Captain Frederick Marryat (continued 4)

I read it: “There is more joy over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine that need no repentance.”

“Be careful, therefore, my dear boy, let this be a warning to you; think well of it, for you have escaped a great danger: the money shall be returned. Go now, my child, to your employment; and if you do receive only halfpence, you will have the satisfaction of feeling that they are honestly obtained.”

I can assure the reader that this was a lesson which I never forgot; it was, however, succeeded by another variety of temptation, which might have proved more dangerous to a young and ardent spirit, had it not ended as it did, in changing the course of my destiny and throwing me into a new path of action: to this I shall now refer.

Hardly a month passed but we received additional pensioners into the hospital. Among others, a man was sent to the hospital who went by the name of Sam Spicer. I say went by the name, as it was not the custom for the seamen to give their real names when they were entered or pressed into the service, and of course they were discharged into the hospital by the same name which they bore on the ship’s books. Spicer was upwards of six feet in height, very large boned, and must, when he was in his prime, have been a man of prodigious strength. When he was admitted to the hospital he was nearly sixty years of age; his hair was black and grey mixed, his complexion very dark, and his countenance fierce and unprepossessing. He went by the name of Black Sam, on account of his appearance. He had lost his right hand in a frigate action, and to the stump he had fixed a sort of socket, into which he screwed his knife and the various articles which he wished to make use of—sometimes a file, sometimes a saw—having had every article made to fit into the socket, for he had been an armourer on board ship, and was very handy at such work. He was, generally speaking, very morose and savage to everybody, seldom entered into conversation, but sat apart, as if thinking, with a frown upon his countenance, and his eyes surmounted with bushy eyebrows, fixed upon the ground. The pensioners who belonged to the same ward said that he talked in his sleep, and from what they could collect at those times he must have been a pirate; but no one dared to speak to him on the subject, for more than once he had been punished for striking those who had offended him; indeed, he nearly killed one old man who was jesting with him when he was at work, having made a stab at him with his knife screwed in his socket, but his foot slipped, and the blow missed. Spicer was brought up before the council for this offence, and would have been discharged had he not declared that he had done it only by way of a joke to frighten the man; and, as no one else was present, it could not be proved to the contrary. For some reason or another, which I could not comprehend, Spicer appeared to have taken a liking to me; he would call me to him, and tell me stories about the West Indies and the Spanish Main, which I listened to very eagerly, for they were to me very interesting. But he seldom, if ever, spoke to me inside of the hospital; it was always when I was at the steps minding my vocation, where he would come down and lean over the rail at the top of the wharf. He made and gave me a boat-hook, which I found very convenient. He had a great deal of information, and as the ships came up the river he would point out the flags of the different nations, tell me where they traded from, and what their cargoes probably consisted of. If they had no ensign he would tell by their build and the cut of their sails what nation they belonged to, pointing out to me the differences, which I soon began to perceive. He had been in every part of the world, and scarcely a day passed in which I did not gain from him some amusing or useful information. Indeed, I became so fond of his company, that Peter Anderson spoke to me on the subject, and asked me what Spicer talked about. I told him, and he replied:—

“Well, Jack, I daresay that he is a very pleasant companion to one who, like you, is so anxious for information, and I have nothing to say against him, for we have no right to listen to foolish reports which may probably have been raised from his savage appearance. Still, I confess I do not like the man, as he is decidedly of a violent temper. As long as he talks to you about what you say he does, there is no harm done; but when once he says anything which you think is wrong, promise me to let me know: and even now, if you will take my advice, you will not be so intimate with him.”

A little while afterwards my father and Ben the Whaler both spoke to me on the same subject, but with much less reservation.

My father said, “Jack, I don’t like to see you always in company with that old pirate, no good can come of it; so haul off a little farther for the future.”

And Ben told me, “That a man who couldn’t sleep o’ nights without talking of killing people must have a bad conscience, and something lying heavy on his soul. There’s an old saying, Jack, ‘Tell me whose company you keeps, and I’ll tell you what sort of a chap you be.’ You’ve the character of a good honest boy; steer clear of Sam Spicer, or you’ll lose it.”

Admonitions from all those whom I loved were not without their effect, and I made a resolution to be less intimate with Spicer. But it was difficult to do so, as I was obliged to be at the landing-steps, and could not prevent his coming there.

I acknowledge that it was a severe privation to me to follow the injunctions given to me, for I would listen for hours to the thrilling narratives, the strange and almost incredible accounts of battles, incidents, and wild adventures, which this man Spicer would relate to me; and when I thought over them I felt that the desire to rove was becoming more strong within me every day. One morning I said to him that “I had a great mind to go on board of a man-of-war.”

“On board of a man-of-war?” replied Spicer; “you’d soon be sick enough of that. Why, who would be at the beck and nod of others, ordered here, called there, by boy midshipmen; bullied by lieutenants, flogged by captains; have all the work and little of the pay, all the fighting and less of the prize money; and, after having worn out your life in hard service, be sent here as a great favour, to wear a cocked hat and get a shilling a week for your ’baccy? Pshaw, boy! that’s not life.”

“Then, what is life?” inquired I.

“What is life? Why, to sail in a clipper with a jolly crew and a roving commission; take your prizes, share and share alike, of gold-dust and doubloons.”

“But what sort of vessel must that be, Spicer?”

“What sort? why—a letter of marque—a privateer—a cruise on the Spanish Main—that’s life. Many’s the jolly day I’ve seen in those latitudes, where men-of-war do not bring vessels to and press the best men out of them. There the sun’s warm, and the sky and the sea are deep blue, and the corals grow like forests underneath, and there are sandy coves and cool caves for retreat—and where you may hide your gold till you want it—ay, and your sweethearts too, if you have any.”

“I thought privateers always sent their prizes into port, to be condemned?”

“Yes, in the Channel and these seas they do, but not down there—it’s too far off. We condemn the vessels ourselves, and share the money on the capstan-head.”

“But is that lawful?”

“Lawful! to be sure it is. Could we spare men to send prizes home to England, and put them into the hands of a rascally agent, who would rob us of three-fourths at least? No, no; that would never do. If I could have escaped from the man-of-war which picked up me and four others who were adrift in an open boat, I would now have been on the Coast. But when I lost my fin, I knew that all was over with me, so I came to the hospital; but I often think of old times, and the life of a rover. Now, if you have any thoughts of going to sea, look out for some vessel bound to the Gold Coast, and then you’ll soon get in the right way.”

“The Gold Coast! Is not that to where the slavers go?”

“Yes, slavers and other vessels besides. Some traffic for ivory and gold-dust; however, that’s as may happen. You’d soon find yourself in good company, and wouldn’t that be better than begging here for halfpence? I would be above that, at all events.”

This remark, the first of the kind ever made to me, stung me to the quick. Strange, I had never before considered myself in the light of a beggar; and yet, was I not so, just as much as a sweeper of a crossing?

“A beggar!” replied I.

“Yes, a beggar. Don’t you beg for halfpence, and say, ‘Thank your honour; a copper for poor Jack, your honour?’” rejoined Spicer, mimicking me. “When I see that pretty sister of yours, that looks so like a real lady, I often thinks to myself, ‘Fine and smart as you are, miss, your brother’s only a beggar.’ Now, would you not like to return from a cruise with a bag of doubloons to throw into her lap, proving that you were a gentleman, and above coppers thrown to you out of charity? Well, old as I am, and maimed, I’d sooner starve where I now stand.—But I must be off, so good bye, Jack; look sharp after the halfpence.”

As Spicer walked away my young blood boiled. A beggar! It was but too true; and yet I had never thought it a disgrace before. I sat down on the steps, and was soon in deep thought. Boat after boat came to the stairs, and yet I stirred not. Not one halfpenny did I take during the remainder of that day, for I could not, would not, ask for one. My pride, hitherto latent, was roused, and before I rose from where I had been seated I made a resolution that I would earn my livelihood in some other way. What hurt me most was his observations about Virginia and her beggar brother. I was so proud of Virginia, I felt that her brother ought not to be a beggar. Such was the effect produced in so short a time by the insidious discourse of this man. Had he still remained at the steps, I do believe that I should have asked, probably have followed, his advice. Fortunately he had left, and, after a little reflection, I had the wisdom to go and seek Peter Anderson, and consult him as to what I could do, for to change my mode of obtaining my livelihood I was determined upon.

I found Anderson, as usual, seated under the colonnade, reading, and I went up to him.

“Well, Jack, my boy, you are home early,” said he.

“Yes,” replied I gravely, and then I was silent.

After a pause of about a minute, Peter Anderson said, “Jack, I see there’s something the matter. Now, tell me what it is. Can I help you?”

“I did wish to speak to you,” replied I. “I’ve been thinking—about going to sea.”

“And how long have you thought of that, Jack?”

“I’ve thought more of it lately,” replied I.

