Chapter Nineteen.Ruth finds that everything seems to go against her.Anxiously did Ruth Dotropy await the return of Captain Bream to Yarmouth, and patiently did she refrain, in the meantime, from questioning Mrs Bright as to her history before marriage, for that good woman’s objection to be so questioned was quite sufficient to check her sensitive spirit. But poor Ruth’s enthusiastic hopes were doomed to disappointment at that time, for, only a few days after the captain’s departure, she received a letter from him, part of which ran as follows:—“Dear Miss Ruth,—I am exceedingly sorry and almost ashamed, to be obliged to say that I am unable to return to Yarmouth for some weeks at least. The fact is that I have for a long time been engaged in a piece of business—a sort of search—which has caused me much anxiety and frequent disappointment. My lawyer, however, now thinks he has hit on the right clue, so that I have good hope of being successful. In the meantime will you do your best to comfort the Miss Seawards in my absence, and explain to them that nothing but necessity could make me leave them in the lurch in this fashion,” etcetera.“Howveryprovoking!” exclaimed Ruth, with a pretty little frown on her innocent face after reading the letter to her stately mother.“Why provoking, dear?” asked Mrs Dotropy. “Surely we can enjoy the fine air of Yarmouth without Captain Bream, and although the dear Miss Seawards are very fond of him, they will not pine or lose their health because of his absence for a short time. Besides, have they not that wonderful theological library to divert them?”“Yes, mother—it’s not that, but I wassoanxious to find out—”She stopped short.“Find out what, child?”“Well now, mother, I cannotkeep it from you any longer. I will tell you my little secret if you promise not to reveal it to any living soul.”“How absurd you are, Ruth! Do you suppose that I shall go about the streets proclaiming your secret, whatever it is, to Tom, Dick, and Harry, even if it were worth telling, much less when it is probably not worth remembering? Of course I might let it slip, you know, by accident and when a thing slips there is no possibility of recovery, as I said once to your dear father that time when he slipped off the end of the pier into the water and had to be fished up by the waist-band of his trousers with grappling-irons, I think they called them—at all events they were very dangerous-looking things, and I’ve often argued with him—though I hate argument—that they might have gone into his body and killed him, yet he would insist that, being blunt, the thing was out of the question, though, as I carefully explained to him, the question had nothing to do with it—but it is useless arguing with you, Ruth—I mean, it was useless arguing with your father, dear man, for although he was as good as gold, he had a very confused mind, you know. What was it we were talking about?—oh yes!—your secret. Well, what is it?”With a flushed face and eager look, Ruth said, “Mother, Icannothelp being convinced that Mrs Bright the fisherman’s wife, is no other than Captain Bream’s lost sister!”“If you cannot help being convinced, child, it is of no use my attempting to reason with you. But why think of such nonsense? If she is what you suppose, she must have been a Miss Bream before marriage.”“So she was!” exclaimed Ruth, with a look of triumph. I have found that out—only I fear that is not proof positive, because, you know, although not a common name, Bream is by no means singular.“Well, but she would have been a lady—or—or would have had different manners if she had been Captain Bream’s sister,” objected Mrs Dotropy.“That does not follow,” said Ruth, quickly. “The captain may have risen from the ranks; we cannot tell; besides, Mrs Brightisvery refined, both in manner and speech, compared with those around her. I was on the point one day of asking if she had a brother, when she seemed to draw up and cut the matter short; so I have had to fall back on my original plan of trying to bring the two face to face, which would at once settle the question, for of course they’d know each other.”“Dear child, why make such a mystery about it?” said Mrs Dotropy; “why not tell the captain of your suspicion, and ask him to go and see the woman?”“Because it would be so cruel to raise his expectations, mother, and then perhaps find that I was wrong. It would disappoint him so terribly. But this reference to a ‘search’ in his letter makes me feel almost sure he is searching for this lost sister.”“Foolish child! It is a wild fancy of your romantic brain. Who ever heard,” said the mother, “of a lawyer being employed to search for a sister? Depend upon it, this captain is in search of some deed,—a lost will, or a—an old parchment or a document of some sort, perhaps referring to a mismanaged property, or estate, or fortune, for things of that kind are often seen in the newspapers; though how the newspapers come to find out about them all is more than I can understand. I’ve often wondered at it. Ah! your dear father used to say in his facetious way that he was “lost in theTimes,” when he wanted to be let alone. I don’t mean advertised for as lost, of course, though he might have been, for I have seen him lose his head frequently; indeed I have been almost forced to the conclusion more than once that theTimeshad a good deal to do with your father’s mental confusion; it told such awful lies sometimes, and then a month or two afterwards would flatly contradict them all by telling the truth—at least it was probably the truth since it was the opposite of the lies; but it’s of no use talking, I always find that. What were you saying, child?”“Well, mother, I was going to say,” answered Ruth, with a sigh, “that I must just have patience and be content to wait.”“Now you talk like the dear, good, sensible little thing that you are,” said Mrs Dotropy, rising; “run, put on your hat and I’ll walk with you by the sea, or go visit the fisher-folk if you like—or the Miss Seawards.”In this amiable frame of mind the mother and daughter set off to the shore.Ruth’s patience was indeed tried more severely than she had anticipated, for, whatever the search was in which Captain Bream had engaged, it compelled him to remain in town much longer than he had intended.Meanwhile theEvening Starreturned to port, and David Bright, with Billy, Joe, and the rest of the crew, went to enjoy themselves in their various ways during their brief holiday.Mrs Bright chanced to be spending the afternoon with Mrs Joe Davidson and her wonderful “babby” when the skipper and mate walked in upon them. There were two little shrieks of joy; then the two wives were enfolded, and for a few seconds lost to view, in the stupendous embrace of the two fishermen, while the babby was, for the moment, absolutely forgotten! But she took care not to be forgotten long. On recovering from her first surprise she gave utterance to a howl worthy of a seaman’s daughter. Joe immediately seized her in his arms, and half smothered her in a fond embrace, to which, apparently, she did not object.Meanwhile little Billy stood looking on approvingly, with his hands in his pockets and his booted legs wide apart.“I wonder when somebody’s a-goin’ to pay some sort of attention tome,” he said after a minute or two.“Why, Billy, I didn’t see ye,” cried Mrs Joe, holding out her hand; “how are ye, puss in boots?”“If it was any other female but yourself, Maggie, as said that, I’d scorn to notice you,” returned Billy, half indignant.“My darling boy!” cried Mrs Bright, turning to her son and enfolding him in her arms.“Ah! that’s the way to do it,” responded Billy, submitting to the embrace. “You’re the old ooman as knows how to give a feller a good hearty squeeze. But don’t come it too strong, mother, else you’ll put me all out o’ shape. See, daddy’s a-goin’ to show his-self off.”This last remark had reference to a small bundle which David Bright was hastily untying.“See here, Nell,” he said, with a strange mixture of eagerness and modesty, “I’ve joined ’em at last old girl. Look at that.”He unrolled a M.D.S.F. flag, which he had purchased from the skipper of the mission smack.“An’ I’ve signed the pledge too, lass.”“Oh! David,” she exclaimed, grasping her husband’s right hand in both of hers. But her heart was too full for more.“Yes, Nell, I’ve had grace given me to hoist the Lord’s colours in the Short Blue, an’ it was your little book as done it. I’d ha’ bin lost by now, if it hadn’t bin for the blessed Word of God.”Again Nell essayed to speak, but the words refused to come. She laid her head on her husband’s shoulder and wept for joy.We have said that David Bright was not by nature given to the melting mood, but his eyes grew dim and his voice faltered at this point and it is not improbable that there would have been a regular break-down, if Joe’s blessed babby had not suddenly come to the rescue in the nick of time with one of her unexpected howls. As temporary neglect was the cause of her complaint it was of course easily cured. When quiet had been restored Mrs Bright turned to her son—“Now, Billy, my boy, I must send you off immediately.”“But what if I won’t go off—like a bad sky-rocket?” said the boy with a doubtful expression on his face.“But you’ll have to go—and you’ll be willing enough, too, when I tell you that it’s to see Miss Ruth Dotropy you are going.”“What!—the angel?”“Yes, she’s here just now, and wants to see you very much, and made me promise to send you to her the moment you came home. So, off you go! She lives with her mother in the old place, you know.”“All right,Iknow. Farewell, mother.”In a few minutes Billy was out of sight and hearing—which last implies a considerable distance, for Billy’s whistle was peculiarly loud and shrill. He fortunately had not to undergo the operation of being “cleaned” for this visit, having already subjected himself to that process just before getting into port. The only portions of costume which he might have changed with propriety on reaching shore were his long boots, but he was so fond of these that he meant to stick to them, he said, through thick and thin, and had cleaned them up for the occasion.At the moment he turned into the street where his friends and admirers dwelt, Ruth chanced to be at the window, while the Miss Seawards, then on a visit to her mother, were seated in the room.“Oh! thedarling!” exclaimed Ruth, with something almost like a little shriek of delight.“Which darling—you’ve got so many?” asked her mother.“Oh! Billy Bright, the sweet innocent—look at him; quick!”Thus adjured the sisters ran laughing to the window, but the stately mother sat still.“D’you mean the boy with the boots on?” asked Jessie, who was short-sighted.“Yes, yes, that’s him!”“If you had said the boots with the boy in them, Jessie,” observed Kate, “you would have been nearer the mark!”In a few minutes, Billy, fully alive to his importance in the ladies’ eyes, sat gravely in the midst of them answering rapid questions.“You’ve not had tea, Billy, I hope,” said Ruth, rising and ringing the bell.“No, miss, I haven’t, an’ if I had, I’m always game for two teas.”Soon Billy was engaged with bread, butter, cakes, and jam, besides other luxuries, some of which he had never even dreamed of before.“What an excellent appetite you have!” said Jessie Seaward, scarcely able to restrain her admiration.“Yes, ma’am,” said Billy, accepting another bun with much satisfaction, “we usually does pretty well in the Short Blue in that way, though we don’t have sich grub as this to tickle our gums with. You see, we has a lot o’ fresh air out on the North Sea, an’ it’s pretty strong air too—specially when it blows ’ard. W’y, I’ve seed it blow that ’ard that it was fit to tear the masts out of us; an’ once it throw’d us right over on our beam-ends.”“On what ends, boy?” asked Mrs Dotropy, who was beginning to feel interested in the self-sufficient little fisherman.“Our beam-ends, ma’am. The beams as lie across under the deck, so that w’en we gits upontheirends, you know, we’re pretty well flat on the water.”“How dreadful!” exclaimed Jessie; “but when that happens how can you walk the deck?”“We can’t walk the deck, ma’am. We has to scramble along the best way we can, holdin’ on by hands and teeth and eyelids. Thank ’ee, miss, but I really do think I’d better not try to eat any more. I feels chock-full already, an’ it might be dangerous. There’s severe laws now against overloadin’, you know.”“No such laws in this house, Billy,” said Ruth, with a laugh. “But now, if you have quite done, I should like to put a few questions to you.”“Fire away, then, Miss,” said the boy, looking exceedingly grave and wise.“Well, Billy,” began Ruth, with an eager look, “I want to know something about your dear mother.”She hesitated at this point as if uncertain how to begin, and the boy sought to encourage her with—“Wery good, Miss, I knows all abouther. What d’ee want to ax me?”“I want to ask,” said Ruth, slowly, “if you know what your mother’s name was before she was married?”Ruth did not as the reader knows, require to ask this question, but she put it as a sort of feeler to ascertain how far Billy might be inclined to assist her.“Well, now, thatisa stumper!” exclaimed the boy, smiting his little thigh. “I didn’t know as she had a name afore she was married. Leastwise I never thought of it or heerd on it, not havin’ bin acquainted with her at that time.”With a short laugh Ruth said, “Well, never mind; but perhaps you can tell me, Billy, if your mother ever had a brother connected with the sea—a sailor, I mean.”“Stumped again!” exclaimed the boy; “who’d have thought I was so ignorant about my own mother? If she ever had sich a brother, he must have bin drownded, for I never heerd tell of ’im.”“Then you never heard either your father or mother mention any other name than Bright—I mean in connection with yourselves?” said Ruth in a disappointed tone.“Never, Miss, as I can reck’lect on. I would willin’ly say yes, to please you, but I’d raither not tell no lies.”“That’s right my good boy,” said Mrs Dotropy, with a stately but approving nod, “for you know where all liars go to.”“Yes, ma’am, an’ I knows where liarsdon’tgo to,” returned Billy, looking up with pious resignation, whereat the Miss Seawards and Ruth burst into a laugh.It must not be supposed that Billy meant to be profane, but he had taken a dislike to Mrs Dotropy, and did not choose to be patronised by her.As poor Ruth found that it was useless to pursue her investigations in this direction further, she changed the subject to the North Sea fishery, with the details of which her little friend was of course quite conversant. Then she proposed to accompany Billy home.“I want to make the acquaintance of your father,” she said.“Ah! he’s a true bluenow, he is,” said Billy.“Was your father not always a true blue?” asked Ruth, as they went along the street together.“Well, it ain’t right for me to say ought agin my father—but—he’s true bluenow, anyhow.”And Ruth found that the reformed drunkard was indeed “true blue,” and very glad to see her; nevertheless she obtained no information from him on the subject she was so anxious about—not because he was uncommunicative, but because Ruth, being very timid, had not courage to open her lips upon it.The shades of evening were beginning to descend when she rose to leave. Both father and son offered to escort her home, but she declined the offer with many thanks, and went off alone.
