Poor Jessie Flamank had good cause to be sad. For long she hoped
against hope. Whenever the door opened her heart beat quick, and she
looked up half ready to spring from her seat in expectation that her
Ralph would appear. Her kind granny was unwilling to say anything which
might quench the hope which kept up her spirits, yet the dame knew full
well that Ralph was too good a seaman to be allowed his liberty.
Captain Mudge looked in every evening when his work on board the _Amity_
was over for the day, and did his utmost to comfort Jessie. He would
not say, however, whether he thought that Ralph would come back soon,
but he told her that he was sure to get on well, and be better off in
many respects than on board the brig. "As to danger," he continued, "to
my mind a man is as safe in one place as in another. God, remember,
looks after those who trust in Him; they would be in a bad case if they
had no other protection than such as they can find for themselves; so I
don't see, Jessie, that any of us can do more for him than we are doing,
that is, praying heartily for him. As I always say, it's a blessed
thing that we can do that for ourselves and others, though we can do
nothing else for our own or their help."
Jessie did trust to God, but her trial was hard to bear notwithstanding.
Still it made her throw herself more than she might otherwise have done
on His fatherly care, and she felt her heart lightened in a way she had
not supposed possible. She had abundance of occupation; for Mrs
Treviss was accustomed to take in needlework, to assist her limited
means, and as her eyesight had of late become dim, Jessie endeavoured to
relieve her by labouring with redoubled diligence.
Kind-hearted Captain Mudge seldom came to the cottage without some
welcome present, which he said he had received as a gift from a brother
skipper just returned from a foreign voyage. One day it was a Dutch
cheese, another a few pounds of choice tea, or a box of dried fruit or
some bottles of wine, and so on. One day, when the package was larger
than would have been becoming for him, master of the good brig _Amity_,
to carry through the streets, he was followed by a boy wheeling it along
in a barrow. The lad, who was dressed in a neat sailor-like costume,
set it down in the passage and was going away, when Jessie recognised,
in spite of his changed appearance, her young tatterdemalion boatman,
Peter Puddle. "What, Peter, I scarcely knew you again," she said. "You
must stop and have something to eat."
"Thank ye, miss, I'm not hungry, as I used to be," he answered, in a
tone of satisfaction. "Captain Mudge has taken me aboard the _Amity_,
and I get as much grub as I want, though I shouldn't mind a bit of bread
and cheese, thank you."
Jessie invited Peter into the kitchen and placed before him a loaf of
bread and some cheese, to which, notwithstanding his assertion, he did
ample justice. She observed that he had improved in his manners as well
as in his appearance. Before beginning to eat, he said grace exactly in
the words the captain used and in the same tone. He told her that
Captain Mudge had given him an outfit, and was teaching him to read and
say his prayers, and was ever so kind in all sorts of ways. "Oh, miss,
there isn't no one like him," he added. "And only to think if I'd gone
off at once that night and hadn't picked those fellows up, I might have
saved your young man from going to sea in the frigate. I be main sorry,
you may depend on't; but I'll do all the captain tells me, that I will."
Jessie sighed. "The men might have lost their lives had you not picked
them up, though it was, indeed, careless of you to forget your
commission," she said. "But what I have to forgive I heartily do
forgive, and I hope that you will obey Captain Mudge, and follow his
advice."
"That I will, miss, and thank you, too, for speaking so kindly to me,"
answered Peter warmly. "I hope I may have a chance of showing that I am
grateful, some day, though it isn't likely, I'll allow."
The _Amity_ was at length ready for sea. She was bound out to Riga for
staves, a somewhat dangerous voyage in the autumn. Captain Mudge came
to wish the widow and her granddaughter farewell. "I've got a fresh
mate," he said, "a decent lad; but he isn't like Ralph, and I doubt if
he's much of a navigator."
"Good-bye, Jessie, good-bye; heaven bless and protect you; keep a good
heart, my girl, you'll see Ralph back some day," were his last words, as
he wrung her hand at the porch and hurried down the road.
