Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fourteen.Gaff and Billy become the Sport of Fortune, and see Strange Things.The steamer which had run down the sloop of Haco Barepoles was a large iron one, which had just set out on a voyage to the West Indies.Being anxious to send on shore the men whom he had so unexpectedly picked up at sea, the captain hailed the first inward-bound vessel he met with, and put them on board. It was found, however, that the blow received by Stephen Gaff had been more severe than was at first imagined, and the doctor advised that he should not be moved until farther down the Channel. He and Billy were therefore retained on board; but when the steamer passed the Isle of Wight, the weather became thick and squally, and continued so for several days, so that no vessel could be spoken with.In these circumstances the captain was compelled to carry Gaff and his boy away to sea, much to the regret of the former, who was curious to know what the news could be that was to be to his advantage in London, besides being grieved at the anxiety his sudden disappearance with Billy would cause to his wife.The Bu’ster did not by any means share the regret or grief of his father. To that amiable cherub the whole affair was a piece of unexpected and unparalleled good fortune. It was the realisation to some extent of his rapturous dreams of travel and adventure in foreign lands, and it freed him, at one fell swoop, from the iron yoke of his mother.Billy, although he congratulated himself on the deliverance, did, strange to say, shed a few tears in memory of his mother, for the boy had an affectionate disposition, and really loved his mother, and would have shown his love too if she would have let him.Gaff feared there was but little prospect of being speedily delivered from the steamer; nevertheless he begged the captain to put him on board the first homeward-bound vessel they should meet with. To this request the captain agreed.An opportunity occurred sooner than had been expected. On the afternoon of the fifth day out, a large barque hove in sight. On nearing this vessel the captain ran up his colours, and the signal was replied to by the Union Jack. On being asked as to where they were bound, the port of Liverpool was signalled in answer.“You’re in luck. Gaff,” said the captain; “I’ll put you on board of that barque if you choose.”“Thank ’ee, sir, I’d like it well.”“I rather think that your little boy would prefer to go withus,” added the captain, laughing.Billy at once admitted that he would, and begged to be allowed to stay where he was, but this request could not be granted.“Now, Gaff,” said the captain confidentially, “if you’re short o’ cash I’ll be happy to—”“Thank’ee, sir, I’ve as much as I require.”“Very well, then, you’d better get ready, and I’ll order a boat to be lowered.”Half an hour afterwards Gaff stood on the deck of the barque, waving his hat to the few friends he had made during his short stay in the steamer.The barque turned out to be a South Sea whaler from New York, which had suffered severely in a recent gale which had driven her far out of her course to the northward. She was obliged to run to Liverpool for repairs. The captain, whose name was Graddy, and who was one of the most ill-favoured and ill-mannered men that Gaff had ever set eyes on, agreed to take the newcomer to England on condition that he should work his way besides paying for his rations.There was something about this vessel which was very offensive to the critical eye of Gaff. The nature of her work might account for her being so dirty; but that was no reason for the slovenliness of her rigging and general management, the surliness and tyranny of her captain, and the semi-mutinous condition of her crew.The crew was a mixed one. There seemed to be representatives of at least half a dozen nations. The captain himself was of mixed blood, and no one could have told from his look or speech to what nation he belonged. He was a big powerful man, much feared by the crew, who hated him cordially. He was well aware of this, and returned the hatred with interest. Besides this, being monarch of the ship, he worried them in every way that lay in his power.It is awful to think of the ruinous effects of sin, and how nearly men can come to resemble devils. This monster actually laid plots to entrap his men in order that he might have an excuse to vent his hatred on them.Gaff soon found that he had got into a nest, so to speak, of evil spirits. Before he had been two days with them, he would have given all he possessed, or ever hoped to possess, in order to escape from the “Rattlesnake,” which was the vessel’s name.As for Billy, his heart sank to a depth of woe he had never hitherto conceived of. Every one kicked and cuffed him and swore at him for being in the way, and when he was wanted he was kicked, cuffed, and sworn at for being out of the way. Poor boy! his dreams had never presented him withthisspecies of adventure.So bad did the state of things become that the men began to talk among themselves of deserting the moment they should reach port, no matter what should be the consequences. This threat reached the captain’s ears, and he frustrated it by telling the mate that he thought the needful repairs could be managed on board by the ship’s carpenters; and so gave orders to alter the course for South America!Deep and fierce were the counsels that went on in the forecastle that night among the men. Some hinted darkly at murder. Others suggested that the captain should be put on shore on a desert island and left to his fate. All agreed that something must be done, that a decisive blow must be struck, with the exception of Gaff, who remained silent while his shipmates were discussing the matter.Observing this they called upon him for his opinion.“Lads,” said he in decided tones, “I’ve got no opinion to offer. I am—at least I strive to be—a Christian man; an’, to be plain with ye, I won’t go for to consult or act with murderers, or mutineers, or pirates, which it appears you intend to become, if you’re not that a’ready. One opinion I will give ye, however, an’ one piece of advice I’ll offer. The opinion is, that if you go on as you’ve bin a-goin’ on since I came aboard, you’ll all live to be hanged. The advice is, that you should face yer troubles like men—take things as ye find ’em, an’ if ye can’t mend ’em, why grin and bear ’em.”The crew received this in varied mood. Some laughed, others swore, and one suggested that Gaff should be thrown overboard.This latter, who was a big strong man, and a sort of bully among his mates, shook his fist at Gaff, and said—“Now, I’ll tell ye wot it is, Mister Toogood, if you go for to tell the cap’n wot we’ve bin a-talkin’ about, I’ll knock yer two daylights into one, so see that ye keep yer tongue in order.”“What’s past is past,” said Gaff quietly; “but I tell ye plainly, that if you letyourtongues go the same pace again in my hearin’, I’ll go aft and report ye. I’ll be no spy, but I give ye fair warnin’.”At this the bully lost command of himself. Seizing an iron bar that lay on a chest close by, he rushed at Gaff with the evident intention of felling him. But the latter was on his guard. He was active and powerful too, besides being quite cool. Leaping nimbly aside, he avoided the bully’s onset, and at the same moment laid him flat on the deck with one blow of his fist.“Sarves him right!”“So it does!” exclaimed several of the men, who were not sorry to see one whom they disliked so roughly handled.“Well, so it does sarve him right,” added one who had been a prominent speaker in the recent debates; “but hark’ee, friend,” he said, turning to Gaff with a scowl, “you can’t knock the whole crew down in that fashion. I advise ye, for your own sake, to mind what ye’re about.”“I means to do so,” said Gaff; “I’ll stick to my dooty and to the cap’n.”“Very good,” replied the other with a sneer, “then wotiver is the cap’n’s fate you’ll have the pleasure of sharin’ it with him.”“Tumble up there! tumble up, an’ reef tops’ls!” roared the captain down the hatch at that moment.The men obeyed, and for the time their mutinous intentions seemed to have been dismissed. For many weeks after this Gaff heard nothing that could lead him to suppose that the men still harboured their dark designs. Yet the state of affairs on board became worse and worse. The captain cursed and tyrannised more than ever, and the men grew sulkier and more wretched, but no word of a murderous nature was ever uttered in the hearing of Gaff or his little son.As for Billy his small mind had received such a rude shock by the sudden and terrible change in his circumstances, that he seemed to have lost all his wonted vivacity as well as his mischief. In fact, both qualities, or tendencies, had been thoroughly kicked out of him before he had been a week on board. He was protected to some extent by his father, who one day quietly knocked another of the men down for giving Billy an undeserved beating; but some of them kicked and cuffed the poor boy when his father was not present.Billy was found to be active and useful in small matters and light duties suited to his age, and in the course of time was appointed to the position of steward’s assistant, in which capacity he became deeply learned in the matter of washing cups, dishes, etcetera, besides acquiring a knowledge of baking, pudding-making, and many other useful arts more or less allied to cookery; in addition to which he had the inestimable benefit of being taught thoroughly submission and obedience—a lesson which the Bu’ster found very hard to learn, and thought particularly grievous, but which at his age, and considering his previous training, was an absolute blessing.The way in which that cherub went about that ship in a little blue jacket, straw hat, and canvas trousers, rubbing and cleaning, and according prompt obedience at all times to every one, would have charmed his mother as much as it gratified his father, who was in consequence somewhat reconciled to his otherwise hard lot.Now, philosophical reader—if such you be—do not suppose that I advocate kicking and cuffing as the best possible cure for general mischievousness and badness in a boy. By no means. My strong-minded wife says I do; but then she always forms, or rather partially forms, her opinions on assumptions, retains them in confusion, states them at haphazard, according to her mood at the time being, and, having stated them, sticks to them like a limpet to a rock.You will judge differently when I explain my ideas on this point. I maintain that Billy Gaff,aliasthe Bu’ster, was taught to accord obedience—simple obedience and nothing else—by means of the kicking and cuffing he received on board of that whaler; and, further, that the method is a sure one. I do not say that it is thebestone, but that does not affect the fact that it is almost infallible. It was reserved for Billy’s father, however, by means of wise counsels, kindly given advice, and otherwise affectionate treatment, to save Billy from being turned into an obedient but misanthropic brute, and to lead him to accord his obedience, not because he could not help it, but because his father wished him to do it.This appeal went right home to Billy’s heart, because he loved his father fervently. He had always loved him in time past, now more than ever, for the poor boy regarded him much as a drowning man regards the solitary plank to which he clings as his last hope. Thus did Billy practically learn the great truth, that “Love is the fulfilling of the law.”Weeks rolled on; gales succeeded calms, and calms succeeded gales. The “line” was passed; southern seas were reached; new constellations glittered overhead; strange fish and luminous creatures gambolled in the sea, and the whalers’ fishing-ground was entered. Latterly the men had ceased to grumble at the captain, although he had by no means ceased to swear at and bully the men, and Gaff began to hope that they had got over their bad fit, and were going to settle down to work peaceably.The calm, however, was deceitful; it preceded a storm.One sultry afternoon when Gaff was standing at the helm and the captain beside him, the men came aft in a body, and two of their number, with pistols in their hands, advanced to seize the captain.He saw at once what they meant to do, and, springing back, seized a handspike.“Lay that down and surrender, else I’ll blow out yer brains,” said one of the two, levelling his pistol.Instead of obeying, the captain raised the heavy handspike, and the man pulled the trigger. At the same instant Gaff struck up the muzzle with his hand; the ball passed over the captain’s head, and the handspike descended on the seaman’s crown felling him at once.Upon this the entire crew made a rush and overpowered Gaff and the captain. The latter, who struggled with the fury of a tiger, was kicked while down until he was nearly dead. Gaff at once gave in, knowing that any attempt at further resistance, besides being hopeless, would only render matters worse. He was therefore allowed to rise, and his hands were tied behind his back.The captain, being similarly secured, was raised to his feet.“Now, you tyrant,” said the ringleader of the crew with a terrible oath, “how would you like to have your throat cut?”The man slowly opened a long clasp-knife as he spoke, and felt its keen edge with his thumb. Blood was flowing down his face and breast from the wound inflicted by the handspike, and the fiendish expression of his countenance, added to the terribleness of his aspect, while it showed that his sarcastic question would certainly be followed by the murderous deed. But the other mutineers restrained him.“It’s too good for him, make him walk the plank and drown like a dog—as he is,” cried one.“Hang him up to the yard-arm,” said another.Several voices here expressed dissent, and an elderly seaman stepped forward and said that they didn’t intend to become pirates, so they had better not begin with murder.“Hear, hear!” from several voices emphatically.“What’ll we do with him, then?” inquired one in angry excitement.Upon this they all began to consult noisily, and they were so much engrossed that they failed to perceive the movements of Billy, who, when his first alarm at the uproar was over, began to feel deep anxiety in regard to his father’s bound and helpless condition. His active mind did not remain long paralysed; pulling out the clasp-knife which he always carried in his pocket, he quickly cut the cords that fastened Gaff’s wrists. Before the latter could avail himself of his freedom the act was discovered, and he was secured again more firmly than before, while Billy was favoured with a slap on the ear so tremendous that it threw all those he had ever received from his mother utterly into the shade!Recovering from this, he sat down on the deck at his father’s feet, and wept silently.In a few minutes the mutineers agreed among themselves. One of the smallest boats in the ship was lowered, and the captain and Gaff having been cast loose were ordered to get into it. The former obeyed at once, pronouncing a terrible curse on the crew as he went down the side.One of the men at the same time threw a bag of biscuit into the boat.“Come along, Billy,” said Gaff, as he followed the captain.The boy was about to do so, when one of the men seized him and pulled him back.“No, no,” said he, “the lad’s useful, and will only eat up your biscuit faster than need be. We’ll keep him aboard.”Gaff listened to this with an expression of agony on his rugged features.“Oh, have mercy on my son!” he cried, as they cast the boat adrift. Then feeling that an appeal to such desperadoes was useless, he clasped his hands, and, looking up to Heaven, prayed God, for Christ’s sake, to deliver him from the company of sinful men.A light breeze was blowing, and the ship, which had been hove-to while the boat was being lowered, soon gathered way, and left the boat behind.All of a sudden Billy broke away, and, rushing towards the stern, sprang wildly into the sea!“Down with the helm! heave-to!” shouted some of the men.“No, no, let the whelp go,” cried others; “besides, he’d be able to peach on us.”This last argument was all-powerful. The ship held on her course, and Billy was left to his fate.The moment that Gaff saw him take the leap he seized the oars, and applying all his strength to them, succeeded in catching hold of his son before his struggles had ceased.Billy was none the worse for his adventure beyond the ducking. Gaff soon wrung the water out of his garments, and then placing him on his knee, sat down to watch the ship as it sailed slowly away.The captain, who sat in the stern with his chin resting in his hand, and a dark scowl on his face, also watched the retreating vessel.Soon it glimmered like the wing of a sea-mew on the horizon, and then, just as night began to set in, it disappeared, leaving the boat a solitary speck in the midst of the great wide sea.

