Фредерик Марриет
Poor Jack
I promised Anderson that I would think seriously of what he said; and I kept my word, using all my endeavors to drive the image of Janet from my memory, and substitute that of Bessy. I often recalled the latter to my mind as she lay, beautiful and motionless, after having rescued her father from the waves, and at last dwelt upon the image with something more than interest. The great point when you wish to bring yourself to do anything is to make up your mind to it. I did so, and soon found that Bessy was rapidly gaining possession of my heart.
I remained several days at Greenwich. My mother was still as busy as ever, attempting to obtain lodgers in her house who were people of family; and this unwearied system was a source of great vexation to my sister. "Oh, Tom," she would sometimes say, "I almost wish sometimes, selfish as it is, that you were married to Bessy, for then I should be able to live with you, and escape from this persecution."
"Better marry yourself, dear," replied I.
"There is but little chance of that, Tom," replied Virginia, shaking her head.
On my return to Deal I found that Bramble had remained at the cottage ever since my departure. Our greeting was warm, and when I went over to Bessy, for the first time since she had returned from school, I kissed her. She colored up, poor girl, burst into tears, and hastened to her own room.
"I hope that was in earnest, Tom," said Bramble, fixing his eye upon me inquiringly, "otherwise it was cruel."
"It was indeed, father," replied I, taking him by the hand.
"Then all's right, and God bless you, my dear good boy. You don't know how happy you have made me—yes, and now I will say it—poor Bessy also."
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
In which a new Character appears upon the Stage, and I play the part of a Pilot on Shore.
"A frigate has anchored in the Downs, Tom, and makes the signal for a pilot," said Bramble, coming into the cottage, with my telescope in his hand. "There is but you and I here—what do you say?—will you venture to take her up to the Medway?"
"To be sure I will, father; I would not refuse a line-of-battle ship. Why should I? the tides are the same, and the sands have not shifted. Would you not trust me?"
"Ay, that I would, Tom, and perhaps better that myself; for my eyes are not so good as they were. Well, then, you had better be off."
I got my bundle ready, and was about to start, when I perceived my telescope lying down where Bramble had placed it on the table. "They are not very fond of letting pilots have their glasses on board of a King's ship," said I, "so I will take mine this time."
"You're right, Tom; you can't take the spy-glass out of the captain's hand, as you do in a merchant vessel."
"Well good-by, father; I shall come down again as soon as I can—there's another gun, the captain of the frigate is in a hurry."
"They always are on board of a man-of-war, if no attention is paid to their orders or their signals. Come, start away." I went down to the beach, the men launched the galley, and I was soon on board. As I gained the quarter-deck I was met by the captain and first lieutenant, who were standing there.
"Well," said the captain, "where's the pilot?"
"I am, sir," replied I, taking off my hat.
"Where's your warrant?"
"There, sir," replied I, offering him the tin case in which I carried it.
"Well, all is right, my good fellow; but you seem but a young hand."
"Not so young as to lose so fine a vessel as this, I trust, sir," replied I.
"I hope not, too; and I dare say you are as good as many with gray hairs. At all events, your warrant is sufficient for me, and the frigate is now under your charge. Will you weigh directly?"
"If you please; the wind will probably fail as the sun goes down, and, if so, we may just as well lie off the Foreland to-night."
The frigate was soon under way; she was evidently well manned, and as well commanded. The wind fell, as I expected, and after dark we barely stemmed the ebb tide. Of course I was up all night, as was my duty, and occasionally entered into conversation with the officer of the watch and midshipmen. From them I learned that the frigate, which was called the "Euphrosyne," had just returned from the West India station; that they had been out four years, during which they had two single-handed encounters, and captured two French frigates, besides assisting at many combined expeditions; that they were commanded by Sir James O'Connor, who had distinguished himself very much, and was considered one of the best officers in the service; that the frigate had suffered so from the conflicts in which they had been engaged that she had been sent home to be surveyed; it was found that she must be docked, and undergo a thorough repair, and consequently they had been ordered to Sheerness, where the ship would be paid off. At daylight there was a leading wind up the river, and we made sail, carrying with us three-fourths of the flood. The discipline and order of the ship's company were so great that I felt much more confidence in piloting this vessel, notwithstanding her greater draught of water, than I did a merchant vessel, in which you had to wait so long before the people could execute what you required: here, it was but to speak and it was done, well done, and done immediately; the vessel appeared to obey the will of the pilot as if endued with sense and volition, and the men at the lead gave quick and correct soundings; the consequence was that I had every confidence, and while the captain and officers sometimes appeared anxious at the decrease of the depth of water, I was indifferent, and I daresay appeared to them careless, but such was not the case.