Anxiously did Ruth Dotropy await the return of Captain Bream to Yarmouth, and patiently did she refrain, in the meantime, from questioning Mrs Bright as to her history before marriage, for that good woman’s objection to be so questioned was quite sufficient to check her sensitive spirit. But poor Ruth’s enthusiastic hopes were doomed to disappointment at that time, for, only a few days after the captain’s departure, she received a letter from him, part of which ran as follows:—
“Dear Miss Ruth,—I am exceedingly sorry and almost ashamed, to be obliged to say that I am unable to return to Yarmouth for some weeks at least. The fact is that I have for a long time been engaged in a piece of business—a sort of search—which has caused me much anxiety and frequent disappointment. My lawyer, however, now thinks he has hit on the right clue, so that I have good hope of being successful. In the meantime will you do your best to comfort the Miss Seawards in my absence, and explain to them that nothing but necessity could make me leave them in the lurch in this fashion,” etcetera.
“Howveryprovoking!” exclaimed Ruth, with a pretty little frown on her innocent face after reading the letter to her stately mother.
“Why provoking, dear?” asked Mrs Dotropy. “Surely we can enjoy the fine air of Yarmouth without Captain Bream, and although the dear Miss Seawards are very fond of him, they will not pine or lose their health because of his absence for a short time. Besides, have they not that wonderful theological library to divert them?”
“Yes, mother—it’s not that, but I wassoanxious to find out—”
She stopped short.
“Find out what, child?”
“Well now, mother, I cannotkeep it from you any longer. I will tell you my little secret if you promise not to reveal it to any living soul.”
“How absurd you are, Ruth! Do you suppose that I shall go about the streets proclaiming your secret, whatever it is, to Tom, Dick, and Harry, even if it were worth telling, much less when it is probably not worth remembering? Of course I might let it slip, you know, by accident and when a thing slips there is no possibility of recovery, as I said once to your dear father that time when he slipped off the end of the pier into the water and had to be fished up by the waist-band of his trousers with grappling-irons, I think they called them—at all events they were very dangerous-looking things, and I’ve often argued with him—though I hate argument—that they might have gone into his body and killed him, yet he would insist that, being blunt, the thing was out of the question, though, as I carefully explained to him, the question had nothing to do with it—but it is useless arguing with you, Ruth—I mean, it was useless arguing with your father, dear man, for although he was as good as gold, he had a very confused mind, you know. What was it we were talking about?—oh yes!—your secret. Well, what is it?”
With a flushed face and eager look, Ruth said, “Mother, Icannothelp being convinced that Mrs Bright the fisherman’s wife, is no other than Captain Bream’s lost sister!”
“If you cannot help being convinced, child, it is of no use my attempting to reason with you. But why think of such nonsense? If she is what you suppose, she must have been a Miss Bream before marriage.”
“So she was!” exclaimed Ruth, with a look of triumph. I have found that out—only I fear that is not proof positive, because, you know, although not a common name, Bream is by no means singular.
“Well, but she would have been a lady—or—or would have had different manners if she had been Captain Bream’s sister,” objected Mrs Dotropy.
“That does not follow,” said Ruth, quickly. “The captain may have risen from the ranks; we cannot tell; besides, Mrs Brightisvery refined, both in manner and speech, compared with those around her. I was on the point one day of asking if she had a brother, when she seemed to draw up and cut the matter short; so I have had to fall back on my original plan of trying to bring the two face to face, which would at once settle the question, for of course they’d know each other.”
“Dear child, why make such a mystery about it?” said Mrs Dotropy; “why not tell the captain of your suspicion, and ask him to go and see the woman?”
“Because it would be so cruel to raise his expectations, mother, and then perhaps find that I was wrong. It would disappoint him so terribly. But this reference to a ‘search’ in his letter makes me feel almost sure he is searching for this lost sister.”
“Foolish child! It is a wild fancy of your romantic brain. Who ever heard,” said the mother, “of a lawyer being employed to search for a sister? Depend upon it, this captain is in search of some deed,—a lost will, or a—an old parchment or a document of some sort, perhaps referring to a mismanaged property, or estate, or fortune, for things of that kind are often seen in the newspapers; though how the newspapers come to find out about them all is more than I can understand. I’ve often wondered at it. Ah! your dear father used to say in his facetious way that he was “lost in theTimes,” when he wanted to be let alone. I don’t mean advertised for as lost, of course, though he might have been, for I have seen him lose his head frequently; indeed I have been almost forced to the conclusion more than once that theTimeshad a good deal to do with your father’s mental confusion; it told such awful lies sometimes, and then a month or two afterwards would flatly contradict them all by telling the truth—at least it was probably the truth since it was the opposite of the lies; but it’s of no use talking, I always find that. What were you saying, child?”
“Well, mother, I was going to say,” answered Ruth, with a sigh, “that I must just have patience and be content to wait.”
“Now you talk like the dear, good, sensible little thing that you are,” said Mrs Dotropy, rising; “run, put on your hat and I’ll walk with you by the sea, or go visit the fisher-folk if you like—or the Miss Seawards.”
In this amiable frame of mind the mother and daughter set off to the shore.
Ruth’s patience was indeed tried more severely than she had anticipated, for, whatever the search was in which Captain Bream had engaged, it compelled him to remain in town much longer than he had intended.
Meanwhile theEvening Starreturned to port, and David Bright, with Billy, Joe, and the rest of the crew, went to enjoy themselves in their various ways during their brief holiday.
Mrs Bright chanced to be spending the afternoon with Mrs Joe Davidson and her wonderful “babby” when the skipper and mate walked in upon them. There were two little shrieks of joy; then the two wives were enfolded, and for a few seconds lost to view, in the stupendous embrace of the two fishermen, while the babby was, for the moment, absolutely forgotten! But she took care not to be forgotten long. On recovering from her first surprise she gave utterance to a howl worthy of a seaman’s daughter. Joe immediately seized her in his arms, and half smothered her in a fond embrace, to which, apparently, she did not object.
Meanwhile little Billy stood looking on approvingly, with his hands in his pockets and his booted legs wide apart.
“I wonder when somebody’s a-goin’ to pay some sort of attention tome,” he said after a minute or two.
“Why, Billy, I didn’t see ye,” cried Mrs Joe, holding out her hand; “how are ye, puss in boots?”
“If it was any other female but yourself, Maggie, as said that, I’d scorn to notice you,” returned Billy, half indignant.
“My darling boy!” cried Mrs Bright, turning to her son and enfolding him in her arms.
“Ah! that’s the way to do it,” responded Billy, submitting to the embrace. “You’re the old ooman as knows how to give a feller a good hearty squeeze. But don’t come it too strong, mother, else you’ll put me all out o’ shape. See, daddy’s a-goin’ to show his-self off.”
This last remark had reference to a small bundle which David Bright was hastily untying.
“See here, Nell,” he said, with a strange mixture of eagerness and modesty, “I’ve joined ’em at last old girl. Look at that.”
He unrolled a M.D.S.F. flag, which he had purchased from the skipper of the mission smack.
“An’ I’ve signed the pledge too, lass.”
“Oh! David,” she exclaimed, grasping her husband’s right hand in both of hers. But her heart was too full for more.
“Yes, Nell, I’ve had grace given me to hoist the Lord’s colours in the Short Blue, an’ it was your little book as done it. I’d ha’ bin lost by now, if it hadn’t bin for the blessed Word of God.”
Again Nell essayed to speak, but the words refused to come. She laid her head on her husband’s shoulder and wept for joy.
We have said that David Bright was not by nature given to the melting mood, but his eyes grew dim and his voice faltered at this point and it is not improbable that there would have been a regular break-down, if Joe’s blessed babby had not suddenly come to the rescue in the nick of time with one of her unexpected howls. As temporary neglect was the cause of her complaint it was of course easily cured. When quiet had been restored Mrs Bright turned to her son—“Now, Billy, my boy, I must send you off immediately.”
“But what if I won’t go off—like a bad sky-rocket?” said the boy with a doubtful expression on his face.
“But you’ll have to go—and you’ll be willing enough, too, when I tell you that it’s to see Miss Ruth Dotropy you are going.”
“What!—the angel?”
“Yes, she’s here just now, and wants to see you very much, and made me promise to send you to her the moment you came home. So, off you go! She lives with her mother in the old place, you know.”
“All right,Iknow. Farewell, mother.”
In a few minutes Billy was out of sight and hearing—which last implies a considerable distance, for Billy’s whistle was peculiarly loud and shrill. He fortunately had not to undergo the operation of being “cleaned” for this visit, having already subjected himself to that process just before getting into port. The only portions of costume which he might have changed with propriety on reaching shore were his long boots, but he was so fond of these that he meant to stick to them, he said, through thick and thin, and had cleaned them up for the occasion.
At the moment he turned into the street where his friends and admirers dwelt, Ruth chanced to be at the window, while the Miss Seawards, then on a visit to her mother, were seated in the room.
“Oh! thedarling!” exclaimed Ruth, with something almost like a little shriek of delight.
“Which darling—you’ve got so many?” asked her mother.
“Oh! Billy Bright, the sweet innocent—look at him; quick!”
Thus adjured the sisters ran laughing to the window, but the stately mother sat still.
“D’you mean the boy with the boots on?” asked Jessie, who was short-sighted.
“Yes, yes, that’s him!”
“If you had said the boots with the boy in them, Jessie,” observed Kate, “you would have been nearer the mark!”
In a few minutes, Billy, fully alive to his importance in the ladies’ eyes, sat gravely in the midst of them answering rapid questions.
“You’ve not had tea, Billy, I hope,” said Ruth, rising and ringing the bell.
“No, miss, I haven’t, an’ if I had, I’m always game for two teas.”
Soon Billy was engaged with bread, butter, cakes, and jam, besides other luxuries, some of which he had never even dreamed of before.
“What an excellent appetite you have!” said Jessie Seaward, scarcely able to restrain her admiration.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Billy, accepting another bun with much satisfaction, “we usually does pretty well in the Short Blue in that way, though we don’t have sich grub as this to tickle our gums with. You see, we has a lot o’ fresh air out on the North Sea, an’ it’s pretty strong air too—specially when it blows ’ard. W’y, I’ve seed it blow that ’ard that it was fit to tear the masts out of us; an’ once it throw’d us right over on our beam-ends.”
“On what ends, boy?” asked Mrs Dotropy, who was beginning to feel interested in the self-sufficient little fisherman.
“Our beam-ends, ma’am. The beams as lie across under the deck, so that w’en we gits upontheirends, you know, we’re pretty well flat on the water.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed Jessie; “but when that happens how can you walk the deck?”
“We can’t walk the deck, ma’am. We has to scramble along the best way we can, holdin’ on by hands and teeth and eyelids. Thank ’ee, miss, but I really do think I’d better not try to eat any more. I feels chock-full already, an’ it might be dangerous. There’s severe laws now against overloadin’, you know.”
“No such laws in this house, Billy,” said Ruth, with a laugh. “But now, if you have quite done, I should like to put a few questions to you.”
“Fire away, then, Miss,” said the boy, looking exceedingly grave and wise.
“Well, Billy,” began Ruth, with an eager look, “I want to know something about your dear mother.”
She hesitated at this point as if uncertain how to begin, and the boy sought to encourage her with—“Wery good, Miss, I knows all abouther. What d’ee want to ax me?”
“I want to ask,” said Ruth, slowly, “if you know what your mother’s name was before she was married?”
Ruth did not as the reader knows, require to ask this question, but she put it as a sort of feeler to ascertain how far Billy might be inclined to assist her.
“Well, now, thatisa stumper!” exclaimed the boy, smiting his little thigh. “I didn’t know as she had a name afore she was married. Leastwise I never thought of it or heerd on it, not havin’ bin acquainted with her at that time.”