“Yes, since Spicer has been talking to you. Now, is that not the case?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I knew that, Jack. I’m at your service for as long as you please; now sit down and tell me all he has said to you that you can remember. I sha’n’t interrupt you.”

I did so; and before I had half finished, Anderson replied, “That is quite enough, Jack. One thing is evident to me—that Spicer has led a bad and lawless life, and would even now continue it, old as he is, only that he is prevented by being crippled. Jack, he has talked to you about privateers! God forgive me if I wrong him; but I think, had he said pirates, he would have told the truth. But say nothing about that observation of mine; I wish from my heart that you had never known him. But here comes your father. He has a right to know what we are talking about, for you owe duty to him as his son, and nothing can be done without his permission.”

When my father came up to us, Anderson begged him to sit down, and he told him what we had been discoursing about. I had already stated my objections to enter on board of a man-of-war.

“Well,” said my father, “I may come athwart hawse of that old piccaroon yet, if he don’t look out. Not that I mind your going to sea, Jack, as your father did before you; but what he says about the sarvice is a confounded lie. Let a man do his duty, and the sarvice is a good one; and a man who is provided for as he is, ought to be ashamed of himself to speak as he has done, the old rascal. Still, I do not care for your entering the sarvice so young. It would be better that you were first apprentice and larnt your duty; and as soon as your time is out, you will be pressed, of course, and then you would sarve the King. I see no objection to all that.”

“But why do you want so particularly to go to sea, Jack?” observed Anderson.

“I don’t like being a beggar—begging for halfpence!” replied I, “And Spicer told you that you were a beggar?” said Peter.

“He did.”

“Jack, if that is the case, we are all beggars; for we all work, and receive what money we can get for our work. There is no shame in that.”

“I can’t bear to think of it,” replied I, as the tears came into my eyes.

“Well, well! I see how it is,” replied Anderson; “it’s a pity you ever fell in with that man.”

“That’s true as gospel,” observed my father; “but still, if he had said nothing worse than that, I should not have minded. I do think that Jack is now old enough to do something better; and I must say, I do not dislike his wishing so to do—for it is begging for halfpence, arter all.”

“Well, boy,” said Peter Anderson, “suppose you leave your father and me to talk over the matter; and to-morrow, by this time, we will tell you what we think will be best.”

“Anything—anything,” replied I, “but being a beggar.”

“Go along, you are a foolish boy,” said Anderson.

“I like his spirit, though,” said my father, as I walked away.

On the next day the important question was to be decided. I did not go to the stairs to follow up my vocation. I had talked the matter over with Virginia, who, although she did not like that I should go away, had agreed with me that she objected to my begging for money. I waited very impatiently for the time that Anderson had appointed, and, at last, he and my father came together, when the former said:—

“Well, Jack, it appears that you do not like to be a waterman, and that you have no great fancy for a man-of-war, although you have a hankering for the sea. Now, as you cannot cruise with your friend Spicer on the Spanish Main, nor yet be safe from impressment in a privateer or merchantman, we have been thinking that, perhaps, you would have no objection to be a channel and river pilot; and if so, I have an old friend in that service, who, I think, may help you. What do you say?”

“I should like it very much.”

“Yes, it is a good service, and a man is usefully employed. You may be the means, as soon as you are out of your time, and have passed your examination, of saving many a vessel and more lives. You have had a pretty fair education, indeed quite sufficient; and, as you will often be coming up the river, you will have opportunities of seeing your father and your friends. If you decide, I will write at once.”

“It is the very thing that I should like,” replied I; “and many thanks to you, Anderson.”

“And it’s exactly what I should wish also,” replied my father. “So that job’s jobbed, as the saying is.”

After this arrangement, I walked away as proud as if I had been an emancipated slave: that very evening I announced my intention of resigning my office of “Poor Jack,” and named as my successor the boy with whom I had fought so desperately to obtain it, when the prospect was held out to me, by old Ben, of my becoming Poor Jack—for ever.

Chapter Twenty.

Much ado about nothing; or, a specimen of modern patronage.

I communicated to my mother and Virginia my father’s intentions relative to my future employ, and was not surprised to find my mother very much pleased with the intelligence, for she had always considered my situation of “Poor Jack” as disgracing her family—declaring it the “most ungenteelest” of all occupations. Perhaps she was not only glad of my giving up the situation, but also of my quitting her house. My father desired me to wear my Sunday clothes during the week, and ordered me a new suit for my best, which he paid for out of the money which he had placed in the hands of the Lieutenant of the Hospital; and I was very much surprised to perceive my mother cutting out half a dozen new shirts for me, which she and Virginia were employed making up during the evenings. Not that my mother told me who the shirts were for—she said nothing; but Virginia whispered it to me; my mother could not be even gracious to me: nevertheless, the shirts and several other necessaries, such as stockings and pocket-handkerchiefs, were placed for my use on my father’s sea-chest, in my room, without any comment on her part, although she had paid for them out of her own purse. During the time that elapsed from my giving up the situation of “Poor Jack,” to my quitting Greenwich, I remained very quietly in my mother’s house, doing everything that I could for her, and employing myself chiefly in reading books, which I borrowed anywhere that I could. I was very anxious to get rid of my sobriquet of “Poor Jack,” and when so called would tell everybody that my name was now “Thomas Saunders.”

One Sunday, about three weeks after I had given up my berth, I was walking with my father and Virginia on the terrace of the hospital, when we perceived a large party of ladies and gentlemen coming towards us. My father was very proud of us: I had this very day put on the new suit of clothes which he had ordered for me, and which had been cut out in the true man-of-war fashion; and Virginia was, as usual, very nicely dressed. We were walking towards the party who were advancing, when all of a sudden my father started, and exclaimed:—

“Well, shiver my timbers! if it ain’t she—and he—by all that’s blue!”

Who she or he might be, neither Virginia nor I could imagine; but I looked at the party, who were now close to us, and perceived, in advance of the rest, an enormous lady, dressed in a puce-coloured pelisse and a white satin bonnet. Her features were good, and, had they been on a smaller scale, would have been considered handsome. She towered above the rest of the company, and there was but one man who could at all compete with her in height and size, and he was by her side.

My father stopped, took off his cocked hat, and scraped the gravel with his timber toe, as he bowed a little forward.

“Sarvant, your honour’s ladyship. Sarvant, your honour Sir Hercules.”

“Ah! who have we here?” replied Sir Hercules, putting his hand up as a screen above his eyes. “Who are you, my man?” continued he.

“Tom Saunders, your honour’s coxswain, as was in the Druid,” replied my father, with another scrape at the gravel, “taken in moorings at last, your honour. Hope to see your honour and your honourable ladyship quite well.”

“I recollect you now, my man,” replied Sir Hercules, very stiffly. “And where did you lose your leg?”

“Battle o’ the Nile, your honour; Majesty’s ship Oudacious.”

“How interesting!” observed one of the ladies; “one of Sir Hercules’ old men.”

“Yes, madam, and one of my best men. Lady Hercules, you must recollect him,” said Sir Hercules.

“I should think so, Sir Hercules,” replied the lady; “did I not give him my own lady’s maid in marriage?”

“Dear me, how excessively interesting!” said another of the party.

Now, this was a little event in which Sir Hercules and Lady Hercules stood prominent; it added to their importance for the moment, and therefore they were both pleased. Lady Hercules then said, “And pray, my good man, how is your wife?”

“Quite well and hearty, at your ladyship’s sarvice,” replied my father; “and, please your ladyship, these two be our children.”

“Bless me, how interesting!” exclaimed another lady.

“And remarkably well bred ’uns,” remarked a short gentleman in a fox-hunting coat, examining Virginia through his eye-glass; “coxswain, filly—dam, lady’s maid.”

“What is your name, child?” said Lady Hercules to Virginia.

“Virginia, ma’am,” replied my sister, with a courtesy.

“You must say ‘Lady Hercules,’ my dear,” said my father, stooping down.

“My name is Virginia, Lady Hercules,” replied my sister, courtesying again.

“Indeed; then I suppose you are named after me?”

“Yes, your ladyship; hope no offence—but we did take the liberty,” replied my father.

“And what is yours, boy?”

“Thomas, Lady Hercules,” replied I, with a bow and scrape, after my father’s receipt for politeness.

“And where is your mother?” said Sir Hercules.

“Mother’s at home, Lady Hercules,” replied I, with another scrape.

“How very interesting!” exclaimed one of the party. “Quite an event!” said another. “A delightful rencontre!” cried a third. “How kind of you, Lady Hercules, to give up your own maid! and such handsome children,” etcetera, etcetera. “It’s really quite charming.”

Lady Hercules was evidently much pleased, and she assumed the patroness.

“Well, little girl, since you have been named after me, out of gratitude I must see what can be done for you. Tell your mother to come up to me to-morrow at three o’clock, and bring you with her.”

“Yes, Lady Hercules,” replied Virginia, with a courtesy.