When he had gone, Jessie felt that she had lost the truest friend she
possessed in the world next to her granny, and she could not help
fearing that the days of her only relative were numbered. Every week
Jessie saw a marked change in her. She could no longer get up and
downstairs without the greatest difficulty, her eyesight grew worse, and
her trembling fingers refused to hold a needle, while she could scarcely
convey her food to her mouth. In one respect she had not changed: her
mind remained clear and her trust in God as firm as ever. She knew that
she was dying, though she was loth to say so to her grandchild, who
would thus be left alone in the world. "God will look after the dear
one," she said often to herself; "He is ever the father of the
fatherless, and will not forsake her." She longed, however, for the
return of Captain Mudge, but though it was the time for him to be back,
no news had come from him. A letter at last arrived from Ralph, written
from the West Indies, which gave her an account of his prospects of
promotion, and cheered her up. He was well and as contented as could
be, and she was thankful for that; still it compelled her to abandon all
hopes of his speedy return. When his next letter arrived, giving an
account of the battle and of the loss of the _Eagle_ and of his own
bitter disappointment, she was sitting by the death-bed of Mrs Treviss.
Had it not been for the burning of the _Eagle_, Ralph might even now
have been with her, but instead, he had certainly gone to that far, far
off Indian Ocean, where he might be kept for years. Jessie restrained
her tears that she might not disturb her grandmother's last hours.
Mrs Treviss, who was thinking of Captain Mudge, asked faintly if he was
coming.
"No hope of it, dear granny," she answered, in a faltering voice.
"God's will be done! Trust to Him! Trust to Him!" whispered, the old
woman, closing her eyes as if she were weary and wanted sleep.
Jessie sat long watching her anxiously. There was no movement. She
took her hand. It was icy cold. Her granny was dead, and she was alone
in the world. The doctor some time after looked in and found the young
girl still seated by the bedside. He sent a woman, Dame Judson by name,
to assist her, and promised to make arrangements for the funeral, but he
had a large family of his own, and could do little more except in the
way of sympathy and advice. Mrs Treviss was carried to her grave,
Jessie being the only mourner, while Dame Judson walked by her side to
afford her support.
When she came back to her solitary home she could not for some time
arouse herself from her grief, though Dame Judson, a motherly sort of
woman, tried her best to console her. Jessie, however, felt that it was
necessary to consider what she should do for her support. The cottage
was hers, and she had about ten pounds a year left her, the interest of
a sum in the hands of Messrs. Grayson and Company, shipowners, of
Plymouth. She could make something by her needle, but scarcely
sufficient, though she was resolved to try her best. She would have let
her cottage and looked for a situation as a lady's-maid or a
nursery-governess, but then should Ralph come back he would be
disappointed at not finding her there, and she might not even hear of
his return, so she would not entertain the idea for a moment. She might
find an old lady to lodge with her, and her last idea was to open a
school for little girls. She had no one to consult with. Worthy Dame
Judson hadn't an idea above charing; with her neighbours she was but
slightly acquainted. Messrs. Grayson and Company had paid her
grandmother's interest regularly, but were not pleasant people to speak
to. They had been part owners with her father in the _Dolphin_, the
ship in which he had been wrecked. Having neglected to insure her they
had lost a good deal of money by the circumstance, and being especially
narrow-minded entertained an ill feeling even for poor Jessie herself,
which they exhibited whenever she went to their office. She had been to
a good school in Exeter, but the lady who kept it, and who would have
been of great assistance, was dead, and the school broken up.