With a short laugh Ruth said, “Well, never mind; but perhaps you can tell me, Billy, if your mother ever had a brother connected with the sea—a sailor, I mean.”
“Stumped again!” exclaimed the boy; “who’d have thought I was so ignorant about my own mother? If she ever had sich a brother, he must have bin drownded, for I never heerd tell of ’im.”
“Then you never heard either your father or mother mention any other name than Bright—I mean in connection with yourselves?” said Ruth in a disappointed tone.
“Never, Miss, as I can reck’lect on. I would willin’ly say yes, to please you, but I’d raither not tell no lies.”
“That’s right my good boy,” said Mrs Dotropy, with a stately but approving nod, “for you know where all liars go to.”
“Yes, ma’am, an’ I knows where liarsdon’tgo to,” returned Billy, looking up with pious resignation, whereat the Miss Seawards and Ruth burst into a laugh.
It must not be supposed that Billy meant to be profane, but he had taken a dislike to Mrs Dotropy, and did not choose to be patronised by her.
As poor Ruth found that it was useless to pursue her investigations in this direction further, she changed the subject to the North Sea fishery, with the details of which her little friend was of course quite conversant. Then she proposed to accompany Billy home.
“I want to make the acquaintance of your father,” she said.
“Ah! he’s a true bluenow, he is,” said Billy.
“Was your father not always a true blue?” asked Ruth, as they went along the street together.
“Well, it ain’t right for me to say ought agin my father—but—he’s true bluenow, anyhow.”
And Ruth found that the reformed drunkard was indeed “true blue,” and very glad to see her; nevertheless she obtained no information from him on the subject she was so anxious about—not because he was uncommunicative, but because Ruth, being very timid, had not courage to open her lips upon it.
The shades of evening were beginning to descend when she rose to leave. Both father and son offered to escort her home, but she declined the offer with many thanks, and went off alone.
Chapter Twenty.Details Two Robberies and an Awful Situation.The attainment of Felicity is said to be the aim of all mankind. In order to this end, men in all ages have voluntarily submitted themselves to prolonged infelicity. They have toiled in daily pain and sorrow throughout a long life to attain at last, if possible, to the coveted condition. Some have pursued it in eager intensity, dancing and singing as they went. Others have rushed after it in mad determination, cursing and grumbling as they ran. Many have sought it in rapt contemplation of the Sublime and Beautiful. Thousands have grubbed and grovelled for it in the gratification or the drowning of the senses, while not a few have sought and found it in simple, loving submission to their Maker’s will, as made known by Conscience and Revelation.Of all the varied methods, John Gunter, the fisherman, preferred the grub-and-grovelling method, and the favourite scene of his grovelling was a low grog-shop in one of the lower parts of Yarmouth.It must be said, at this point, that Gunter was not considered by his mates as a regular out-and-out fisherman. He had never served his apprenticeship, but, being a powerful and sufficiently active seaman, was tolerated among them.It is said that adversity makes strange bed-fellows. It is not less true that strong drink makes strange companions. Gunter’s shipmates having had more than enough of him on the sea were only too glad to get clear of him when on land. He therefore found himself obliged to look out for new companionships, for it is certain that man yearns after sympathy of some sort, and is not, under ordinary circumstances, content to be alone.The new friends he sought were not difficult to find. In one of the darkest corners of the public-house referred to he found them—an accidental, group—consisting of an ex-clerk, an ex-parson, and a burglar, not “ex” as yet! They had met for the first time, yet, though widely separated as regards their training in life, they had found the sympathetic level of drink in that dingy corner. Of course, it need hardly be said that the first two had swung far out of their proper orbits before coming into harmonious contact with the last. Of course, also, no one of the three desired that his antecedents should be known. There was not much chance, indeed, that the former occupations of the clerk or the parson would be guessed at, for every scrap of respectability had long ago been washed out of them by drink, and their greasy coats, battered hats, dirty and ragged linen, were, if possible, lower in the scale of disreputability than the rough garments of the burglar.The subject of their conversation was suitable to all ages and countries, to all kinds and conditions of men, for it was politics! A fine, healthy, flexible subject, so utterly incomprehensible to fuddled brains that it could be distended, contracted, inflated, elongated, and twisted to suit any circumstances or states of mind. And such grand scope too, for difference, or agreement of opinion.Oh! it was pitiful to see the idiotic expressions of these fallen men as they sat bound together by a mutual thirst which each abhorred, yet loved, and which none could shake off. And there was something outrageously absurd too—yes, it is of no use attempting to shirk the fact—something intolerably funny in some of the gestures and tones with which they discussed the affairs of the nation.“Hail fellow well met,” was the generous tendency of Gunter’s soul when ashore. Accosting the three in gruff off-hand tones with some such sentiment, he sat down beside them.“Same to you, pal,” said the burglar, with a sinister glance at the new-comer from under his heavy brows.“How do? ol’ salt!” exclaimed the clerk, who was by far the most tipsy of the three. “Come ’ere. We’ll make you r’free—umpire—to shettle zish d’shpute. Queshn is, whether it’s the dooty of the poor to help the rish—no, zhat’s not it. W–w’ether it’s dooty of rish to help the poor—what’s it—by sharin’ all they have with ’em or—”“That’s not the question at all,” cried Gunter, gruffly—“the question is, what’ll you have to drink!”“Bravo!” exclaimed the parson, “thatisthe question!”“You’re a trump!” said the burglar.“Well,” exclaimed the clerk, with a tremendous assumption of winking-dignity, “ishn’t zhat zactly what I was goin’ to shay, if you’d on’y listen. ‘What’ll you ’ave to drink!’ jus’ so. Now, if you want to argue it out properly, you’ll—”He was checked and almost floored by a tremendous though facetious slap on the back from Gunter, who said that they wouldn’t argue it out; that they would drink it out first and argue it out afterwards.In pursuance of this plan he called the landlord, and, ordering spirits and water, treated the assembled company all round—including a few bloated and wretched women, some of whom carried children in their arms.Whatever of the ludicrous might have struck an observer of the scene, while listening to the above conversation, it would have been all put to flight by the sight of these poor women, and perchance by the thought that they had been brought up to that life; had never known better, and would never have a chance of knowing better, unless some exceptional rays of heavenly light should penetrate the dark region in which they lived. Praise be to God! such rays do visit such haunts at times, and brands are often plucked from the fire, but with these we have nothing to do at present. Our object just now is to trace the course of John Gunter.You may be sure that one who spent his money so freely, and at the same time drank heavily, was not likely to escape the special attention of his new friend, the burglar. That worthy, besides being an expert in the heavier branches of his art, was not unacquainted with its lighter work. He watched the fisherman narrowly, observed in which pocket he kept his money, waited until he was sufficiently drunk for his purpose, and then picked his pockets at an engrossing moment, when the clerk was unfolding a perfect scheme of national reform to the parson, who, with eyes shut, and supposed to be listening intently, was in reality fast asleep.His object accomplished, the burglar said he would go out, and have a look at the weather, which he did, and having quietly hidden his spoils he returned to report the weather “all right,” and to make quite sure that he had left nothing whatever in any of Gunter’s pockets. Having satisfied himself on this point he was about to retire to take a final look at the weather when Gunter said—“Hold on, mate; ’ave another glass.”He felt in his pocket for the wherewith to pay for the drink, and missed his money. He was by no means as drunk as he appeared to be, and at once suspected his comrade.“You’ve stole my blunt!” he shouted, without a moment’s hesitation.“You’re a liar,” returned the burglar, promptly. Gunter was fierce by nature. He made no rejoinder, but struck a blow at the other which would have felled him had it taken effect. The burglar, however, was a pugilist. He evaded the blow, and returned it with such force that the fisherman staggered, but recovered himself, and grappled with his adversary.In a moment all was uproar and confusion; benches were upset, spittoons kicked about, and pipes smashed, as the two powerful men swayed about, and tried fiercely to strangle each other. The women rushed screaming from the place; the landlord and his assistants interfered, but it was not until the police were called in that the combatants were separated. Then there occurred a violent scene of explanation, allegation, recrimination, and retort, during which the guardians of the peace attempted to throw oil on the troubled waters, for it is always their aim, we believe, to quiet down drunken uproars when possible rather than to take up the rioters.As the burglar, with an injured, innocent look, denied the charge made against him, and turned all his pockets inside out in proof of his veracity, Gunter was fain to content himself with the supposition that he had lost his money in some incomprehensible manner.In a very sulky mood he flung out of the public-house and sauntered away. He knew not where to go, for he had no friends in Yarmouth—at least none who would have welcomed him—and he had not wherewith to pay for a bed, even in the poorest lodging.As he walked along, conscience began to smite him, but he was in no mood to listen to conscience. He silenced it, and at the same time called himself, with an oath, a big fool. There is no question that he was right, yet he would have denied the fact and fought any one else who should have ventured so to address him.The evening was beginning to grow dark as he turned down one of the narrow and lonely rows.Now, it so happened that this was one of the rows through which Ruth Dotropy had to pass on her way home.Ruth was not naturally timid, but when she suddenly beheld a half-drunken man coming towards her, and observed that no one else was near, something like a flutter of anxiety agitated her breast. At the same moment something like a sledge-hammer blow smote the concave side of John Gunter’s bosom.“She’s got more than she needs,” he growled between his teeth, “an’ I’ve got nothin’!”As his conscience had been silenced this was a sufficient argument for John.“I’ll thank you for a shillin’, Miss,” he said, confronting the now frightened girl after a hasty glance round.“Oh! yes, yes—willingly,” gasped poor Ruth, fumbling in her pocket for her purse. The purse, however, chanced to have been left at home. “Oh,howprovoking! I have not my purse with me, but if these few pence will—”“Never mind the pence, Miss,” said Gunter,—accepting the pence; however, as he spoke—“that nice little watch will do jist as well.”He snatched the watch which hung at Ruth’s waist-belt, snapped the slender guard that held it, and made off.When sufficiently out of danger of pursuit, he paused under a lamp to examine his prize. To his intense disgust he found that the little watch, instead of being a gold one, as he had expected, was only a silver one, of comparatively little value.“Well, your first haul in this line ain’t worth much,” he grumbled. “Hows’ever, I’ve got coppers enough for a night’s lodgin’ an’ grub.”Saying which he pocketed the watch, and went on his way.Meanwhile Ruth, having given vent to a sob of relief when the man left her, ran towards home as fast as she could, never pausing till she reached the Miss Seawards’ door, which chanced to be a little nearer than her own. Against this she plunged with wonderful violence for one so gentle and tender, and then hammered it with her knuckles in a way that would have done credit to a lightweight prize-fighter.The door was opened hastily by Liffie Lee, who, being a much lighter weight than her assailant, went down before her rush.“Lawk! Miss Ruth,” she exclaimed, on recovering her feet, “w’at’s a-’appened?”But she asked the question of the empty air, for Ruth was already half sobbing, half laughing on the sofa, with a highly agitated sister on either side trying to calm her.“Oh! what a little donkey I am,” she exclaimed, flinging off her bonnet and attempting to laugh.“Whathashappened?” gasped Jessie.“Dotell us, dear,” cried Kate.“I—I’ve been robbed, by a—dreadful man—so awfully gruff, a sailor I think, and—oh!” Ruth became suddenly much calmer. “It did not occur to me till this moment—it isthewatch—papa’s little silver watch that Captain Bream brought him as a sort of curiosity from abroad long ago. Oh! Iamso sorry! It was such a favourite with dear papa, and he told me to take such care of it when he gave it to me, for there was a romantic little history connected with it.”“What was it, dear?” asked Jessie, glad to find that the sudden diversion of her thoughts to the lost watch had done more to calm Ruth than all their demonstrative comfort.Ruth at once proceeded to relate the story of the watch, but we will not inflict it on the reader, as it has no particular bearing on our tale. It had something to do, however, with detaining Ruth far later than she had intended to remain, so that she jumped up hastily at last, saying she must really go home.“Are you sure the robber was a sailor?” asked Kate; “sailors are such dear nice men that I can hardly believe it.”“I’m almost quite sure,” returned Ruth; “at all events he was dressed like one—and, oh! hewasso gruff!”From this point Ruth diverged into further and more minute details of the robbery, over which the three gloated with a species of fascination which is more frequently associated with ghost stories than true tales. Indeed we may say thatfourgloated over it, for Liffie Lee, unable to restrain her curiosity, put her head in at the door—at first with the more or less honest intention of asking if “hany think was wanted,” and afterwards let her head remain from sheer inability to withdraw it.At one point in the thrilling narrative she became intensely excited, and when Ruth tried in sepulchral tones to imitate John Gunter’s gruff voice, she exclaimed, “Oh! lawks!” in such a gasp that the three ladies leaped up with three shrieks like three conscience-smitten kittens caught in a guilty act! Liffie was rebuked, but from pity, or perhaps sympathy, was allowed to remain to hear the end.When that point was reached, it was found to be so late that the streets were almost deserted, and the particular part in which their lodging stood was dreadfully silent.