“And Saunders, you may as well come up at the same time, and bring your lad with you,” added Sir Hercules.

“Yes, your honour,” replied my father, both he and I simultaneously scraping the gravel.

“Wish your honour Sir Hercules, and your honourable lady, and all the honourable company, a very good morning,” continued my father, taking Virginia and me by the hand to lead us away.

Sir Hercules touched his hat in return, and walked away as stiff as usual; the pensioners who had witnessed the interview between him and my father, concluding that Sir Hercules was a naval officer, now rose and touched their hats to him as he walked with her ladyship in advance of the party. We joined Anderson, who was sitting down at the other end of the walk, when my father communicated to him what had passed.

As my father conducted Virginia home, she said to him, “Why do you call him sir, and her lady?”

“Because they are quality people, child. He is a barrownight, and she is Lady Hercules.”

“Are all barrownights and ladies so much bigger than other people are in general?”

“No, child, they don’t go by size. I’ve seen many a lord who was a very little man.”

My mother was very much pleased when we narrated what had happened, as she considered that Lady Hercules might prove a valuable patron to Virginia, whom she did not fail to have ready at the time appointed; and, dressed in our very best, we all walked together to the Sun, at which Sir Hercules and his lady had taken up their quarters. Let it not be supposed that my mother had forgotten the unceremonious manner in which she had been dismissed from the service of Lady Hercules,—it was still fresh in the memory of a person so revengeful in her disposition; but she considered that as Lady Hercules had forgotten it, it was her interest to do the same; so, when we were ushered into the room where sat Sir Hercules and her ladyship, my mother was all smiles and courtesies, and gratitude for past favours.

There was an old gentleman, with a bald powdered head, dressed in black, standing with his back to the fire when we entered; he was the only other person in the room beside Sir Hercules and his lady. Lady Hercules first obtained from my mother a short history of what had happened since they had parted; and really, to hear my mother’s explanation, it would have been supposed that she and my father had always been the most loving couple in the world.

“Well,” said Sir Hercules, “and what do you intend to do with your boy, Saunders?”

“May it please your honour, I’ve been thinking of bringing him up as a channel pilot,” replied my father.

“Very good,” replied Sir Hercules; “I can see to that; and with my interest at the Trinity Board, the thing is done, sir;” and Sir Hercules walked pompously about the room. “Saunders,” said Sir Hercules, stopping, after he had taken three or four turns up and down, and joining his fingers behind his back, “I thought I perceived some difference in you when you first addressed me. What has become of your tail, sir?”

“My tail, your honour?” replied my father, looking as much a delinquent as if he was still on board a man-of-war, and had been guilty of some misdemeanour, “why, please your honour Sir Hercules—”

“I cut it off for him with my scissors,” interrupted my mother, with a courtesy. “Saunders was very savage when he came for to know it; but he had a stupefaction of the brain, and was quite insensible at the time; and so, Sir Hercules and my lady” (here a courtesy), “I thought it was better—”

“Ah! I see,—a brain fever,” observed Sir Hercules. “Well, under these circumstances you may have saved his life; but ’twas a pity, was it not, my lady?—quite altered the man. You recollect his tail, my lady?”

“What a question, Sir Hercules!” replied her ladyship with great dignity, turning round towards my mother.

My father appeared to be quite relieved from his dilemma by his wife’s presence of mind, and really thankful to her for coming to his assistance; she had saved him from the mortification of telling the truth. How true it is that married people, however much they may quarrel, like to conceal their squabbles from the world!

“And what are you thinking of doing with your little girl?” said Lady Hercules—“bringing her up to service, I presume. Leave that to me: as soon as she is old enough, the thing is done, you need say no more about it.” Here her ladyship fell back in the large easy chair on which she was seated, with a self-satisfied air of patronage, and looking even more dignified than her husband.

But my mother had no such intentions, and having first thanked her ladyship for her great kindness, stated very humbly that she did not much like the idea of her daughter going out to service, that she was far from strong, and that her health would not allow her to undertake hard work.

“Well, but I presume she may do the work of a lady’s maid?” replied her ladyship haughtily; “and it was that service which I intended for her.”

“Indeed, Lady Hercules, you are very kind; but there is an objection,” replied my mother, to gain time.

“Please your ladyship,” said my father, who, to my great surprise, came to my mother’s support, “I do not wish that my little girl should be a lady’s maid.”

“And why not, pray?” said her ladyship, rather angrily.

“Why, you see, your ladyship, my daughter is, after all, only the daughter of a poor Greenwich pensioner; and, although she has been so far pretty well educated, yet I wishes her not to forget her low situation in life, and ladies’ maids do get so confounded proud (’specially those who have the fortune to be ladies’ ladies’ maids), that I don’t wish that she should take a situation which would make her forget herself, and her poor old pensioner of a father; and, begging your honour’s pardon, that is the real state of the case, my lady.”

What my mother felt at this slap at her I do not know, but certain it is that she was satisfied with my father taking the responsibility of refusal on his own shoulders, and she therefore continued—“I often have told Mr Saunders how happy I was when under your ladyship’s protection, and what a fortunate person I considered myself; but my husband has always had such an objection to my girl being brought up to it, that I have (of course, my lady, as it is my duty to him to do so) given up my own wishes from the first; indeed, my lady, had I not known that my little girl was not to go to service, I never should have ventured to have called her Virginia, my lady.”

“What, then, do you intend her for?” said Sir Hercules to my father. “You don’t mean to bring her up as a lady, do you?”

“No, your honour, she’s but a pensioner’s daughter, and I wishes her to be humble, as she ought to be; so I’ve been thinking that something in the millinery line, or perhaps—”

“As a governess, my lady,” interrupted my mother, with a courtesy. “That will make her humble enough, at all events,” observed the bald gentleman in black, with a smile.

“I admit,” replied Lady Hercules, “that your having given my name to your little girl is a strong reason for her not going into service; but there are many expenses attending the education necessary for a young person as governess.”

Here my mother entered into an explanation of how Virginia had been educated—an education which she should not have dreamt of giving, only that her child bore her ladyship’s name, etcetera. My mother employed her usual flattery and humility, so as to reconcile her ladyship to the idea; who was the more inclined when she discovered that she was not likely to be put to any expense in her patronage of my sister. It was finally agreed that Virginia should be educated for the office of governess, and that when she was old enough Lady Hercules would take her under her august protection; but her ladyship did do her some service. Finding that Virginia was at a respectable school, she called there with a party of ladies, and informed the schoolmistress that the little girl was under her protection, and that she trusted that justice would be done to her education. In a school where the Miss Tippets were considered the aristocracy, the appearance of so great a woman as Lady Hercules was an event, and I do not know whether my little sister did not after that take precedence in the school; at all events, she was much more carefully instructed and looked after than she had been before. Sir Hercules was also pleased to find, upon inquiry, that there was every prospect of my entering the pilot service, without any trouble on his part. Both Sir Hercules and his lady informed their friends of what their intentions were to their young protégés, and were inundated with praises and commendations for their kindness, the full extent of which the reader will appreciate. But, as my mother pointed out as we walked home, if we did not require their assistance at present, there was no saying but that we eventually might; and if so, that Sir Hercules and Lady Hawkingtrefylyan could not well refuse to perform their promises. I must say that this was the first instance in my recollection in which my parents appeared to draw amicably together; and I believe that nothing except regard for their children could have produced the effect.

Chapter Twenty One.

A most important present is made to me; and, as it will eventually appear, the generosity of the giver is rewarded.

Sir Hercules and Lady Hawkingtrefylyan quitted Greenwich the day after the interview narrated in the preceding chapter, and by that day’s post Anderson received a letter in reply to the one he had written from his friend Philip Bramble, channel and river pilot, who had, as he said in his letter, put on shore at Deal, where he resided but the day before, after knocking about in the Channel for three weeks. Bramble stated his willingness to receive and take charge of me, desiring that I would hold myself in readiness to be picked up at a minute’s warning, and he would call for me the first time that he took a vessel up the river. A letter communicating this intelligence was forthwith dispatched by my mother to Sir Hercules, who sent a short reply, stating that if I conducted myself properly he would not lose sight of me. This letter, however, very much increased the family consequence in Fisher’s Alley, for my mother did not fail to show it to everybody, and everybody was anxious to see the handwriting of a real baronet.

About a week afterwards I went to the shop of the widow St. Felix to purchase some tobacco for my father, when she said to me, “So Jack—or Tom—as I hear you request to be called now—you are going to leave us!”

“Yes,” replied I, “and I shall be sorry to leave you, you have been so kind to me.”

“A little kindness goes a great way with some people, Tom, and that’s the case with you, for you’ve a grateful heart. You’re to be a pilot, I hear; well, Tom, I’ve a present to make you, which you will find very useful in your profession, and which will make you think of me sometimes. Stop a moment till I come down again.”