"Quarter less five."
"Quarter less five. Pilot, do you know what water we draw?"
"Yes, Sir James, I do; we shall have half four directly, and after that the water will deepen."
As it proved exactly as I stated, the captain had after that more confidence in me. At all events, the frigate was brought safely to an anchor in the river Medway, and Sir James O'Connor went down to his cabin, leaving the first lieutenant to moor her, for such were the port orders. As I had nothing more to do, I thought I might as well go on shore, and get a cast down by one of the night coaches to Dover. I therefore begged the first lieutenant to order my certificate of pilotage to be made out, and to inquire if I could take anything down to Deal for the captain. A few minutes afterward I was summoned down to the captain. I found him sitting at his table with wine before him. My certificates, which the clerk had before made out, were signed, but my name was not inserted.
"I must have your name, pilot, to fill in here."
"Thomas Saunders, Sir James," replied I.
"Well, my lad, you're young for a pilot; but you appear to know your business well, and you have brought this ship up in good style. Here are your certificates," said he, as he filled in my name.
I had my spy-glass in my hand, and, to take up the certificates and fold them to fit them into my tin case, I laid my glass down on the table close to him. Sir James looked at it as if surprised, took it up in his hand, turned it round, and appeared quite taken aback. He then looked at the brass rim where the name had been erased, and perceived where it had been filed away.
"Mr. Saunders," said he at last, "if not taking a liberty, may I ask where you procured this spy-glass?"
"Yes, Sir James, it was given me by a person who has been very kind to me ever since I was a boy."
"Mr. Saunders, I beg your pardon—I do not ask this question out of mere curiosity—I have seen this glass before; it once belonged to a very dear friend of mine. Can you give me any further information? You said it was given you by—"
"A very amiable woman, Sir James."
"Did she ever tell you how it came into her hands?"
"She never did, sir."
"Mr. Saunders, oblige me by sitting down; and if you can give me any information on this point, you will confer on me a very great favor. Can you tell me what sort of a person this lady is—where she lives—and what countrywoman she is?"
"Yes, Sir James; I will first state that she is Irish, and that she lives at present at Greenwich." I then described her person.
"This is strange, very strange," said Sir James, with his hand up to his forehead as he leaned his elbow on the table.
After a pause, "Mr. Saunders, will you answer me one question candidly? I feel I am not speaking to a mere Thames pilot—I do not wish to compliment, and if I did not feel as I state, I should not put these questions. Do you not know more about this person than you appear willing to divulge? There is something in your manner which tells me so."
"That I know more than I have divulged is true, Sir James; but that I know more than I am willing to divulge is not the case, provided I find that the party who asks the question is sufficiently interested to warrant my so doing."
"There can be no one more interested than I am," replied Sir James, mournfully. "You tell me she is Irish—you describe a person such as I expected would be described, and my curiosity is naturally excited. May I ask what is her name?"
"The name that she goes by at present is St. Felix."
"She had distant relations of that name; it may be one of them—yet how could they have obtained—? Yes, they might, sure enough!"
"That is not her real name, Sir James."
"Not her real name! Do you then know what is her real name?"
"I believe I do, but I obtained it without her knowledge, from another party, who is since dead."
"Ah! may I ask that name?"
"A man who died in the hospital, who went by the name of Spicer, but whose real name was Walter James; he saw the glass in my hand, recognized it, and on his deathbed revealed all connected with it; but he never knew that the party was still alive when he did so."
"If Walter James confessed all to you on his deathbed, Mr. Saunders, it is certain that you can answer me one question. Was not her real name Fitzgerald?"
"It was, Sir James, as I have understood."