The clergyman of the church Jessie attended, on hearing of her
unprotected condition, immediately called on her to offer such
consolation and assistance as he had the power to bestow. He was,
however, the vicar of an extensive parish, which, in addition to its
usual large number of poor, contained at the time very many widows and
orphans of the soldiers and sailors killed during the long protracted
war, who demanded all his sympathy and attention. Having also but a
limited income, insufficient for the extensive demands on his purse, he
was unable to afford her any pecuniary assistance. His visits, few and
far between, like those of angels, as they of necessity were, afforded
her much comfort and support, as he never failed to urge her to seek for
that strength from on high which will always be granted when asked for
with a believing heart; and to place her reliance on Him who orders all
for the best, though man, with his finite powers of mind, often fails to
perceive it.
The only other person she could consult was Mr Barry, the apothecary,
and he had but little time to give his thoughts to the subject.
The _Amity_ had in the meantime gone back to London, and had made
several other distant voyages without returning to Plymouth. The
captain had written to her, but on each occasion had again sailed
without receiving her replies, and was thus not aware of her
grandmother's death. At length a letter reached him while he lay in the
Thames, and in his answer he promised to come and see her without fail
at the end of the next voyage. A long time passed after this, and no
tidings came of him. She lived on in hopes, however, of his promised
visit, till at length she heard from Mrs Judson of a rumour that the
_Amity_ was lost with all hands.
"But don't ye take on so now, my dear," exclaimed the good woman when
she saw the effect her announcement had produced. "We often hear of
vessels going to the bottom which are all the time snug in some port or
other, and perhaps the _Amity_, which has to be sure been a terrible
long time missing, will come back some day with her old captain all
right."
These remarks slightly revived poor Jessie's hopes, but weeks and weeks
went by and the old captain did not appear. Still she thought that the
_Amity_ might have been captured by the enemy and be in some foreign
port; but the brokers had not heard from Captain Mudge, and even though
a prisoner he would have managed to send a letter. She had long been
expecting also to hear from Ralph. She was certain that he would have
written if he had had the opportunity, but no news came of him. India
was a long way off, and letters were often six months or even a year in
coming, she knew. She was, therefore, though anxious, not alarmed, but
she could not help watching with a beating heart each day at the hour
the postman was wont to pass her door, in the expectation that he would
stop with a letter in his hand.
Months and months passed, none came. Her heart sickened, her cheeks
grew pale. Again Dame Judson was the bearer of bad tidings. "She
didn't wish to alarm Miss Flamank, not she, but she had heard a report
that one of his Majesty's ships had been lost in the Indian seas with
all hands, and she was greatly afraid that it might be the _Falcon_.
There were many other ships, though, on the station, and it might just
as likely be one of them."
Jessie had never before fainted in her life, but she would have fallen
to the ground had not Mrs Judson caught her and carried her to the
sofa. The good woman was dreadfully frightened, for she thought that
Jessie was dead, and that she had killed her by her incautious
announcement. She tried all the usual expedients to restore animation,
and at length the poor girl opened her eyes, but there was a pained yet
vacant expression in them which the dame could not fail to remark.
Mr Barry happened soon afterwards to look in to say that he had the
promise of four or five pupils, but he at once saw that poor Jessie
would be unable to receive them for a long time to come. For weeks she
remained in a sadly prostrated state, attended by Dame Judson, who
looked after her, as she said truly, without hope of fee or reward.
Youth and a good constitution prevailed at length, and Jessie recovered
her health, though her heart seemed crushed, and she was unable to exert
herself as she knew was necessary to obtain a livelihood. Poor girl!
she felt utterly alone in the world. Still, though the news of the
_Falcon's_ loss was confirmed beyond all doubt, and the widows and
children of her officers and crew entitled to pensions had received them
she heard, she herself would not abandon all hope of seeing Ralph. Had
she not prayed to God that he might be preserved from all dangers with
the truest faith? and oh, how earnestly! though, as in duty bound, she
had added, "Thy will be done." She even now tried from her heart to
repeat those words and to bow meekly to the will of her Heavenly Father.
"He knows what is best, and does all for the best, as granny used to
tell me, and as the kind vicar often says," she repeated to herself; "I
am sure of that, though I cannot see it in this case, but that arises
from my blindness and little faith."