CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
Old England was reached at length. I need not give the particulars ofthe passage home. Nothing very particular occurred. Portsmouth was avery busy place in those days. Ships fitting out or paying off kept upa constant bustle. The water was alive, the streets were alive withhuman beings, and the inns were full of them. We were several dayspaying off, but at length were once more free. I was eager to go andsee my mother, and the Little Lady, and our kind friends. Mr Schank,having business in Portsmouth, told me to go on before him, promising tofollow in a few days.
"Give my love to my mother and sisters, and my very kind regards to yourexcellent mother," he said.
I thought he looked somewhat oddly as he spoke, and I have an idea thata more ruddy glow than usual came over his features; but that of coursemight have been fancy. Oldershaw, who lived a little to the north ofWhithyford, agreed to accompany me, and Dicky Esse and Tom Twig happenedto be going up to London the same day. We therefore all took our placeson the coach together. Oldershaw had secured the box seat; we threetook our places behind him. There was one other spare place, and wewere wondering who would occupy it, when a stout, large-whiskered,middle-aged man climbed up and took the seat. By the way he stepped up,and by his general appearance, I saw at once that he was a seaman.Whether he was an officer or not I could not exactly make out. Theguard's horn sounded, and off we dashed up Portsmouth High Street. Ihad by this time grown into a tall, well-made lad. I looked indeed, asI was, quite a young man, particularly contrasted with my companions,who, though really older, were both remarkably small for their age. Wewere not too old, however, to be up to all sorts of midshipmen-likepranks, and Oldershaw had some difficulty in keeping us in order. Dickyand Tom were somewhat inclined to play their tricks on our companion,and made several attempts to sell him. He took their jokes, however, invery good part, and always turned their batteries upon themselves. Iwas sitting on the opposite side to him.
"Take care what you are about," I whispered to Esse. "He may be apost-captain or an admiral, and you will find he is one of yourexamining captains when you come to pass."
"They do not travel on the top of stage coaches," answered Dicky. "Onlysmall fry enjoy that privilege--lieutenants, mates, and midshipmen."
"Do not be too sure of that," I said. "At all events, you may find himthe First-Lieutenant of the next ship you join, and he may not forgetyour free and easy style."
"If he is worth his salt he will not harbour revenge for what I havesaid or done," persisted Dicky.
However, I observed that both he and Twig were more careful than beforein their way of addressing the stranger. I heard them telling him wherewe had been and some of the adventures we had gone through.
"Have you ever been out in those parts, sir?" asked Tom.
"Yes, and I know something about them, but it is a good many years ago,probably before any of you young gentlemen were born, or so much asthought of," answered the stranger.
"Have you been away from England lately?" asked Tom.
"For a good many years, young gentleman," answered the stranger.
"To a distant station, I suppose--to North America or the West Indies?"
"No," answered the stranger; "I have been where I hope you may never be,and where I may never be again--kept from all you love or care for onearth. I have been inside the walls of a French prison."
"I hope not, indeed," said Tom. "Parlez-vous Francais, Monsieur?"
"As to that, I may understand a few words, but it is no pleasant matterto learn the lingo of one's enemies, and I felt something like an oldmaster who was shut up with me, and declared he would never prove such atraitor to his country as to learn one single French word all the timehe was in prison."
In a very short time Dicky and Tom got back to their chaffing mood. Iwas sorry not to have some conversation with the stranger. The latter,however, did not seem inclined to exchange jokes with them and becamesilent, every now and then, however, speaking a few words withOldershaw, behind whom he sat. We separated in London, where Oldershawtook us to a respectable lodging-house with which he was acquainted, andearly the next morning we started by the coach for Lincolnshire.Oldershaw and I occupied the only two places outside.
Just as the coach was starting, who should we see but the stranger whohad come up with us from Portsmouth.
"There is one place inside if you do not mind taking it," said theguard. "Very sorry, otherwise you will have to wait for the nightcoach, or to-morrow morning."
The stranger stepped in and the coach drove off. I need not describethe incidents of the journey. It was dusk when we arrived atWhithyford. At length the light from the window of the little inn, atthe end of the lane where I purposed getting down, appeared in sight.Begging the coachman to stop, I wished Oldershaw good-bye, and descendedfrom my perch on the roof. My chest and bag were handed down, and thecoach drove on.
"I cannot believe my eyes, Master Burton, sure it's not you!" exclaimedMrs Fowler, the landlady of the "Wheatsheaf."
I assured her that I was no other than little Ben Burton, thoughsomewhat increased in bulk during the five years I had been absent.
"And my mother?" I asked. "Is she well? And her kind friends?" Theanswer was satisfactory. The Misses Schank had, however, gone out to atea party at Mr Simmon's the lawyer.
"And my mother?" I asked, "is she there too?"