The steamer which had run down the sloop of Haco Barepoles was a large iron one, which had just set out on a voyage to the West Indies.

Being anxious to send on shore the men whom he had so unexpectedly picked up at sea, the captain hailed the first inward-bound vessel he met with, and put them on board. It was found, however, that the blow received by Stephen Gaff had been more severe than was at first imagined, and the doctor advised that he should not be moved until farther down the Channel. He and Billy were therefore retained on board; but when the steamer passed the Isle of Wight, the weather became thick and squally, and continued so for several days, so that no vessel could be spoken with.

In these circumstances the captain was compelled to carry Gaff and his boy away to sea, much to the regret of the former, who was curious to know what the news could be that was to be to his advantage in London, besides being grieved at the anxiety his sudden disappearance with Billy would cause to his wife.

The Bu’ster did not by any means share the regret or grief of his father. To that amiable cherub the whole affair was a piece of unexpected and unparalleled good fortune. It was the realisation to some extent of his rapturous dreams of travel and adventure in foreign lands, and it freed him, at one fell swoop, from the iron yoke of his mother.

Billy, although he congratulated himself on the deliverance, did, strange to say, shed a few tears in memory of his mother, for the boy had an affectionate disposition, and really loved his mother, and would have shown his love too if she would have let him.

Gaff feared there was but little prospect of being speedily delivered from the steamer; nevertheless he begged the captain to put him on board the first homeward-bound vessel they should meet with. To this request the captain agreed.

An opportunity occurred sooner than had been expected. On the afternoon of the fifth day out, a large barque hove in sight. On nearing this vessel the captain ran up his colours, and the signal was replied to by the Union Jack. On being asked as to where they were bound, the port of Liverpool was signalled in answer.

“You’re in luck. Gaff,” said the captain; “I’ll put you on board of that barque if you choose.”

“Thank ’ee, sir, I’d like it well.”

“I rather think that your little boy would prefer to go withus,” added the captain, laughing.

Billy at once admitted that he would, and begged to be allowed to stay where he was, but this request could not be granted.

“Now, Gaff,” said the captain confidentially, “if you’re short o’ cash I’ll be happy to—”

“Thank’ee, sir, I’ve as much as I require.”

“Very well, then, you’d better get ready, and I’ll order a boat to be lowered.”

Half an hour afterwards Gaff stood on the deck of the barque, waving his hat to the few friends he had made during his short stay in the steamer.

The barque turned out to be a South Sea whaler from New York, which had suffered severely in a recent gale which had driven her far out of her course to the northward. She was obliged to run to Liverpool for repairs. The captain, whose name was Graddy, and who was one of the most ill-favoured and ill-mannered men that Gaff had ever set eyes on, agreed to take the newcomer to England on condition that he should work his way besides paying for his rations.

There was something about this vessel which was very offensive to the critical eye of Gaff. The nature of her work might account for her being so dirty; but that was no reason for the slovenliness of her rigging and general management, the surliness and tyranny of her captain, and the semi-mutinous condition of her crew.

The crew was a mixed one. There seemed to be representatives of at least half a dozen nations. The captain himself was of mixed blood, and no one could have told from his look or speech to what nation he belonged. He was a big powerful man, much feared by the crew, who hated him cordially. He was well aware of this, and returned the hatred with interest. Besides this, being monarch of the ship, he worried them in every way that lay in his power.

It is awful to think of the ruinous effects of sin, and how nearly men can come to resemble devils. This monster actually laid plots to entrap his men in order that he might have an excuse to vent his hatred on them.

Gaff soon found that he had got into a nest, so to speak, of evil spirits. Before he had been two days with them, he would have given all he possessed, or ever hoped to possess, in order to escape from the “Rattlesnake,” which was the vessel’s name.

As for Billy, his heart sank to a depth of woe he had never hitherto conceived of. Every one kicked and cuffed him and swore at him for being in the way, and when he was wanted he was kicked, cuffed, and sworn at for being out of the way. Poor boy! his dreams had never presented him withthisspecies of adventure.

So bad did the state of things become that the men began to talk among themselves of deserting the moment they should reach port, no matter what should be the consequences. This threat reached the captain’s ears, and he frustrated it by telling the mate that he thought the needful repairs could be managed on board by the ship’s carpenters; and so gave orders to alter the course for South America!

Deep and fierce were the counsels that went on in the forecastle that night among the men. Some hinted darkly at murder. Others suggested that the captain should be put on shore on a desert island and left to his fate. All agreed that something must be done, that a decisive blow must be struck, with the exception of Gaff, who remained silent while his shipmates were discussing the matter.

Observing this they called upon him for his opinion.

“Lads,” said he in decided tones, “I’ve got no opinion to offer. I am—at least I strive to be—a Christian man; an’, to be plain with ye, I won’t go for to consult or act with murderers, or mutineers, or pirates, which it appears you intend to become, if you’re not that a’ready. One opinion I will give ye, however, an’ one piece of advice I’ll offer. The opinion is, that if you go on as you’ve bin a-goin’ on since I came aboard, you’ll all live to be hanged. The advice is, that you should face yer troubles like men—take things as ye find ’em, an’ if ye can’t mend ’em, why grin and bear ’em.”

The crew received this in varied mood. Some laughed, others swore, and one suggested that Gaff should be thrown overboard.

This latter, who was a big strong man, and a sort of bully among his mates, shook his fist at Gaff, and said—

“Now, I’ll tell ye wot it is, Mister Toogood, if you go for to tell the cap’n wot we’ve bin a-talkin’ about, I’ll knock yer two daylights into one, so see that ye keep yer tongue in order.”

“What’s past is past,” said Gaff quietly; “but I tell ye plainly, that if you letyourtongues go the same pace again in my hearin’, I’ll go aft and report ye. I’ll be no spy, but I give ye fair warnin’.”

At this the bully lost command of himself. Seizing an iron bar that lay on a chest close by, he rushed at Gaff with the evident intention of felling him. But the latter was on his guard. He was active and powerful too, besides being quite cool. Leaping nimbly aside, he avoided the bully’s onset, and at the same moment laid him flat on the deck with one blow of his fist.

“Sarves him right!”

“So it does!” exclaimed several of the men, who were not sorry to see one whom they disliked so roughly handled.

“Well, so it does sarve him right,” added one who had been a prominent speaker in the recent debates; “but hark’ee, friend,” he said, turning to Gaff with a scowl, “you can’t knock the whole crew down in that fashion. I advise ye, for your own sake, to mind what ye’re about.”

“I means to do so,” said Gaff; “I’ll stick to my dooty and to the cap’n.”

“Very good,” replied the other with a sneer, “then wotiver is the cap’n’s fate you’ll have the pleasure of sharin’ it with him.”

“Tumble up there! tumble up, an’ reef tops’ls!” roared the captain down the hatch at that moment.

The men obeyed, and for the time their mutinous intentions seemed to have been dismissed. For many weeks after this Gaff heard nothing that could lead him to suppose that the men still harboured their dark designs. Yet the state of affairs on board became worse and worse. The captain cursed and tyrannised more than ever, and the men grew sulkier and more wretched, but no word of a murderous nature was ever uttered in the hearing of Gaff or his little son.

