The brave crew of the "Weymouth" had enough to do to repair their own
damages to escape a similar fate. As it was, the "Weymouth" was in a
perilous condition from the number of shot-holes she had received in her
hull, and probably had a gale sprung up, she also would have gone to the
bottom of the ocean. Exhausted by the action as the men were, they
still laboured away, as British seamen are ever ready to do, to repair
damages, and to keep the ship afloat. A course was then shaped for
Plymouth Sound.
As soon as Jack was able to go below, he inquired anxiously for Smedley.
He had been carried to the cock-pit. Jack went there. It was the
first time he had ever entered that place of horrors, and his heart
sank, and he almost fainted at the sickly odour which reached him. As
he approached it, cries and groans reached his ears. On the table lay a
poor fellow stripped naked, looking already a corpse, on whose leg the
surgeons had been operating. His leg, with several other limbs, lay in
a basket of sawdust beneath the table. The blood had completely left
his face, which still bore the marks of the agony he had suffered, which
in those days there were few means of alleviating. One of the surgeons
was pouring brandy-and-water down his throat, while another was applying
burnt feathers and other restoratives to his nose.
"It's of little use, I'm afraid," said the elder surgeon: "he has
slipped through our fingers after all!"
At first Jack did not recognise the countenance of the sufferer. He
looked again: the features were those of Smedley! The surgeon spoke too
truly; the previous loss of blood, and the agony he had suffered during
amputation, had been more than his system could bear, and the lamp of
life was already flickering in its socket. For an instant he returned
to consciousness. Jack went up to him and took his hand, while the
surgeons continued to apply their remedies.
"Shall I bear any message to your friends at Nottingham, poor Jem?" he
asked.
A slight pressure of the hand was the only answer the sufferer could
make. A sigh escaped his bosom. The surgeon put his hand upon his
wrist.
"He has gone, poor fellow! there's no calling him back!" he observed.
"Here, take the body away, and put Ned Jones in his place. His arm must
come off, if I mistake not!"
Jack turned away with a sad heart. In the cots around were numerous
forms. He was about to return on deck, when he recognised among them
the countenance of Burdale. The man's eyes followed Jack, and seemed to
ask him to return. He went up to him.
"Can I do any thing for you?" he asked. "We have met before, I think?"
"We have; but you cannot help me much, I suspect. Still, I thank you
kindly for the offer. I knew you also when you came on board, and was
glad to find that you had escaped the trouble into which I thought you
would have fallen."
The ice was thus broken, and Jack, while wishing to be of use to the
wounded man, whose time on earth he thought was likely to be short,
determined to gain all the information he could from him respecting
Pearson, and the circumstances which had brought them together. As soon
as the ship had been put to rights, those who could be removed were
carried to the main-deck, and placed in a part screened off, called the
sick-bay. Here Jack had an opportunity of visiting his wounded
acquaintance whenever he chose. The man grew weaker and weaker, and
seemed indeed to suspect that his own end was approaching.
"Deane," he said, "there's nobody on board this ship I can trust but
you; for though you know little about me, I know you to be an honest
young gentleman, and very different from the greater number of wild
blades on board. I have a wife and child living at Carlisle, and the
poor girl does not know what has become of me, and never will, unless
you will undertake, should you ever get on shore, to inform her. I had
to leave the country in a hurry to save my life: for when they took to
hanging a poor trumpeter for that affair of Sir George Barclay's, I felt
very sure if I was caught hold of they would not spare me."
"What! were you engaged in that fearful plot?" asked Jack.
"Ay, lad, was I: you may well call it fearful!" answered Burdale. "And
I should think you were too, Master Deane, whether you knew it or not."
"I am afraid that I was, though I did not know it," said Jack. "Still
no man could have hated the thoughts of what was proposed to be done
more than I did. But how were you mixed up with it, Burdale?"
"Why, just in this way," was the answer. "The man whom you know as
Master Pearson, though he has as many different names as there are days
in the week, was once one of the most noted smugglers on the coast, and
I for several years served under him. We also took two or three trips
to the Spanish Main, where we had varied fortune; Master Pearson on all
occasions got the lion's share. I was a youngster, and could not look
after my own interests in those days. We came back with a couple of
chests of gold, and plate, and jewels. Somehow or other my master
seemed to think that he had had enough of the sea. He met a lady, a
real lady she was too, though I don't know her name, and he married her,
and for the sake of her company he determined to remain on shore. He
knew better how to make money than to keep it; and so did I for that
matter, and in a short time the greater part of it was gone. However,
he promised his wife not to go to sea, or we should soon have
replenished our coffers. He set up, therefore, as a farmer and drover,
though he did other turns of business as occasion offered. He
understood as much about horses as he did about ships; and, as he had
been accustomed to levy taxes on all merchantmen he met, with very
little regard for the flag they carried, he now took to levying
black-mail on shore. I, of course, joined him. What else could I do?