"Oh! No, Lor' bless you, she never goes to such gay doings. She wouldbe stopping to look after the old lady, who keeps up wonderfully. And Ishould not be surprised but what you find somebody else there. Therewas a strange gentleman came over from Ireland some days gone, and hasbeen stopping in my house. He is a free and easy spoken sort of man,though I do not understand all he says, for he speaks in the Irish way,but he is a good customer at the bar, and is liberal-handed enough.However, Master Burton, I do not know as I should advise your mother togo and do it. You see if he was to ask me, it would be a differentmatter. I could hold my own. Besides, I am accustomed to such doingsas his. When my good man that's gone, Simon Fowler, was alive, he wasnot happy till he had got a few quarts of beer in his inside--not tospeak of gin and rum. But do you see, your dear mother is a differentsort of person, and it would not do for her to take up with a gentlemanwith such habits."
I now began to comprehend the drift of the landlady's remarks.
"What!" I exclaimed, "is there a person such as you describe wanting tomarry my mother?"
"Well, that's the plain matter of fact," answered Mrs Fowler; "and whatis more he swears he will have her. He has come all the way over fromIreland, and is not going back nonplussed."
I was greatly concerned at hearing this, for although, had my motherwished to marry again, I should have been very thankful if she couldhave found a suitable protector, yet I was sure that such a person asMrs Fowler described would make her miserable. There was anotherperson I was longing to ask about, but I own, from a somewhat differentfeeling, I hesitated. "And Miss Emily?" I asked at length, trying toget out of the light of the candle as I spoke. "How is she?"
"Oh! She is the light of the house--the most beautifullest andbrightest little creature you ever did see," answered Mrs Fowler, withenthusiasm. "Whether she's the captain's daughter, or anybody else'sdaughter, it does not matter to me, but I know she is a blessing to allaround her."
"Thank you, Mrs Fowler, thank you," I answered, scarcely knowing what Isaid. "I am anxious to see my mother. Take care of my chest; I willtake my bag with me." Saying this, I darted out of the house andhurried down the lane. I well knew how delighted my mother would be tosee me, and I had an undefined feeling that the sooner I could be withher the better. Passing through the wicket I found the house-doorpartly open, and heard a voice proceeding from the back parlour. It wasa somewhat loud one too:
"Oh! Mistress Burthen! Mistress Burthen! Ye will be after breaking myheart, ye will; and me waiting for you these long years, and now at lastcome all the way over
from old Ireland to find ye as hard and obdurateas the blacksmith's anvil in the corner of Saint Patrick's street, inBallybruree," were the first words that caught my ear. "Shure you willbe afther relenting and not laving me a disconsolate widower, to go backto Ballyswiggan all alone by myself."
"Indeed, Mr Gillooly, I feel that your constancy--your pertinacityshall I call it?" and there was a slight touch of sarcasm in thevoice,--it was my mother who spoke, "deserves to be rewarded; but at thesame time I confess that I cannot bring myself to undertake torecompense you as you desire. All I can do is to give you my bestadvice, and that is to try and find some other lady who is more disposedto receive your addresses than I am."
I did not wish to be an eaves-dropper, and at the same time I scarcelyliked suddenly to rush unnoticed into the room. Old Mrs Schank would,I concluded, be in the front parlour, and perhaps Emily might be withher, and I would ask her to break my arrival to my mother. Again MrGillooly pleaded his cause. I began to fancy, from the tone of mymother's voice and the answers she made, that she was somewhatrelenting. I knew enough of the world to be aware that even sensiblepeople sometimes marry against their convictions, and I thought it wasnow high time for me to interfere. Just then I heard my mother exclaim:
"Who's that? I saw someone at the window. It is impossible; yet--Oh!Mr Gillooly, you are very kind, you are very generous, but I cannot, Icannot marry you. After what I have just now seen, it is impossible!"
"It's on my knees, then, I implore you, widow Burthen!" exclaimed MrGillooly. "Oh! Say, would you render me a desperate man and send meforth to join the Ribbonmen, or Green Boys, or other rebels against KingGeorge? It's afther killing me ye'll be by your cruelty; and it's morethan Jim Gillooly can stand, or has stood in his life, and so by thepowers, Mistress Gillooly, you shall be, in spite of your prothestationsand assartions, and--"
I now thought it high time to interfere, and rushing into the room,presented myself to the astonished gaze of Mr Gillooly, who was on thepoint of rising from his knees, with anger depicted on his countenance,and a gesture sufficient to alarm even a less timid person than mymother. She was staring with eyes open and lips apart towards thewindow which looked into the garden. The light from the lamp on thetable fell on the face and figure of a man whom I at once recognised asmy fellow-traveller from Portsmouth.
"Who are you?" exclaimed Mr Gillooly, as he saw me advancing. "Thatlady's son," I answered.
"Then out upon you for an impostor. That lady can have no big spalpeenof a son like you!" exclaimed Mr Gillooly, rushing towards me withuplifted fist. I could easily have escaped him by flight, but that Idisdained to do, though his blow was likely to be one capable of fellingme to the ground. My mother uttered a scream. At that instant thewindow was flung open, and in sprang the stranger. The scream arrestedmy assailant. He turned his head and discovered the stranger, a man ofpowerful frame, rushing towards him.
"Murther! murther! I'm betrayed!" shouted Mr Gillooly. "Oh! Widow,it's all your doing, and you have led me into an ambush! Murther!Murther!" and without stopping to pick up his hat or whip he rushed fromthe door and out through the garden and along the lane, so I concluded,as I heard his heavy footsteps growing less and less distinct as hegained a distance from the cottage.