As for Billy his small mind had received such a rude shock by the sudden and terrible change in his circumstances, that he seemed to have lost all his wonted vivacity as well as his mischief. In fact, both qualities, or tendencies, had been thoroughly kicked out of him before he had been a week on board. He was protected to some extent by his father, who one day quietly knocked another of the men down for giving Billy an undeserved beating; but some of them kicked and cuffed the poor boy when his father was not present.

Billy was found to be active and useful in small matters and light duties suited to his age, and in the course of time was appointed to the position of steward’s assistant, in which capacity he became deeply learned in the matter of washing cups, dishes, etcetera, besides acquiring a knowledge of baking, pudding-making, and many other useful arts more or less allied to cookery; in addition to which he had the inestimable benefit of being taught thoroughly submission and obedience—a lesson which the Bu’ster found very hard to learn, and thought particularly grievous, but which at his age, and considering his previous training, was an absolute blessing.

The way in which that cherub went about that ship in a little blue jacket, straw hat, and canvas trousers, rubbing and cleaning, and according prompt obedience at all times to every one, would have charmed his mother as much as it gratified his father, who was in consequence somewhat reconciled to his otherwise hard lot.

Now, philosophical reader—if such you be—do not suppose that I advocate kicking and cuffing as the best possible cure for general mischievousness and badness in a boy. By no means. My strong-minded wife says I do; but then she always forms, or rather partially forms, her opinions on assumptions, retains them in confusion, states them at haphazard, according to her mood at the time being, and, having stated them, sticks to them like a limpet to a rock.

You will judge differently when I explain my ideas on this point. I maintain that Billy Gaff,aliasthe Bu’ster, was taught to accord obedience—simple obedience and nothing else—by means of the kicking and cuffing he received on board of that whaler; and, further, that the method is a sure one. I do not say that it is thebestone, but that does not affect the fact that it is almost infallible. It was reserved for Billy’s father, however, by means of wise counsels, kindly given advice, and otherwise affectionate treatment, to save Billy from being turned into an obedient but misanthropic brute, and to lead him to accord his obedience, not because he could not help it, but because his father wished him to do it.

This appeal went right home to Billy’s heart, because he loved his father fervently. He had always loved him in time past, now more than ever, for the poor boy regarded him much as a drowning man regards the solitary plank to which he clings as his last hope. Thus did Billy practically learn the great truth, that “Love is the fulfilling of the law.”

Weeks rolled on; gales succeeded calms, and calms succeeded gales. The “line” was passed; southern seas were reached; new constellations glittered overhead; strange fish and luminous creatures gambolled in the sea, and the whalers’ fishing-ground was entered. Latterly the men had ceased to grumble at the captain, although he had by no means ceased to swear at and bully the men, and Gaff began to hope that they had got over their bad fit, and were going to settle down to work peaceably.

The calm, however, was deceitful; it preceded a storm.

One sultry afternoon when Gaff was standing at the helm and the captain beside him, the men came aft in a body, and two of their number, with pistols in their hands, advanced to seize the captain.

He saw at once what they meant to do, and, springing back, seized a handspike.

“Lay that down and surrender, else I’ll blow out yer brains,” said one of the two, levelling his pistol.

Instead of obeying, the captain raised the heavy handspike, and the man pulled the trigger. At the same instant Gaff struck up the muzzle with his hand; the ball passed over the captain’s head, and the handspike descended on the seaman’s crown felling him at once.

Upon this the entire crew made a rush and overpowered Gaff and the captain. The latter, who struggled with the fury of a tiger, was kicked while down until he was nearly dead. Gaff at once gave in, knowing that any attempt at further resistance, besides being hopeless, would only render matters worse. He was therefore allowed to rise, and his hands were tied behind his back.

The captain, being similarly secured, was raised to his feet.

“Now, you tyrant,” said the ringleader of the crew with a terrible oath, “how would you like to have your throat cut?”

The man slowly opened a long clasp-knife as he spoke, and felt its keen edge with his thumb. Blood was flowing down his face and breast from the wound inflicted by the handspike, and the fiendish expression of his countenance, added to the terribleness of his aspect, while it showed that his sarcastic question would certainly be followed by the murderous deed. But the other mutineers restrained him.

“It’s too good for him, make him walk the plank and drown like a dog—as he is,” cried one.

“Hang him up to the yard-arm,” said another.

Several voices here expressed dissent, and an elderly seaman stepped forward and said that they didn’t intend to become pirates, so they had better not begin with murder.

“Hear, hear!” from several voices emphatically.

“What’ll we do with him, then?” inquired one in angry excitement.

Upon this they all began to consult noisily, and they were so much engrossed that they failed to perceive the movements of Billy, who, when his first alarm at the uproar was over, began to feel deep anxiety in regard to his father’s bound and helpless condition. His active mind did not remain long paralysed; pulling out the clasp-knife which he always carried in his pocket, he quickly cut the cords that fastened Gaff’s wrists. Before the latter could avail himself of his freedom the act was discovered, and he was secured again more firmly than before, while Billy was favoured with a slap on the ear so tremendous that it threw all those he had ever received from his mother utterly into the shade!

Recovering from this, he sat down on the deck at his father’s feet, and wept silently.

In a few minutes the mutineers agreed among themselves. One of the smallest boats in the ship was lowered, and the captain and Gaff having been cast loose were ordered to get into it. The former obeyed at once, pronouncing a terrible curse on the crew as he went down the side.

One of the men at the same time threw a bag of biscuit into the boat.

“Come along, Billy,” said Gaff, as he followed the captain.

The boy was about to do so, when one of the men seized him and pulled him back.

“No, no,” said he, “the lad’s useful, and will only eat up your biscuit faster than need be. We’ll keep him aboard.”

Gaff listened to this with an expression of agony on his rugged features.

“Oh, have mercy on my son!” he cried, as they cast the boat adrift. Then feeling that an appeal to such desperadoes was useless, he clasped his hands, and, looking up to Heaven, prayed God, for Christ’s sake, to deliver him from the company of sinful men.

A light breeze was blowing, and the ship, which had been hove-to while the boat was being lowered, soon gathered way, and left the boat behind.

All of a sudden Billy broke away, and, rushing towards the stern, sprang wildly into the sea!

“Down with the helm! heave-to!” shouted some of the men.

“No, no, let the whelp go,” cried others; “besides, he’d be able to peach on us.”

This last argument was all-powerful. The ship held on her course, and Billy was left to his fate.

The moment that Gaff saw him take the leap he seized the oars, and applying all his strength to them, succeeded in catching hold of his son before his struggles had ceased.

Billy was none the worse for his adventure beyond the ducking. Gaff soon wrung the water out of his garments, and then placing him on his knee, sat down to watch the ship as it sailed slowly away.

The captain, who sat in the stern with his chin resting in his hand, and a dark scowl on his face, also watched the retreating vessel.

Soon it glimmered like the wing of a sea-mew on the horizon, and then, just as night began to set in, it disappeared, leaving the boat a solitary speck in the midst of the great wide sea.

