Percival Keene Part 17

And I will here state that Peggy Pearson, whose only fault was the pa.s.sion she had imbibed for drinking, did keep her vow; the difficulty of which few can understand who have not been intemperate themselves; and she not only continued sober herself, but by degrees broke her husband of his similar propensity to liquor.

It was not till the evening of the fourth that we arrived at the Nore.

I had four pounds in my pocket at the time that I went adrift, which was more than sufficient, even if I had not intended to go and see my mother. A wherry came alongside, and Peggy Pearson and I stepped into it, after I had thanked the captain, and given a sovereign to the seamen to drink my health.

As soon as we landed at Sheerness I gave another of my sovereigns to Peggy, and left her to find her way back to Portsmouth, while I walked up to Chatham to my mother's house.

It was past eight o'clock and quite dark when I arrived; the shop was closed, and the shutters up at the front door; so I went round to the back to obtain admittance. The door was not fast, and I walked into the little parlour without meeting with anybody. I heard somebody upstairs, and I thought I heard sobbing; it then struck me that my supposed loss might have been communicated to my mother. There was a light on the parlour table, and I perceived an open letter lying near to it. I looked at it; it was the handwriting of Captain Delmar. The candle required snuffing; I raised the letter to the light that I might read it, and read as follows:--

"MY DEAR ARABELLA:--

"You must prepare yourself for very melancholy tidings, and it is most painful to me to be compelled to be the party who communicates them.

A dreadful accident has occurred, and indeed I feel most sincerely for you. On the night of the 10th, Percival was in a boat which broke adrift from the s.h.i.+p in a gale of wind; it was dark, and the fact not known until too late to render any a.s.sistance.

"The next day a cutter was despatched by the admiral to look for the boat, which must have been driven out to sea; there was a woman in the boat as well as _our_ poor boy. Alas! I regret to say that the boat was found bottom up, and there is no doubt but that _our_ dear child has perished.

"You will believe me when I say that I deeply lament his loss; not only on your account, but because I had become most partial to him for his many good qualities, and often have I regretted that his peculiar position prevented me from showing him openly that regard which, as _his father_, I really felt for him.

"I know that I can say nothing that will alleviate your sufferings, and yet I fain would, for you have been so true, and anxious to please me in every point since our first acquaintance and intimacy, that there is nothing that you do not deserve at my hands.

"Comfort yourself, dear Arabella, as well as you can with the reflection that it has been the will of Heaven, to whose decrees we must submit with resignation. I am deeply suffering myself; for, had he lived, I swear to you that I intended to do much more for him than ever I had promised you. He would have made a good and gallant sailor had it pleased Heaven to spare him, and you would have been proud of him; but it has been decided otherwise, and we must bow in obedience to His will. G.o.d bless you, and support you in your afflictions, and believe me still,

"Yours, most sincerely and faithfully,

"PERCIVAL DELMAR."

"Then it is so," thought I; "here I have it under his own hand." I immediately folded up the letter, and put it into my bosom. "You and I never part, that is certain," murmured I. I had almost lost my breath from emotion, and I sat down to recover myself. After a minute or two I pulled the letter out and read it over again. "And he is my father, and he loves me, but dare not show it, and he intended to do more for me than even he had promised my mother."

I folded up the letter, kissed it fervently, and replaced it in my bosom. "Now," thought I, "what shall I do? This letter will be required of me by my mother, but never shall she get it; not tears, nor threats, nor entreaties shall ever induce me to part with it. What shall I do? n.o.body has seen me--n.o.body knows that I have been here. I will go directly and join my s.h.i.+p; yes, that will be my best plan."

I was so occupied with my own reverie, that I did not perceive a footstep on the stairs, until the party was so far down that I could not retreat. I thought to hide myself. I knew by the list shoes that it must be my grandmother. A moment of reflection. I blew out the light on the table, and put myself in an att.i.tude: one arm raised aloft, the other extended from my body, and with my mouth wide open and my eyes fixed, I awaited her approach. She came in--saw me--uttered a fearful shriek, and fell senseless on the floor; the candle in her hand was extinguished in the fall: I stepped over her body; and darting out into the back-yard, gained the door, and was in the street in a minute.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

I was soon in the high road, and clear of the town of Chatham. As my object was that it should not be supposed that I had been there, I made all the haste I could to increase my distance; I therefore walked on in the direction of Gravesend, where I arrived about ten o'clock. A return chaise offered to take me to Greenwich for a few s.h.i.+llings, and before morning dawned I had gained the metropolis.

I lost no time in inquiring when the coaches started for Portsmouth, and found that I was in plenty of time, as one set off at nine o'clock.