Sir James O'Connor fell back in his chair and was silent for some time. He then poured out a tumbler of wine, and drank it off.
"Mr. Saunders, do others know of this as well as you?"
"I have never told any one, except to one old and dearest friend, in case of accident to myself. Mrs. St. Felix is ignorant of my knowledge, as well as others."
"Mr. Saunders, that I am most deeply interested in that person I pledge you my honor as an officer and a gentleman. Will you now do me the favor to detail all you do know on this subject, and what were the confessions made you by that man Walter James?"
"I have already, sir, told you more than I intended. I will be candid with you; so much do I respect and value the person in question that I will do nothing without I have your assurance that it will not tend to her unhappiness."
"Then, on my honor, if it turns out as I expect, it will, I think, make her the happiest woman under the sun."
"You said that the spy-glass belonged to a dear friend?"
"I did, Mr. Saunders; and if I find, from what you can tell me, that Mrs. St. Felix is the real Mrs. Fitzgerald, I will produce that friend and her husband. Now are you satisfied?"
"I am," replied I, "and I will now tell you everything." I then entered into a detail from the time that Mrs. St. Felix gave me the spy-glass, and erased the name, until the death of Spicer. "I have now done, sir," replied I, "and you must draw your own conclusions."
"I thank you, sir," replied he; "allow me now to ask you one or two other questions. How does Mrs. St. Felix gain her livelihood, and what character does she bear?"
I replied to the former by stating that she kept a tobacconist's shop; and to the latter by saying that she was a person of most unimpeachable character, and highly respected.
Sir James O'Connor filled a tumbler of wine for me, and then his own. As soon as he had drunk his own off, he said, "Mr. Saunders, you don't know how you have obliged me. I am excessively anxious about this matter, and I wish, if you are not obliged to go back to Deal immediately, that you would undertake for me a commission to Greenwich. Any trouble or expense—"
"I will do anything for Mrs. St. Felix, Sir James; and I shall not consider trouble or expense," replied I.
"Will you then oblige me by taking a letter to Greenwich immediately? I cannot leave my ship at present—it is impossible."
"Certainly I will, Sir James."
"And will you bring her down here?"
"If she will come. The letter I presume will explain everything, and prevent any too sudden shock."
"You are right, Mr. Saunders; and indeed I am wrong not to confide in you more. You have kept her secret so well that, trusting to your honor, you shall now have mine."
"I pledge my honor, Sir James."
"Then, Mr. Saunders, I spoke of a dear friend, but the truth is, I am the owner of that spy-glass. When I returned to Ireland, and found that she had, as I supposed, made away with herself, as soon as my grief had a little subsided, I did perceive that, although her apparel remained, all her other articles of any value had disappeared; but I concluded that they had been pillaged by her relations, or other people. I then entered on board of a man-of-war, under the name of O'Connor, was put on the quarter-deck, and by great good fortune have risen to the station in which I now am. That is my secret—not that I care about its being divulged, now that I have found my wife. I did nothing to disgrace myself before I entered on board of a man-of-war, but having changed my name, I do not wish it to be known that I ever had another until I can change it again on a fitting opportunity. Now, Mr. Saunders, will you execute my message?"
"Most joyfully, Sir James; and I now can do it with proper caution; by to-morrow morning I will be down here with Mrs. St. Felix."
"You must post the whole way, as hard as you can, there and back, Mr. Saunders. Here is some money," said he, thrusting a bundle of notes in my hand, "you can return me what is left. Good-by, and many, many thanks."
"But where shall I meet you, sir?"
"Very true; I will be at the King's Arms Hotel, Chatham."
I lost no time. As soon as the boat put me on shore, I hired a chaise, and posted to Greenwich, where I arrived about half-past nine o'clock. I dismissed the chaise at the upper end of the town, and walked down to Mrs. St. Felix's. I found her at home, as I expected, and to my great delight the doctor was not there.
"Why, Mr. Pilot, when did you come back?" said she.
"But this minute—I come from Chatham."
"And have you been home?"
"No, not yet; I thought I would come and spend the evening with you."
"With me! Why, that's something new; I don't suppose you intend to court me, do you, as the doctor does?"