“How am I ever to get home?” asked Ruth.“It is not more than twenty doors off,” said Kate, “and Liffie will go with you.”“Lawks, ma’am,” said Liffie, “what could the likes o’ me do if we was attacked? An’ then—I should ’ave to returnalone!”“That is true,” said the tender-hearted Jessie; “whatisto be done? Our landlady goes to bed early. It would never do to rouse her—and then, she may perhaps be as great a coward as we are. Oh! if there was only amanin the house. Even a boy would do.”“Ah! I jist think ’e would,” said Liffie. “If little Billy was ’ere, I wouldn’t ax for no man.”“I’ll tell you what,” said Kate with a bright look of decision, “we’ll all go together. Get on your bonnet, Jessie.”There was no resisting Kate when once she had made up her mind. She put on her own bonnet, and her sister quickly returned ready, “with a heart,” as Byron says, “for any fate?”“Now don’t speak, any of you,” whispered Kate. “If we are attacked, let us give a united shriek. That will raise some one to our aid.”“I should think it would, ma’am. It would a’most raise the dead,” said Liffie, who also prepared herself for the ordeal.Dark and deserted streets at late hours, with dangerous characters known to be abroad, have terrors to some small extent, even for the averagely brave; what must they have, then, for those tender ones of the weaker sex whose spirits are gentle, perhaps timid, and whose nerves have been highly strung by much converse on subjects relating to violence?The first shock experienced by our quartette was caused by the door. From some inscrutable impulse Liffie Lee had locked it after Ruth had rushed in.“Open it gently,” whispered Jessie, for the party had now got to the condition of feeling very much as if they were themselves burglars, engaged in some unholy enterprise, and feared to arouse sleepers. But they need not have feared, for their landlady was one of the “seven sleepers” of Yarmouth.Liffie exerted her little strength with caution, but the lock was stiff; it would not move. She screwed up her mouth, and put-to more strength; still it would not move. Screwing up her eyebrows as well as her mouth, she tried again. It would not budge. She even screwed up her nose in a stupendous effort, but all in vain. If there had been no need for caution, the thing would have been easy, but Jessie kept whispering, “Softly, Liffie, softly!” and Ruth echoed “Softly!” At last Liffie screwed herself up entirely, body and soul, in one supreme effort; she agonised with the key. It yielded, and the bolt flew back with a crack like a pistol-shot.“Oh!” burst in four different keys—not door-keys—from the party—under their breath however.“Open,” whispered Jessie.Liffie obeyed, and when the half-opened door revealed intense darkness outside, a feeling of horror caused their very flesh to creep.“How IwishI hadn’t stayed! I’llneverdo it again!” whispered poor Ruth in the tones of a child about to be punished.“What’s that!” exclaimed Jessie, with a start that caused Ruth almost to shriek.“Cats!” said Liffie Lee.“Impossible!” said Kate.But it was not impossible, for there, in a corner not far off, were dimly seen two intensely black objects, with backs and tails arranged on the moorish-arch principle, and a species of low thunder issuing from them, suggestive of dynamite in the stomach.Relieved to find it was nothing worse, the party emerged into the street. The cats were too much enraged and engaged with each other to observe them. They, like the ladies, were evidently cowards, for they continued to threaten without attacking.Liffie was left on guard with strict injunctions to stand inside, hold tight to the door-handle, let in the returning sisters, and then slam the door in the face of all the world beside.A run was now made for the Dotropy residence. We could not call it a rush, for the three ladies were too light and elegant in form to proceed in such a manner. They tripped it—if we may say so—on light fantastic toe, though with something of unseemly haste. Ruth being young and active reached the door first, and, as before, went with a rebounding bang against it. The anxious Mrs Dotropy had been for some time on the watch. She opened the door.“Ruth!”“Mamma!”“Your daughter!” exclaimed the Miss Seawards in needless explanation, as they pushed her in, and then, turning round, fled homeward with so much noise that the attention of a night watchman was naturally attracted. The sisters heard his approaching foot-falls. They put on, in sporting language, a spurt. Just as the door was reached the two cats, becoming suddenly brave, filled the night-air with yells as of infants in agony. An irrepressible shriek burst from the sisters as they tripped over each other into the passage, and the faithful Liffie slammed the door in the face of the discomfited policeman.It was a crucial test of friendship, and the Miss Seawards came to the conclusion that night, before retiring to rest, that nothing on earth would ever induce them to do it again.
The attainment of Felicity is said to be the aim of all mankind. In order to this end, men in all ages have voluntarily submitted themselves to prolonged infelicity. They have toiled in daily pain and sorrow throughout a long life to attain at last, if possible, to the coveted condition. Some have pursued it in eager intensity, dancing and singing as they went. Others have rushed after it in mad determination, cursing and grumbling as they ran. Many have sought it in rapt contemplation of the Sublime and Beautiful. Thousands have grubbed and grovelled for it in the gratification or the drowning of the senses, while not a few have sought and found it in simple, loving submission to their Maker’s will, as made known by Conscience and Revelation.
Of all the varied methods, John Gunter, the fisherman, preferred the grub-and-grovelling method, and the favourite scene of his grovelling was a low grog-shop in one of the lower parts of Yarmouth.
It must be said, at this point, that Gunter was not considered by his mates as a regular out-and-out fisherman. He had never served his apprenticeship, but, being a powerful and sufficiently active seaman, was tolerated among them.
It is said that adversity makes strange bed-fellows. It is not less true that strong drink makes strange companions. Gunter’s shipmates having had more than enough of him on the sea were only too glad to get clear of him when on land. He therefore found himself obliged to look out for new companionships, for it is certain that man yearns after sympathy of some sort, and is not, under ordinary circumstances, content to be alone.
The new friends he sought were not difficult to find. In one of the darkest corners of the public-house referred to he found them—an accidental, group—consisting of an ex-clerk, an ex-parson, and a burglar, not “ex” as yet! They had met for the first time, yet, though widely separated as regards their training in life, they had found the sympathetic level of drink in that dingy corner. Of course, it need hardly be said that the first two had swung far out of their proper orbits before coming into harmonious contact with the last. Of course, also, no one of the three desired that his antecedents should be known. There was not much chance, indeed, that the former occupations of the clerk or the parson would be guessed at, for every scrap of respectability had long ago been washed out of them by drink, and their greasy coats, battered hats, dirty and ragged linen, were, if possible, lower in the scale of disreputability than the rough garments of the burglar.
The subject of their conversation was suitable to all ages and countries, to all kinds and conditions of men, for it was politics! A fine, healthy, flexible subject, so utterly incomprehensible to fuddled brains that it could be distended, contracted, inflated, elongated, and twisted to suit any circumstances or states of mind. And such grand scope too, for difference, or agreement of opinion.
Oh! it was pitiful to see the idiotic expressions of these fallen men as they sat bound together by a mutual thirst which each abhorred, yet loved, and which none could shake off. And there was something outrageously absurd too—yes, it is of no use attempting to shirk the fact—something intolerably funny in some of the gestures and tones with which they discussed the affairs of the nation.
“Hail fellow well met,” was the generous tendency of Gunter’s soul when ashore. Accosting the three in gruff off-hand tones with some such sentiment, he sat down beside them.
“Same to you, pal,” said the burglar, with a sinister glance at the new-comer from under his heavy brows.
“How do? ol’ salt!” exclaimed the clerk, who was by far the most tipsy of the three. “Come ’ere. We’ll make you r’free—umpire—to shettle zish d’shpute. Queshn is, whether it’s the dooty of the poor to help the rish—no, zhat’s not it. W–w’ether it’s dooty of rish to help the poor—what’s it—by sharin’ all they have with ’em or—”
“That’s not the question at all,” cried Gunter, gruffly—“the question is, what’ll you have to drink!”
“Bravo!” exclaimed the parson, “thatisthe question!”
“You’re a trump!” said the burglar.
“Well,” exclaimed the clerk, with a tremendous assumption of winking-dignity, “ishn’t zhat zactly what I was goin’ to shay, if you’d on’y listen. ‘What’ll you ’ave to drink!’ jus’ so. Now, if you want to argue it out properly, you’ll—”
He was checked and almost floored by a tremendous though facetious slap on the back from Gunter, who said that they wouldn’t argue it out; that they would drink it out first and argue it out afterwards.
In pursuance of this plan he called the landlord, and, ordering spirits and water, treated the assembled company all round—including a few bloated and wretched women, some of whom carried children in their arms.
Whatever of the ludicrous might have struck an observer of the scene, while listening to the above conversation, it would have been all put to flight by the sight of these poor women, and perchance by the thought that they had been brought up to that life; had never known better, and would never have a chance of knowing better, unless some exceptional rays of heavenly light should penetrate the dark region in which they lived. Praise be to God! such rays do visit such haunts at times, and brands are often plucked from the fire, but with these we have nothing to do at present. Our object just now is to trace the course of John Gunter.
You may be sure that one who spent his money so freely, and at the same time drank heavily, was not likely to escape the special attention of his new friend, the burglar. That worthy, besides being an expert in the heavier branches of his art, was not unacquainted with its lighter work. He watched the fisherman narrowly, observed in which pocket he kept his money, waited until he was sufficiently drunk for his purpose, and then picked his pockets at an engrossing moment, when the clerk was unfolding a perfect scheme of national reform to the parson, who, with eyes shut, and supposed to be listening intently, was in reality fast asleep.
His object accomplished, the burglar said he would go out, and have a look at the weather, which he did, and having quietly hidden his spoils he returned to report the weather “all right,” and to make quite sure that he had left nothing whatever in any of Gunter’s pockets. Having satisfied himself on this point he was about to retire to take a final look at the weather when Gunter said—“Hold on, mate; ’ave another glass.”
He felt in his pocket for the wherewith to pay for the drink, and missed his money. He was by no means as drunk as he appeared to be, and at once suspected his comrade.
“You’ve stole my blunt!” he shouted, without a moment’s hesitation.
“You’re a liar,” returned the burglar, promptly. Gunter was fierce by nature. He made no rejoinder, but struck a blow at the other which would have felled him had it taken effect. The burglar, however, was a pugilist. He evaded the blow, and returned it with such force that the fisherman staggered, but recovered himself, and grappled with his adversary.
In a moment all was uproar and confusion; benches were upset, spittoons kicked about, and pipes smashed, as the two powerful men swayed about, and tried fiercely to strangle each other. The women rushed screaming from the place; the landlord and his assistants interfered, but it was not until the police were called in that the combatants were separated. Then there occurred a violent scene of explanation, allegation, recrimination, and retort, during which the guardians of the peace attempted to throw oil on the troubled waters, for it is always their aim, we believe, to quiet down drunken uproars when possible rather than to take up the rioters.
As the burglar, with an injured, innocent look, denied the charge made against him, and turned all his pockets inside out in proof of his veracity, Gunter was fain to content himself with the supposition that he had lost his money in some incomprehensible manner.
In a very sulky mood he flung out of the public-house and sauntered away. He knew not where to go, for he had no friends in Yarmouth—at least none who would have welcomed him—and he had not wherewith to pay for a bed, even in the poorest lodging.
As he walked along, conscience began to smite him, but he was in no mood to listen to conscience. He silenced it, and at the same time called himself, with an oath, a big fool. There is no question that he was right, yet he would have denied the fact and fought any one else who should have ventured so to address him.
The evening was beginning to grow dark as he turned down one of the narrow and lonely rows.
Now, it so happened that this was one of the rows through which Ruth Dotropy had to pass on her way home.
Ruth was not naturally timid, but when she suddenly beheld a half-drunken man coming towards her, and observed that no one else was near, something like a flutter of anxiety agitated her breast. At the same moment something like a sledge-hammer blow smote the concave side of John Gunter’s bosom.
“She’s got more than she needs,” he growled between his teeth, “an’ I’ve got nothin’!”
As his conscience had been silenced this was a sufficient argument for John.
“I’ll thank you for a shillin’, Miss,” he said, confronting the now frightened girl after a hasty glance round.
“Oh! yes, yes—willingly,” gasped poor Ruth, fumbling in her pocket for her purse. The purse, however, chanced to have been left at home. “Oh,howprovoking! I have not my purse with me, but if these few pence will—”
“Never mind the pence, Miss,” said Gunter,—accepting the pence; however, as he spoke—“that nice little watch will do jist as well.”