The widow went upstairs, and when she came down held in her hand a telescope, or spy-glass, as sailors generally call them. It was about two feet long, covered with white leather, and apparently had been well preserved.

“Now, Tom, this is what a pilot ought not to be without, and if what was said by the person to whom it belonged is true, it is an excellent spy-glass; so now accept it from your loving friend, and long may you live to peep through it.”

“Thank you, thank you,” replied I, delighted, as Mrs St. Felix put it into my hands. I surveyed it all over, pulled out the tube, and then said to her, “Who did it belong to?”

“Tom,” replied the widow, “that’s a sad trick you have of asking questions; it’s quite sufficient that it is mine, and that I give it to you—is it not?”

“Yes,” replied I, “but you’re the only person who says that I ask too many questions. Why, here’s a name, FI.”

The widow stretched herself over the counter with a sudden spring, and snatched the telescope out of my hand. When I looked at her she stood pale and trembling.

“Why, what is the matter?” inquired I.

She put her hand to her side, as if in great pain, and for some seconds could not speak.

“Tom, I never knew that there was a name on the telescope; the name must not be known, that’s the truth; you shall have it this evening, but you must go away now—do, that’s a dear good boy.”

The widow turned to walk into the back parlour, with the telescope in her hand, and I obeyed her injunctions in silence and wondering. That there was a mystery about her was certain, and I felt very sorrowful, not that I did not know the secret, but that I could not be of service to her. That evening the telescope was brought to my mother’s house by fat Jane. I perceived that the portion of the brass rim upon which the name had been cut with a knife, for it had not been engraved, as I thought, had been carefully filed down, so that not a vestige of the letters appeared.

The next morning I was down at the steps long before breakfast, that I might try my new present. Bill Freeman was there, and he showed me how to adjust the focus. I amused myself looking at the vessels which were working up and down the Reach, and so much was I delighted that I quite forgot how time passed, and lost my breakfast. Every one asked to have a peep through the telescope, and every one declared that it was an excellent glass: at last Spicer came up to where I stood.

“Well, Jack,” said he, “what have you there—a spy-glass? Let’s have a look; I’m a good judge of one, I can tell you.”

I handed the telescope over to him; he looked through it for some time.

“A first-rate glass, Jack” (I was oftener called Jack than Tom at that time); “I never knew but one equal to it. Where did you get it?”

I don’t exactly know why, but perhaps the mystery evident in the widow, and the cautions I had received against Spicer, combined together, induced me not to answer the question.

“It’s odd,” observed Spicer, who was now examining the outside of the telescope; “I could almost swear to it.” He then looked at the small brass rim where the name had been, and perceived that it had been erased. “Now I’m positive! Jack, where did you get this glass?”

“It was made a present to me,” replied I.

“Come here,” said Spicer, leading me apart from the others standing by. “Now tell me directly,” and Spicer spoke in an authoritative tone, “who gave you this glass?”

I really was somewhat afraid of Spicer, who had gained much power over me. I dared not say that I would not tell him, and I did not like to tell a lie. I thought that if I told the truth I might somehow or another injure Mrs St. Felix, and I therefore answered evasively, “It was sent to me as a present by a lady.”

“Oh!” replied Spicer, who had heard of Sir Hercules and his lady, “so the lady sent it to you? It’s very odd,” continued he; “I could take my oath that I’ve had that glass in my hand a hundred times.”

“Indeed!” replied I. “Where?”

But Spicer did not answer me; he had fallen into one of his dark moods, and appeared as if recalling former events to his mind. He still kept possession of the glass, and I was afraid that he would not return it, for I tried to take it softly out of his hand, and he would not let go. He remained in this way about a minute, when I perceived my father and Ben the Whaler coming up, at which I was delighted.

“Father,” said I, as they came near, “come and try my new spy glass.”

Spicer started, and released the telescope, when I laid hold of it and put it into my father’s hands. As neither my father nor Ben would ever speak to him, Spicer, with a lowering brow, walked away. After my father had examined the glass and praised it, he very naturally asked me where I obtained it. After what had passed with Spicer I was so fearful of his discovering, by other people, by whom the glass had been given to me, that I replied again, in the hearing of everybody, “A lady, father; you may easily guess who.”

“Well,” replied my father, “I never thought that her ladyship could have been so generous. I take it very kindly of her.”

I was delighted at my father falling so easily into the mistake. As for my mother and Virginia, they were neither of them present when Jane brought the telescope to me, or I certainly should have stated, without reservation, to whom I had been indebted. I hardly could decide whether I would go to the widow and tell her what had occurred; but, upon some reflection, as she had accused me of asking too many questions, and might suppose that I wished to obtain her secrets, I determined upon saying nothing about it.

For a week I occupied myself wholly with my telescope, and I became perfectly master of it, or rather quite used to it, which is of some importance. I avoided Spicer, always leaving the steps when I perceived him approaching, although once or twice he beckoned to me. At the expiration of the week a message was brought by a waterman from Philip Bramble, stating that he should pass Greenwich in a day or two, being about to take down a West Indiaman then lying below London Bridge. My clothes were therefore then packed up in readiness, and I went to bid farewell to my limited acquaintance.

I called upon old Nanny, who was now quite strong again. I had before acquainted her with my future prospects.

“Well, Jack,” says she, “and so you’re going away? I don’t think you were quite right to give up a situation where you gained so many halfpence every day, and only for touching your cap: however, you know best. I shall have no more bargains after you are gone, that’s certain. But, Jack, you’ll be on board of vessels coming from the East and West Indies, and all other parts of the world, and they have plenty of pretty things on board, such as shells, and empty bottles, and hard biscuit, and bags of oakum; and, Jack, they will give them to you for nothing, for sailors don’t care what they give away when they come from a long voyage; and so mind you beg for me as much as you can, that’s a good boy; but don’t take live monkeys or those things, they eat so much. You may bring me a parrot, I think I could sell one, and that don’t cost much to feed. Do you understand, Jack? Will you do this for me?”

“I don’t know whether I can do all you wish, but depend upon it, mother, I won’t forget you.”

“That’s enough, Jack, you’ll keep your word; and now, is there any nice thing that I can give you out of my shop, as a keepsake, Jack?”

“Why, no, mother, I thank you,—nothing.”

“Think of something, Jack,” replied old Nanny; “you must have something.”

“Well, then, mother, you know I like reading; will you give me the old book that I was reading when I sat up with you one night?”

“Yes, Jack, and welcome; what book is it? I don’t know—I can’t see to read large print without spectacles, and I, broke mine many years ago.”

“Why do you not buy another pair?”

“Another pair, Jack? Spectacles cost money. I’ve no money; and as I never read, I don’t want spectacles. Go in and fetch the book; it’s yours and welcome.”

I went in and brought out the Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress” which I before mentioned. “This is it, mother.”

“Yes, yes, I recollect now, it’s a very pretty book. What’s it about, Jack? I can’t see myself: never mind, take it, Jack, and don’t forget your promise.”

I wished old Nanny good bye, and took the book home, which I gave into Virginia’s care, as I wished her to read it. The next morning, at daybreak, I was summoned; the ship was dropping down the river. I bade farewell to my little sister, who wept on my shoulder; to my mother, who hardly condescended to answer me. My father helped me down with my luggage, which was not very heavy; and Anderson and old Ben accompanied us to the landing-steps; and having bid them all farewell, besides many others of my friends who were there, I stepped into the boat sent for me; and quitted Greenwich for my new avocation on the 6th of October, 1799, being then, as Anderson had calculated, precisely thirteen years and seven months old.

Chapter Twenty Two.

In which a story is begun and not finished, which I think the reader will regret as much as, at the time, I did.

The boat was soon alongside of the West Indiaman, which had been tiding it down Limehouse Reach under her topsails, there being but little wind, and that contrary; but now that she had arrived to Greenwich Reach she had braced up, with her head the right way. My box was handed up the side, and I made my appearance on the deck soon afterwards, with my telescope in my hand.

“Are you the lad for whom the pilot sent the boat?” inquired a man, whom I afterwards found to be the second mate.

“Yes,” replied I.

“Well, there he is abaft, in a P-jacket,” said he, walking to the gangway, and directing the men to drop the boat astern.

I looked aft, and perceived my future master talking with the captain of the vessel. Philip Bramble was a spare man, about five feet seven inches high, he had on his head a low-crowned tarpaulin hat, a short P-jacket (so called from the abbreviation of pilot’s jacket) reached down to just above his knees. His features were regular, and, indeed, although weatherbeaten, they might be termed handsome. His nose was perfectly straight, his lips thin, his eyes grey and very keen; he had little or no whiskers, and, from his appearance and the intermixture of grey with his brown hair, I supposed him to be about fifty years of age. In one hand he held a short clay pipe, into which he was inserting the forefinger of the other, as he talked with the captain. At the time that he was pointed out to me by the second mate he was looking up aloft; I had, therefore, time to make the above observations before he cast his eyes down and perceived me, when I immediately went aft to him.

