Part 18 (1/2)

”Mr Keene, I do recollect; I pledge you my word that I have not tasted a drop of spirits since we parted--and that with a sovereign in my pocket.”

”Well, only keep to it--that's all.”

”I will, indeed, Mr Keene; and, what's more, I shall love you as long as I live.”

We pulled on board in the gig, and Peggy was soon in the arms of her husband. As Pearson embraced her at the gangway--for he could not help it--the first lieutenant very kindly said, ”Pearson, I shan't want you on deck till after dinner: you may go below with your wife.”

”Now, may G.o.d bless you, for a cross-looking, kind-hearted gentleman,”

said Peggy to the first lieutenant.

Peggy was as good as her word to me; she gave such an account of my courage and presence of mind, of her fears and at last of her getting tipsy--of my remaining at the helm and managing the boat all night by myself, that I obtained great reputation among the s.h.i.+p's company, and it was all reported to the officers, and worked its way until it came from the first lieutenant to the captain, and from the captain to the port admiral. This is certain, that Peggy Pearson did do me a good service, for I was no longer looked upon as a mere youngster, who had just come to sea, and who had not been tried.

”Well, sir,” said Bob Cross, a day or two afterwards, ”it seems, by Peggy Pearson's report, that you're not frightened at a trifle.”

”Peg Pearson's report won't do me much good.”

”You ought to know better, Master Keene, than to say that; a mouse may help a lion, as the fable says.”

”Where did you learn all your fables, Cross?”

”I'll tell you; there's a nice little girl that used to sit on my knee and read her fables to me, and I listened to her because I loved her.”

”And does she do so now?”

”Oh, no; she's too big for that--she'd blush up to the temples; but never mind the girl or the fables. I told you that Peggy had reported your conduct, as we say in the service. Now do you know, that this very day I heard the first lieutenant speaking of it to the captain, and you've no idea how proud the captain looked, although he pretended to care nothing about it; I watched him, and he looked as much as to say, 'that's my boy.'”

”Well, if that pleases him, I'll make him prouder yet of me, if I have the opportunity,” replied I.

”That you will, Master Keene, if I'm any judge of fizonomy; and that's the way to go to a parent's heart: make him feel proud of you.”

I did not forget this, as the reader will eventually discover.

I had written to my mother, giving her a long account of my adventures, but not saying a word of my having been at Chatham. I made her suppose, as I did the captain, that I had been carried up to London. My letter reached her the day after the one announcing my safety, written to her by Captain Delmar.

She answered me by return of post, thanking Heaven for my preservation, and stating how great had been her anguish and misery at my supposed loss. In the latter part of the letter was this paragraph:--

”Strange to say, on the night of the 16th, when I was on my bed in tears, having but just received the news of your loss, your grandmother went downstairs, and declares that she saw you or your ghost in the little back parlour. At all events, I found her insensible on the floor, so that she must have seen something. She might have been frightened at nothing; and yet I know not what to think, for there are circ.u.mstances which almost make _me_ believe that somebody was in the house. I presume you can prove an _alibi_.”

That my mother had been suspicious, perhaps more than suspicious, from the disappearance of the letter, I was convinced. When I replied to her, I said:--

”My _alibi_ is easily proved by applying to the master and seamen of the vessel on board of which I was. Old granny must have been frightened at her own shadow: the idea of my coming to your house, and having left it without seeing you is rather too absurd; granny must have invented the story, because she hates me, and thought to make you do the same.”

Whatever my mother may have thought, she did not again mention the subject. I had, however, a few days afterwards, a letter from my aunt Milly, in which she laughingly told the same story of granny swearing that she had seen me or my ghost. ”At first we thought it was your ghost, but since a letter from Captain Delmar to your mother has been missing, it is now imagined that you have been here, and have taken possession of it. You will tell me, my dearest Percival, I'm sure, if you did play this trick to granny, or not; you know you may trust me with any of your tricks.”

But I was not in this instance to be wheedled by my aunt. I wrote in return, saying how much I was amazed at my grandmother telling such fibs, and proved to her most satisfactorily that I was in London at the time they supposed I might have been at Chatham.

That my aunt had been requested by my mother to try to find out the truth, I was well convinced: but I felt my secret of too much importance to trust either of them and from that time the subject was never mentioned; and I believe it was at last surmised that the letter might have been destroyed accidentally or purposely by the maid-servant, and that my grandmother had been frightened at nothing at all--an opinion more supported, as the maid, who had taken advantage of my mother's retiring to her room, and had been out gossiping, declared that she had not left the premises three minutes, and not a soul could have come in.

Moreover, it was so unlikely that I could have been in Chatham without being recognised by somebody.