evening; but he would not tell me what he thought of her.
I will not dwell on this unhappy time. The doctor came twice every day and sometimes oftener, but Mary seemed to be getting no better. I had to go out to get work, but all I could make was not sufficient for our expenses, and I had to run into debt, besides which the widow’s rent was due, and she could not pay it.
One day Jim brought me a few shillings, which he said the watermen had given him, but times were bad with most of them, and they could do but little. This enabled me to get some things absolutely necessary for Mary and food for the rest of us. The landlord called two or three times for rent, and at last said that he must put in a distress if it was not paid. The thought of what the consequence of this would be to Mary made me tremble with fear. Ill as she and Mrs Simmons were, their beds might, notwithstanding, be taken from beneath them. The widow might be carried off to the workhouse, and we should be turned into the street I begged hard for delay, and promised that I would do all I could to raise the money. The landlord replied that he would give us two days more, but would not listen to anything further I had to say. The doctor had just before called, so that I could not then tell him of our difficulty. He had not yet given me any assurance that he thought Mary would recover. Nancy could not leave the house, as she was required every moment to attend on her and Mrs Simmons. I was not likely to find Dr Rolt till the evening, so I determined to consult Jim and Bob Fox. I soon met Jim; he was ready to cry when I told him. He scratched his head and rubbed his brow, in vain trying to suggest something.
“Bob can’t help us either,” he said, at length. “He’s got into trouble. Went away three days ago over to France in a smuggling lugger, theSmiling Lass, and she was catched last night with tubs aboard, so he’s sure to want all the money he can get to pay Lawyer Chalk to keep him out of prison, if that’s to be done, but I’m afeared even old Chalk will be nonplussed this time.”
“I wonder whether Lawyer Chalk would lend me the money,” I said.
“Might as well expect to get a hen’s egg out of a block of granite,” answered Jim.
On inquiry I found that all my friends from whom I had the slightest hope of assistance were away over at Ryde, Cowes, or Southampton.
“I tell you, Peter, as I knowed how much you wanted money, I’d a great mind to go aboard theSmiling Lasst’other day, when Bob axed me. It’s a good job I didn’t, isn’t it?”
“I am very glad you didn’t, not only because you would have been taken, but because you would have broken the law,” I answered. “Father always set his face against smuggling.”
“Yes, maybe he did,” said Jim, who did not see that smuggling was wrong as clearly as I did. “But now what’s to be done?”
“We’ll go down to the Hard, and try to pick up a job,” I answered. “A few pence will be better than nothing.”
We each got a job in different boats. The one I was in took some passengers over to Ryde, and thence some others to Spithead and back, so that it was late when I got home with a shilling and a few pence in my pocket. Mary was no better. The doctor had been, and Nancy had told him of the landlord’s threats, but he had made no remark.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Nancy,” I said; “I’ll offer the landlord this shilling when he comes to-morrow to show that I am in earnest, and perhaps he will let us off for another day or two.”
“Better hear what the doctor thinks when he comes in the morning. I don’t think that he’ll allow Mary and Widow Simmons to have their beds taken from under them. Cheer up, Peter! Cheer up!”
I did cheer up a little when Jim came in and brought another shilling, his day’s earnings, declaring that he’d had a good dinner, and had still some coppers in his pocket to pay for the next day’s breakfast. He, however, could not resist eating some bread and cheese which Nancy pressed on him before he went away.
I could scarcely close my eyes for thinking of what the morrow might bring forth. About midnight Nancy came in and told me that Mary was sleeping more calmly than she had done since she was taken ill. Hoping that this was a good sign my mind became less disquieted, and I fell asleep. The next morning the usual hour for the doctor’s coming passed and he did not appear. We waited and waited, anxious to know whether Mary really was better. At last there came a knocking at the door, and in walked the landlord, with a couple of men at his heels.
“Have you the rent ready, good people?” he asked, in a gruff tone.
“No, sir; but I have two shillings, and I promise to pay as much as I can every day till you’ve got what you demand,” I said, as fast as I could speak.
The men laughed as I said this.
“Two shillings! That won’t go no way, my lad,” cried the landlord. “Let me see, why this old pot and kettle and the cups and plates, and table and chairs, and everything in this room won’t sell for more than half my demands, so we must have the bedsteads and bedding and a chest of drawers or so; and as the old woman in there won’t ever be able to pay me more rent, she and all of you must turn out with what remains! So now, Crouch and Scroggins, do your duty.”