Much as I wished to see London, my curiosity gave way to what I considered the necessity of my immediate return to the frigate. At seven o'clock in the evening I arrived at Portsmouth; I hastened down, jumped into a wherry, and was on board of the frigate again by eight.

It may be imagined that my sudden and unexpected appearance caused no little surprise. Indeed, the first lieutenant considered it right to send the gig on sh.o.r.e at that late hour to apprise the captain of my return, and Bob Cross had just time to give me a wring of the hand before he jumped into the boat, and went away to make the report.

I gave a history of my adventures to the officers, leaving them, however, to suppose that I had never been to Chatham, but had gone up to London in the merchant vessel.

Pearson, the boatswain's mate, came to make inquiries about his wife; and, soon after, Bob Cross came on board with the captain's orders, that I should go on sh.o.r.e to him in the gig on the following morning.

I wished very much to consult Bob Cross previous to my seeing the captain. I told him so, and he agreed to meet me on the gangway about ten o'clock, as by that time the officers would be almost all in bed, and there would be less chance of interruption.

It was a fine, clear night, and as soon as we found ourselves alone I narrated to him, in a low voice, all that had taken place, and gave him the contents of the letter which I had taken possession of. I then asked him what he thought I ought to do, now that I was certain of being the son of the captain.

"Why, Master Keene, you have done it very cleverly, that's the truth; and that letter, which is as good as a certificate from Captain Delmar, must be taken great care of. I hardly know where it ought to be put, but I think the best thing will be for me to sew it in a seal-skin pouch that I have, and then you can wear it round your neck, and next your skin; for, as you say, you and that must never part company. But, Master Keene, you must be silent as death about it. You have told me, and I hope I may be trusted, but trust n.o.body else. As to saying or hinting anything to the captain, you mustn't think of it; you must go on as before, as if you knew nothing, for if he thought you had the letter in your possession he would forget you were his son, and perhaps hate you. He never would have been induced to acknowledge you under his own hand as his son had he not thought that you were dead and gone, as everybody else did; so behave just as respectful and distant as before.

It's only in some great emergency that that letter will do you any good, and you must reserve it in case of need. If your mother is suspicious, why, you must blind her. Your granny will swear that it was your ghost; your mother may think otherwise, but cannot prove it; she dare not tell the captain that she suspects you have the letter, and it will all blow over after a cruise or two."

I agreed to follow the advice of Bob Cross, as I saw it was good, and we parted for the night.

The next morning I went on sh.o.r.e to the captain, who received me, very stiffly, with, "Mr Keene, you have had a narrow escape. How did you get back?"

I replied, that the vessel which picked me up was bound to London and that I had taken the coach down.

"Well, I never had an idea that we should have seen you again and I have written to your mother, acquainting her with your loss."

"Have you, sir?" replied I; "it will make her very unhappy."

"Of course it will; but I shall write by this post, stating that you have been so fortunately preserved."

"Thanky, sir," replied I; "have you any further orders, sir?"

"No, Mr Keene; you may go on board and return to your duty."

I made my bow, and quitted the room; went down below, and found Bob Cross waiting for me.

"Well?" said he, as we walked away.

"Stiff as ever," replied I: "told me to go on board and 'tend to my duty."

"Well, I knew it would be so," replied Bob; "it's hard to say what stuff them great n.o.bs are made of. Never mind that; you've your own game to play, and your own secret to keep."

"His secret," replied I, biting my lips, "to keep or to tell, as may happen."

"Don't let your vexation get the better of you, Master Keene; you've the best of it, if you only keep your temper; let him play his cards, and you play yours. As you know his cards and he don't know yours, you must win the game in the end--that is, if you are commonly prudent."

"You are right, Cross," replied I; "but you forget that I am but a boy."

"You are but a boy, Master Keene, but you've no fool's head on your shoulders."

"I hope not," replied I; "but here we are at the boat."

"Yes; and, as I live, here's Peggy Pearson. Well, Peggy, how did you like your cruise with Master Keene?"

"If I ever go on another, I hope he will be my companion. Master Keene, will you allow me to go on board with you to see my husband?"

"Oh, yes, Peggy," replied Cross; "the first lieutenant would not refuse you after what has happened, nor Captain Delmar either, stiff as he is: for, although he never shows it, he don't want feeling. Jim will be glad to see you, Peggy; you haven't an idea how he took on, when he heard of your loss. He borrowed a pocket-handkerchief from the corporal of marines."

"I suspect he'd rather borrow a bottle of rum from the purser," replied Peggy.

"Recollect, Peggy," said I, holding up my finger.