Chapter Fifteen.The Dinner Party—A Sudden Piece of Questionable Good Fortune befalls Mrs Gaff.“It is a most unfortunate piece of good fortune this that has befallen Mrs Gaff,” said Mr George Stuart, “a very unfortunate thing indeed.”“Dear me, do you think so? Now I don’t agree with you at all, brother,” observed Miss Peppy. “I think that good fortune is always good fortune, and never can be bad fortune. I wish it would only come to me sometimes, but it never does, and when it does it never remains long. Only think how she’ll flaunt about now, with a coach-and-four perhaps, and such like. I really think that fortune made a mistake in this case, for she has been used to such mean ways, not that I mean anything bad by mean, you know, but only low and common, including food and domestic habits, as well as society, that—that—dear me, I don’t exactly know how to express myself, but it’s a puzzle to me to know how she’ll ever come to be able to spend it all, indeed it is. I wonder why we are subjected to such surprises so constantly, and then it’ssoperplexing too, because one will never be able to remember that she’s not a fisherwoman as she used to be, and will call her Jessie in spite of one’s-self; and how it ever came about, that’s another puzzle. But after all there is no accounting for the surprising way in which thingsdocome about, dear me, in this altogether unaccountable world. Take a little more soup, Captain Bingley?”The above observations were made by Miss Peppy and my friend Stuart, from the head and foot respectively of their dinner-table, around which were assembled my wife, my niece Lizzie Gordon, an elderly spinster named Miss Eve Flouncer, a Miss Martha Puff, (niece to Miss Flouncer), a baronet named Sir Richard Doles, my son Gildart, and Kenneth Stuart.I was seated beside Miss Peppy, opposite to Sir Richard Doles, who was one of the slowest, dullest, stupidest men I ever met with. He appeared to me to have been born without any intellect. When he told a story there was no end to it, indeed there seldom was anything worthy the name of a beginning to it, and it never by the remotest chance had any point.In virtue of his rank, not his capacity of course, Sir Richard was in great demand in Wreckumoft. He was chairman at every public meeting; honorary member of every society; a director in the bank, the insurance company, the railway, the poorhouse, and the Sailors’ Home; in all of which positions and institutions he was a positive nuisance, because of his insane determination to speak as long as possible, when he had not the remotest notion of what he wished to say, so that business was in his presence brought almost to a dead lock. Yet Sir Richard was tolerated; nay, courted and toadied, because of his title.My wife was seated opposite to Miss Eve Flouncer, who was one of the strong-minded women. Indeed, I think it is but just to say of her that she was one of the strongest-minded women in the town. In her presence the strength of Mrs Bingley’s mind dwindled down to comparative weakness. In form she was swan-like, undulatory, so to speak. Her features wereprononcé; nose, aquiline; eyes, piercing; hair, black as night, and in long ringlets.Miss Flouncer was, as I have said, an elderly spinster. Sir Richard was an elderly bachelor. Miss Flouncer thought of this, and often sighed. Sir Richard didn’t think of it, and never sighed, except when, having finished a good dinner, he felt that he could eat no more. By the way, he also sighed at philanthropic meetings when cases of distress were related, such as sudden bereavement, coupled, perhaps, with sickness and deep poverty. But Sir Richard’s sighs were all his contributions to the cause of suffering humanity. Sometimes, indeed, he gave it his blessing, though it would have puzzled the deepest philosopher to have said what that consisted in, but he never gave it his prayers, for this reason, that he never prayed for himself or anybody else. He held that this world was in a sufficiently satisfactory condition, and advised that men should let well alone, and contended that any attempt to interfere with its arrangements in the way of prayer was quite indefensible. He did indeed read his prayers in church on Sundays, in a very loud and distinct voice, to the great annoyance and distraction, not to say irritation, of all who sat within fifty yards of him, but this he regarded as a commendable institution of the country. But to return to Miss Flouncer.This state of affairs between Sir Richard and herself did not augur much for her prospects; but then she was a very strong-minded woman, and had hopes; whereas Sir Richard was a very weak-minded man, and had no hopes of any kind worth mentioning, being perfectly satisfied—good, easy man—with things as they then stood.Miss Martha Puff was niece to Miss Flouncer—age apparently sixteen. It struck me, as I sat looking at her placid face, that this young lady was well named. Her pink round visage was puffed up with something so soft that I could scarcely venture to call it fat. Her round soft arms were so puffy to look at, that one could not help fearing that an accidental prick from a pin would burst the skin and let them out. She seemed so like trifle in her pink muslin dress, that I could imagine a puff of wind blowing her away altogether. She could not be said to be puffed up with conceit, poor girl; but she dined almost exclusively on puff paste, to the evident satisfaction of my gallant son Gildart, who paid her marked attention during dinner.Miss Puff never spoke except when spoken to, never asked for anything, never remarked upon anything, did not seem to care for anything, (puff paste excepted), and never thought of anything, as far as I could judge from the expression of her countenance. Gildart might as well have had a wax doll to entertain.“To what unfortunate piece of good fortune does your brother refer, Miss Stuart?” asked Sir Richard when Miss Peppy had concluded her observations in regard to it.“Is it possible that you have not heard of it?” exclaimed Miss Peppy in surprise. “Why, the town has been ringing with it for a fortnight at least, and those odious creatures, the gossips, (who never come near me, however, because they know I will not tolerate them), have got up all sorts of wild stories, showing that the man must have got the money by foul means, though I don’t know, I’m sure, why he shouldn’t have got a surprise as well as anybody else, for the unaccountable and astonishing way in which thingsdohappen in this world, at least to human beings, for I do not believe that cows or sheep or horses ever experience them; the want of expression on their faces shows that, at all events they never leave their offspring at people’s doors, and then go away without—”“You’d better tell Sir Richard what piece of news you refer to, my dear,” interrupted Mr Stuart, somewhat testily.“Ah yes, I was forgetting—(a little more fowl, Captain Bingley? May I trouble youagain, Sir Richard? thank you—a leg, if you please, I know that the Captain prefers a leg)—well, as I was saying—let me see, whatwasI saying?”“You had only got the length of forgetting, ma’am,” observed the baronet.“Ah, to be sure, I was forgetting to tell you that Mrs Gaff has fallen heir to ten thousand pounds.”Sir Richard exclaimed, with an appearance of what might have been mistaken for surprise on his face, “Indeed!”Miss Flouncer, to whom the news was also fresh, exclaimed, “Youdon’tsay so!” with strong emphasis, and an immensely swan-like undulation of her body.“Indeed I do,” continued Miss Peppy with much animation; “Mrs Gaff, the fisherman’s wife, has got a fortune left her amounting to ten thousand pounds, which, at five per something or other, as my brother tells me, yields an annual income of 500 pounds.”“But who left it to her, and how?” asked Sir Richard.“Ah, who left it, and how?” echoed Miss Flouncer.“What a jolly thing to be left five hundred a year!” whispered Gildart. “Wouldn’t you like some one to leave that to you, Miss Puff?”“Yes,” said Miss Puff.“Have you any rich East Indian uncle or aunt who is likely to do it?” inquired Gildart with a desperate attempt at jocularity.“No,” answered Miss Puff.These two words—yes and no—were the utmost extent to which Miss Puff had yet ventured into the dreaded sea of conversation. I could perceive by the fagged expression of his face that the middy was beginning to lose heart.“Brother,” said Miss Peppy, “you had better tell Sir Richard how it happened. I havesucha memory—I really don’t remember the details. I nevercouldremember details of anything. Indeed I have often wondered why details were sent into this world to worry one so. Itisso surprising and unaccountable. Surely we might have got on quite well without them.”“Well, you know,” observed Gildart in a burst of reckless humour, “we could not get on very well, Miss Stuart, without some sorts of details. Ox-tails, for instance, are absolutely necessary to the soup which we have just enjoyed so much. So, in like manner, are pig-tails to Chinamen.”“Ay, and coat-tails to puppies,” added Kenneth slyly, alluding to a bran new garment which the middy had mounted that day for the first time.“Perhaps,” interposed Miss Flouncer, “after such bright coruscations of wit, Mr Stuart may be allowed to go on with his—”“Wittles,” whispered Gildart in Miss Puff’s ear, to the alarm of that young lady, who, being addicted to suppressed laughter, was in horror lest she should have a fit.“Allowed to go on,” repeated Miss Flouncer blandly, “with his tale of this unfortunate piece of good fortune, which I am sure Sir Richard is dying to hear.”“It can hardly be called a tale,” said Mr Stuart, “but it is a curious enough circumstance. You remember Stephen Gaff, Sir Richard?”“Perfectly. He is the man who appeared in the village of Cove rather mysteriously some months ago, is he not?”“The same,” returned Mr Stuart; “and it was he who accompanied Haco Barepoles in my sloop, which he persists in naming the ‘Coffin,’ although its proper name is the ‘Betsy Jane,’ on that memorable voyage when Haco sailed her into port on the larboard tack after she had been cut down to the water’s edge on the starboard side. Well, it seems that Gaff went with him on that occasion in consequence of having received a letter from a London lawyer asking him to call, and he would hear something to his advantage.“You all know the way in which the people were taken out of the sloop by the steamer which ran into her, and how they were all landed safely except Gaff and his son William, who were carried away to sea. You are aware, also, that the steamer has since then returned to England, telling us that Gaff and his boy were put on board a barque bound for Liverpool, and that this vessel has never made its appearance, so that we have reason to believe that it has perished in one of the great storms which occurred about that time.“Well,” continued Mr Stuart, helping Mrs Bingley to a glass of sherry, “not long ago I had occasion to send Haco Barepoles to London, and he bethought him of the lawyer who had written to Gaff, so he called on him and told him of his friend’s disappearance. The lawyer then asked if Gaff’s wife was alive, and on being informed that she was, he told Haco that Gaff had had a brother in Australia who had been a very successful gold digger, but whose health had broken down owing to the severity of the work, and he had left the diggings and gone to Melbourne, where he died. Before his death this brother made a will, leaving the whole of his fortune to Stephen. The will stated that, in the event of Stephen being dead, or at sea on a long voyage, the money should be handed over unconditionally to his wife. About three weeks ago the lawyer came here to see Mrs Gaff, and make arrangements and inquiries, and in the course of a short time this poor woman will be in possession of ten thousand pounds.”“It will be the ruin of her, I fear,” said Sir Richard.“No doubt of it,” observed Miss Flouncer, emphatically.“It is always the way,” said my wife.“D’ye think it would ruinyou?” whispered Gildart.This being an impertinent question, Miss Puff blushed, and made no reply.“You need not be at all afraid of Mrs Gaff being ruined by prosperity,” said Lizzie Gordon, with sudden animation. “I have seen a good deal of her during her recent sorrows, and I am quite sure that she is a good sensible woman.”“What sorrows do you refer to, Miss Gordon?” asked Sir Richard.“To her husband and son’s sudden disappearance, and the death of her brother-in-law John Furby,” replied Lizzie. “Uncle, you can tell more about the matter than I can.”“Yes,” said I; “it has been my lot to witness a good many cases of distress in my capacity of agent for the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society, and I can answer for it that this has been a very severe one, and the poor woman has borne up against it with Christian fortitude.”“How did it happen? Praydotell us about it,” cried Miss Flouncer, with an undulating smile.“How does it happen, Miss Flouncer, that you are not already acquainted with these things?”“Because I have been absent from home for more than two months, and, if I mistake not, Sir Richard’s ignorance rests on somewhat similar foundation.”Miss Flouncer smiled and undulated towards the baronet, who, being thus pointedly appealed to, smiled and bowed in return, and begged that I would relate the facts of the case.I observed that my son Gildart pressed Miss Puff to attempt another tart, and whispered something impertinent in her ear, for the poor thing’s pink round face suddenly became scarlet, and she puffed out in a dangerously explosive manner with suppressed laughter.“Well then,” said I, addressing myself to Miss Flouncer, “a month or so before the lawyer brought Mrs Gaff tidings of her good fortune, her brother-in-law John Furby was drowned. The brave fellow, who, you are aware, was coxswain of our lifeboat, and has helped to save many a life since he was appointed to that post of danger, went off in his own fishing-boat one day. A squall upset the boat, and although the accident was seen from the shore, and several boats put off at once to the rescue, four of the crew perished, and Furby was one of these.“The scene in Gaff’s cottage when the body was carried in and laid on the bed, was heartrending for the woe occasioned to poor Mrs Gaff by the recent loss of her husband and little boy was, as it were, poured upon her head afresh, and for some time she was inconsolable. My good niece went frequently to read the Bible and pray with her, and I believe it was the blessed influence of God’s word that brought her at length to a state of calm resignation. What made her case worse was the fact, that, both husband and brother-in-law being taken away, she was left in a state of absolute destitution. Now, at this point she began to feel the value of the noble institution of which I have the happiness of being an honorary agent—I mean the Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariners’ Society. Poor Furby had been a member for several years, and regularly paid his annual sum of three shillings. Stephen Gaff had also become a member, just before starting on his last voyage, having been persuaded thereto by Haco Barepoles, who is a stanch adherent and advocate of our cause. Many a sailor has Haco brought to me to enrol as a member, and many a widow and fatherless child has had occasion to thank God that he did so. Although Gaff had only paid his first year’s contribution of three shillings, I took upon me to give the sum of 5 pounds to Mrs Gaff and her little girl, and the further sum of 3 pounds because of Furby’s membership. This sum was quite sufficient to relieve her from want at the time, so that, in the midst of her deep affliction, she was spared the additional pains and anxieties of destitution.”“The society is a most noble one,” said Miss Flouncer, with a burst of enthusiasm.“It is,” said I, much pleased with her warmth of manner; “I think—at least if my memory does not play me false—you are a contributor to its funds, are you not?”“Well, a—no. I have not the pleasure—a—”Miss Flouncer was evidently a little put out.“Then I trust, my dear madam,” said I, hasting to her relief by affording her an opportunity of being generous, “that you will allow me to put down your name as an annual subscriber.”Miss Flouncer, being averystrong-minded woman, had recovered herself very suddenly, and replied with calm deliberation, accompanied by an undulation—“No, Captain Bingley, I have made it a rule never to give charity from impulse; I always give, when Idogive—”“Ahem!” coughed Gildart slightly.“When Idogive,” repeated Miss Flouncer, “from principle, and after a careful examination of the merits of each particular case.”“Indeed!” said Sir Richard, with an appearance of faint surprise; “what a bore you must find the examination of the cases!”“By no means, Sir Richard.Verylittle time suffices for each case, for many of them, I find, almost intuitively, merit dismissal on the spot; and I assure you it saves a great deal of money. You would be surprised if you knew how little I find it necessary to give away in charity in the course of the year.”Miss Flouncer undulated at Sir Richard as she gave utterance to this noble sentiment, and Mrs Bingley applauded it to Mr Stuart, who took no notice of the applause, and indicated no opinion on the point whatever.“Now,” continued Miss Flouncer, firmly, “before I become a subscriber to your society, Captain Bingley. I must be quite certain that it accomplishes much good, that it is worthy of support.”Being somewhat fired by the doubt that was implied in this speech, I replied with warmth—“My dear madam, nothing will gratify me more than to enlighten you.”Hereupon I began an address, the substance of which is set down in the following chapter.