He snatched the watch which hung at Ruth’s waist-belt, snapped the slender guard that held it, and made off.
When sufficiently out of danger of pursuit, he paused under a lamp to examine his prize. To his intense disgust he found that the little watch, instead of being a gold one, as he had expected, was only a silver one, of comparatively little value.
“Well, your first haul in this line ain’t worth much,” he grumbled. “Hows’ever, I’ve got coppers enough for a night’s lodgin’ an’ grub.”
Saying which he pocketed the watch, and went on his way.
Meanwhile Ruth, having given vent to a sob of relief when the man left her, ran towards home as fast as she could, never pausing till she reached the Miss Seawards’ door, which chanced to be a little nearer than her own. Against this she plunged with wonderful violence for one so gentle and tender, and then hammered it with her knuckles in a way that would have done credit to a lightweight prize-fighter.
The door was opened hastily by Liffie Lee, who, being a much lighter weight than her assailant, went down before her rush.
“Lawk! Miss Ruth,” she exclaimed, on recovering her feet, “w’at’s a-’appened?”
But she asked the question of the empty air, for Ruth was already half sobbing, half laughing on the sofa, with a highly agitated sister on either side trying to calm her.
“Oh! what a little donkey I am,” she exclaimed, flinging off her bonnet and attempting to laugh.
“Whathashappened?” gasped Jessie.
“Dotell us, dear,” cried Kate.
“I—I’ve been robbed, by a—dreadful man—so awfully gruff, a sailor I think, and—oh!” Ruth became suddenly much calmer. “It did not occur to me till this moment—it isthewatch—papa’s little silver watch that Captain Bream brought him as a sort of curiosity from abroad long ago. Oh! Iamso sorry! It was such a favourite with dear papa, and he told me to take such care of it when he gave it to me, for there was a romantic little history connected with it.”
“What was it, dear?” asked Jessie, glad to find that the sudden diversion of her thoughts to the lost watch had done more to calm Ruth than all their demonstrative comfort.
Ruth at once proceeded to relate the story of the watch, but we will not inflict it on the reader, as it has no particular bearing on our tale. It had something to do, however, with detaining Ruth far later than she had intended to remain, so that she jumped up hastily at last, saying she must really go home.
“Are you sure the robber was a sailor?” asked Kate; “sailors are such dear nice men that I can hardly believe it.”
“I’m almost quite sure,” returned Ruth; “at all events he was dressed like one—and, oh! hewasso gruff!”
From this point Ruth diverged into further and more minute details of the robbery, over which the three gloated with a species of fascination which is more frequently associated with ghost stories than true tales. Indeed we may say thatfourgloated over it, for Liffie Lee, unable to restrain her curiosity, put her head in at the door—at first with the more or less honest intention of asking if “hany think was wanted,” and afterwards let her head remain from sheer inability to withdraw it.
At one point in the thrilling narrative she became intensely excited, and when Ruth tried in sepulchral tones to imitate John Gunter’s gruff voice, she exclaimed, “Oh! lawks!” in such a gasp that the three ladies leaped up with three shrieks like three conscience-smitten kittens caught in a guilty act! Liffie was rebuked, but from pity, or perhaps sympathy, was allowed to remain to hear the end.
When that point was reached, it was found to be so late that the streets were almost deserted, and the particular part in which their lodging stood was dreadfully silent.
“How am I ever to get home?” asked Ruth.
“It is not more than twenty doors off,” said Kate, “and Liffie will go with you.”
“Lawks, ma’am,” said Liffie, “what could the likes o’ me do if we was attacked? An’ then—I should ’ave to returnalone!”
“That is true,” said the tender-hearted Jessie; “whatisto be done? Our landlady goes to bed early. It would never do to rouse her—and then, she may perhaps be as great a coward as we are. Oh! if there was only amanin the house. Even a boy would do.”
“Ah! I jist think ’e would,” said Liffie. “If little Billy was ’ere, I wouldn’t ax for no man.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Kate with a bright look of decision, “we’ll all go together. Get on your bonnet, Jessie.”
There was no resisting Kate when once she had made up her mind. She put on her own bonnet, and her sister quickly returned ready, “with a heart,” as Byron says, “for any fate?”
“Now don’t speak, any of you,” whispered Kate. “If we are attacked, let us give a united shriek. That will raise some one to our aid.”
“I should think it would, ma’am. It would a’most raise the dead,” said Liffie, who also prepared herself for the ordeal.
Dark and deserted streets at late hours, with dangerous characters known to be abroad, have terrors to some small extent, even for the averagely brave; what must they have, then, for those tender ones of the weaker sex whose spirits are gentle, perhaps timid, and whose nerves have been highly strung by much converse on subjects relating to violence?
The first shock experienced by our quartette was caused by the door. From some inscrutable impulse Liffie Lee had locked it after Ruth had rushed in.
“Open it gently,” whispered Jessie, for the party had now got to the condition of feeling very much as if they were themselves burglars, engaged in some unholy enterprise, and feared to arouse sleepers. But they need not have feared, for their landlady was one of the “seven sleepers” of Yarmouth.
Liffie exerted her little strength with caution, but the lock was stiff; it would not move. She screwed up her mouth, and put-to more strength; still it would not move. Screwing up her eyebrows as well as her mouth, she tried again. It would not budge. She even screwed up her nose in a stupendous effort, but all in vain. If there had been no need for caution, the thing would have been easy, but Jessie kept whispering, “Softly, Liffie, softly!” and Ruth echoed “Softly!” At last Liffie screwed herself up entirely, body and soul, in one supreme effort; she agonised with the key. It yielded, and the bolt flew back with a crack like a pistol-shot.
“Oh!” burst in four different keys—not door-keys—from the party—under their breath however.
“Open,” whispered Jessie.
Liffie obeyed, and when the half-opened door revealed intense darkness outside, a feeling of horror caused their very flesh to creep.
“How IwishI hadn’t stayed! I’llneverdo it again!” whispered poor Ruth in the tones of a child about to be punished.
“What’s that!” exclaimed Jessie, with a start that caused Ruth almost to shriek.
“Cats!” said Liffie Lee.
“Impossible!” said Kate.
But it was not impossible, for there, in a corner not far off, were dimly seen two intensely black objects, with backs and tails arranged on the moorish-arch principle, and a species of low thunder issuing from them, suggestive of dynamite in the stomach.
Relieved to find it was nothing worse, the party emerged into the street. The cats were too much enraged and engaged with each other to observe them. They, like the ladies, were evidently cowards, for they continued to threaten without attacking.
Liffie was left on guard with strict injunctions to stand inside, hold tight to the door-handle, let in the returning sisters, and then slam the door in the face of all the world beside.
A run was now made for the Dotropy residence. We could not call it a rush, for the three ladies were too light and elegant in form to proceed in such a manner. They tripped it—if we may say so—on light fantastic toe, though with something of unseemly haste. Ruth being young and active reached the door first, and, as before, went with a rebounding bang against it. The anxious Mrs Dotropy had been for some time on the watch. She opened the door.
“Ruth!”
“Mamma!”
“Your daughter!” exclaimed the Miss Seawards in needless explanation, as they pushed her in, and then, turning round, fled homeward with so much noise that the attention of a night watchman was naturally attracted. The sisters heard his approaching foot-falls. They put on, in sporting language, a spurt. Just as the door was reached the two cats, becoming suddenly brave, filled the night-air with yells as of infants in agony. An irrepressible shriek burst from the sisters as they tripped over each other into the passage, and the faithful Liffie slammed the door in the face of the discomfited policeman.
It was a crucial test of friendship, and the Miss Seawards came to the conclusion that night, before retiring to rest, that nothing on earth would ever induce them to do it again.
Chapter Twenty One.A Hopeful Club Discovered.When Captain Bream, as before mentioned, was obliged to hurry off to London, and forsake the Miss Seawards, as well as his theological studies, he hastened to that portion of the city where merchants and brokers, and money-lenders, and men of the law do love to congregate.Turning down Cheapside the captain sought for one of the many labyrinths of narrow streets and lanes that blush unseen in that busy part of the Great Hive.“Only a penny, sir,onlya penny.”The speaker was an ill-conditioned man, and the object offered for sale was a climbing monkey of easily deranged mechanism.“Do you suppose,” said the captain, who, being full of anxious thought was for the moment irascible, “do you suppose that I am a baby?”“Oh! dear no, sir. From appearances I should say you’ve bin weaned some little time—only a penny, sir. A nice little gift for the missus, sir, if you ain’t got no child’n.”“Can you direct me,” said the captain with a bland look—for his tempers were short-lived—“to Brockley Court?”“First to the left, sir, second to the right, straight on an’ ask again—only a penny, sir, climbs like all alive, sir.”Dropping a penny into the man’s hand with a hope that it might help the monkeys to climb, Captain Bream turned into the labyrinth, and soon after found himself in a dark little room which was surrounded by piles of japanned tin boxes, and littered with bundles of documents, betokening the daily haunt of a man-of-law.The lawyer himself—a bland man with a rugged head, a Roman nose and a sharp eye—sat on a hard-bottomed chair in front of a square desk. Why should business men, by the way, subject themselves to voluntary martyrdom by using polished seats of hard-wood? Is it with a view to doing penance for the sins of the class to which they belong?“Have you found her, Mr Saker?” asked Captain Bream, eagerly, on entering.“No, not got quite so far as that yet—pray sit down; but we have reason to believe that we have got a clue—a slight one, indeed, but then, the information we have to go upon in our profession is frequently very slight—very slight indeed.”“True, too true,” assented the captain. “I sometimes wonder how, with so little to work on at times, you ever begin to go about an investigation.”The lawyer smiled modestly in acknowledgment of the implied compliment.“We do, indeed, proceed on our investigations occasionally with exceeding little information to go upon, but then, my dear sir, investigation may be said to be a branch of our profession for which we are in a manner specially trained. Let me see, now.”He took up a paper, and, opening it, began to read with a running commentary:—“Fair hair, slightly grey; delicate features, complexion rather pale, brown eyes, gentle manners.”“That’s her—that’s her!” from the captain.“Age apparently a little over thirty. You said, I think, that your sister was—”“Yes, yes,” interrupted the captain in some excitement, “she was considerably younger than me, poor girl!”“Let me, however, caution you, my dear sir, not to be too sanguine,” said the man-of-law, looking over his spectacles at his client; “you have no idea how deceptive descriptions are. People are so prone to receive them according to their desires rather than according to fact.”“Well, but,” returned the captain, with some asperity, “you tell me that this woman has fair hair slightly grey, delicate features, pale complexion, brown eyes, and gentle manners, all of which arefacts!”“True, my dear sir, but they are facts applicable to many women,” replied the solicitor. “Still, I confess I have some hope that we have hit upon the right scent at last. If you could only have given us the name of her husband, our difficulty would have been comparatively slight. I suppose you have no means of hunting that up now. No distant relative or—”“No, none whatever. All my relations are dead. She lived with an old aunt at the time, who died soon after the poor girl’s foolish elopement, leaving no reference to the matter behind her. It is now fifteen years since then. I was away on a long voyage at the time. On my return, the old lady, as I have said, was dead, and her neighbours knew nothing except that my sister was reported to have run away with a seafaring man. Some who had seen him about the place said he seemed to be beneath her in station but none knew his name.”“Is it not strange,” asked the solicitor, “that she has never in all these years made inquiries about you at the mercantile house which employed you?”“Well, not so strange as it would seem, for my sister’s memory for names was a bad one. She used constantly to forget the name of the ship I commanded, and, as far as I can remember, did not trouble herself about the owners. I have no doubt she must have made many efforts to discover me—unless she was ashamed of having made a low match. At all events,” added the captain, with a weary sigh, “I have never ceased to make inquiries about her, although I have not until now made the attempt through a lawyer. But where is this person you have heard of to be found?”“On board of an emigrant ship,” said the solicitor.“Where bound for?” demanded the captain in peat surprise.“For Australia, and she sails the day after to-morrow, I am told.”“Her name!” cried the captain, starting up.“Calm yourself, my dear sir. I have made all needful arrangements for your going off to-morrow. It is too late to-day. Sit down and let me explain; and, above all, bear in mind that this may turn out to be a wrong scent after all. Of course you may surmise that we lawyers obtain our information from many and various sources. The source whence the information concerning your matter has come is peculiar, namely, a lay-missionary who is going to visit the ship to-morrow—having some friends on board. Happening to meet the man the other day, I mentioned your matter to him. He is a very sharp-witted man, and one whose accuracy of observation I should trust implicitly, even if his own interests were involved. Well, he said that on board of the steam-shipTalisman, now lying off Gravesend, he saw that very day a woman among the steerage emigrants who answered to my description exactly, and added that he had heard her spoken of as the wife of a somewhat dissipated man, who had all the appearance of a seafaring person, named Richards. Of course I attach no importance to the name, as you say you never knew it, but his being a sailor-like man, and the fact that he was probably beneath his wife in station, coupled with the correct description of the wife, while it does not justify our being too sanguine, raises our hopes, you see—”“I see, I see—yes. I beg that you will give me the agent’s name and address,” cried the captain, whose hopes, despite the guarded and cautious statements of the solicitor, had been raised to the highest point.“Here is his name, with the part of the river where you are to meet him,” said the calm man of law, handing his client a slip of paper; “but let me, my dear sir, impress on you the advisability of not allowing yourself to become too sanguine. Disappointments are invariably more severe in cases where expectations have been too high; and I fear that you may be already building too trustfully upon the very slender foundation supplied by this information.”Admitting the force of this truism, and putting the slip of paper in his purse, Captain Bream bade his solicitor good-bye, with many protestations of undying gratitude, and left the room with the highest possible hopes of success.