"No, but I wish that you would give me some tea in your little back parlor, and let Jane mind the shop in the meantime."
"Jane's very busy, Mr. Tom, so I'm afraid that I can't oblige you."
"But you must, Mrs. St. Felix. I'm determined I will not leave this house till you give me some tea; I want to have a long talk with you."
"Why, what's in the wind now?"
"I'm not in the wind, at all events, for you see I'm perfectly sober; indeed, Mrs. St. Felix, I ask it as a particular favor. You have done me many kindnesses, now do oblige me this time; the fact is, something has happened to me of the greatest importance, and I must have your advice how to act; and, in this instance, I prefer yours to that of any other person."
"Well, Tom, if it really is serious, and you wish to consult me, for such a compliment the least I can do is to give you a cup of tea." Mrs. St. Felix ordered Jane to take the tea things into the back parlor, and then to attend in the shop.
"And pray say that you are not at home, even to the doctor."
"Well, really the affair looks serious," replied she, "but it shall be so if you wish it."
We took our tea before I opened the business, for I was thinking how I should commence: at last I put down my cup, and said, "Mrs. St. Felix, I must first acquaint you with what is known to no one here but myself." I then told her the history of old Nanny; then I went on to Spicer's recognition of the spy-glass—his attempt to murder his mother, the consequences, and the disclosure on his deathbed.
Mrs. St. Felix was much moved.
"But why tell me all this?" said she, at last; "it proves, certainly, that my husband was not hanged, which is some consolation, but now I shall be ever restless until I know what has become of him—perhaps he still lives."
"Mrs. St. Felix, you ask me why do I tell you all this? I beg you to reply to my question: having known this so long, why have I not told you before?"
"I cannot tell."
"Then I will tell you: because I did feel that such knowledge as I had then would only make you, as you truly say, unhappy and restless. Nor would I have told you now, had it not been that I have gained further intelligence on board of a frigate which I this afternoon took into the Medway."
Mrs. St. Felix gasped for breath. "And what is that?" said she, faintly.
"The spy-glass was recognized by a person on board, who told me that your husband still lives."
I ran out for a glass of water, for Mrs. St. Felix fell back in her chair as pale as death.
I gave her the water, and threw some in her face: she recovered, and put her handkerchief up to her eyes. At first she was silent, then sobbed bitterly; after a while she sank from the chair down on her knees, and remained there some time. When she rose and resumed her seat, she took my hand and said, "You may tell me all now."
As she was quite calm and composed, I did so; I repeated all that had passed between Sir James O'Connor and me, and ended with his wish that I should accompany her at once to Chatham.
"And now, Mrs. St. Felix, you had better go to bed. I told Sir James that I would be down to-morrow morning. I will come here at seven o'clock, and then we will go to the upper part of the town and hire a chaise. Will you be ready?"
"Yes," replied she, smiling. "Heaven bless you, Tom! and now good-night."
I did not go to my mother's, but to an inn in the town, where I asked for a bed. In the morning I went down. As soon as Mrs. St. Felix saw me she came out, and followed me at a little distance. We went up to where the chaises were to be obtained, and in less than three hours were at the King's Arms, Chatham. I asked to be shown into a room, into which I led Mrs. St. Felix, trembling like an aspen leaf. I seated her on the sofa, and then asked to be shown in to Sir James O'Connor.
"She is here, sir," said I.
"Where?"
"Follow me, Sir James."
I opened the door of the room, and closed it upon them.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
My Sister Virginia is at last placed in a Situation which is satisfactory to my Mother as well as to herself.
I remained very quietly in the coffee-room of the hotel, in case I should be sent for; which I presumed I should be before the day was over. In the afternoon a waiter came to say that Sir James O'Connor wished to speak to me, and I was ushered into his room, where I found Mrs. St. Felix on the sofa.
As soon as the door was closed, Sir James took me by the hand, and led me up, saying, "Allow me to introduce your old friend as Lady O'Connor."