“It is a most unfortunate piece of good fortune this that has befallen Mrs Gaff,” said Mr George Stuart, “a very unfortunate thing indeed.”

“Dear me, do you think so? Now I don’t agree with you at all, brother,” observed Miss Peppy. “I think that good fortune is always good fortune, and never can be bad fortune. I wish it would only come to me sometimes, but it never does, and when it does it never remains long. Only think how she’ll flaunt about now, with a coach-and-four perhaps, and such like. I really think that fortune made a mistake in this case, for she has been used to such mean ways, not that I mean anything bad by mean, you know, but only low and common, including food and domestic habits, as well as society, that—that—dear me, I don’t exactly know how to express myself, but it’s a puzzle to me to know how she’ll ever come to be able to spend it all, indeed it is. I wonder why we are subjected to such surprises so constantly, and then it’ssoperplexing too, because one will never be able to remember that she’s not a fisherwoman as she used to be, and will call her Jessie in spite of one’s-self; and how it ever came about, that’s another puzzle. But after all there is no accounting for the surprising way in which thingsdocome about, dear me, in this altogether unaccountable world. Take a little more soup, Captain Bingley?”

The above observations were made by Miss Peppy and my friend Stuart, from the head and foot respectively of their dinner-table, around which were assembled my wife, my niece Lizzie Gordon, an elderly spinster named Miss Eve Flouncer, a Miss Martha Puff, (niece to Miss Flouncer), a baronet named Sir Richard Doles, my son Gildart, and Kenneth Stuart.

I was seated beside Miss Peppy, opposite to Sir Richard Doles, who was one of the slowest, dullest, stupidest men I ever met with. He appeared to me to have been born without any intellect. When he told a story there was no end to it, indeed there seldom was anything worthy the name of a beginning to it, and it never by the remotest chance had any point.

In virtue of his rank, not his capacity of course, Sir Richard was in great demand in Wreckumoft. He was chairman at every public meeting; honorary member of every society; a director in the bank, the insurance company, the railway, the poorhouse, and the Sailors’ Home; in all of which positions and institutions he was a positive nuisance, because of his insane determination to speak as long as possible, when he had not the remotest notion of what he wished to say, so that business was in his presence brought almost to a dead lock. Yet Sir Richard was tolerated; nay, courted and toadied, because of his title.

My wife was seated opposite to Miss Eve Flouncer, who was one of the strong-minded women. Indeed, I think it is but just to say of her that she was one of the strongest-minded women in the town. In her presence the strength of Mrs Bingley’s mind dwindled down to comparative weakness. In form she was swan-like, undulatory, so to speak. Her features wereprononcé; nose, aquiline; eyes, piercing; hair, black as night, and in long ringlets.

Miss Flouncer was, as I have said, an elderly spinster. Sir Richard was an elderly bachelor. Miss Flouncer thought of this, and often sighed. Sir Richard didn’t think of it, and never sighed, except when, having finished a good dinner, he felt that he could eat no more. By the way, he also sighed at philanthropic meetings when cases of distress were related, such as sudden bereavement, coupled, perhaps, with sickness and deep poverty. But Sir Richard’s sighs were all his contributions to the cause of suffering humanity. Sometimes, indeed, he gave it his blessing, though it would have puzzled the deepest philosopher to have said what that consisted in, but he never gave it his prayers, for this reason, that he never prayed for himself or anybody else. He held that this world was in a sufficiently satisfactory condition, and advised that men should let well alone, and contended that any attempt to interfere with its arrangements in the way of prayer was quite indefensible. He did indeed read his prayers in church on Sundays, in a very loud and distinct voice, to the great annoyance and distraction, not to say irritation, of all who sat within fifty yards of him, but this he regarded as a commendable institution of the country. But to return to Miss Flouncer.

This state of affairs between Sir Richard and herself did not augur much for her prospects; but then she was a very strong-minded woman, and had hopes; whereas Sir Richard was a very weak-minded man, and had no hopes of any kind worth mentioning, being perfectly satisfied—good, easy man—with things as they then stood.

Miss Martha Puff was niece to Miss Flouncer—age apparently sixteen. It struck me, as I sat looking at her placid face, that this young lady was well named. Her pink round visage was puffed up with something so soft that I could scarcely venture to call it fat. Her round soft arms were so puffy to look at, that one could not help fearing that an accidental prick from a pin would burst the skin and let them out. She seemed so like trifle in her pink muslin dress, that I could imagine a puff of wind blowing her away altogether. She could not be said to be puffed up with conceit, poor girl; but she dined almost exclusively on puff paste, to the evident satisfaction of my gallant son Gildart, who paid her marked attention during dinner.

Miss Puff never spoke except when spoken to, never asked for anything, never remarked upon anything, did not seem to care for anything, (puff paste excepted), and never thought of anything, as far as I could judge from the expression of her countenance. Gildart might as well have had a wax doll to entertain.

“To what unfortunate piece of good fortune does your brother refer, Miss Stuart?” asked Sir Richard when Miss Peppy had concluded her observations in regard to it.

“Is it possible that you have not heard of it?” exclaimed Miss Peppy in surprise. “Why, the town has been ringing with it for a fortnight at least, and those odious creatures, the gossips, (who never come near me, however, because they know I will not tolerate them), have got up all sorts of wild stories, showing that the man must have got the money by foul means, though I don’t know, I’m sure, why he shouldn’t have got a surprise as well as anybody else, for the unaccountable and astonishing way in which thingsdohappen in this world, at least to human beings, for I do not believe that cows or sheep or horses ever experience them; the want of expression on their faces shows that, at all events they never leave their offspring at people’s doors, and then go away without—”

“You’d better tell Sir Richard what piece of news you refer to, my dear,” interrupted Mr Stuart, somewhat testily.

“Ah yes, I was forgetting—(a little more fowl, Captain Bingley? May I trouble youagain, Sir Richard? thank you—a leg, if you please, I know that the Captain prefers a leg)—well, as I was saying—let me see, whatwasI saying?”

“You had only got the length of forgetting, ma’am,” observed the baronet.

“Ah, to be sure, I was forgetting to tell you that Mrs Gaff has fallen heir to ten thousand pounds.”

Sir Richard exclaimed, with an appearance of what might have been mistaken for surprise on his face, “Indeed!”

Miss Flouncer, to whom the news was also fresh, exclaimed, “Youdon’tsay so!” with strong emphasis, and an immensely swan-like undulation of her body.

“Indeed I do,” continued Miss Peppy with much animation; “Mrs Gaff, the fisherman’s wife, has got a fortune left her amounting to ten thousand pounds, which, at five per something or other, as my brother tells me, yields an annual income of 500 pounds.”

“But who left it to her, and how?” asked Sir Richard.

“Ah, who left it, and how?” echoed Miss Flouncer.

“What a jolly thing to be left five hundred a year!” whispered Gildart. “Wouldn’t you like some one to leave that to you, Miss Puff?”

“Yes,” said Miss Puff.

“Have you any rich East Indian uncle or aunt who is likely to do it?” inquired Gildart with a desperate attempt at jocularity.

“No,” answered Miss Puff.

These two words—yes and no—were the utmost extent to which Miss Puff had yet ventured into the dreaded sea of conversation. I could perceive by the fagged expression of his face that the middy was beginning to lose heart.

“Brother,” said Miss Peppy, “you had better tell Sir Richard how it happened. I havesucha memory—I really don’t remember the details. I nevercouldremember details of anything. Indeed I have often wondered why details were sent into this world to worry one so. Itisso surprising and unaccountable. Surely we might have got on quite well without them.”

“Well, you know,” observed Gildart in a burst of reckless humour, “we could not get on very well, Miss Stuart, without some sorts of details. Ox-tails, for instance, are absolutely necessary to the soup which we have just enjoyed so much. So, in like manner, are pig-tails to Chinamen.”

“Ay, and coat-tails to puppies,” added Kenneth slyly, alluding to a bran new garment which the middy had mounted that day for the first time.

“Perhaps,” interposed Miss Flouncer, “after such bright coruscations of wit, Mr Stuart may be allowed to go on with his—”

“Wittles,” whispered Gildart in Miss Puff’s ear, to the alarm of that young lady, who, being addicted to suppressed laughter, was in horror lest she should have a fit.

“Allowed to go on,” repeated Miss Flouncer blandly, “with his tale of this unfortunate piece of good fortune, which I am sure Sir Richard is dying to hear.”

“It can hardly be called a tale,” said Mr Stuart, “but it is a curious enough circumstance. You remember Stephen Gaff, Sir Richard?”

“Perfectly. He is the man who appeared in the village of Cove rather mysteriously some months ago, is he not?”

“The same,” returned Mr Stuart; “and it was he who accompanied Haco Barepoles in my sloop, which he persists in naming the ‘Coffin,’ although its proper name is the ‘Betsy Jane,’ on that memorable voyage when Haco sailed her into port on the larboard tack after she had been cut down to the water’s edge on the starboard side. Well, it seems that Gaff went with him on that occasion in consequence of having received a letter from a London lawyer asking him to call, and he would hear something to his advantage.

“You all know the way in which the people were taken out of the sloop by the steamer which ran into her, and how they were all landed safely except Gaff and his son William, who were carried away to sea. You are aware, also, that the steamer has since then returned to England, telling us that Gaff and his boy were put on board a barque bound for Liverpool, and that this vessel has never made its appearance, so that we have reason to believe that it has perished in one of the great storms which occurred about that time.

“Well,” continued Mr Stuart, helping Mrs Bingley to a glass of sherry, “not long ago I had occasion to send Haco Barepoles to London, and he bethought him of the lawyer who had written to Gaff, so he called on him and told him of his friend’s disappearance. The lawyer then asked if Gaff’s wife was alive, and on being informed that she was, he told Haco that Gaff had had a brother in Australia who had been a very successful gold digger, but whose health had broken down owing to the severity of the work, and he had left the diggings and gone to Melbourne, where he died. Before his death this brother made a will, leaving the whole of his fortune to Stephen. The will stated that, in the event of Stephen being dead, or at sea on a long voyage, the money should be handed over unconditionally to his wife. About three weeks ago the lawyer came here to see Mrs Gaff, and make arrangements and inquiries, and in the course of a short time this poor woman will be in possession of ten thousand pounds.”