When Captain Bream, as before mentioned, was obliged to hurry off to London, and forsake the Miss Seawards, as well as his theological studies, he hastened to that portion of the city where merchants and brokers, and money-lenders, and men of the law do love to congregate.
Turning down Cheapside the captain sought for one of the many labyrinths of narrow streets and lanes that blush unseen in that busy part of the Great Hive.
“Only a penny, sir,onlya penny.”
The speaker was an ill-conditioned man, and the object offered for sale was a climbing monkey of easily deranged mechanism.
“Do you suppose,” said the captain, who, being full of anxious thought was for the moment irascible, “do you suppose that I am a baby?”
“Oh! dear no, sir. From appearances I should say you’ve bin weaned some little time—only a penny, sir. A nice little gift for the missus, sir, if you ain’t got no child’n.”
“Can you direct me,” said the captain with a bland look—for his tempers were short-lived—“to Brockley Court?”
“First to the left, sir, second to the right, straight on an’ ask again—only a penny, sir, climbs like all alive, sir.”
Dropping a penny into the man’s hand with a hope that it might help the monkeys to climb, Captain Bream turned into the labyrinth, and soon after found himself in a dark little room which was surrounded by piles of japanned tin boxes, and littered with bundles of documents, betokening the daily haunt of a man-of-law.
The lawyer himself—a bland man with a rugged head, a Roman nose and a sharp eye—sat on a hard-bottomed chair in front of a square desk. Why should business men, by the way, subject themselves to voluntary martyrdom by using polished seats of hard-wood? Is it with a view to doing penance for the sins of the class to which they belong?
“Have you found her, Mr Saker?” asked Captain Bream, eagerly, on entering.
“No, not got quite so far as that yet—pray sit down; but we have reason to believe that we have got a clue—a slight one, indeed, but then, the information we have to go upon in our profession is frequently very slight—very slight indeed.”
“True, too true,” assented the captain. “I sometimes wonder how, with so little to work on at times, you ever begin to go about an investigation.”
The lawyer smiled modestly in acknowledgment of the implied compliment.
“We do, indeed, proceed on our investigations occasionally with exceeding little information to go upon, but then, my dear sir, investigation may be said to be a branch of our profession for which we are in a manner specially trained. Let me see, now.”
He took up a paper, and, opening it, began to read with a running commentary:—
“Fair hair, slightly grey; delicate features, complexion rather pale, brown eyes, gentle manners.”
“That’s her—that’s her!” from the captain.
“Age apparently a little over thirty. You said, I think, that your sister was—”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted the captain in some excitement, “she was considerably younger than me, poor girl!”
“Let me, however, caution you, my dear sir, not to be too sanguine,” said the man-of-law, looking over his spectacles at his client; “you have no idea how deceptive descriptions are. People are so prone to receive them according to their desires rather than according to fact.”
“Well, but,” returned the captain, with some asperity, “you tell me that this woman has fair hair slightly grey, delicate features, pale complexion, brown eyes, and gentle manners, all of which arefacts!”
“True, my dear sir, but they are facts applicable to many women,” replied the solicitor. “Still, I confess I have some hope that we have hit upon the right scent at last. If you could only have given us the name of her husband, our difficulty would have been comparatively slight. I suppose you have no means of hunting that up now. No distant relative or—”
“No, none whatever. All my relations are dead. She lived with an old aunt at the time, who died soon after the poor girl’s foolish elopement, leaving no reference to the matter behind her. It is now fifteen years since then. I was away on a long voyage at the time. On my return, the old lady, as I have said, was dead, and her neighbours knew nothing except that my sister was reported to have run away with a seafaring man. Some who had seen him about the place said he seemed to be beneath her in station but none knew his name.”
“Is it not strange,” asked the solicitor, “that she has never in all these years made inquiries about you at the mercantile house which employed you?”
“Well, not so strange as it would seem, for my sister’s memory for names was a bad one. She used constantly to forget the name of the ship I commanded, and, as far as I can remember, did not trouble herself about the owners. I have no doubt she must have made many efforts to discover me—unless she was ashamed of having made a low match. At all events,” added the captain, with a weary sigh, “I have never ceased to make inquiries about her, although I have not until now made the attempt through a lawyer. But where is this person you have heard of to be found?”
“On board of an emigrant ship,” said the solicitor.
“Where bound for?” demanded the captain in peat surprise.
“For Australia, and she sails the day after to-morrow, I am told.”
“Her name!” cried the captain, starting up.
“Calm yourself, my dear sir. I have made all needful arrangements for your going off to-morrow. It is too late to-day. Sit down and let me explain; and, above all, bear in mind that this may turn out to be a wrong scent after all. Of course you may surmise that we lawyers obtain our information from many and various sources. The source whence the information concerning your matter has come is peculiar, namely, a lay-missionary who is going to visit the ship to-morrow—having some friends on board. Happening to meet the man the other day, I mentioned your matter to him. He is a very sharp-witted man, and one whose accuracy of observation I should trust implicitly, even if his own interests were involved. Well, he said that on board of the steam-shipTalisman, now lying off Gravesend, he saw that very day a woman among the steerage emigrants who answered to my description exactly, and added that he had heard her spoken of as the wife of a somewhat dissipated man, who had all the appearance of a seafaring person, named Richards. Of course I attach no importance to the name, as you say you never knew it, but his being a sailor-like man, and the fact that he was probably beneath his wife in station, coupled with the correct description of the wife, while it does not justify our being too sanguine, raises our hopes, you see—”
“I see, I see—yes. I beg that you will give me the agent’s name and address,” cried the captain, whose hopes, despite the guarded and cautious statements of the solicitor, had been raised to the highest point.
“Here is his name, with the part of the river where you are to meet him,” said the calm man of law, handing his client a slip of paper; “but let me, my dear sir, impress on you the advisability of not allowing yourself to become too sanguine. Disappointments are invariably more severe in cases where expectations have been too high; and I fear that you may be already building too trustfully upon the very slender foundation supplied by this information.”
Admitting the force of this truism, and putting the slip of paper in his purse, Captain Bream bade his solicitor good-bye, with many protestations of undying gratitude, and left the room with the highest possible hopes of success.
Chapter Twenty Two.In the Mission Boat on the Thames—The Damping of the Body cannot damp the Ardent Spirit.Next morning Captain Bream accompanied the lay-missionary to Gravesend, where they took a boat and put off to the emigrant ship.Great was the captain’s satisfaction to find that his companion had been a sailor, and could talk to him—in nautical language too—about seafaring matters and distant climes.“It is a good work in which you are engaged,” he said; “are you going to preach to ’em?”“No, only to distribute Testaments, tracts, and good books—though I may preach if I get the chance. My work lies chiefly among emigrants and boat and barge men, but I also do a good deal among regular sailors.”“Ah! That’s the work thatI’mfond of,” said the captain, with enthusiasm. “Of course I don’t mean to say that the soul of a sailor is of more value than that of any other man, but I lean to sailors naturally, havin’ been among ’em the greater part of my life. I’ve done a little myself in the way of preachin’ to ’em.”“Have you?” exclaimed the missionary, with a pleased look.And from this point the two men went off into a confidential and animated talk about their varied experiences on the sea of spiritual work on which they had both been launched, while the boatman—an old and evidently sympathetic man—pulled them to the vessel which lay at some distance from the place of embarkation.While the two friends—for such they had become by that time—were chatting thus with each other, a little accident was in store for Captain Bream, which not only disarranged his plans, but afterwards considerably affected his career.Having reached the age of sixty years, our captain was not quite as active in body as he had once been. He was, however, quite as active in heart and mind, besides having much of the fire of youth still burning in him. Hence he was apt at times to forget his body in the impulsive buoyancy of his spirit. An instance of this forgetfulness occurred that day. The missionary paid a passing visit to a vessel on their way to the emigrant ship. Having run alongside, Captain Bream put his foot on the first step of the ladder, with intent to mount the vessel’s side.“Have a care, sir,” said the old boatman, who was assisting him with some anxiety.It may be that the captain’s too youthful spirit spurned assistance, or that he had miscalculated the powers of his too ancient body, for at the moment his foot slipped while as yet his hold of the man-ropes was not secure, and he fell with a lion-like roar that might have shamed the stoutest king of the African forests.It was not a cry of fear, still less was it a shout for help. It seemed rather like an effervescing roar of indignant surprise.The boatman held up his arms to catch the unfortunate man, but his strength availed nothing against such a weight. He was hurled into the bottom of the boat for his pains, and the captain went into the water feet first as deep as the waist. Here, however, the disaster was checked, for his strong arms caught the boat and held on.The missionary, meanwhile, sprang forward and laid hold of him, while his man rose with wonderful agility and lent his aid.“Heave—ahoy!” cried the missionary, grasping a waist-band.“Yo, heave, ho!” shouted the boatman, seizing a leg. Another moment and the captain was safe in the bottom of the boat, which by that time was floating quietly down the Thames!Great was the regret expressed by the missionary at this unfortunate event, and loud was the laughter with which it was treated by the captain himself, on being re-seated in the stern sheets.“We must go ashore and get a change of dry clothes for you, sir.”“Not a bit of it,” cried the captain. “Row back to the ship; I’ll mount that ladder yet. If I didn’t I’d keep dreaming of my discomfiture for a twelve-month to come.” They ran alongside the vessel a second time, and went up the side in safety.But, arrived on deck, the skipper, who happened to be a hospitable man and friendly to the missionary, insisted on having Captain Bream down into his cabin.“Now you’ll put on a suit of my clothes,” he said, “till your own are dry.”The captain would not hear of it.“Just let me wring my own out,” he said, “and I’ll be all right.”“Have a glass of wine then, or brandy?”“Impossible; thank’ee, I’m an abstainer.”“But you need it to prevent catching cold, you know. Take it as physic.”“Physic!” exclaimed the captain. “I never took physic in my life, and I won’t begin wi’ the nasty stuff now. Thank’ee all the same.”“Some coffee, then? I’ve got it all ready.”“Ay—that’s better—if you’re sure you’ve got it handy.”While the captain and the skipper were discussing the coffee, the wet garments were sent to the galley and partially dried. Meanwhile the missionary made the most of his opportunity among the men. By the time he had finished his visit, the captain’s nether garments were partially dried, so they continued their voyage to the emigrant ship. When they reached her the poor captain’s interest in other people’s affairs had begun to fail, for his anxiety about his long-lost sister increased, as the probability of finding her at last became greater.
Next morning Captain Bream accompanied the lay-missionary to Gravesend, where they took a boat and put off to the emigrant ship.
Great was the captain’s satisfaction to find that his companion had been a sailor, and could talk to him—in nautical language too—about seafaring matters and distant climes.
“It is a good work in which you are engaged,” he said; “are you going to preach to ’em?”
“No, only to distribute Testaments, tracts, and good books—though I may preach if I get the chance. My work lies chiefly among emigrants and boat and barge men, but I also do a good deal among regular sailors.”
“Ah! That’s the work thatI’mfond of,” said the captain, with enthusiasm. “Of course I don’t mean to say that the soul of a sailor is of more value than that of any other man, but I lean to sailors naturally, havin’ been among ’em the greater part of my life. I’ve done a little myself in the way of preachin’ to ’em.”
“Have you?” exclaimed the missionary, with a pleased look.
And from this point the two men went off into a confidential and animated talk about their varied experiences on the sea of spiritual work on which they had both been launched, while the boatman—an old and evidently sympathetic man—pulled them to the vessel which lay at some distance from the place of embarkation.
