THE YOUNG SAILOR SAVED BY JACK PRINGLE TURNS OUT TO BE AN IMPORTANT
PERSONAGE.
It was not the least gratifying part by any means of Jack Pringle’s,
going to the sea-side, that, in consequence of that occurrence, he had
been instrumental in saving the life of a fellow-creature; and when
he returned to the cottage of the fisherman, bearing in his arms the
apparently lifeless remains of a young man, who had been clinging to a
portion of the wreck, the cheer that greeted him from the bystanders
was certainly the most grateful music that had ever greeted his ears.
[Illustration: Jack bearing in his arms the young man.]
He had a strong impression on his own mind, that the young man whom he
had removed from the wreck would recover, and that impression he was
wonderfully well pleased to find verified by the fact.
The care and assiduity of the family, upon whose hospitality the young
stranger was thus by the fury of the elements thrown, succeeded shortly
in restoring him to perfect consciousness.
He showed a disposition, then, to arise, but this Jack Pringle and the
old fisherman would not permit, for they both knew from experience in
such cases, how essential rest was; so they darkened the room in which
he lay, and left him to himself.
“Well,” said Jack, as they sat together; “what do you think of that
young fellow? I cannot, for my own part, make out very well what he is,
although I can say what he is not, and that’s a seaman.”
“No, he is no sailor, certainly; and he is more likely to have been a
passenger on board the merchantman, than anything else; and if so, it’s
an odd thing that he should have been the only one saved out of the
ship’s crew, when there much have been men used to such disasters, and
one would think capable of taking care of themselves.”
“It is an odd thing; but there is no accounting for it; we shall hear
all about it, though, when he recovers sufficiently to speak to us
without doing himself any mischief.”
“Certainly; and that will be after he has had a sleep, for then he will
be all right; for, mind you, I don’t think he was insensible on account
of having been in the water so much, as because he was so thoroughly
tired out, that he didn’t know what he was about.”
The stranger slept for about four hours; and then he awakened, greatly
refreshed by the slumber, and quite able to give some account of
himself without fatigue.
After expressing his most grateful thanks for the service that had
been rendered to him, to which Jack listened with great impatience,
because he really did not consider it a service at all, but one of the
most natural things in the world for a man to do, who saw another in
distress, he said,—
“I was captain’s clerk on board a king’s ship called the Undine, and
we had a smart affair with a nest of pirates on the African coast. We
were absolutely attacked by four or five of their vessels at once, and,
having sunk three and captured the remainder, during which, however,
we lost some officers and a number of men, our captain determined upon
sending home a dispatch of the transaction, which he entrusted to my
care.”
“Hang pirates!” said Jack. “They ought all to be hung up at the
yard-arm, without judge or jury; but, I suppose, they are by this time
pretty well settled.”
“I have no doubt of it, for it was the captain’s intention to steer
to the nearest port, and there be evidence against them, and get them
in due course executed. He put me on board a merchant vessel with my
dispatches, and a more prosperous and pleasant voyage we could not
have, until the storm which arose off the coast here, and proved the
destruction of our vessel.”
“Ah!” said Jack, “it’s always the case, if anything happens, it’s
within sight almost of the port you are bound to.”
“So it is,” said the old fisherman. “All is safe out in the blue
waters; but, when you least expect it, and things are looking quite
pleasant, and people a-brushing themselves up to go on shore, then,
all of a sudden, something will occur, and you will find yourselves a
wreck.”
“It would seem so,” said the young stranger; “and, at all events, that
was our evil fortune, whatever it may be any one else’s, for we were,
indeed, just congratulating ourselves upon being at home, or nearly so,
when this terrific storm arose, and, I suppose, I am the only survivor
out a crew of twenty-eight men.”
“The only one,” said Jack, “I am sorry to say. All had sunk before the
life-boat had reached you, and, what’s more, several brave fellows lost
their lives in the first attempt to pick up some of the crew; so it has
been a most disastrous matter altogether.”