The moment he had entered the house Nancy, passing behind me, had locked Mary’s and Mrs Simmons’s doors, and having put the keys in her pocket, had slipped into the scullery or little back kitchen, where we often cooked in summer. One of the men was in the act of placing one chair upon another, and his companion was approaching Mary’s room, when suddenly Nancy rushed out of the back kitchen with a red-hot poker in her hand, and placing herself before it, exclaimed—
“Step an inch nearer if ye dare, ye cowards! Out on ye, Mr Grimes, to come and disturb a fever-sick girl and an old dying woman for the sake of a few filthy shillings! Peter here has offered you some, and has promised to pay you more when he can get them, and I promise too; and now let me see if one of you dare to lay a finger on any of Missus Simmons’s things! Get out of this house! Get out of this house, I say!”
And she began flourishing her poker and advancing towards the intruders in a way which made them beat a rapid retreat towards the door, Mr Grimes scrambling off the first, and shouting out—
“Assault and battery! I’ll make you pay for this, you young vixen!”
“I don’t mind your salt and butter, nor what you call me either,” cried Nancy; and she was just slamming the door behind them, when two persons appeared as if about to enter, one of whom exclaimed, in a voice which I recognised as that of Dr Rolt—
“Why, my good girl, what is all this about?”
“They said that they was a-going to take Mary’s and the widow’s beds and all the things away, sir, and I wouldn’t let them,” she answered, panting and still grasping the hot poker.
“Verily, daughter, thou hast taken a very effectual way of preventing them,” said the other person, who I now saw to my great joy was Mr Silas Gray. He and the doctor at once entered the house.
“Now listen to me, damsel,” he continued. “Thou hast been prompted by affectionate zeal to defend thy friends, I doubt not, but nevertheless thou hast acted illegally, and the consequences to thyself may be serious; however, I will say no more on the subject at present. Put back thy weapon into the fireplace and attend on friend Rolt, who desires to see his patients.”
I saw Mr Gray and the doctor exchange smiles as Nancy, producing the keys from her pocket, unlocked the doors. He now, observing me, said—
“Tell me, my lad, how all this happened. I thought that thou wast doing well with thy wherry.”
So while the doctor was seeing Mary and Mrs Simmons, I gave him an exact account of all that had happened since the day he and his family were out with Jim and me on the water. I had just finished, when the doctor came into the room.
“I can give you a favourable account of your young sister, my lad,” said Dr Rolt. “Her patience and obedience, aided by Nancy’s care, have been much in her favour, and she will, I trust, shortly recover. As soon as she has gained sufficient strength our friend Mr Gray wishes her to be removed to his house, and Nancy can remain here to look after the poor widow, whose days on earth are numbered.”
“Oh, thank you, gentlemen; thank you!” I exclaimed, my heart swelling so that I could scarcely utter the words.
“And what about yourself, my son?” asked Mr Gray.
“Oh, Jim and I will try to rub on together, and I’ll try to pay the widow’s rent as I promised, if you’ll speak a word, sir, to Mr Grimes and get him not to press for payment,” I answered.
“Set thy mind at rest on that point. I will satisfy the demands of the widow’s landlord,” said Mr Gray; and he then added, “Come to my house to-morrow, and I will meantime consider what can be done to put you in the way of gaining your daily bread. I desire to show thee that I am pleased with thy conduct, but it were small kindness were I to enable thee to live in idleness.”
Again thanking Mr Gray from the bottom of my heart, I said, “What I want, sir, is work. Help me to get that, and it will be all I ask.”
Before going away Mr Gray saw Mary for a short time, and paid a long visit to poor Mrs Simmons, which she said did her heart good.
I had never felt so happy in my life, and could not resist going out to tell Jim Pulley.
“Ask him to set thee up with a wherry and we’ll go out together again as we used to do. That will be fine, and we’ll be as merry as two crickets!” he exclaimed.
“I think I ought to leave it with him,” I answered. “A wherry costs a lot of money, and he has already been very generous, though I should like him to do as you propose, and I promise you, Jim, whatever he proposes, to stick by you.”
“That’s all I care for,” answered my friend.
He accompanied me to the door, but would not come in for fear of disturbing Mary.
The next day I went to see Mr Gray, who lived in a pretty house some way out of Portsmouth. He and his daughters received me very kindly. He had, he said, been considering what he could do for me. He would obtain a wherry for me, but he considered that the life of a waterman was not suited to a lad like me, and he then said that he was a shipowner, and was about to despatch a brig in a few days to the coast of Norway for timber, and that, if I pleased, he would send me on board her as an apprentice. Also, as he considered that I was already a seaman, he would give me a trifle of pay. Remembering what my father used to say about not wishing Jack “to become a long-shore lubber,” I at once replied that I would thankfully have accepted his offer, but that I could not desert Jim Pulley, who would well-nigh break his heart, if I were to go away without him.