“It will be the ruin of her, I fear,” said Sir Richard.

“No doubt of it,” observed Miss Flouncer, emphatically.

“It is always the way,” said my wife.

“D’ye think it would ruinyou?” whispered Gildart.

This being an impertinent question, Miss Puff blushed, and made no reply.

“You need not be at all afraid of Mrs Gaff being ruined by prosperity,” said Lizzie Gordon, with sudden animation. “I have seen a good deal of her during her recent sorrows, and I am quite sure that she is a good sensible woman.”

“What sorrows do you refer to, Miss Gordon?” asked Sir Richard.

“To her husband and son’s sudden disappearance, and the death of her brother-in-law John Furby,” replied Lizzie. “Uncle, you can tell more about the matter than I can.”

“Yes,” said I; “it has been my lot to witness a good many cases of distress in my capacity of agent for the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society, and I can answer for it that this has been a very severe one, and the poor woman has borne up against it with Christian fortitude.”

“How did it happen? Praydotell us about it,” cried Miss Flouncer, with an undulating smile.

“How does it happen, Miss Flouncer, that you are not already acquainted with these things?”

“Because I have been absent from home for more than two months, and, if I mistake not, Sir Richard’s ignorance rests on somewhat similar foundation.”

Miss Flouncer smiled and undulated towards the baronet, who, being thus pointedly appealed to, smiled and bowed in return, and begged that I would relate the facts of the case.

I observed that my son Gildart pressed Miss Puff to attempt another tart, and whispered something impertinent in her ear, for the poor thing’s pink round face suddenly became scarlet, and she puffed out in a dangerously explosive manner with suppressed laughter.

“Well then,” said I, addressing myself to Miss Flouncer, “a month or so before the lawyer brought Mrs Gaff tidings of her good fortune, her brother-in-law John Furby was drowned. The brave fellow, who, you are aware, was coxswain of our lifeboat, and has helped to save many a life since he was appointed to that post of danger, went off in his own fishing-boat one day. A squall upset the boat, and although the accident was seen from the shore, and several boats put off at once to the rescue, four of the crew perished, and Furby was one of these.

“The scene in Gaff’s cottage when the body was carried in and laid on the bed, was heartrending for the woe occasioned to poor Mrs Gaff by the recent loss of her husband and little boy was, as it were, poured upon her head afresh, and for some time she was inconsolable. My good niece went frequently to read the Bible and pray with her, and I believe it was the blessed influence of God’s word that brought her at length to a state of calm resignation. What made her case worse was the fact, that, both husband and brother-in-law being taken away, she was left in a state of absolute destitution. Now, at this point she began to feel the value of the noble institution of which I have the happiness of being an honorary agent—I mean the Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariners’ Society. Poor Furby had been a member for several years, and regularly paid his annual sum of three shillings. Stephen Gaff had also become a member, just before starting on his last voyage, having been persuaded thereto by Haco Barepoles, who is a stanch adherent and advocate of our cause. Many a sailor has Haco brought to me to enrol as a member, and many a widow and fatherless child has had occasion to thank God that he did so. Although Gaff had only paid his first year’s contribution of three shillings, I took upon me to give the sum of 5 pounds to Mrs Gaff and her little girl, and the further sum of 3 pounds because of Furby’s membership. This sum was quite sufficient to relieve her from want at the time, so that, in the midst of her deep affliction, she was spared the additional pains and anxieties of destitution.”

“The society is a most noble one,” said Miss Flouncer, with a burst of enthusiasm.

“It is,” said I, much pleased with her warmth of manner; “I think—at least if my memory does not play me false—you are a contributor to its funds, are you not?”

“Well, a—no. I have not the pleasure—a—”

Miss Flouncer was evidently a little put out.

“Then I trust, my dear madam,” said I, hasting to her relief by affording her an opportunity of being generous, “that you will allow me to put down your name as an annual subscriber.”

Miss Flouncer, being averystrong-minded woman, had recovered herself very suddenly, and replied with calm deliberation, accompanied by an undulation—

“No, Captain Bingley, I have made it a rule never to give charity from impulse; I always give, when Idogive—”

“Ahem!” coughed Gildart slightly.

“When Idogive,” repeated Miss Flouncer, “from principle, and after a careful examination of the merits of each particular case.”

“Indeed!” said Sir Richard, with an appearance of faint surprise; “what a bore you must find the examination of the cases!”

“By no means, Sir Richard.Verylittle time suffices for each case, for many of them, I find, almost intuitively, merit dismissal on the spot; and I assure you it saves a great deal of money. You would be surprised if you knew how little I find it necessary to give away in charity in the course of the year.”

Miss Flouncer undulated at Sir Richard as she gave utterance to this noble sentiment, and Mrs Bingley applauded it to Mr Stuart, who took no notice of the applause, and indicated no opinion on the point whatever.

“Now,” continued Miss Flouncer, firmly, “before I become a subscriber to your society, Captain Bingley. I must be quite certain that it accomplishes much good, that it is worthy of support.”

Being somewhat fired by the doubt that was implied in this speech, I replied with warmth—

“My dear madam, nothing will gratify me more than to enlighten you.”

Hereupon I began an address, the substance of which is set down in the following chapter.