“But cheer up,” said the fisherman; “it might have been worse, for I
have known cases when a ship has gone down, and not left one survivor
to say who or what she was; or tell the tale of her destruction.”
“And I too,” said Jack.
“On what part of the coast,” said the stranger, “am I? for, during the
night, we have drifted so far, and been so beaten about by the gale,
that whether we came twenty miles or a hundred I cannot tell.”
“Why, the town close at hand here is called Anderbury.”
“Anderbury!” exclaimed the young man. “Is it possible that my faculties
have been so confused by the danger I have been in, as not to know
this coast. This is the very place to which I should have proceeded
post-haste, directly I concluded my business in London at the
Admiralty.”
“Indeed. Then you had better stay here at once, and go to the Admiralty
afterwards; for, I dare say, that will answer the purpose just as well,
at all events. And, I suppose, you have lost your dispatches.”
“I have, indeed; but yet it is my duty to report myself, as soon
as possible. But, now that I am in Anderbury, I cannot resist the
opportunity of calling upon a dear friend, who resides in this town. Do
you happen to know a family of the name of Williams?”
“No,” said Jack; “I never heard of them, except you mean a Bill
Williams, that was once on board the Ocean frigate, as cook.”
“No, no. I mean a family residing here, one of the members of which is
dearer to me than life itself.”
“Well,” said Jack, “it’s good fortune that has cast you here, since
that is the case. It is not likely that I should know anything of the
people you speak of, because I am a stranger in the place myself, and
have come a distance of twenty-five miles, just to have a look at
the sea, and nothing else, and good fortune brought me here in time,
it appears, to save your life, and I only hope you will find your
sweetheart true to you.”
“I can have no doubt of that.”
“Well, it is a good thing to be confident; but, for my part, I always
had very serious doubts, and, when I came off a voyage, I frequently
found that my sweetheart had picked up with somebody else, in the
course of about a week after I was gone.”
“But, in this case,” said the young stranger, “I would stake my life
upon the fidelity of her whom I wish so much now to see.”
“Well,” said Jack, “of course you please yourself; but, before you make
a fool of yourself, by calling upon her, just satisfy yourself upon the
subject, that’s all, and get some friend to make an inquiry for you, or
else, perhaps, you will be served as I was once.”
“How was that?”
“Why, the fact is, when I was younger than I am now, I took a fancy
to a nice little creature, of the name of Jemima West, whom I fully
intended to marry, and so I told her, before I started upon one voyage
that I meant to be my last; for, you see, I had a pretty good stock of
prize money, and I meant to set up a public-house at Liverpool.”
“And did she prove false to you?”
“A little. When I came home, of course I walked off straight to where
she lived. Her father and mother were very respectable people, and
amused themselves with selling coals and potatoes. So, in I walked,
as I used to do, into the shop, and so on, bang into the parlour, and
there sat Jemima, much as usual, neither very clean, and neither very
dirty. Well, on the other side of the fire-place was a fellow smoking a
pipe, and, when I caught hold of her, and gave her half-a-dozen regular
kisses, he takes his pipe out of his mouth, and opens his eyes like an
old crocodile.
“‘Well, my girl,’ I said; ‘how are you?’
“‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said; ‘I didn’t expect to see you any more.’
“‘No,’ said the fellow, with the pipe, ‘and I’m d—d if ever I expected
to see you at all. Who the devil are you?’
“‘Who the devil are you?’ says I; ‘but, however, that don’t much
matter, for be you whom you may, if you don’t pretty quick take
yourself off, I’ll kick you out.’
“‘That’s a good joke,’ says he, ‘to talk of kicking a man out of his
own house, after coming in and kissing his wife like a steam-engine. A
very good joke.’
“‘Wife!’ says I. ‘Do you say you are this fellow’s wife?’
“‘Yes,’ says she, and she pretended to wipe something out of the corner
of her eye with her apron. ‘Yes,’ says she; ‘I thought you were drowned
long ago, and so I thought I might as well be Mrs. Juggles.’