“Nor need thee do that, my son,” he answered. “I will provide a berth also for thy friend on board theGood Intent, and he and thou need not be parted. I approve of thy constancy to him and of his faithfulness to thee. A long-shore life, such as thou wouldst lead if thou wast owner of a wherry, would be dangerous if not demoralising, albeit thou might live comfortably enough.”
“But, sir, what will my sister do without me when she recovers and leaves you, and where will Nancy go when the widow dies?”
“I will be chargeable for both of them. Set thy mind at rest on that point. Should I be called away—and no man knows how long he has to live—I will direct my daughters to watch over them. Thou and thy friend Jim can, in the meantime, follow thy vocation of watermen, so that thou mayest eat the fruit of thy labours, which is sweeter far to brave hearts like thine than food, bestowed in charity.”
I did my best to thank Mr Gray as I ought, and hastened back to tell Mary and Nancy and Jim.
“I’d have gone with thee, Peter, even if it had been to Botany Bay, or any of them outlandish parts,” exclaimed Jim, when I told him what Mr Gray had promised. “I am glad; yes, I am glad!”
We both tried at once to get employment, and did very well that afternoon and on the two following days.
When I got home on the evening of the last I found that a message had been left by Mr Gray when he visited the widow and Mary, directing Jim and me to go the next morning at nine o’clock on board theGood Intent, which had just come into the Commercial Dock. I hastened off to tell Jim at once. As may be supposed, we were up betimes, and as we got to the dock before the hour appointed we were able to examine theGood Intentat our leisure. She was a fair enough looking craft, but as she was deep in the water, having only just begun to discharge a cargo of coals brought from the north, and had a dingy appearance, from the black dust flying about, we could not judge of her properly.
As the bells of Saint Thomas’s Church began to strike nine we stepped on board, and directly afterwards Mr Gray, followed by a short, broad, oldish man, who had not a bit the look of a skipper, though such I guessed he was, came out of the cabin.
“Right! Punctuality saves precious hours,” said Mr Gray, with an approving nod. “These are the lads I desire to commit to thy care, Captain Finlay. Instruct them in their duties, so that they may become able seamen, and they will repay thy teaching.”
“I’ll act justly by the laddies, Mr Gray, but there’s an auld saying that ‘ye canna make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’ If they dinna keep their wits awake, or if they ha’ na wits to keep awake, all the teaching in the world will na make them sailors.”
“They are fair sailors already, and thou wilt find them handy enough, I hope,” observed Mr Gray.
After putting a few questions, Captain Finlay told us to come aboard the next day but one with our bags, by which time the cargo would be discharged. We set off home greatly pleased, though puzzled to know how we should obtain a decent kit. With Nancy’s help, I might be pretty well off, but poor Jim had scarcely a rag to his back besides the clothes he stood in. In the evening, however, a note came from Mr Gray with an order on an outfitter to give us each a complete kit suited to a cold climate. We were not slow to avail ourselves of it. The next day Dr Rolt considered Mary sufficiently well to be removed, and Mr Gray sent a closed carriage to convey her to his house. The doctor told me to be ready to accompany her, and kindly came himself. It was the first time I had ever been in a coach, and the rolling and pitching made me feel very queer. The young ladies received us as if we had been one of themselves, and Mary was carried up into a pretty, neat room, with white dimity curtains to the bed, and the fresh air blowing in at the open window.
“I’ll leave her to you, now, Miss Hannah,” said the doctor. “This is all she requires, with your watchful care.”
After I had had a short talk with Mary alone I took my leave, and Miss Hannah told me to be sure to come back and see them before theGood Intentsailed. It was not likely I should forget to do that.
Jim and I now went to live on board the brig. We had plenty of work, cleaning out the hold and getting rid of the coal-dust, and then we scrubbed the deck, and blacked down the rigging, and painted the bulwarks and masts, till the change in the appearance of the dingy collier was like that of a scullery-maid when she puts on her Sunday best. We did not mind the hard work, though it was a good deal harder than any we had been accustomed to, but the master and the rest of the crew set us a good example. There was little grumbling, and what surprised me, no swearing, such as I had been accustomed to hear on the Hard. Captain Finlay would not allow it, and the mate supported him in checking any wrong expressions which some of the men had been in the habit of uttering.
I got leave to run up and see Mary and to bid Nancy and Mrs Simmons good-bye. Miss Hannah and her sisters seemed to be making a great deal of Mary. It was evident they liked her much, and I was not surprised at that. The widow I never expected to see again. Nancy would scarcely let me go.
“Oh, Peter, Peter! What should us do if anything was to happen to ye out on the cruel sea!” she cried, as she held my hand and rubbed her eyes with her apron.
The next day theGood Intentwent out of harbour, and I began in earnest the seafaring life I was destined to lead.