While the two friends—for such they had become by that time—were chatting thus with each other, a little accident was in store for Captain Bream, which not only disarranged his plans, but afterwards considerably affected his career.
Having reached the age of sixty years, our captain was not quite as active in body as he had once been. He was, however, quite as active in heart and mind, besides having much of the fire of youth still burning in him. Hence he was apt at times to forget his body in the impulsive buoyancy of his spirit. An instance of this forgetfulness occurred that day. The missionary paid a passing visit to a vessel on their way to the emigrant ship. Having run alongside, Captain Bream put his foot on the first step of the ladder, with intent to mount the vessel’s side.
“Have a care, sir,” said the old boatman, who was assisting him with some anxiety.
It may be that the captain’s too youthful spirit spurned assistance, or that he had miscalculated the powers of his too ancient body, for at the moment his foot slipped while as yet his hold of the man-ropes was not secure, and he fell with a lion-like roar that might have shamed the stoutest king of the African forests.
It was not a cry of fear, still less was it a shout for help. It seemed rather like an effervescing roar of indignant surprise.
The boatman held up his arms to catch the unfortunate man, but his strength availed nothing against such a weight. He was hurled into the bottom of the boat for his pains, and the captain went into the water feet first as deep as the waist. Here, however, the disaster was checked, for his strong arms caught the boat and held on.
The missionary, meanwhile, sprang forward and laid hold of him, while his man rose with wonderful agility and lent his aid.
“Heave—ahoy!” cried the missionary, grasping a waist-band.
“Yo, heave, ho!” shouted the boatman, seizing a leg. Another moment and the captain was safe in the bottom of the boat, which by that time was floating quietly down the Thames!
Great was the regret expressed by the missionary at this unfortunate event, and loud was the laughter with which it was treated by the captain himself, on being re-seated in the stern sheets.
“We must go ashore and get a change of dry clothes for you, sir.”
“Not a bit of it,” cried the captain. “Row back to the ship; I’ll mount that ladder yet. If I didn’t I’d keep dreaming of my discomfiture for a twelve-month to come.” They ran alongside the vessel a second time, and went up the side in safety.
But, arrived on deck, the skipper, who happened to be a hospitable man and friendly to the missionary, insisted on having Captain Bream down into his cabin.
“Now you’ll put on a suit of my clothes,” he said, “till your own are dry.”
The captain would not hear of it.
“Just let me wring my own out,” he said, “and I’ll be all right.”
“Have a glass of wine then, or brandy?”
“Impossible; thank’ee, I’m an abstainer.”
“But you need it to prevent catching cold, you know. Take it as physic.”
“Physic!” exclaimed the captain. “I never took physic in my life, and I won’t begin wi’ the nasty stuff now. Thank’ee all the same.”
“Some coffee, then? I’ve got it all ready.”
“Ay—that’s better—if you’re sure you’ve got it handy.”
While the captain and the skipper were discussing the coffee, the wet garments were sent to the galley and partially dried. Meanwhile the missionary made the most of his opportunity among the men. By the time he had finished his visit, the captain’s nether garments were partially dried, so they continued their voyage to the emigrant ship. When they reached her the poor captain’s interest in other people’s affairs had begun to fail, for his anxiety about his long-lost sister increased, as the probability of finding her at last became greater.
Chapter Twenty Three.How Captain Bream fared in his Search, and what came of it.The finding of an individual in a large emigrant ship may not inaptly be compared to the finding of a needle in a haystack. Foreseeing the difficulty, the missionary asked Captain Bream how he proposed to set about it.“You say that you do not know the married name of your sister?” he said, as they drew near to the towering sides of the great vessel.“No; I do not.”“And you have not seen her for many years?”“Not for many years.”“Nevertheless, you are quite sure that you will recognise her when you do see her?”“Ay, as sure as I am that I’d know my own face in a lookin’-glass, for she had points about her that I’m quite sure time could never alter.”“You are involved in a great difficulty, I fear,” continued his friend, “for, in the first place, the time at your disposal is not long; you cannot ask for the number of her berth, not having her name, and there is little probability of your being able to see every individual in a vessel like this while they keep moving about on deck and below.”The captain admitted that the difficulties were great and his countenance grew longer, for, being as we have said a remarkably sympathetic man, the emotions of his heart were quickly telegraphed to his features.“It strikes me,” continued the missionary, in a comforting tone, “that your best chance of success will be to enter my service for the occasion, and go about with me distributing New Testaments and tracts. You will thus, as it were, have a reason for going actively about looking into people’s faces, and even into their berths. Excuse me for asking—what do you think of doing if you find your sister, for the vessel starts in a few hours?”“Oh, I’ll get her—and—and her husband to give up the voyage and return ashore with me. I’m well enough off to make it worth their while.”The missionary did not appear to think the plan very hopeful, but as they ran alongside at the moment them was no time for reply.It was indeed a bewildering scene to which they were introduced on reaching the deck. The confusion of parting friends; of pushing porters with trunks and boxes; perplexed individuals searching for lost luggage; distracted creatures looking for lost relatives; calm yet energetic officers in merchant-service uniform moving about giving directions; active seamen pushing through the crowds in obedience to orders; children of all sizes playing and getting in people’s way; infants of many kinds yelling hideously or uttering squalls of final despair. There was pathos and comicality too, intermingled. Behold, on one side, an urchin sitting astonished—up to his armpits in a bandbox through which he has just crashed—and an irate parent trying to drag him out; while, on your other side, stands a grief-stricken mother trying to say farewell to a son whose hollow cheeks, glittering eyes, and short cough give little hope of a meeting again on this side the grave. Above all the din, as if to render things more maddening, the tug alongside keeps up intermittent shrieks of its steam-whistle, for the first bell has rung to warn those who are not passengers to prepare for quitting the steamer. Soon the second bell rings, and the bustle increases while in the excitement of partings the last farewells culminate.“We don’t need to mind that bell, having our boat alongside,” said the missionary to Captain Bream, as they stood a little to one side silently contemplating the scene. “You see that smart young officer in uniform, close to the cabin skylight?”“Yes.”“That’s the captain.”“Indeed. He seems to me very young to have charge of such a vessel.”“Not so young as he looks,” returned the other. “I shall have to get his permission before attempting anything on board, so we must wait here for a few minutes. You see, he has gone into his cabin with the owners to have a few parting words. While we are standing you’ll have one of the best opportunities of seeing the passengers, for most of them will come on deck to bid relatives and friends farewell, and wave handkerchiefs as the tug steams away, so keep your eyes open. Meanwhile, I will amuse you with a little chit-chat about emigrants. This vessel is one of the largest that runs to Australia.”“Indeed,” responded the captain, with an absent look and tone that would probably have been the same if his friend had said that it ran to the moon. The missionary did not observe that his companion was hopelessly sunk in the sea of abstraction.“Yes,” he continued, “and, do you know, it is absolutely amazing what an amount of emigration goes on from this port continually, now-a-days. You would scarcely believe it unless brought as I am into close contact with it almost daily. Why, there were no fewer than 26,000 emigrants who sailed from the Thames in the course of last year.”“How many hogsheads, did you say?” asked the captain, still deeply sunk in abstraction.A laugh from his friend brought him to the surface, however, in some confusion.“Excuse me,” he said, with a deprecatory look; “the truth is, my mind is apt to wander a bit in such a scene, and my eyes chanced to light at the moment you spoke on that hogshead over there. How many emigrants, did you say?”“No fewer than 26,000,” repeated the missionary good-naturedly, and went on to relate some interesting incidents, but the captain was soon again lost in the contemplation of a poor young girl who had wept to such an extent at parting from a female friend, then in the tug, that her attempts to smile through the weeping had descended from the sublime to the ridiculous. She and her friend continued to wave their kerchiefs and smile and cry at each other notwithstanding, quite regardless of public opinion, until the tug left. Then the poor young thing hid her sodden face in her moist handkerchief and descended with a moan of woe to her berth. Despite the comical element in this incident, a tear was forced out of Captain Bream’s eye, and we rather think that the missionary was similarly affected. But, to say truth, the public at large cared little for such matters. Each was too much taken up with the pressing urgency of his or her own sorrows to give much heed to the woes of strangers.“People in such frames of mind are easily touched by kind words and influences,” said the missionary in a low voice.“True, the ground is well prepared for you,” returned the captain softly, for another group had absorbed his attention.“And I distribute among them Testaments, gospels, and tracts, besides bags filled with books and magazines.”“Was there much powder in ’em?” asked the captain, struggling to the surface at the last word.“I don’t know about that,” replied his friend with a laugh, “but I may venture to say that there was a good deal of fire in some of them.”“Fire!” exclaimed the captain in surprise. Explanation was prevented by the commander of the vessel issuing at that moment from the cabin with the owners. Hearty shakings of hands and wishes for a good voyage followed. The officers stood at the gangway; the last of the weeping laggards was kindly but firmly led away; the tug steamed off, and the emigrant vessel was left to make her final preparations for an immediate start on her long voyage to the antipodes, with none but her own inhabitants on board, save a few who had private means of quitting.“Now is our time,” said the missionary, hastening towards the captain of the vessel.For one moment the latter gave him a stern look, as if he suspected him of being a man forgotten by the tug, but a bland smile of good-will overspread his features when the former explained his wishes.“Certainly, my good sir, go where you like, and do what you please.”Armed with this permission, he and Captain Bream went to work to distribute their gifts.Most of the people received these gladly, some politely, a few with suspicion, as if they feared that payment was expected, and one or two refused them flatly. The distributers, meanwhile, had many an opportunity afforded, when asked questions, of dropping here and there “a word in season.”As this was the first time Captain Bream had ever been asked to act as an amateur distributer of Testaments and tracts, he waited a few minutes, with one of his arms well-filled, to observe how his companion proceeded, and then himself went to work.Of course, during all this time, he had not for an instant forgotten the main object of his journey. On the contrary, much of the absence of mind to which we have referred was caused by the intense manner in which he scanned the innumerable faces that passed to and fro before him. He now went round eagerly distributing his gifts, though not so much impressed with the importance of the work as he would certainly have been had his mind been less pre-occupied. It was observed, however, that the captain offered his parcels and Testaments only to women, a circumstance which caused a wag from Erin to exclaim—“Hallo! old gentleman, don’t ye think the boys has got sowls as well as the faimales?”This was of course taken in good part by the captain, who at once corrected the mistake. But after going twice round the deck, and drawing forth many humorous as well as caustic remarks as to his size and general appearance, he was forced to the conclusion that his sister was not there. The lower regions still remained, however.Descending to these with some hope and a dozen Testaments, he found that the place was so littered with luggage, passengers, and children, that it was extremely difficult to move. To make the confusion worse, nearly the whole space between decks had been fitted up with extra berths—here for the married, there for the unmarried—so that very little room indeed was left for passage, and exceedingly little light entered.But Captain Bream was not affected by such matters. He was accustomed to them, and his eyesight was good. He was bent on one object, which he pursued with quiet, unflagging perseverance—namely, that of gazing earnestly into the face of every woman in the ship.So eager was the poor man about it that he forgot to offer the last armful of Testaments which he had undertaken to distribute, and simply went from berth to berth staring at the females. He would undoubtedly have been considered mad if it had not been that the women were too much taken up with their own affairs to think much about any one with whom they had nothing to do.One distracting, and also disheartening, part of the process was, that, owing to the general activity on board, he came again and again to the same faces in different parts of the vessel, but he so frequently missed seeing others that hope was kept alive by the constant turning up of new faces. Alas! none of them bore any resemblance to that for which he sought so earnestly!At last he returned to the place where his friend was preaching. By that time, however, the crowd was so great that he could not enter. Turning aside, therefore, into an open berth, with a feeling of weariness and depression creeping over his mind and body, he was about to sit down on a box, when a female voice at the other end of the berth demanded to know what he wanted.Hope was a powerful element in Captain Bream’s nature. He rose quickly and stopped to gaze attentively into a female face, but it was so dark where she sat on a low box that he could hardly see her, and took a step forward.“Well, Mr Imprence, I hope as you’ll know me again,” said the woman, whose face was fiery red, and whose nature was furious. “Whatdoyou want here?”The captain sighed profoundly.Thatwas obviously not his sister! Then a confused feeling of incapacity to give a good reason for being there came over him. Suddenly he recollected the Testaments.“Have one?” he said eagerly, as he offered one of the little black books.“Have what?”“A Testament.”“No, I won’t have a Testament, I’m a Catholic,” said the woman as she looked sternly up.Captain Bream was considering how he might best suggest that the Word of God was addressed to all mankind, when a thought seemed to strike the woman.“Are you the cap’n?” she asked.“Yes,” he replied absently, and with some degree of truth.“Then it’s my opinion, cap’n, an’ I tell it you to your face, that you ought to be ashamed of yourself to put honest men an’ wimen in places like this—neither light, nor hair, nor nothink in the way of hornament to—”“Captain Bream! are you there, sir?” cried the voice of his friend the missionary at that moment down the companion-hatch.“Ay, ay, I’m here.”“I’ve found her at last, sir.”The captain incontinently dropped the dozen Testaments into the woman’s lap and went up the companion-ladder like a tree-squirrel.“This way, sir. She’s sittin’ abaft the funnel.”In a few seconds Captain Bream and his companion stood before a pretty-faced, fair-haired woman with soft gentle eyes, which suddenly opened with surprise as the two men hurried forward and came to a halt in front of her. The captain looked anxiously at his friend.“Is this the—” he stopped.“Yes, that’s her,” said the missionary with a nod. The captain turned slowly on his heel, and an irrepressible groan burst from him as he walked away.There was no need for the disappointed missionary to ask if he had been mistaken. One look had sufficed for the captain.Sadly they returned to the shore, and there the missionary, being near his house, invited Captain Bream to go home with him and have a cup of tea.“It will revive you, my dear sir,” he said, as the captain stood in silence at his side with his head bowed down. “The disappointment must indeed be great. Don’t give up hope, however. But your clothes are wet still. No wonder you shiver, having gone about so long in damp garments. Come away.”Captain Bream yielded in silence. He not only went and had a cup of his hospitable friends’s tea, but he afterwards accepted the offer of one of his beds, where he went into a high fever, from which he did not recover for many weary weeks.