“Now you may guess, messmate, what a d—d fool I looked after that, and
how glad I was to back out; so, you see, I advise you to make some
inquiries just before you take upon yourself to be so positive about
your sweetheart.”
The young man laughed, as he said,—
“I think I’ll chance it; and, notwithstanding your misadventure, I have
some reason to believe that I shall not be so unfortunate; but at all
events I will take your advice and make some previous inquiries. It
shall not be said that I fell into any misadventure of that nature for
want of ordinary caution.”
“That’s right, don’t be above taking advice; and, do you know, I
sha’n’t be at all surprised, that you will find your sweetheart going
to be Mrs. Somebody else; but come, here’s dinner will be ready
directly.”
“Yes,” said the old man; “it will as soon as my son returns from
Anderbury, where he has gone to buy a bit of fresh meat for you, for
I thought you would be tired of fish, and we had nothing else in the
house.”
“I regret much giving you so much trouble; but I shall have my pay to
receive when I reach London, and will take care that you are amply
recompensed.”
“Oh, don’t mention that; and, by-the-bye, here he comes. Well, Tom,
what have you brought?”
“A leg of mutton,” said Tom; “I ain’t a judge of nothing else, but I
thought I might venture upon that, at all events. I think somebody told
me it was very good with shrimp sauce.”
“Rather an odd mixture, that, Tom, and not quite usual I should say.”
“Well, the fellow was on the grin that told me, on account of an old
woman that had been to them to ask for some more credit for a month or
two, because her daughter was going to be married to a baron somebody,
who they say has taken Anderbury-on-the-Mount, and is immensely rich.”
“Did you hear her name, Tom?”
“Oh, yes; I have seen her before in the town. It’s old Mother Williams,
and it’s her daughter Helen as is going to be married.”
“Well, I never!” cried Jack; “I say, messmate, didn’t I tell you? The
murder is out, now; that’s your sweetheart, ain’t it?”
The young man turned very pale, and for a few moments he did not speak;
but when he did so, he said,—
“There must be some mistake; I could stake my life upon her constancy.”
“Then a precious goose you would be,” said Jack, “to do any such thing,
for I wouldn’t stake my little finger upon any woman. Why, man, it’s
just what you ought to have expected. It’s the way with them all, out
of sight out of mind, and I am only surprised at a fellow of your sense
not knowing that, for you seem to be up to a thing or two.”
“It cannot be—it cannot be—I must go myself to seek Helen, and at once
put a stop to these rumours, which, I am convinced, arise from some
misconstruction, and probably a confusion of names. I know that Mrs.
Williams is a selfish woman, and it is possible that she might not
hesitate in sacrificing one of her daughters to gold, but that one
cannot be Helen, who has pledged her faith to me.”
“Well,” said Jack, “take advantage of any doubt you can, but it would
be very absurd for you to go interfering in the matter yourself. You
leave it to me to make the necessary inquiries, whilst you remain here
snug and unknown, and I promise you, on the word of a British seaman,
that I’ll bring you exact news all about it.”
“I accept your offer gratefully, for if she be faithless to me, I wish
never to encounter her again, but to leave her to enjoy what happiness
she can with that other for whom she has broken her faith with me.”
“Good,” said Jack; “that’s the wisest plan, for, after all, you see, in
these affairs who’s to blame but the girl herself? and you can’t very
well give her a thrashing, you know; for, as regards the fellow, of
course, she don’t say anything to him about you, and he can’t tell but
what she is a regular free trader.”
“True—true—and the best thing, therefore, I can do, to make certain of
controlling my temper in the transaction, is not to see her, unless I
can make certain that she is faithful to the vows she has plighted to
me; but let me beg of you, as quickly as possible, to end my state of
suspense and doubt.”
“I believe you,” said Jack; “I’ll go at once to find it all out. You
sha’n’t be in doubt much longer, and, of course, I hope that things
will turn out to your satisfaction; although I can’t say I expect they
will.”
“The hope that they will, is life itself to me, and I shall wait here
with an impatience bordering upon positive agony for your report.”