A most important Present is made to me; and, as it will eventually
appear, the Generosity of the Giver is rewarded.
Sir Hercules and Lady Hawkingtrefylyan quitted Greenwich the day after
the interview narrated in the preceding chapter; and by that day's post
Anderson received a letter, in reply to the one he had written, from his
friend Philip Bramble, channel and river pilot, who had, as he said in
his letter, put on shore at Deal, where he resided, but the day before,
after knocking about in the Channel for three weeks. Bramble stated his
willingness to receive and take charge of me, desiring that I would hold
myself in readiness to be picked up at a minute's warning, and he would
call for me the first time that he took a vessel up the river. A letter
communicating this intelligence was forthwith dispatched by my mother to
Sir Hercules, who sent a short reply, stating that if I conducted myself
properly he would not lose sight of me. This letter, however, very much
increased the family consequence in Fisher's Alley, for my mother did
not fail to show it to everybody, and everybody was anxious to see the
handwriting of a real baronet.
About a week afterward I went to the shop of the widow St. Felix to
purchase some tobacco for my father, when she said to me, "So, Jack--or
Tom--as I hear you request to be called now--you are going to leave us?"
"Yes," replied I, "and I shall be sorry to leave you, you have been so
kind to me."
"A little kindness goes a great way with some people, Tom, and that's
the case with you, for you've a grateful heart. You're to be a pilot, I
hear; well, Tom, I've a present to make you, which you will find very
useful in your profession, and which will make you think of me
sometimes. Stop a moment till I come down again."
The widow went upstairs, and when she came down held in her hand a
telescope, or spy-glass, as sailors generally call them. It was about
two feet long, covered with white leather, and apparently had been well
preserved.
"Now, Tom, this is what a pilot ought not to be without, and if what was
said by the person to whom it belonged is true, it is an excellent
spy-glass; so now accept it from your loving friend, and long may you
live to peep through it."
"Thank you, thank you," replied I, delighted, as Mrs. St. Felix put it
into my hands. I surveyed it all over, pulled out the tube, and then
said to her, "Who did it belong to?"
"Tom," replied the widow, "that's a sad trick you have of asking
questions; it's quite sufficient that it is mine, and that I give it to
you--is it not?"
"Yes," replied I, "but you're the only person who says that I ask too
many questions. Why, here's a name, F.I."
The widow stretched herself over the counter with a sudden spring, and
snatched the telescope out of my hand. When I looked at her she stood
pale and trembling.
"Why, what is the matter?" inquired I.
She put her hand to her side, as if in great pain, and for some seconds
could not speak.
"Tom, I never knew that there was a name on the telescope; the name must
not be known, that's the truth; you shall have it this evening, but you
must go away now--do, that's a dear good boy."
The widow turned to walk into the back parlor, with the telescope in her
hand, and I obeyed her injunctions in silence and wondering. That there
was a mystery about her was certain, and I felt very sorrowful, not that
I did not know the secret, but that I could not be of service to her.
That evening the telescope was brought to my mother's house by fat Jane.
I percieved that the portion of the brass rim upon which the name had
been cut with a knife, for it had not been engraved, as I thought, had
been carefully filed down, so that not a vestige of the letters
appeared.
The next morning I was down at the steps long before breakfast, that I
might try my new present. Bill Freeman was there, and he showed me how
to adjust the focus. I amused myself looking at the vessels which were
working up and down the Reach, and so much was I delighted that I quite
forgot how time passed, and lost my breakfast. Every one asked to have a
peep through the telescope, and every one declared that it was an
excellent glass; at last Spicer came up to where I stood.
"Well, Jack," said he, "what have you there--a spy-glass? Let's have a
look; I'm a good judge of one, I can tell you."