The finding of an individual in a large emigrant ship may not inaptly be compared to the finding of a needle in a haystack. Foreseeing the difficulty, the missionary asked Captain Bream how he proposed to set about it.
“You say that you do not know the married name of your sister?” he said, as they drew near to the towering sides of the great vessel.
“No; I do not.”
“And you have not seen her for many years?”
“Not for many years.”
“Nevertheless, you are quite sure that you will recognise her when you do see her?”
“Ay, as sure as I am that I’d know my own face in a lookin’-glass, for she had points about her that I’m quite sure time could never alter.”
“You are involved in a great difficulty, I fear,” continued his friend, “for, in the first place, the time at your disposal is not long; you cannot ask for the number of her berth, not having her name, and there is little probability of your being able to see every individual in a vessel like this while they keep moving about on deck and below.”
The captain admitted that the difficulties were great and his countenance grew longer, for, being as we have said a remarkably sympathetic man, the emotions of his heart were quickly telegraphed to his features.
“It strikes me,” continued the missionary, in a comforting tone, “that your best chance of success will be to enter my service for the occasion, and go about with me distributing New Testaments and tracts. You will thus, as it were, have a reason for going actively about looking into people’s faces, and even into their berths. Excuse me for asking—what do you think of doing if you find your sister, for the vessel starts in a few hours?”
“Oh, I’ll get her—and—and her husband to give up the voyage and return ashore with me. I’m well enough off to make it worth their while.”
The missionary did not appear to think the plan very hopeful, but as they ran alongside at the moment them was no time for reply.
It was indeed a bewildering scene to which they were introduced on reaching the deck. The confusion of parting friends; of pushing porters with trunks and boxes; perplexed individuals searching for lost luggage; distracted creatures looking for lost relatives; calm yet energetic officers in merchant-service uniform moving about giving directions; active seamen pushing through the crowds in obedience to orders; children of all sizes playing and getting in people’s way; infants of many kinds yelling hideously or uttering squalls of final despair. There was pathos and comicality too, intermingled. Behold, on one side, an urchin sitting astonished—up to his armpits in a bandbox through which he has just crashed—and an irate parent trying to drag him out; while, on your other side, stands a grief-stricken mother trying to say farewell to a son whose hollow cheeks, glittering eyes, and short cough give little hope of a meeting again on this side the grave. Above all the din, as if to render things more maddening, the tug alongside keeps up intermittent shrieks of its steam-whistle, for the first bell has rung to warn those who are not passengers to prepare for quitting the steamer. Soon the second bell rings, and the bustle increases while in the excitement of partings the last farewells culminate.
“We don’t need to mind that bell, having our boat alongside,” said the missionary to Captain Bream, as they stood a little to one side silently contemplating the scene. “You see that smart young officer in uniform, close to the cabin skylight?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the captain.”
“Indeed. He seems to me very young to have charge of such a vessel.”
“Not so young as he looks,” returned the other. “I shall have to get his permission before attempting anything on board, so we must wait here for a few minutes. You see, he has gone into his cabin with the owners to have a few parting words. While we are standing you’ll have one of the best opportunities of seeing the passengers, for most of them will come on deck to bid relatives and friends farewell, and wave handkerchiefs as the tug steams away, so keep your eyes open. Meanwhile, I will amuse you with a little chit-chat about emigrants. This vessel is one of the largest that runs to Australia.”
“Indeed,” responded the captain, with an absent look and tone that would probably have been the same if his friend had said that it ran to the moon. The missionary did not observe that his companion was hopelessly sunk in the sea of abstraction.
“Yes,” he continued, “and, do you know, it is absolutely amazing what an amount of emigration goes on from this port continually, now-a-days. You would scarcely believe it unless brought as I am into close contact with it almost daily. Why, there were no fewer than 26,000 emigrants who sailed from the Thames in the course of last year.”
“How many hogsheads, did you say?” asked the captain, still deeply sunk in abstraction.
A laugh from his friend brought him to the surface, however, in some confusion.
“Excuse me,” he said, with a deprecatory look; “the truth is, my mind is apt to wander a bit in such a scene, and my eyes chanced to light at the moment you spoke on that hogshead over there. How many emigrants, did you say?”
“No fewer than 26,000,” repeated the missionary good-naturedly, and went on to relate some interesting incidents, but the captain was soon again lost in the contemplation of a poor young girl who had wept to such an extent at parting from a female friend, then in the tug, that her attempts to smile through the weeping had descended from the sublime to the ridiculous. She and her friend continued to wave their kerchiefs and smile and cry at each other notwithstanding, quite regardless of public opinion, until the tug left. Then the poor young thing hid her sodden face in her moist handkerchief and descended with a moan of woe to her berth. Despite the comical element in this incident, a tear was forced out of Captain Bream’s eye, and we rather think that the missionary was similarly affected. But, to say truth, the public at large cared little for such matters. Each was too much taken up with the pressing urgency of his or her own sorrows to give much heed to the woes of strangers.
“People in such frames of mind are easily touched by kind words and influences,” said the missionary in a low voice.
“True, the ground is well prepared for you,” returned the captain softly, for another group had absorbed his attention.
“And I distribute among them Testaments, gospels, and tracts, besides bags filled with books and magazines.”
“Was there much powder in ’em?” asked the captain, struggling to the surface at the last word.
“I don’t know about that,” replied his friend with a laugh, “but I may venture to say that there was a good deal of fire in some of them.”
“Fire!” exclaimed the captain in surprise. Explanation was prevented by the commander of the vessel issuing at that moment from the cabin with the owners. Hearty shakings of hands and wishes for a good voyage followed. The officers stood at the gangway; the last of the weeping laggards was kindly but firmly led away; the tug steamed off, and the emigrant vessel was left to make her final preparations for an immediate start on her long voyage to the antipodes, with none but her own inhabitants on board, save a few who had private means of quitting.
“Now is our time,” said the missionary, hastening towards the captain of the vessel.
For one moment the latter gave him a stern look, as if he suspected him of being a man forgotten by the tug, but a bland smile of good-will overspread his features when the former explained his wishes.
“Certainly, my good sir, go where you like, and do what you please.”
Armed with this permission, he and Captain Bream went to work to distribute their gifts.
Most of the people received these gladly, some politely, a few with suspicion, as if they feared that payment was expected, and one or two refused them flatly. The distributers, meanwhile, had many an opportunity afforded, when asked questions, of dropping here and there “a word in season.”
As this was the first time Captain Bream had ever been asked to act as an amateur distributer of Testaments and tracts, he waited a few minutes, with one of his arms well-filled, to observe how his companion proceeded, and then himself went to work.
Of course, during all this time, he had not for an instant forgotten the main object of his journey. On the contrary, much of the absence of mind to which we have referred was caused by the intense manner in which he scanned the innumerable faces that passed to and fro before him. He now went round eagerly distributing his gifts, though not so much impressed with the importance of the work as he would certainly have been had his mind been less pre-occupied. It was observed, however, that the captain offered his parcels and Testaments only to women, a circumstance which caused a wag from Erin to exclaim—
“Hallo! old gentleman, don’t ye think the boys has got sowls as well as the faimales?”
This was of course taken in good part by the captain, who at once corrected the mistake. But after going twice round the deck, and drawing forth many humorous as well as caustic remarks as to his size and general appearance, he was forced to the conclusion that his sister was not there. The lower regions still remained, however.
Descending to these with some hope and a dozen Testaments, he found that the place was so littered with luggage, passengers, and children, that it was extremely difficult to move. To make the confusion worse, nearly the whole space between decks had been fitted up with extra berths—here for the married, there for the unmarried—so that very little room indeed was left for passage, and exceedingly little light entered.
But Captain Bream was not affected by such matters. He was accustomed to them, and his eyesight was good. He was bent on one object, which he pursued with quiet, unflagging perseverance—namely, that of gazing earnestly into the face of every woman in the ship.
So eager was the poor man about it that he forgot to offer the last armful of Testaments which he had undertaken to distribute, and simply went from berth to berth staring at the females. He would undoubtedly have been considered mad if it had not been that the women were too much taken up with their own affairs to think much about any one with whom they had nothing to do.
One distracting, and also disheartening, part of the process was, that, owing to the general activity on board, he came again and again to the same faces in different parts of the vessel, but he so frequently missed seeing others that hope was kept alive by the constant turning up of new faces. Alas! none of them bore any resemblance to that for which he sought so earnestly!
At last he returned to the place where his friend was preaching. By that time, however, the crowd was so great that he could not enter. Turning aside, therefore, into an open berth, with a feeling of weariness and depression creeping over his mind and body, he was about to sit down on a box, when a female voice at the other end of the berth demanded to know what he wanted.
Hope was a powerful element in Captain Bream’s nature. He rose quickly and stopped to gaze attentively into a female face, but it was so dark where she sat on a low box that he could hardly see her, and took a step forward.
“Well, Mr Imprence, I hope as you’ll know me again,” said the woman, whose face was fiery red, and whose nature was furious. “Whatdoyou want here?”
The captain sighed profoundly.Thatwas obviously not his sister! Then a confused feeling of incapacity to give a good reason for being there came over him. Suddenly he recollected the Testaments.
“Have one?” he said eagerly, as he offered one of the little black books.
“Have what?”
“A Testament.”
“No, I won’t have a Testament, I’m a Catholic,” said the woman as she looked sternly up.
Captain Bream was considering how he might best suggest that the Word of God was addressed to all mankind, when a thought seemed to strike the woman.
“Are you the cap’n?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied absently, and with some degree of truth.
“Then it’s my opinion, cap’n, an’ I tell it you to your face, that you ought to be ashamed of yourself to put honest men an’ wimen in places like this—neither light, nor hair, nor nothink in the way of hornament to—”
“Captain Bream! are you there, sir?” cried the voice of his friend the missionary at that moment down the companion-hatch.
“Ay, ay, I’m here.”
“I’ve found her at last, sir.”
The captain incontinently dropped the dozen Testaments into the woman’s lap and went up the companion-ladder like a tree-squirrel.
“This way, sir. She’s sittin’ abaft the funnel.”
In a few seconds Captain Bream and his companion stood before a pretty-faced, fair-haired woman with soft gentle eyes, which suddenly opened with surprise as the two men hurried forward and came to a halt in front of her. The captain looked anxiously at his friend.
“Is this the—” he stopped.
“Yes, that’s her,” said the missionary with a nod. The captain turned slowly on his heel, and an irrepressible groan burst from him as he walked away.
There was no need for the disappointed missionary to ask if he had been mistaken. One look had sufficed for the captain.
Sadly they returned to the shore, and there the missionary, being near his house, invited Captain Bream to go home with him and have a cup of tea.
“It will revive you, my dear sir,” he said, as the captain stood in silence at his side with his head bowed down. “The disappointment must indeed be great. Don’t give up hope, however. But your clothes are wet still. No wonder you shiver, having gone about so long in damp garments. Come away.”
Captain Bream yielded in silence. He not only went and had a cup of his hospitable friends’s tea, but he afterwards accepted the offer of one of his beds, where he went into a high fever, from which he did not recover for many weary weeks.