Chapter Sixteen.Jack Tar before and after the Institution of the S.F.M.S.One beautiful evening in autumn, many years ago, a sailor was observed to approach an English village which lay embosomed among trees, near the margin of a small stream whose waters gleamed in the rays of the setting sun.The village was an inland one, far removed alike from the roar and the influences of the briny ocean. It must have cost the sailor some pain to reach it; for he walked with a crutch, and one of his bare feet was bandaged, and scarcely touched the ground at each step. He looked dusty and fatigued, yet he was a stout, well-favoured, robust young fellow, so that his hapless condition was evidently the result of recent misfortune and accident—not of prolonged sickness or want. He wore the picturesque blue jacket, wide trousers, and straw hat of a man-of-war’s man; and exposed a large amount of brown chest beneath his blue flannel shirt, the broad collar of which was turned well over.Going straight to the inn of the village, he begged for a night’s food and lodging. Told a sad story, in off-hand fashion, of how he had been shipwrecked on the western isles of Scotland, where he had lost all he possessed, and had well-nigh lost his life too; but a brave fisherman had pulled him out of the surf by the hair of the head, and so he was saved alive, though with a broken leg, which took many weeks to mend. When he was able to travel, he had set out with his crutch, and had walked two hundred miles on his way to Liverpool, where his poor wife and two helpless children were living in painful ignorance of his sad fate!Of course this was enough to arouse all the sympathies of the villagers, few of whom had ever seen a real sailor of any kind in their lives—much less a shipwrecked one. So the poor fellow was received with open arms, entreated hospitably, lodged and fed at the public expense, and in the morning sent on his way rejoicing.All the forenoon of that day the shipwrecked sailor limped on his way through a populous district of old England in the midst of picturesque scenery, gathering pence and victuals, ay, and silver and even gold too, from the pitying inhabitants as he went along. Towards the afternoon he came to a more thinly peopled district, and after leaving a small hamlet in which he had reaped a rich harvest he limped to the brow of the hill at the foot of which it lay, and gazed for a few minutes at the prospect before him.It was a wide stretch of moorland, across which the road went in almost a straight line. There were slight undulations in the land, but no houses or signs of the presence of man.Having limped on until the village was quite hidden from view, the sailor quietly put his crutch across his broad shoulder, and brightening up wonderfully, walked across the moor at the rate of full five miles an hour, whistling gaily in concert with the larks as he sped along.An hour and a half of such walking brought him to a small patch of scrubby underwood, from the neighbourhood of which a large town could be seen looming against the evening sky in the far distance. The sailor entered the underwood with the air of a man who had aimed at the spot as a goal, and who meant to rest there a while. He reached an open space, in the centre of which grew a stunted tree. Here he sat down, and taking off his wallet, ate a hearty supper of scraps of excellent bread, cheese, and meat, which he washed down with a draught of gin. Afterwards he lit his pipe, and, while enjoying himself thus, reclining at the foot of the tree, proceeded to increase his enjoyment by counting out his gains.While thus agreeably engaged, a rustling of the bushes caused him to bundle the gains hastily up in a handkerchief, which he thrust into his pocket, while he leaped nimbly to his feet, and seized his crutch.“Oh, it’s only you, Bill! why, I declare I thought it was—well, well, never mind. How have ye got on?”The individual addressed entered the enclosure, and sat down at the foot of the tree with a sigh, which might, without much exaggeration, have been termed a growl. Bill was also, strange to say, a sailor, and a wounded one, (doubtless a shipwrecked one), because his left arm was in a sling.“It’s tough work, Jim, an’ little pay,” said the newcomer. “Why, I’ve walked twenty mile good, an’ only realised two pun’ ten. If it don’t improve, I’ll take to a better trade.”“You’re a discontented dog,” replied Jim, spreading out his treasures. “Here have I limped the same distance, an’ bin an’ got five pun’ two.”“Whew!” whistled the other. “You don’t say that? Well—we go ’alves, so I’m better—’ere pass that bottle. I’ll drink to your good ’ealth. ’Ow did you ever come by it, Bill?”To this Bill replied that he had fallen in with several ladies, whose hearts were so touched by his pitiful tale that most of them gave him crown pieces, while two, who actually shed tears while he spoke, gave him half a sovereign each!“I drink to them ’ere two ladies,” exclaimed Bill, applying the gin bottle to his mouth, which was already full of bread and beef.“So does I,” said Jim, snatching the bottle from his comrade, “not so much for the sake of them there ladies, ’owever, as to get my fair share o’ the tipple afore you.”The remainder of the sentence was drowned by gin; and after they had finished the bottle, which was only a pint one however, these two men sat down together to count their ill-gotten gains; for both of them were vile impostors, who had never been on the salt water in the whole course of their worthless lives.“Now, madam,” said I, pointedly addressing Miss Flouncer, who had listened with rapt attention, “this circumstance happenedbeforethe existence of the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society, and similar cases happened frequently. In fact, the interior of our land was at that time constantly visited by shipwrecked sailors of this kind.”“Indeed!” said Miss Flouncer, undulating to me, with a benignant smile.“Yes, madam,” said I. “Now observe another side of this picture.”Hereupon I resumed my address, the substance of which was as follows:It chanced that when impostor Jim started away over the moor at the slapping pace I have already referred to, he was observed by two of the village boys, who were lying in a hollow by the road-side amusing themselves. These urchins immediately ran home, and told what they had seen. The gossips of the place congregated round the inn door, and commented on the conduct of the pretended seaman in no measured terms—at the same time expressing a wish that they only had him there, and they would let him smell the peculiar odour of their horse-pond. At this point the courage and the ire of three stout young ploughmen, who had been drinking deeply, was stirred up so much that they vowed to be revenged, and set off in pursuit of the offender. As they ran nearly all the way, they soon came to the spot where Jim and Bill had been enjoying themselves, and met these villains just as they were issuing from the underwood to continue their journey.A fight immediately ensued, but Jim made such play with his crutch that the ploughmen were driven back. Bill, too, who had been a London prize-fighter, unslung his left arm, and used it so vigorously that the rustics, after having had all their eyes blackened and all their noses bled, were fain to turn round and fly!This event, as you may suppose, made a considerable sensation in the neighbourhood; travellers and carriers conveyed the news of it along the road from village to village; and the thing was thoroughly canvassed, and the impostors duly condemned.Well, about three weeks afterwards a great storm arose; a ship was wrecked on the coast, and all the crew and passengers drowned except one man—a powerful seaman, who chanced to be a good swimmer, and who nearly lost his own life in his gallant efforts to save the life of the only female who was on board. This man swam to the shore with one arm, while with the other he supported the woman.He could barely crawl up the beach through the heavy surf, dragging his burden after him. But he succeeded, and then lay for some time insensible. When he recovered, he found that the woman appeared to be dead. Anxious, however, to do all in his power to restore her, he tried to chafe her limbs; but seeing that he could make no impression, he hastened away to search for human dwellings and send help. Four miles did he stagger along before he came to a fishing village.Here he told his tale; the men of the place hurried away to the scene of the wreck, but arrived too late to be of any use.The sailor remained some days with the fishermen, who received him kindly, and gave him a few pence to help him on his way to the nearest town, where he received a few shillings from some charitable persons, and then set off to walk on foot to his native place, which happened to be on the opposite coast of England.The poor fellow got on very well until he came to the road which led to the village where Jim had been so successful. All along this road he was scouted as an impostor, and, but for his imposing size and physical strength, would doubtless have received more kicks than halfpence. As it was he was well-nigh starved.Arriving one afternoon, famishing and almost knocked up, at the village, he went in despair to the inn door, and began to tell his sorrowful tale. He told it to unsympathetic ears. Among his auditors were the three ploughmen who had been so roughly handled by Jim and Bill. These only heard the first two or three sentences when they rushed upon the sailor, calling on their comrades, who were numerous, to help them to duck the rascal in the horse-pond.The stout tar, although taken by surprise and overpowered, was not disposed to submit without a struggle. He was a very Samson in strength. Rising up by main force with two of his foes on his back, he threw them off, drove his right fist into the eye of one, his foot into the stomach of a second, flattened the nose of a third on his face with a left-hander, and then wheeling round at random, plunged his elbow into the chest of another who was coming on behind, and caused him to measure his length on the ground. Before the rustics recovered from their surprise at the suddenness of these movements, two more of their number were sprawling in the dust, and the rest stood off aghast!“Now, then,” shouted the indignant tar, as he clapped his back to the side of the inn, “come on! the whole of ’ee. I hope yer wills is made. What! ye’re afeard, are ye? Well, if ye won’t come on I’ll bid ye good afternoon, ye low minded, cowardly land-lubbers!”And with that he made a rush at them. They tumbled over each other in heaps, trying to get out of his way, so that he could only get a passing dig at one or two of them, and cleared away as fast as he could run.They did not follow him far, so Jack soon stopped and sat down on the road-side, in a very savage state of mind, to wipe the blood from his face and knuckles.While he was thus engaged, an elderly gentleman in the garb of a clergyman approached him.“What has happened to you, my man?” he asked.“That’s none o’ your business,” answered Jack with angry emphasis. “Ax no questions, an’ you’ll be told no lies!”“Excuse me, friend,” replied the clergyman gently, “I did not mean to annoy you; but you seem to have been badly wounded, and I would assist you if you will allow me.”“I ax yer parding, sir,” said Jack, a little softened, though by no means restored to his wonted good-humour; “no offence meant, but I’ve been shamefully abused by the scoundrels in yonder village, an’ I am riled a bit. It’s only a scratch, sir, you don’t need to consarn yerself.”“It is more than a scratch, if I may judge from the flow of blood. Permit me to examine.”“Oh, it’ll be all right d’rectly,” said Jack; but as he said so he fell back on the grass, fainting from loss of blood which flowed from a large wound on his head.When the sailor’s senses were restored, he found himself in a bed in the clergyman’s dwelling, with his head bandaged up, and his body a good deal weaker than he had ever before felt it. The clergyman took care of him until he recovered; and you may be sure that he did not miss the opportunity to urge the sailor to think of his soul, and to come to Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, whose name is Love, and whose teaching is all summed up in this, “Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you.”When Jack was quite recovered, the clergyman gave him some money to enable him to reach his home without begging his way.Now this case also occurredbeforethe Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society was instituted. I cannot say that such cases of rough handling were frequent; but cases in which true-blue shipwrecked tars were treated as impostors were numerous, so that, in those days, knaves and rascals often throve as wrecked seamen, while the genuine and unfortunate men were often turned rudely from door to door. This state of things does not exist now. Itcannotexist now, for honorary agents of the society are to be found on every part of our coasts, so that the moment a wrecked man touches the land, no matter whether he be a Briton or a foreigner, he is at once taken care of, clothed, housed, fed, supplied with a little money, and forwarded to his home, or to the nearest consul of his nation. The society has therefore accomplished two great and good objects, for which the entire nation owes it a debt of gratitude; it has rid the land of begging impostors clad in sailors’ clothes, and it has provided relief and assistance to the shipwrecked among our brave and hardy seamen who are in every sense the bulwarks of our island, and without whose labours, in the most perilous of all callings, Great Britain would be one of the poorest and most uninfluential kingdoms on the face of the earth.But the society does a great deal more than that, for it comforts and assists with money and advice hundreds and thousands of widows and orphans whose husbands, fathers, or brothers have been drowned; and this it does from year to year regularly—as regularly as the storms come and scatter death and destruction on our shores. It cannot be too earnestly impressed on the people of England, and especially on those who dwell inland, that at least a thousand lives are lost, two thousand ships are wrecked, and two millions sterling are thrown away upon the coasts of this countryevery year.It is owing to the untiring energy of the National Lifeboat Institution that those figures are not much,verymuch higher; and it is the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society that alleviates much,verymuch, of the woe resulting from storms and wrecks upon our shores. Sailors and fishermen know this well, and support both institutions largely. I would that ladies and gentlemen knew this better, and felt that they have a positive duty incumbent on them in regard to these societies, for they are not local butnational.“Now, madam,” said I, again addressing myself pointedly to Miss Flouncer, “would you like to hear a few interesting facts in reference to the objects of this Society?”Miss Flouncer smiled and undulated in order to express her readiness to listen; at the same time she glanced at Sir Richard, who, I observed, was sound asleep. I also noticed that Mrs Bingley sniffed impatiently; but I felt that I had a duty to perform, so with unalterable resolution I prepared to continue my address, when Miss Peppy, who had been nearly asleep during the greater part of the time I was speaking, suddenly said to Miss Flouncer—“Well, itisa most surprising state of things that peoplewillgo to sea and get wrecked just to let societies like these spring up like mushrooms all over the land. For my part, I think I would rather do without the things that ships bring to us from foreign lands than always hear of those dreadful wrecks, and—but really one cannot expect the world to alter just to please one, so I suppose people must go on being drowned and saved by rocket-boats and lifeboats; so we had better retire to the drawing-room, my dear.”The last observation was addressed to Mrs Bingley, who responded to it with a bow of assent as she drew on her gloves.Immediately after, the ladies rose, and I was thus constrained to postpone my narration of interesting facts, until another opportunity should offer.

One beautiful evening in autumn, many years ago, a sailor was observed to approach an English village which lay embosomed among trees, near the margin of a small stream whose waters gleamed in the rays of the setting sun.

The village was an inland one, far removed alike from the roar and the influences of the briny ocean. It must have cost the sailor some pain to reach it; for he walked with a crutch, and one of his bare feet was bandaged, and scarcely touched the ground at each step. He looked dusty and fatigued, yet he was a stout, well-favoured, robust young fellow, so that his hapless condition was evidently the result of recent misfortune and accident—not of prolonged sickness or want. He wore the picturesque blue jacket, wide trousers, and straw hat of a man-of-war’s man; and exposed a large amount of brown chest beneath his blue flannel shirt, the broad collar of which was turned well over.

Going straight to the inn of the village, he begged for a night’s food and lodging. Told a sad story, in off-hand fashion, of how he had been shipwrecked on the western isles of Scotland, where he had lost all he possessed, and had well-nigh lost his life too; but a brave fisherman had pulled him out of the surf by the hair of the head, and so he was saved alive, though with a broken leg, which took many weeks to mend. When he was able to travel, he had set out with his crutch, and had walked two hundred miles on his way to Liverpool, where his poor wife and two helpless children were living in painful ignorance of his sad fate!

Of course this was enough to arouse all the sympathies of the villagers, few of whom had ever seen a real sailor of any kind in their lives—much less a shipwrecked one. So the poor fellow was received with open arms, entreated hospitably, lodged and fed at the public expense, and in the morning sent on his way rejoicing.

All the forenoon of that day the shipwrecked sailor limped on his way through a populous district of old England in the midst of picturesque scenery, gathering pence and victuals, ay, and silver and even gold too, from the pitying inhabitants as he went along. Towards the afternoon he came to a more thinly peopled district, and after leaving a small hamlet in which he had reaped a rich harvest he limped to the brow of the hill at the foot of which it lay, and gazed for a few minutes at the prospect before him.

It was a wide stretch of moorland, across which the road went in almost a straight line. There were slight undulations in the land, but no houses or signs of the presence of man.

Having limped on until the village was quite hidden from view, the sailor quietly put his crutch across his broad shoulder, and brightening up wonderfully, walked across the moor at the rate of full five miles an hour, whistling gaily in concert with the larks as he sped along.

An hour and a half of such walking brought him to a small patch of scrubby underwood, from the neighbourhood of which a large town could be seen looming against the evening sky in the far distance. The sailor entered the underwood with the air of a man who had aimed at the spot as a goal, and who meant to rest there a while. He reached an open space, in the centre of which grew a stunted tree. Here he sat down, and taking off his wallet, ate a hearty supper of scraps of excellent bread, cheese, and meat, which he washed down with a draught of gin. Afterwards he lit his pipe, and, while enjoying himself thus, reclining at the foot of the tree, proceeded to increase his enjoyment by counting out his gains.