“I suppose you are Tom Saunders?” said he, surveying me from head to foot.

I replied in the affirmative.

“Well, Anderson has given you a good character, mind you don’t lose it. D’ye think you’ll like to be a pilot?”

“Yes,” replied I.

“Have you sharp eyes, a good memory, and plenty of nerve?”

“I believe I’ve got the two first, I don’t know about the other.”

“I suppose not, it hasn’t been tried yet. How far can you see through a fog?”

“According how thick it is.”

“I see you’ve a glass there: tell me what you make of that vessel just opening from Blackwall Reach.”

“What, that ship?”

“Oh, you can make it out to be a ship, can you, with the naked eye? Well, then, you have good eyes.”

I plied my glass upon the vessel, and, after a time, not having forgotten the lessons so repeatedly given me by Spicer, I said, “She has no colours up, but she’s an Embden vessel by her build.”

“Oh,” said he, “hand me the glass. The boy’s right; and a good glass, too. Come, I see you do know something—and good knowledge, too, for a pilot. It often saves us a deal of trouble when we know a vessel by her build; them foreigners sail too close to take pilots. Can you stand cold? Have you got a P-jacket?”

“Yes, father bought me one.”

“Well, you’ll want it this winter, for the wild geese tell us that it will be a sharp one. Steady, starboard!”

“Starboard it is.”

“D’ye know the compass?”

“No.”

“Well, stop till we get down to Deal. Now, stand by me, and keep your eyes wide open; for, d’ye see, you’ve plenty to learn, and you can’t begin too soon. We must square the mainyard, captain, if you please,” continued he as we entered Blackwall Reach. “What could make the river so perverse as to take these two bends in Limehouse and Blackwall Reaches, unless to give pilots trouble, I can’t say.”

The wind being now contrary from the sharp turn in the river, we were again tiding it down; that is, hove-to and allowing the tide to drift us through the Reach; but as soon as we were clear of Blackwall Reach, we could lay our course down the river. As we passed Gravesend, Bramble asked me whether I was ever so low down.

“Yes,” replied I, “I have been down as far as Sea Reach;” which I had been when I was upset in the wherry, and I told him the story.

“Well, Tom, that’s called the river now; but do you know that, many years ago, where we now are used to be considered as the mouth of the river, and that fort there” (pointing to Tilbury Fort) “was built to defend it? for they say the French fleet used to come and anchor down below.”

“Yes,” replied I; “and they say, in the History of England, that the Danes used to come up much higher, even up to Greenwich; but that’s a very long while ago.”

“Well, you beat me, Tom! I never heard that; and I think, if ever they did do so, they won’t do it again in a hurry. What water have you got, my man? Port there!”

“Port it is.”

“Steady—so.”

“Shall we get down to the Nore to-night, pilot?” said the captain.

“Why, sir, I’m in hopes we shall; we have still nearly three hours’ daylight; and now that we are clear of the Hope, we shall lay fairly down Sea Reach; and if the wind will only freshen a little (and it looks very like it), we shall be able to stem the first of the flood, at all events.”

I ought to observe that Bramble, as soon as he had passed any shoal or danger, pointed it out to me; he said, “I tell it to you, because you can’t be told too often. You won’t recollect much that I tell you, I daresay; I don’t expect it; but you may recollect a little, and every little helps.”

The tide had flowed more than an hour when we passed the Nore Light and came to an anchor.

“What lights are those?” inquired I.

“That’s Sheerness,” replied Bramble. “We were talking of the French and Danes coming up the river. Why, Tom, it is not much more than one hundred and fifty years ago when the Dutch fleet came up to Sheerness, destroyed the batteries, and landed troops there; howsomever, as I said of the French and the other chaps, they won’t do so again in a hurry.”

As soon as they had veered out sufficient cable, Bramble accepted the invitation of the captain to go down in the cabin, when I went and joined the men, who were getting their supper forwards. I was soon on good terms with them; and after supper, as it was cold, they went down to the fore-peak, got out some beer and grog, and we sat round in a circle, with the bottles and mugs and a farthing candle in the centre. Being right in the eyes of her, as it is termed, we could plainly hear the water slapping against the bends outside of her, as it was divided by the keelson, and borne away by the strong flood tide. It was a melancholy sound; I had never heard it before; and during a pause, as I listened to it, one of the men observed, “Queer sound, boy, ain’t it? You’d think that the water was lapping in right among us. But noises aboard ship don’t sound as they do on shore; I don’t know why.” No more did I at that time; the fact is that nothing conveys sound better than wood, and every slight noise is magnified, in consequence, on board of a vessel.

“I recollect when I was on a Mediterranean voyage how we were frightened with noises, sure enough,” observed one of the men.

“Come, that’s right, Dick, give us a yarn,” said the others.

“Yes,” replied Dick, “and it’s a true yarn too, and all about a ghost.”

“Well, I stop a moment,” said one of the men, “and let us top this glim a bit before you begin, for it seemed to get dimmer the moment you talked about a ghost.”

Dick waited till a little more light was obtained, and then commenced. “I had shipped on board of a vessel bound to Smyrna, now about seven years ago. We had gone down to Portsmouth, where we waited for one of the partners of the house by which we had been freighted, and who was going out as passenger. We were a man short, and the captain went on shore to get one from the crimps, whom he knew very well, and the fellows promised to send one on board the next morning. Well, sure enough a wherry came off with him just before break of day, and he and his traps were taken on board; but it was not perceived at the time what he had in his arms under his grego, and what do you think it proved to be at daylight? Why, a large black tom cat.”

“What, a black one?”

“Yes, as black as the enemy himself. The fellow came down forward with it, and so says I, ‘Why, messmate, you’re not going to take that animal to sea with us?’

“‘Yes, I am,’ said he, very surlily; ‘it’s an old friend of mine, and I never parts with him.’

“‘Well,’ says I, ‘you’ll find the difference when the captain hears on it, I can tell you, and, for the matter of that, I won’t promise you that it will be very safe if it comes near me when I’ve a handspike in my hand.’

“‘I tell you what,’ says he, ‘it ain’t the taking of a cat on board what brings mischief, but it’s turning one out of a ship what occasions ill luck. No cat ever sunk a ship till the animal was hove overboard and sunk first itself, and then it does drag the ship down after it.’

“Well, one of the boys who did not care about such things, for he was young and ignorant, put his hand to the cat’s head to stroke it, and the cat bit him right through the fingers, at which the boy gave a loud cry.

“‘Now, that will teach you to leave my cat alone,’ said the man.

“‘He won’t come near nobody but me, and he bites everybody else, so I give you fair warning.’

“And sure enough the brute, which was about as big as two common cats, was just as savage as a tiger. When the first mate called the man on deck, the fellow left his cat behind him in the fore peak, just as if it were now here, and it got into a dark corner, growling and humping its back, with its eyes flashing fire at every one of us as we came anigh it. ‘Oh!’ says we, ‘this here won’t never do; wait till the captain comes on board, that’s all.’ Well, the hatches were off, and we were busy re-stowing the upper tier of the cargo, which we had thrown in very carelessly in our hurry to get down the river; just putting the bales in order (it wasn’t breaking bulk, you see), and we were at it all day. At last, towards evening, the captain comes on board with the gentleman passenger, a mighty timorsome sort of young chap he appeared for to be, and had never before set his foot upon the plank of a vessel. So as soon as the captain was on deck we all broke off our work, and went to him to tell him about this cat, and the captain he gets into a great rage as soon as he hears on it, and orders the man to send the cat on shore, or else he’d threw it overboard. Well, the luau, who was a sulky, saucy sort of chap, and no seaman, I’ve a notion, gives cheek, and says he won’t send his cat on shore for no man, whereupon the captain orders the cat to be caught, that he might send it in the boat; but nobody dared to catch it, for it was so fierce to everybody but its master. The second mate tried, and he got a devil of a bite, and came up from the fore-peak without the cat, looking very blue indeed. And then the first mate went down, and he tried; but the cat flew at him, and he came up as white as a sheet. And then the cat became so savage that it stood at the foot of the ladder, all ready to attack whoever should come down, and the man laughed heartily, and told us to fetch the cat. ‘Well,’ says the first mate, ‘I can’t touch the cat, but I can you, you beggar, and I will too, if it costs me twenty pounds;’ so he ups with a handspike and knocks the fellow down senseless on the deck, and there he laid. And it sarved him right.

