As soon as the ship was paid off, Jack took his new friend on shore, and
procured for him a proper costume and other necessaries. He had himself
a considerable amount of prize-money to receive, and instead of spending
it as did many of his shipmates, throwing it away lavishly on every
side, he visited the nearest horse dealer's in order to purchase a
couple of stout animals to carry him and Monsieur de Mertens on their
way. The horse dealer was rather astonished when the naval officer,
whom he naturally supposed knew as much about horse-flesh as he himself
did about the management of a ship, indignantly refused a couple of
spavined animals which he offered for sale. Several others were brought
forward, which Jack in like manner rejected. At length he fixed upon
two beasts which, after passing his hands over their shoulders and down
their legs, he thought might suit for the purpose of carrying them safe
to Norwich, and from thence on to Master Pearson's farm.
"The finest animals in my stud!" exclaimed the horse dealer, as Jack
ordered them to be led out. "Fit for chargers for the Duke of
Marlborough himself, or suited to carry any noblemen as hunters across
the country."
"I have not so long ploughed salt water as not to know something about
ploughing the land," answered Jack; "don't you see the hay-seed still in
my hair? Come, come, Mr Crupper, the horses will carry us along the
roads without coming down on their knees at a decent pace, and if you
like to take the sum I offer, we'll have them, if not, we will soon go
and seek another dealer who is not so ready to pass off his broken-kneed
beasts on poor ignorant `Jack-tars.'"
The dealer, seeing that Jack was not to be taken in, at length agreed to
the price offered.
In a short time, with their valises strapped to their saddles, their
pistols in their holsters, with serviceable swords by their sides, the
travellers took their way towards London. In those days not a few
highwaymen beset the roads, especially those leading from the chief
naval ports to London, as they were pretty certain of finding seamen and
officers travelling up and down--those travelling towards the
metropolis, generally with an ample supply of cash in their pockets.
Hounslow Heath, over which they had to pass, was one of the spots most
frequented by those knights of the highway. It did not matter much that
the horses possessed but little speed, as De Mertens, not having ridden
for so many years, was unable to proceed at a fast rate; and even Jack
found that it was far pleasanter not to attempt going as fast as he
would once have wished to have gone over the road. They were therefore
obliged to sleep at an inn about half-way between Portsmouth and London,
hoping to get into the big city at an early hour the next day. Jack's
chief puzzle was to know where to find a lodging. As may be supposed,
he had no fancy to go back to the only one he knew of at Hammersmith,
although on their way they should pass not far from it. He felt very
sure, however, that he might do so without any risk of being discovered,
for instead of the rosy-cheeked lad he then was, he now wore a full
black beard, while his countenance was thoroughly well bronzed, and
there was a bold, dashing look about him which often marked the naval
officer of those days who had seen hard service. As De Mertens had no
wish to remain in London, they agreed to pass through the city, and to
stop for the night at Hertford, or some other town to the north of it.
On passing across Hounslow Heath they encountered more than one
suspicious-looking gentleman, armed to the teeth, and mounted on a
strong active horse. But probably Jack's appearance made the
highwayman, if such he was, think it more prudent to allow the
travellers to pass unquestioned. That sort of gentry, even in those
days, in spite of all their boasting, were generally cowards at heart,
and took good care not to attack those whom they did not feel sure they
could intimidate or overcome without difficulty.
Jack did his best to keep up the spirits of poor Monsieur de Mertens,
who as he approached Norwich became more and more-nervous, dreading to
hear that some accident had happened to his wife--that she was ill, or
perhaps had died. Then he dreaded the effect which his sudden return
might have on her; and more than all he pictured to himself her sorrow,
when at their meeting she would be unable to present to him their
beloved child.
On reaching Norwich Jack took his companion to the inn at which he had
put up with Will Brinsmead, and begged him to remain there while he
himself went on to the house of Mr Gournay, that he might prepare
Madame de Mertens for his appearance.
Jack now began to feel very nervous himself. He would ten times rather
have boarded a French ship, with pistols flashing and cold steel
flourishing round his head, than go through the necessary interview with
the wife of his friend. He first made his way to Mr Gournay's
counting-house, that he might inquire for his intended brother-in-law
Giles Dainsforth. Mr Gournay himself had returned home, but the clerks
were still there. Giles Dainsforth was not among them.
"Oh, did you not know that he left us last year to go to Nottingham, to
be married to Mr Deane's daughter? They sailed some time since for Mr
Penn's new colony in America, which they call Pennsylvania," was the
answer. "Several friends have gone out there from thence, and it's one
of the most flourishing settlements in the New World."
Jack accordingly hastened to Mr Gournay's residence, and first asked to
see Mrs Gournay. She received Jack very kindly, though she expressed
her regret at finding that he was following a profession in which he was
likely to shed the blood of his fellow-creatures.
"Young man, thou hadst better have taken a quill in thine hand, to
labour as a clerk in a counting-house, or have remained a drover to
conduct cattle up and down the country, than used a sword to deface
God's image, as I fear too often thou must have done."
Jack did not wish to argue the point, but he assured her that he had no
pleasure in killing his fellow-creatures, and that he had the
consolation of believing that the navy had been the means of preventing
a Popish King from coming over and re-establishing papacy in the
country; and that he also in his humble way had been of some benefit to
his fellow-creatures. "For instance," he said, "I was the means not
long since of saving the life of a gentleman, a French Protestant, whom
I have brought with me to see you."