Pearson also hoped to make friends at court; and as he fully believed
that King James would come back to rule over the land, he heartily
entered into the Jacobite plot, which has so signally failed."
"Then was it he who stopped our cattle as we were bound for Stourbridge
Fair?" exclaimed Jack, suddenly.
"There's no doubt about it!" answered Burdale. "He made old Will pay
pretty dear for his protection."
"Then were you the horseman I met, who advised me to offer payment?"
"Ay, my lad, that I was," was the answer. "I wonder you did not know me
again when I came to you as a guide to conduct you to Pearson's farm in
the fens."
"I thought it was you, and I was right."
"Yes; but I had good reason for not telling you so," said Burdale.
"Then who is Master Pearson?" asked Jack.
"Did you ever hear of the famous northern cateran, Ben Nevis?" asked
Burdale.
"Indeed have I!" answered Jack.
"Ay, and you know him well," said Burdale; "your friend and he are the
same. I would not tell you this, even though it would not matter to me,
but I feel sure that you and he are not likely to meet again. In the
fens he is known as Master Pearson, but he has gone by a dozen different
names at various times, and taken up almost as many different
characters. Both sea and land are much the same to him, though I think
the sea was most to his taste. If it had not have been for his wife, he
would have stuck to that probably. Next to Captain Kyd, I don't suppose
there has been a more successful man out on the Spanish Main than he
was; and I should not be surprised but what he will take to the same
calling again, if England once becomes too hot for him. I think
differently now that I see death coming on to gripe hold of me, to what
I did when I was in health and strength, and I tell you, John Deane, you
are fortunate in getting clear of him. When he first met you, he wished
to get you to join his gang, thinking that you would be ready enough to
do so from the way in which you were engaged. He would have invited
Smedley and the others, but he saw at a glance that they were not lads
to suit him, and so he kept his eye upon you. When he saw that you were
not likely to be drawn in for that sort of work, he found employment for
you in Sir John Fenwick's plot, and if it had not been for that, I can
tell you that Mr Strelley and Will Brinsmead would never have seen the
cattle he had undertaken to send south. As it was, it answered his
purpose to send them safe. You were thus still further deceived about
him. He was employed, as you know, by Squire Harwood and other Jacobite
gentlemen--not that he cared for one side more than the other, and if
King William's party had paid him better, he would have served them just
as willingly. I say this because it's the truth, which you wish me to
tell you; and I forgive him for all the harm he did me, for it was he
who first led me away from an honest course when I was a mere lad, and
tempted me to take to smuggling, and in the end to turn pirate and
land-robber. I am thankful that I at last got free of him. If it was
not for my wife and child in my quiet little cottage in the north, I
would not complain of dying now, shot down for my brave king and
country. But when I think of them, it's hard and bitter to go out of
the world, and leave them to suffer the neglect and poverty which too
likely will be their lot!"
The speaker's voice grew fainter and fainter as he went on with his
narrative, till Jack could with difficulty hear what he said.
"I promise you, Ned, I will act the part of an honest shipmate, and try
and find out those you love, and look after them. Besides, you know,
your widow will be entitled to a pension, and I will put down her
address and write to her as soon as we get into port, that she may apply
for it."
"Ah, that's a comfort; are you sure you are right, Jack?"
"I have heard several of the men talking about it, and I'm confident I
am not wrong," answered Deane. "The wives of seamen killed in action
are always provided for, and a proper thing it should be so. It's one
of the reasons, I have an idea, that our brave fellows fight so well.
God looks after the fatherless and widows, and as long as our country
professes to be a God-fearing nation, she must obey His commands."
Burdale put out his hand. Jack pressed it, and promised him again that
he would not forget his wishes. Before another sun shone over the world
of waters, poor Ned's spirit had winged its flight away from his once
sturdy form; and before the ship entered Plymouth Sound, several others
who had been wounded in the action breathed their last.