“Well, then the captain thought to shoot the cat, for it was for all the world like a wild beast, and one proposed one thing and one another; at last Jim, the cabin-boy, comes forward with some brimstone matches in a pan, and he lights them and lowers them down into the fore-peak by a rope-yarn, to smother it out. And so it did sure enough, for all of a sudden the cat made a spring up to the deck, and then we all chased it here and there, until at last it got out to the end of the flying jib-boom, and then Jim, the cabin-boy, followed it out with a handspike, and poked at it as hard as he could, until at last it lost its hold, and down it went into the water, and Jim and the handspike went along with it, for Jim, in his last poke at the cat, lost his balance, so away they went together. Well, there was a great hurry in manning the boat, and picking up poor Jim and the handspike; but the cat we saw no more, for it was just dark at the time. Well, when it was all over, we began to think what we had done, and as soon as we had put on the hatches and secured the hold we went down below into the fore-peak, where the smell of brimstone did not make us feel more comfortable, I can tell you, and we began to talk over the matter, for you see the cat should not have been thrown overboard, but put on shore; but we were called away to man the boat again, for the fellow had come to his senses, and swore that he would not stay in the ship, but go on shore and take the law of the first mate, and the first mate and captain thought the sooner he was out of the ship the better, for we were to sail before daylight, and there might not be a wherry for him to get into; so the fellow took his kit, and we pulled him on shore and landed him on Southsea beach, he swearing vengeance the whole way; and as he stepped out on the beach he turned round to us and said, as he shook his fist, ‘You’ve thrown overboard a black tom cat, recollect that! and now you’ll see the consequence; a pleasant voyage to you. I wouldn’t sail in that vessel if you were to offer her to me as a present as soon as she got to Smyrna; because why, you’ve thrown overboard a black tom cat, and you’ll never get there—never!’ cried he again, and off he ran with his bundle.

“Well, we didn’t much like it, and if the second mate hadn’t been in the boat, I’m not sure that we shouldn’t all have gone on shore rather than sail in the vessel; but there was no help for it. The next morning before daylight we started, for the captain wouldn’t wait to get another hand, and we were soon out of soundings, and well into the Bay of Biscay.

“We had just passed Cape Finisterre, when Jim, the cabin-boy says one morning, ‘I’m blessed if I didn’t hear that cat last night, or the ghost on it!’ So we laughed at him; for, you see, he slept abaft, just outside the cabin door, close to the pantry, and not forward with the rest of us.

“‘Well,’ says he, ‘I heard her miaul, and when I awoke I think I seed two eyes looking at me.’

“‘Well, Jim,’ said I, for we had got over our fears, ‘it was you who knocked her overboard, so it’s all right that she should haunt you and nobody else.’ Jim, however, could not laugh, but looked very grave and unhappy. A few days afterwards the captain and passenger complained that they could not sleep for the noise and racket that was kept up all night between the timbers and in the run aft. They said it was as if a whole legion of devils were broken loose and scampering about; and the captain was very grave; and as for the passenger, he was frightened out of his wits. Still we laughed, because we had heard nothing ourselves, and thought that it must only be fancy on their parts, particularly as the captain used to bowse his jib up pretty taut every night. Well, all went on very well; we arrived at the Rock, got our fresh provisions and vegetables, and then made sail again. The captain complained of no more noises, and Jim of no more eyes, and the whole matter was almost forgotten.”

Here the narrator was interrupted by the thumping of a hand-spike on the deck above. “Halloo! what’s the matter now?”

“Come, tumble up, my lads, and pump the ship out,” said the mate from above; “we had almost forgotten that. Be smart, now; it’s but a ten minutes’ job.”

Thus broke off the story, much to my annoyance; but it could not be helped—ships must be pumped out—so the men went on deck, and I followed them.

Chapter Twenty Three.

“Recollect,” says the fellow, “you have thrown overboard a black tom cat!”

In a quarter of an hour the pump sucked, and we all hastened down below to our grog and the completion of our yarn. As soon as we were all comfortably seated as before, Dick recommenced.

“Well, we were abreast of Malta, when the weather, which had hitherto on the voyage been very fine, changed. The clouds hung down very heavy, and there was every symptom of a fierce gale; and sure enough a worse gale I never was in than came on that night—and such a sea!—the ship rolled gunnel under, for the gale was fair, but the sea ran so high and so fast that we expected to be pooped every minute. It was about midnight when the rain came on in torrents, and the wind blew fiercer than ever. I was on deck, and so was the first mate and another man at the helm, for we were flying right before it, and she was hard to steer.

“‘We shall have it worse yet,’ said the captain.

“‘Miaw!’ was the reply, so clear, so loud, we could not tell where it came from. I thought it came from the main-top.

“‘Mercy on us! what was that?’ said the first mate, the light from the binnacle showing his face as pale as a sheet.

“‘Miaw!’ was the reply from somewhere.

“‘The black cat, by all that’s blue!’ cried the captain.

“‘The Lord have mercy upon us, we’re all gone!’ said the mate, clasping his hands in terror. To clasp his hands, of course he let go the wheel; and the other man, who was equally frightened, had not strength to hold it. Away he went, right over the wheel, knocking down the mate on the other side; and the ship taking a heavy lurch, they both went into the scuppers together. The ship breached-to, and our mainmast and mizenmast went over the side.”

“Do top that glim, Bill,” said one of the men, in a tremulous voice.

Dick paused while the snuff was taken off the candle; and the water went tap, tap, tap against the bends, with a most melancholy sound. I really did feel rather queer myself.

Dick continued. “Well, all hands were on deck immediately, and it was good two hours before we could clear the wreck, for the men were disheartened. They had heard the loud miaw when in the fore-peak, and declared that it was close to them; and the passenger and Jim came out, frightened out of their wits. They had heard the miaw, and said that it was from under the cabin table. At last we were clear of the wreck, and the wind roared louder than ever.

“The captain was a stout-hearted fellow, and as the men were collected together under the bulwark, he said, ‘Well, this breeze will shorten our distance, at any rate, and if it holds we shall soon be at Smyrna.’

“‘We shall never see Smyrna!’ replied the second mate, his teeth chattering.

“‘No, never!’ cried the seamen.

“The captain sent Jim down for his rum-bottle, and gave every man a stiff glass of liquor, and that made them feel more comfortable for a time; when there was a sort of lull, and again the loud miaw was repeated.

“‘There it is!’ cried the men; but they hardly had time to say so, when the ship was pooped with a tremendous sea washing away the stern and quarter boats, and sending all the men swimming forward. So loaded was the ship with water that she stopped, and appeared as if she was settling down. At last she rolled heavy to port and discharged it, and away we went before the wind, faster than ever. Well, there was some talk among the seamen of throwing poor Jim overboard to appease the ghost of the cat, for it was he who had thrown the cat overboard. But the captain heard what the men were saying, and he swore that he would knock the brains out of the first man who laid hold of the boy; and he sent Jim below out of harm’s way. Poor Jim! how bitterly he cried, poor boy, when he heard what was going on.

“Well, it’s a long lane that has no turning, and no gale lasts for ever: the next day it moderated, and the day after the weather was quite fine, and the sea had gone down. We recovered our spirits, the more so as we heard no more of the cat; and having jury-rigged her aft, we steered our course with a light breeze. We were now but a short distance from Smyrna, and hoped to be there by the next day; but the second mate shook his head; he said, ‘The cat has not done with us, for it was a black tom cat.’

“The fourth day the captain came on deck, and said, ‘I heard a great washing of water in the run last night, as I thought; have you sounded the well lately?’

“‘No,’ replied the first mate, ‘I left that to the carpenter.’

“‘Well, then, ask him.’ Well, the carpenter had not sounded the well, as it appeared; and so he sounded it immediately, and found that we had six feet water in the hold.

“‘I knowed we were doomed,’ said the second mate; ‘we’ll never get at port:’ and so thought the men; but the captain said:—

“‘Why, the fact is, my lads, we must have sprung a leak in the gale, and no wonder, beating against the wreck so as we did when the masts went over the side. Come, rig the pumps, and we shall soon clear her. The tom cat has nothing to do with this, at all events.’