While thus agreeably engaged, a rustling of the bushes caused him to bundle the gains hastily up in a handkerchief, which he thrust into his pocket, while he leaped nimbly to his feet, and seized his crutch.

“Oh, it’s only you, Bill! why, I declare I thought it was—well, well, never mind. How have ye got on?”

The individual addressed entered the enclosure, and sat down at the foot of the tree with a sigh, which might, without much exaggeration, have been termed a growl. Bill was also, strange to say, a sailor, and a wounded one, (doubtless a shipwrecked one), because his left arm was in a sling.

“It’s tough work, Jim, an’ little pay,” said the newcomer. “Why, I’ve walked twenty mile good, an’ only realised two pun’ ten. If it don’t improve, I’ll take to a better trade.”

“You’re a discontented dog,” replied Jim, spreading out his treasures. “Here have I limped the same distance, an’ bin an’ got five pun’ two.”

“Whew!” whistled the other. “You don’t say that? Well—we go ’alves, so I’m better—’ere pass that bottle. I’ll drink to your good ’ealth. ’Ow did you ever come by it, Bill?”

To this Bill replied that he had fallen in with several ladies, whose hearts were so touched by his pitiful tale that most of them gave him crown pieces, while two, who actually shed tears while he spoke, gave him half a sovereign each!

“I drink to them ’ere two ladies,” exclaimed Bill, applying the gin bottle to his mouth, which was already full of bread and beef.

“So does I,” said Jim, snatching the bottle from his comrade, “not so much for the sake of them there ladies, ’owever, as to get my fair share o’ the tipple afore you.”

The remainder of the sentence was drowned by gin; and after they had finished the bottle, which was only a pint one however, these two men sat down together to count their ill-gotten gains; for both of them were vile impostors, who had never been on the salt water in the whole course of their worthless lives.

“Now, madam,” said I, pointedly addressing Miss Flouncer, who had listened with rapt attention, “this circumstance happenedbeforethe existence of the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society, and similar cases happened frequently. In fact, the interior of our land was at that time constantly visited by shipwrecked sailors of this kind.”

“Indeed!” said Miss Flouncer, undulating to me, with a benignant smile.

“Yes, madam,” said I. “Now observe another side of this picture.”

Hereupon I resumed my address, the substance of which was as follows:

It chanced that when impostor Jim started away over the moor at the slapping pace I have already referred to, he was observed by two of the village boys, who were lying in a hollow by the road-side amusing themselves. These urchins immediately ran home, and told what they had seen. The gossips of the place congregated round the inn door, and commented on the conduct of the pretended seaman in no measured terms—at the same time expressing a wish that they only had him there, and they would let him smell the peculiar odour of their horse-pond. At this point the courage and the ire of three stout young ploughmen, who had been drinking deeply, was stirred up so much that they vowed to be revenged, and set off in pursuit of the offender. As they ran nearly all the way, they soon came to the spot where Jim and Bill had been enjoying themselves, and met these villains just as they were issuing from the underwood to continue their journey.

A fight immediately ensued, but Jim made such play with his crutch that the ploughmen were driven back. Bill, too, who had been a London prize-fighter, unslung his left arm, and used it so vigorously that the rustics, after having had all their eyes blackened and all their noses bled, were fain to turn round and fly!

This event, as you may suppose, made a considerable sensation in the neighbourhood; travellers and carriers conveyed the news of it along the road from village to village; and the thing was thoroughly canvassed, and the impostors duly condemned.

Well, about three weeks afterwards a great storm arose; a ship was wrecked on the coast, and all the crew and passengers drowned except one man—a powerful seaman, who chanced to be a good swimmer, and who nearly lost his own life in his gallant efforts to save the life of the only female who was on board. This man swam to the shore with one arm, while with the other he supported the woman.

He could barely crawl up the beach through the heavy surf, dragging his burden after him. But he succeeded, and then lay for some time insensible. When he recovered, he found that the woman appeared to be dead. Anxious, however, to do all in his power to restore her, he tried to chafe her limbs; but seeing that he could make no impression, he hastened away to search for human dwellings and send help. Four miles did he stagger along before he came to a fishing village.

Here he told his tale; the men of the place hurried away to the scene of the wreck, but arrived too late to be of any use.

The sailor remained some days with the fishermen, who received him kindly, and gave him a few pence to help him on his way to the nearest town, where he received a few shillings from some charitable persons, and then set off to walk on foot to his native place, which happened to be on the opposite coast of England.

The poor fellow got on very well until he came to the road which led to the village where Jim had been so successful. All along this road he was scouted as an impostor, and, but for his imposing size and physical strength, would doubtless have received more kicks than halfpence. As it was he was well-nigh starved.

Arriving one afternoon, famishing and almost knocked up, at the village, he went in despair to the inn door, and began to tell his sorrowful tale. He told it to unsympathetic ears. Among his auditors were the three ploughmen who had been so roughly handled by Jim and Bill. These only heard the first two or three sentences when they rushed upon the sailor, calling on their comrades, who were numerous, to help them to duck the rascal in the horse-pond.

The stout tar, although taken by surprise and overpowered, was not disposed to submit without a struggle. He was a very Samson in strength. Rising up by main force with two of his foes on his back, he threw them off, drove his right fist into the eye of one, his foot into the stomach of a second, flattened the nose of a third on his face with a left-hander, and then wheeling round at random, plunged his elbow into the chest of another who was coming on behind, and caused him to measure his length on the ground. Before the rustics recovered from their surprise at the suddenness of these movements, two more of their number were sprawling in the dust, and the rest stood off aghast!

“Now, then,” shouted the indignant tar, as he clapped his back to the side of the inn, “come on! the whole of ’ee. I hope yer wills is made. What! ye’re afeard, are ye? Well, if ye won’t come on I’ll bid ye good afternoon, ye low minded, cowardly land-lubbers!”

And with that he made a rush at them. They tumbled over each other in heaps, trying to get out of his way, so that he could only get a passing dig at one or two of them, and cleared away as fast as he could run.

They did not follow him far, so Jack soon stopped and sat down on the road-side, in a very savage state of mind, to wipe the blood from his face and knuckles.

While he was thus engaged, an elderly gentleman in the garb of a clergyman approached him.

“What has happened to you, my man?” he asked.

“That’s none o’ your business,” answered Jack with angry emphasis. “Ax no questions, an’ you’ll be told no lies!”

“Excuse me, friend,” replied the clergyman gently, “I did not mean to annoy you; but you seem to have been badly wounded, and I would assist you if you will allow me.”

“I ax yer parding, sir,” said Jack, a little softened, though by no means restored to his wonted good-humour; “no offence meant, but I’ve been shamefully abused by the scoundrels in yonder village, an’ I am riled a bit. It’s only a scratch, sir, you don’t need to consarn yerself.”

“It is more than a scratch, if I may judge from the flow of blood. Permit me to examine.”

“Oh, it’ll be all right d’rectly,” said Jack; but as he said so he fell back on the grass, fainting from loss of blood which flowed from a large wound on his head.

When the sailor’s senses were restored, he found himself in a bed in the clergyman’s dwelling, with his head bandaged up, and his body a good deal weaker than he had ever before felt it. The clergyman took care of him until he recovered; and you may be sure that he did not miss the opportunity to urge the sailor to think of his soul, and to come to Jesus Christ, the Saviour of the world, whose name is Love, and whose teaching is all summed up in this, “Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you.”

When Jack was quite recovered, the clergyman gave him some money to enable him to reach his home without begging his way.

Now this case also occurredbeforethe Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society was instituted. I cannot say that such cases of rough handling were frequent; but cases in which true-blue shipwrecked tars were treated as impostors were numerous, so that, in those days, knaves and rascals often throve as wrecked seamen, while the genuine and unfortunate men were often turned rudely from door to door. This state of things does not exist now. Itcannotexist now, for honorary agents of the society are to be found on every part of our coasts, so that the moment a wrecked man touches the land, no matter whether he be a Briton or a foreigner, he is at once taken care of, clothed, housed, fed, supplied with a little money, and forwarded to his home, or to the nearest consul of his nation. The society has therefore accomplished two great and good objects, for which the entire nation owes it a debt of gratitude; it has rid the land of begging impostors clad in sailors’ clothes, and it has provided relief and assistance to the shipwrecked among our brave and hardy seamen who are in every sense the bulwarks of our island, and without whose labours, in the most perilous of all callings, Great Britain would be one of the poorest and most uninfluential kingdoms on the face of the earth.

But the society does a great deal more than that, for it comforts and assists with money and advice hundreds and thousands of widows and orphans whose husbands, fathers, or brothers have been drowned; and this it does from year to year regularly—as regularly as the storms come and scatter death and destruction on our shores. It cannot be too earnestly impressed on the people of England, and especially on those who dwell inland, that at least a thousand lives are lost, two thousand ships are wrecked, and two millions sterling are thrown away upon the coasts of this countryevery year.

It is owing to the untiring energy of the National Lifeboat Institution that those figures are not much,verymuch higher; and it is the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society that alleviates much,verymuch, of the woe resulting from storms and wrecks upon our shores. Sailors and fishermen know this well, and support both institutions largely. I would that ladies and gentlemen knew this better, and felt that they have a positive duty incumbent on them in regard to these societies, for they are not local butnational.

“Now, madam,” said I, again addressing myself pointedly to Miss Flouncer, “would you like to hear a few interesting facts in reference to the objects of this Society?”

Miss Flouncer smiled and undulated in order to express her readiness to listen; at the same time she glanced at Sir Richard, who, I observed, was sound asleep. I also noticed that Mrs Bingley sniffed impatiently; but I felt that I had a duty to perform, so with unalterable resolution I prepared to continue my address, when Miss Peppy, who had been nearly asleep during the greater part of the time I was speaking, suddenly said to Miss Flouncer—

“Well, itisa most surprising state of things that peoplewillgo to sea and get wrecked just to let societies like these spring up like mushrooms all over the land. For my part, I think I would rather do without the things that ships bring to us from foreign lands than always hear of those dreadful wrecks, and—but really one cannot expect the world to alter just to please one, so I suppose people must go on being drowned and saved by rocket-boats and lifeboats; so we had better retire to the drawing-room, my dear.”

The last observation was addressed to Mrs Bingley, who responded to it with a bow of assent as she drew on her gloves.

Immediately after, the ladies rose, and I was thus constrained to postpone my narration of interesting facts, until another opportunity should offer.

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