"My dear Tom," said she, taking me by the hand, "I am and ever shall be Mrs. St. Felix with you. Come, now, and sit down. You will again have to take charge of me, for I am to return to Greenwich, and leave it in a respectable manner. I daresay they have already reported that I have run away from my creditors. Sir James thinks I must go back as if nothing had happened, give out that I had some property left me by a relation, and then settle everything, and sell the goodwill of my shop. It certainly will be better than to give grounds for the surmises and reports which may take place at my sudden disappearance—not that I am very likely to fall in with my old acquaintances at Greenwich."
"Don't you think so, Tom?—for Tom I must call you, in earnest of our future friendship," said Sir James.
"I do think it will be the best plan, sir."
"Well, then, you must convey her ladyship to Greenwich again this evening, and to-morrow the report must be spread, and the next day you will be able to re-escort her here. I hope you feel the compliment that I pay you in trusting you with my new-found treasure. Now let us sit down to dinner. Pray don't look at your dress, Tom; at all events, it's quite as respectable as her ladyship's."
After dinner a chaise was ordered, and Lady O'Connor and I returned to Greenwich, arriving there after dark. "We walked down to her house. I then left her and hastened to my mother's.
"Well, mother," said I, after the first salutations were over, "have you heard the news about Mrs. St. Felix?"
"No, what has she done now?"
"Oh, she has done nothing, but a relation in Ireland has left her a lot of money, and she is going over there immediately. Whether she will come back again nobody knows."
"Well, we can do without her," replied my mother, with pique. "I'm very glad that she's going, for I have always protested at Virginia's being so intimate with her—a tobacco shop is not a place for a young lady."
"Mother," replied Virginia, "when we lived in Fisher's Alley Mrs. St. Felix was above us in situation."
"I have desired you very often, Virginia, not to refer to Fisher's Alley; you know I do not like it—the very best families have had their reverses."
"I cannot help thinking that such has been the case with Mrs. St. Felix," replied Virginia.
"If you please, Miss Saunders, we'll drop the subject," replied my mother, haughtily.
The news soon spread; indeed, I walked to several places where I knew it would be circulated, and before morning all Greenwich knew that Mrs. St. Felix had been left a fortune: some said ten thousand pounds, others had magnified it to ten thousand a year. When I called upon her the next day, I found that she had made arrangements for carrying on her business during her absence, not having stated that she quitted forever, but that she would write and let them know as soon as she arrived in Ireland what her decision would be, as she was not aware what might be the property left her. The doctor, who had undertaken to conduct her affairs during her absence, looked very woebegone indeed, and I pitied him; he had become so used to her company that he felt miserable at the idea of her departure, although all hopes of ever marrying her had long been dismissed from his mind. Mrs. St. Felix told me that she would be ready that evening, and I returned home and found Virginia in tears; her mother had again assailed her on account of her feelings toward Mrs. St. Felix; and Virginia told me that she was crying at the idea of Mrs. St. Felix going away much more than at what her mother had said; and she requested me to walk with her to Mrs. St. Felix that she might wish her farewell.
When we arrived Mrs. St. Felix embraced Virginia warmly, and took her into the little back parlor. Virginia burst into tears. "You are the only friend in the town that I dearly love," said she, "and now you are going."
"My dear girl, I am more sorry to part with you and Tom than I can well express—our pain is mutual, but we shall meet again."
"I see no chance of that," said Virginia, mournfully.
"But I do; and what is more, I have thought about it since I have had the news. Tom, your sister, of course, only knows the common report?"
"Of course she knows no more than anybody else."
"Well, you do, at all events; and I give you leave, as I know she is to be trusted, to confide my secret to her. And, Virginia dear, when I tell you that I shall want you to come and stay with me, and shall arrange accordingly, after you have heard what your brother has to tell you you will understand that we may meet again. Good-by, and God bless you, dearest; go away now, for I have much to do."
When I told Virginia what the reader is well acquainted with, her joy was excessive. "Yes," said she, "I see now. My mother is so anxious that I should be taken into some grand family as a companion; and when Lady O'Connor agrees to receive me, she will never have an idea that it is Mrs. St. Felix. If she had, nothing would induce her to let me go, that I am sure of; for she has taken an aversion to her for reasons known only to herself."