“Now, you see, our bottom cargo consisted of two or three tier of crates of crockery, which would not spoil by being wet; but the upper part of the cargo was bales of dry goods and linen; so the captain was very anxious that they should work the pumps before the water got higher: the weather was very fine, the sea smooth, and the wind, although fair, was light. Well, the seamen were terrified, and thought they were lost; they asked for liquor, and refused to work at the pumps; they said it was no use, the ship was doomed. Well, the captain he got very angry; he went down into the cabin, loaded his double-barrelled gun, and swore that he would shoot the first man through the head who refused to work at the pumps. The men knew that he was in earnest, for he was a violent sort of fellow, and so they set to. We didn’t gain much upon her; I thought we did a little, but the men said no. The captain declared that we did gain considerably, but it was supposed that he only said so to encourage the people. Well, the captain ordered the mate to take up the hatches, that they might see the state of the cargo. This was done; the dry goods, as far as we could make out, were not injured, and the men pumped spell and spell until the evening, when the captain gave them a good allowance of grog, and an hour to rest themselves. It was a beautiful moonlight night: the sails were just asleep and no more; but the vessel was heavy, from the water in her, and we dragged slowly along. The captain, who had gone down below with the first mate, came up from the cabin, and said to the men, ‘Now, my lads, we’ll set to again;’ when suddenly there was a loud, melancholy miaw! which terrified us all. We looked from whence the sound appeared to come, and there, on the launch turned over amidship, we beheld the ghost of the black tom cat, so large, so black, with the broad moonlight shining on it; and so thin, it was the skeleton of the cat, only it looked as black as ever; its back was humped up and its tail curved; and, as it stood out in the broad moonlight, it did look twice as big as the original cat, which was the biggest I ever saw. Well, the men actually screamed; they ran aft, upsetting the captain and mate, and rolling over them and hiding their faces, with ‘Lord have mercy on us!’ and ‘God forgive our sins!’ and ‘Oh! we’re lost, we’re lost!’ and every sort of crying and groaning that could be thought of. At last the captain gets up from under them in a great rage and looks forward to see what was the matter, and there he sees the ghost of the tom cat standing just in the same place; and it gave another miserable miaw! ‘Why,’ cried the captain (who had his grog on board, and was as brave as brass), ‘it is the cussed cat himself. Stop a moment.’ Down he goes to the cabin, reels up the hatchway again with his double-barrelled gun, and lets fly at it”—(here Dick lowered his voice to almost a whisper)—“the cat gave a shriek—and then—”

Here, during the pause, Bill put out his finger and thumb to snuff the candle, but his hand shook—he snuffed it out, and we were all left in darkness. I can hardly describe the feeling which appeared to pervade the whole of our party. Every one was shuffling and crowding with their shoulders, but still no one moved from his place.

“Well,” said Dick, the narrator, in a quiet subdued voice, “why don’t one of you go and fetch a light? Come, jump up, Bill, you topped it out.”

“Ay, ay,” replied Bill, evidently shaking; “where’s the candle?”

“Here,” said one of the boys, handing it to him.

“Well, then, jump up yourself you young whelp, you’re younger than me.”

“I didn’t put it out,” replied the boy, whining.

“Up immediately, or I’ll break every rib in your body,” replied Bill.

The boy, who was terribly frightened, got up at this threat, and began to ascend the ladder; he was about three steps up, when we heard from the deck a horrible miaw! The boy gave a scream of terror, and fell down on his back among us all, smashing the glass and flattening the tin cans against the men’s legs, who halloed with pain. At last there was a dead silence again, and I could plainly hear the loud throbbing of more than one heart.

“Come,” said Dick again, “what was the fool frightened about? Look for the candle, some of you.”

At last Bill found it in his breast, broke in two and half melted away, and was proceeding for a light when the carpenter stepped to the hatch with his lantern, and said, “Why, you’re all in the dark there, shipmates! Here, take my lantern.”

I may as well here observe that the carpenter had been listening to the story as he sat by the hatchway on deck, and it was he who had favoured us with the miaw which had so frightened the boy. As soon as the lantern had been received and the candle relighted, Dick re-commenced.

“Well, my lads, I said that the captain went down below, brought up his gun, and let fly at the cat, and then—well, and then—the cat gave aloud shriek, and falls down upon the deck. The captain walks forward to it, takes it up by the tail, brings it aft, and shies it among the men.

“‘There, you fools,’ said he, ‘it is the cat himself; will you believe your own eyes?’

“And sure enough, so it was; for, you see, when Jim tumbled overboard, it being then dark, and we so busy with Jim, we did not look after the cat, and so it must have crawled up the cable and run down into the hold while the hatches were off; and all that noise heard aft must have been the brute chasing the rats, I suppose.—Jim may have heard, but he could not have seen, the cat; that was all fancy and fright. You know how long a cat will live without much food, and so the animal was’ pretty quiet after it had killed all the rats. Then when the gale came on, and the upper part of the cargo fetched way a little, for it was loosely stowed, we suppose that it got jammed now and then with the rolling, and that made it miaw; and then, when we took off the hatches to look at the cargo, after we had sprung the leak, the cat, o’ course, came out, and a pretty skeleton it was, as you may suppose. Now do you understand the whole of it?”

“Yes, that’s all clear,” replied Bill; “and it was no ghost, after all? But still the cat did do mischief, for if the mate had not been frightened by it, he wouldn’t have let go the wheel, and the masts would not have gone by the lee.”

“That’s true enough, and he might have done more mischief still if the captain had not shot him, for the men would never have gone to the pumps again; but when they found out that it was nothing but the cat himself, then they set to, and before the next evening the vessel was clear, and only required pumping out every two hours, for the leak wasn’t great, after all. So there’s a ghost story for you, and I believe that all others will be found, like mine, to end in moonshine. Now, suppose we turn in, for we shall weigh at three o’clock in the morning.”

We all tumbled into the standing berths in the fore-peak; I dreamt of black tom cats all night. The next morning we weighed with a fair wind; as before, I stood beside Bramble, who pointed out to me everything worth notice or memory as we passed, but at last the motion affected me so much that I could pay little attention, and I remained by his side as pale as a sheet. We rounded the North Foreland, and long before dark anchored in the Downs. Bramble went no farther with the vessel, the captain himself being a good pilot for the Channel. A Deal boat came alongside, we got into it, they landed us on the shingle beach, and I followed Bramble up to his abode.

Chapter Twenty Four.

Bramble’s method of education proves very effective—he also points out a position in which you may prefer your enemies to your friends.

The house of Philip Bramble was situated on the farther side of a road which ran along the shore, just above the shingle beach. It was a large cottage on one floor, the street door entering at once into its only sitting-room. It was furnished as such tenements usually are, with a small dresser and shelves for crockery, and a table and chairs of cherry wood; on the broad mantelpiece, for the fireplace was large, were several brass candlesticks, very bright, ranged with foreign curiosities, and a few shells; half a dozen prints in frames ornamented the walls; and on large nails drove into the panels, wherever a space could be found, were hung coats, P-jackets, and other articles of dress, all ready for the pilot to change whenever he came on shore wet to the skin. Everything was neat and clean; the planks of the floor were white as snow, yet the floor itself was sanded with white sand, and there were one or two square wooden boxes, also filled with sand, for the use of those who smoked. When I add that, opposite to the fireplace, there was a set of drawers of walnut wood, with an escritoire at the top, upon the flat part of which were a few books neatly arranged, and over it an old fashioned looking-glass, divided at the sides near to the frame into sections, I believe that I have given a catalogue of the whole furniture. When I followed Bramble into the room, a little girl of about nine or ten years old ran into his arms, as he stooped down to receive her. She was a pretty child, with a very fair skin and rosy cheeks, her hair and eyes of a very dark brown, almost approaching to black; but she was not, in my opinion, near so pretty as my sister Virginia. As Bramble kissed her, she exclaimed, “Oh, father, I am so glad you are come home! Mrs Maddox has been in bed ever since you left; her leg is very bad indeed.”

“Whew!” whistled, Bramble, “I’m sorry to hear that of the old lady; and how have you got on without her assistance?”

“Why, don’t you think I’m very tidy, father?” said she, looking round the room.

“Yes, Bessy, you are very tidy; and it’s a pleasure to come home to a tidy clean house. Here is a companion for you. I told you he was coming, and you know his name.”

“It’s Tom Saunders, isn’t it, father?”

“Yes, that’s his name, for want of a better—so I leave you to make friends, while I go up and see the poor old lady.”

“You look cold and pale, are you not well?” was the first question of little Bessy.

“I’m cold, and not very well,” replied I; “I have not been used to knocking about on board ship.”

“Very true; I forgot you had never been at sea before. Come to the fire, then, and sit in father’s big chair.”

“I never knew that your father had been married. I thought Peter Anderson said that he was a bachelor.”

“And so he is,” replied Bessy. “I’m not his daughter, although I call him father.”

“Indeed! then whose daughter are you? and who is the old lady upstairs?”

“The old lady upstairs is the widow of the pilot with whom father served his time. Her husband was lost at sea, and she keeps father’s house. Father picked me up at sea, and has taken care of me ever since.”

“Then you don’t remember your own parents?”

“No, I recollect nothing till I found myself in this house. Father says I’m a Dutchman, because it was a Dutch ship or a Dutch boat which I was taken out of.”

“And how long was that ago?”

“Nine years ago. I am now, I believe, about ten years old.”

Bessy then catechised me relative to my own family, and I had not answered all her questions when Bramble came downstairs.

“Bessy, dear, we must have the doctor to look at that leg again. I’m afeard that it will never get well. Missus is too old to shake it off.”

“Shall I go now, father?”

“Yes, child, go now, for she’s in great pain with it; and Tom, you go with Bessy and take care of her. But, before you go, give me some ’baccy and the odds and ends.”

