Part 7 (1/2)

We had just landed the gaily-dressed individual who had announced himself the nephew of old Tom Swatridge. Thinking that he might possibly be the person he said he was, and not knowing what tricks he might play, I was intending to row home, when a gentleman, with two young ladies and a boy, who I knew by their dress to be Quakers, came down, wis.h.i.+ng to take a row round the harbour, and afterwards to visit the Victualling Yard.

After we had pulled off some way, I asked if they would like to go aboard the _Victory_.

”No, thank thee, young friend, we take no pleasure in visiting scenes, afloat or on sh.o.r.e, where the blood of our fellow-creatures has been shed,” answered the gentleman.

As he spoke I thought by his look and the tone of his voice that he must be Mr Silas Gray, who had come to our house when the poor girl mother took in was dying, but I did not like to ask him. The young people called him father. At last he began to ask Jim and me questions, and how, young as we were, we came to have a boat by ourselves.

”I suppose thy father is ill on sh.o.r.e?” he said.

Then I told him how he was lost at Spithead, and mother had died, and old Tom had been blown up, and I had taken his wherry, seeing there was no one else to own her; and how Mary and Nancy and I lived on in his house.

”And art thou and this other lad brothers?” he inquired.

”No, sir; but Jim Pulley and I feel very much as if we were,” I answered. ”My name is Peter Trawl.”

”And was thy mother a b.u.mboat-woman, a true, honest soul, one of the excellent of the earth?” he asked.

”Ay, ay, sir! That was my mother,” I said, my heart beating with pleasure to hear her so spoken of.

Then he told me that he was Mr Silas Gray, and asked if I remembered the visits he used to pay to our house. Of course I did. The young ladies and his son joined in the conversation, and very pleasant it was to hear them talk.

We were out the whole afternoon, and it was quite late when we got back to Portsea. Mr Gray said that he was going away the next morning with his family to London, but that when he returned he would pay Mary a visit, and hoped before the summer was over to take some more trips in my wherry. He paid us liberally, and he and the young people gave us kind smiles and nods as they stepped on sh.o.r.e.

While we were out I had not thought much about the fare we had brought across from Gosport in the morning, but now, recollecting what he had said, I hurried home, anxious to hear if he had found out the house. I had not to ask, for directly I appeared Nancy told me that while Mary was at school an impudent fellow had walked in and asked if old Tom Swatridge had once lived there, and when she said ”Yes,” had taken a note of everything, and then sat down and lighted his pipe, and told her to run out and bring him a jug of ale.

”'A likely thing, indeed!' I answered him,” said Nancy; ”'what! When I come back to find whatever is worth taking carried off, or maybe the door locked and I unable to get in!' The fellow laughed when I said this--a nasty sort of a laugh it was--and said, 'Ay! Just so.' I didn't know exactly what he meant, but presently he sang out, 'What!

Are you not gone yet, gal?' 'No, and I shan't,' I answered; 'and when Peter and Jim come in you'll pretty quickly find who has to go.' On this he thundered out, trying to frighten me, 'Do you know that I am old Tom Swatridge's nephew and heir-at-law,' [I think that's what he called himself], 'and that this house and everything in it is mine, and the wherry, and any money the old chap left behind him? I'll soon prove that you and your brother are swindlers, and you'll be sent off to prison, let me tell you.' He took me for Mary, do you see, Peter; and I was not going to undeceive him? I felt somewhat nonplussed when he said this, but without answering I walked to the window, working with my needle as I was doing when he came in, and looked out as if I was expecting you and Jim to be coming. I would give him no food, nor even a drink of water; so at last he grew tired, and, saying I should see him again soon, swinging his cane and whistling, he walked away.”

”What do you think, Peter? Can he really be old Tom's nephew?” asked Mary, when Nancy ceased speaking.

”One thing is certain, that if he proves himself to be so we shall be bound to turn out of this house, and to give up the wherry,” I answered.

”Oh, Peter! What shall we do, then?” exclaimed Mary.

”The best we can, my sister,” I said. ”Perhaps the man may not be able to prove that he is what he calls himself. I have heard of impostors playing all sorts of tricks. We'll hope for the best. And now, Nancy, let us have some supper.”

Though I tried to keep up the spirits of Mary and Nancy, I felt very anxious, and could scarcely sleep for thinking on the subject. Whatever might happen for myself I did not care, but I was greatly troubled about what Mary and Nancy would do. I naturally thought of Commander Rogers, from whom all this time I had heard nothing, though he had promised to come and see after Mary and me. Mr Gray had said that he was going away again, so that I could not obtain advice from him. ”I have G.o.d to trust to, that's a comfort,” I thought, and I soon dropped off to sleep.

The next morning I remained at home to a later hour than usual. Just as I was going out a man came to the door, who said he was sent by Lawyer Gull, and put a paper into my hand, which he told me was a something I could not exactly make out, to quit the house within twenty-four hours.

”His client, the owner of the property, wishes not to act harshly, so refrains from taking stronger measures at present,” said the clerk, who, having performed his task, went away. I stopped a few minutes to talk with Mary and Nancy. Mary said quietly that if we must go we must, and that we had better look out for cheap lodgings at once. Nancy was very indignant, and declared that we had no business to turn out for such a scamp as that. Old Tom had never spoken of having a nephew; she did not believe the fellow was his nephew, and certainly, if he was, Tom would not have left his property to him. She advised me, however, to go out and try to get advice from some one who knew more about the law than she did. I accordingly set off for the Hard, where I was sure to find several friends among the watermen. I had not got far when I met Jim Pulley, looking very disconsolate.

”What is the matter, Jim,” I asked.

”We've lost the wherry!” he exclaimed, nearly blubbering. ”Two big fellows came down, and, asking what boat she was, told me to step ash.o.r.e: and when I said I wouldn't for them, or for any one but you, they took me, crop and heels, and trundled me out of her.”

”That is only what I feared,” I said. ”I was coming down to find some one to advise us what to do.”

”Then you couldn't ask any better man than Bob Fox, he's been in prison half a score of times for smuggling and such like, so he must know a mighty deal about law,” he answered.