I returned to Mrs. St. Felix's house as soon as I had escorted Virginia home, leaving her very happy. The doctor was there, mute and melancholy; and I was thinking that we should have some difficulty in getting rid of him, when Tom made his appearance.
"If you please, sir," said he, "Mrs. Fallover wants you immediately; she's taken very bad."
"I can't help it."
"Indeed, but you must help it, doctor," said Mrs. St. Felix; "the poor woman is, as you know, in her first confinement, and you must not neglect her, so let's say good-by at once, and a happy return. I asked Tom to come down that I might call upon his sister and one or two other people before I go; so you see, doctor, as you can't go with me, you may just as well go and attend to the poor woman; so good-by, Dr. Tadpole, I will write to you as soon as I know what I'm to do."
The doctor took her hand, and after a pause said, "Mrs. St. Felix, Eheu, me infelix!" and hastened out of the shop.
"Poor fellow!" said she, "he'll miss me, and that's the truth. Good-by, Jane; mind you look after everything till I come back, and take care of the dog and cat. Come, Tom, we'll go now."
I threw her trunk on my shoulders, and followed her till we came to the post-house. The chaise was ordered out, and we set off.
"Tom," said Lady O'Connor, as I again call her, now that she is clear of Greenwich, "there is one portion of my history which you do not know—a very trifling part indeed. When I saw in the newspapers that my husband had, as I supposed, been executed, I am ashamed to say that I first thought of suicide; but my better feelings prevailed, and I then resolved to change my name and to let people suppose that I was dead. It was for that reason that I left my bonnet by the river-side and all my apparel in the house, only taking away a few trinkets and valuables, to dispose of for my future subsistence. I obtained a passage in a transport bound to Woolwich, on the plea of my husband having arrived from abroad; and, by mere accident, I found the goodwill of the tobacconist's shop to be sold. It suited me—and there is the whole of my history which you do not know.
"And now, as to Virginia, I intend to have her with me very soon. Your mother is anxious that she should get into a high family, trusting that her beauty will captivate some of the members—a bad kind of speculation. I will advertise for a companion, and so arrange that your mother shall not see me; and when your sister does come to me, it shall not be as a companion, but as a child of my own. I owe you much, Tom—indeed, almost everything; and it is the only way in which I can repay you. I have already spoken to Sir James on the subject. He is equally ready to pay the debt of gratitude, and therefore in future Virginia is our adopted child."
"You are more than repaying me, Lady O'Connor," replied I, "and you are obliging me in the quarter where I feel the obligation the greatest."
"That I believe, Tom; so now say no more about it."
I may as well here inform the reader that I remained a week at Chatham, and that during that time Lady O'Connor put an advertisement in the county paper, such as we knew would be a bait to my mother. This paper I forwarded to Virginia, marking the advertisement. My mother immediately replied to it, and Sir James O'Connor went up to Greenwich and had an interview with my mother and Virginia, at apartments he had taken at the hotel; appeared pleased with my sister, and said that as soon as Lady O'Connor was sufficiently recovered she would send for her to Chatham. This took place in two days afterward; my mother escorted Virginia there. Sir James stated that her ladyship was too unwell to see anybody, but that she would speak a few words to Virginia and leave Sir James to settle the rest with my mother. Virginia came down to her mother, declared that Lady O'Connor was a very ladylike, elegant person, and that she should wish to take the situation. The terms were handsome, and my mother, although she regretted not seeing her ladyship, was satisfied, and Virginia was to come in two days afterward, which she did. Thus was my sister comfortably settled, and after remaining two days I took my leave of Sir James and Lady O'Connor, intending to return to Deal, when I received a letter from Peter Anderson, informing me that old Nanny had been suddenly taken very ill, and that Dr. Tadpole did not think it possible that she would survive more than twenty-four hours; that she was very anxious to see me, and that he hoped I would come up immediately.
I showed the letter to Lady O'Connor, who said, "You will go, of course, Tom."
"Immediately," replied I, "and the more so as this letter is dated three days back; how it has been delayed I do not know. Farewell, Lady O'Connor; and farewell, dearest Virginia. Old Nanny, as you both know, has many claims upon my gratitude."