As soon as Bessy had put the tobacco-pipes, some spirits, a rummer and water on the table, and the spittoon at his feet, she put on her bonnet, and off we set to the doctor’s house, about half a mile distant. I was soon on intimate terms with Bessy: there was something so frank and winning about her, such perfect honesty of character, that it was impossible not to like her. We delivered our message, returned home, and, being very tired, I was glad to go to bed. Bessy showed me my room, which was very comfortable, and as soon as I laid my head on the pillow I was fast asleep.

I was awakened the next morning by a knocking at the door by little Bessy; it was broad daylight, and I dressed myself and went downstairs, where I found her very busy putting everything in order.

“It was I knocked,” said little Bessy; “I thought you would like to come and help me.”

“And so I will,” replied I; “what shall I do?”

“Oh, there’s plenty to do now that Mrs Maddox is ill, and you and father are come back—almost too much for a little girl like me. Will you go to the pump and fetch the pails full of water, for they are too heavy for me?”

I did as she wished. “Anything else, Bessy?” said I.

“Oh, yes, plenty. You’re very good-natured, Tom, and I’m so glad you’re come.”

Bessy and I were fully employed for nearly an hour in the front room and kitchen, clearing up and cleaning and preparing for breakfast. All was ready before Bramble came down and took a seat in his big chair, close to the breakfast-table.

“All ready, father,” said little Bessy, going up to Bramble to be kissed. “Tom has been helping me.”

“All’s right,” said Bramble; “bring the book, dear.”

Bessy brought a large Bible, and read a chapter aloud, then closed it and put it away.

“We can’t always do this, Tom,” observed Bramble, “when we’re knocking about in the Channel; all we can do is to read it when we can. Come now to breakfast.”

When we had finished I assisted Bessy to put everything away, and then Bramble said to me, “Anderson tells me you’re a good scholar, Tom; but you must now learn what will be of use to me as well as to you. The first thing you must learn, and which you can do on shore, are the points of the compass, to know them at sight and tell them quickly; for you see it’s of great importance to a pilot to know exactly how a ship’s head is; and the men at the helm, although good seamen and steering well, are not so ready at answering as a pilot wishes, and very often stammer at it—sometimes make mistakes. Now, you see, when I’m piloting a vessel, if you stand at the binnacle, watch the compass, and answer me quickly how the ship’s head is, you’ll be of use to me in a very short time. Go up into my room, and under the bed you will find a compass; bring it down carefully, and I’ll give you a lesson at once.” I brought the compass to him, and Bramble made me write down the whole thirty-two points at full length upon a piece of paper. When I had done so, he told me I must learn them by heart as fast as I could.

I studied them the whole of that day; and in the evening, finding myself perfect, I went up to Bramble and repeated them without one mistake.

“All’s right,” said Bramble. “Now, Tom, give me the paper; if you know them to-night you ought to know them to-morrow morning. I’ll hear if you do, after breakfast.”

I went to bed, was tapped up as before by Bessy, assisted her to clean everything, taking off her hands all the heaviest of the work; indeed, what I have narrated of the first day may be taken as a sample of my life on shore at Deal. After breakfast I repeated the points of the compass correctly.

“Well, Tom, you have a good memory, that’s certain; all the better for you, for pilots carry everything in their heads, as you will find out. Now, then, look here.” Bramble took the glass off the top of the compass-box, lifted up the card, and then showed me the needle below, which pointed to the north. He then showed me the north point above, and then the other points, making me repeat them as he put his finger on them. As soon as I understood them, he would put the stem of his pipe to one and ask me which it was. When I was perfect with the points, he explained the half points and quarter points. In two days I had gained them all by heart.

“And now,” says he, “we must try you. This iron skewer is the ship’s head, recollect, and I shall stick it into the table. When I do so, you must tell me what point of the compass stands to it, and then that will be the direction of the ship’s head. Do you understand? Practice makes perfect, and you must work at this all the time that you are ashore. When you know the compass well then I’ll teach you something else. Now, then, how’s her head, Tom?”

“North-half-west,” said I, after a little time.

“Yes, very true; but you see, Tom, that wouldn’t do aboard ship. That’s just the way most of the seamen would puzzle at it. I must have the answer in a moment, and that’s why you must practise.”

In the evening, when Bramble was smoking his pipe, I was seated by him, and every minute he would change the place of the iron skewer, with. “How’s her head, Tom?”

“We must get your ’prentice papers signed before we go afloat again,” said Bramble, “for they pick up boys as well as men for the King’s service, and you’re a stout boy for your age.”

“Were you ever pressed yourself?” inquired I.

“No, but I had a narrow chance once, and had not our captain been a smart fellow I and many more would have been serving the King at this present moment.”

“Tell me how that was,” said I.

“Well, as soon as Bessy has done rattling with the cups and saucers, I will.”

“I’ve done now, father,” said Bessy, taking her seat on a stool close to Bramble’s feet.

“Well, then, before I passed for pilot, just after the breaking out of the war, I took it into my head to try my chance at privateering. There was plenty to pick up at that time, and some of the Deal men had been very fortunate, so I went on board of a twelve-gun lugger, commanded by Captain Shank, fitted out in the river, with a crew of sixty men. The press was very hot at that time, and our men were kept at the crimps’ houses until all was ready, when we started, and got off clear into the Channel without being overhauled.

“We had been out a fortnight, keeping well on the French coast, and had picked up two good prizes, when one morning, as the fog was cleared up with a sharp northerly wind, we found ourselves right under the lee of an English frigate, not a mile from us. There was a bubble of a sea, for the wind had been against the tide previous to its changing, and we were then about six or seven miles from the French coast, just between Boulogne and Cape Grisnez, lying to for the fog to clear away. As soon as we saw the frigate we knew that she would board us, and we were all in a terrible fright.” Here Bramble shifted the skewer and said, “How’s her head, Tom?”

I replied, and he proceeded:—

“The frigate hoisted her colours, and of course we did the same. She then fired a gun as a signal for us to remain, hove to, and we perceived her boats lowering down. ‘Now, my lads,’ said our captain, ‘if you don’t mind a shot or two, I think I will save you from impressment this time.’ We all declared that we would stand a hundred, rather than be taken on board of a man-of-war. ‘Very well,’ says he, ‘starboard a little, and keep her a little away, so as to let her go through the water; but keep the fore-sheet to windward, so that we may appear only to have fallen off.’ By this plan we gradually increased our distance from the frigate, and got more on her bow. All this while the boat was pulling towards us, rising and tossing on the sea, but still nearing us fast. As she came nearer to us we let the lugger come up in the wind again for a short time, that we might not appear to be dodging away, and then, when the bowman was almost ready to lay in his oar, away we let her go through the water, so that she was left astern again. They could not well perceive this on board of the frigate, although the officer in the boat was very savage, for at one time he had his bow oar in and his boat-hook out. At last the frigate, perceiving that we were apparently slipping away, put her helm up, and fired a shot across our bows. ‘Now’s your time, my boys,’ said the captain; ‘let draw the sheets, the breeze is strong. She must wait to pick up her boat, and that will give us a mile at least.’ Up went the helm, and we made all sail right for the French coast. How’s her head, Tom?”

I replied, and Bramble resumed:—

“The frigate ran down to her boat, and then rounded to, to hoist it up; the sea was heavy, and she was delayed a minute or two, although, to do them justice, they were very smart on board of her. As soon as the boat was up she made all sail, and came foaming after us, as if she were in as great rage as the captain and those on board of her. Every now and then she yawed to throw a shot at us from her bow-chasers; but that we didn’t mind, as the yawing checked her way, and it’s not easy to hit a low vessel like a lugger in a toppling sea. Well, very soon we were not four miles from the French coast, so we hauled down our English colours and hoisted French. The frigate gained on us very fast, but we continued to steer on, and she in pursuit, until we were within gun-shot of the batteries. What the Frenchmen thought we did not know, at all events they did not fire, and we steered right on as if we were chased, and the frigate followed after us, until we were within a mile and a half of the batteries, when the frigate thought proper to haul her wind; then the battery opened upon her, and we could see that she was hulled more than once, and, as she kept her wind along the shore, the other batteries opened upon her, and she got a good mauling. We saw her shift her fore-topsail yard as soon as she went about again, and we afterwards heard that she had several men hurt, which was a pity.”

“And did not the batteries fire upon you?”

“No, for we kept the French colours up, and hove to within a mile of the coast. It was a lee-shore, and there was too much surf and sea for them to send off a boat and ascertain whether we were a French privateer or not; so there we lay till dusk, and then made sail again, and, being so close into the French shore, we picked up a good prize that very night. When the cruise was over, I was satisfied. I got my prize-money, and then, as I knew our own coast well, I passed for pilot, and have served as one ever since. How’s her head, Tom?”

“South West, almost.”

“South West almost won’t do, Tom. It’s not quite South West, quarter-south; so you must say South West southerly. D’ye understand?”

When Bessy knocked at my door the next morning, she cried out, laughing, “How’s her head, Tom?” and those words made me jump up like lightning.