Jack then explained who his companion was. Good Mrs Gournay was
overjoyed.
"Mr Deane," she said, "we must break it gently to dear Madame de
Mertens. She has been, especially lately, in delicate health, and any
sudden surprise might be injurious to her. I will go and gradually tell
her of what has occurred, and do you return to the inn and bring
Monsieur de Mertens here. By the time that he arrives, it may probably
be safe to allow them to meet."
It was very long since Jack had trod the ground with the elastic step
with which he hastened back to bring his friend to Mr Gournay's house.
He felt, indeed, very proud at the thought that he should thus have been
the means of restoring two loving hearts to each other, and still more
proud he felt he should be if he could discover their long-lost child.
This he had great hopes of doing. And as he thought of Elizabeth
Pearson's manner, her way of speaking, and many other little
circumstances, he recollected that her accent was somewhat that of a
foreigner. There was an intelligence and refinement, too, which he
should not have expected to find in a young girl in her position in
life, except, however, that Dame Pearson was herself very superior to
any farmer's wife he had ever met, and was evidently a person who had
belonged to a higher rank of society. He was also sacrificing himself
for the good of others, for had he been left to his own disposal, he
would, in the first place, have hastened on to Nottingham to enjoy the
society of his own family, and, more than all, as he thought, to renew
his acquaintance with Alethea Harwood. Often and often had her lovely
countenance risen up before him, and he had enjoyed the hope that she
would one day become his. At the same time it must be owned that
another sweet face frequently presented itself before him, and though he
had never associated it with the thought of love, yet surely it was one
which must of necessity be very dear to him. It was that of little
Elizabeth Pearson, so gentle, so bright and intelligent, and so
confiding! He had now arranged to go and visit her, not for his own
satisfaction, but for that of the friends who had hopes of discovering
in her their long-lost daughter.
Leaving Mistress Gournay, Jack hurried back through the narrow streets
of Norwich to the Bear Inn, where he found Monsieur de Mertens anxiously
waiting for him. His friend trembled as he took his arm and led him out
of the house.
"A kind friend will inform your wife of your arrival, and by the time we
reach her house Madame de Mertens will, I trust, be prepared to receive
you," said Jack.
"But she will, I fear, scarcely know me," said the poor man. "You
cannot tell how anxiety of mind and physical hardships have changed me.
When we parted I was young, and full of life and spirits, and now my
hair is grey, the colour has left my cheeks, and I tremble in every
limb!"
Jack tried to console him by assuring him that he had greatly improved
in his appearance since he had been freed from the galley, and that he
was sure his wife would know him by the expression of his countenance
and the tone of his voice, even should she discover the change of which
he spoke.
"Alas!" he said, "our joyful meeting must, however, be tinged with
sorrow when she cannot present to me our dear child. May Heaven grant
that through your assistance, my kind friend, that dear one may still be
restored to us!"
"I have little doubt about it, my dear sir," answered Jack, who was not
apt to indulge in what he called the "sentimental mood."
"I am sure that if little Elizabeth Pearson turns out to be your
daughter, you will have reason to be thankful, even though she may not
be the polished young lady she would have been had she remained under
the charge of her mother."
Thus conversing they reached the door of Mr Gournay's mansion, and Jack
had almost to drag in his poor friend, who appeared totally overcome by
the agitation of the expected meeting. Mrs Gournay had kindly
stationed a servant at the door to open it as soon as they were seen
coming up the steps. She herself then came down, and taking Monsieur de
Mertens by the hand, led him forward to the room where she said his wife
was waiting to receive him.
The meeting need not be described, nor does it matter much whether the
affectionate husband and wife thought each other greatly changed. It
was not until they had been some time together that Madame de Mertens
ventured to speak of their long-lost daughter; and then she heard with
grateful joy that her husband entertained a hope of her recovery, with
the aid of John Deane. When her husband showed her the ring which Jack
had given him, and which she herself had fastened round her child's
neck, all doubt as to the fact of Elizabeth Pearson being their child,
vanished. Both she and her husband were eager at once to set out to the
farm in the fens; but good mistress Gournay would not hear of her
commencing so fatiguing a journey, nor was her husband indeed at all fit
to undertake it at that time. Jack offered to go alone, but of that
Monsieur de Mertens would not hear. It was finally settled that they
should start together after a day's rest.
The two horses which had brought them to Norwich not being well suited
for the continuance of the journey, Mr Gournay placed at their disposal
two of the strongest animals he could procure. He also prepared a
palfrey, and directed a groom to accompany it, that Elizabeth might be
able to return without delay to the arms of her mother. When the hour
arrived for their departure, Monsieur de Mertens declared himself fully
able to undertake the journey, and urged Jack to push on over the roads
as fast as their horses could go, so eager was he naturally to solve any
remaining doubts with regard to the existence of his long-lost child.
Jack had been so thoroughly acquainted with all the country round the
farm, that as he approached the neighbourhood of it, where the high-road
ceased and the devious tracks across the marshy land commenced, he had
no difficulty in finding his way. He heard, however, that since he had
been there engineers had come over from Holland, and were engaged with
large gangs of workmen in draining the fen-country. He was able to
traverse, therefore, many places which had before been impassable, and
deep canals had been cut through others, which could only be passed by
means of wooden bridges at considerable distances from each other.
Still he felt sure that he could not mistake his way to the farm. The
nearer, however, he approached the spot where he expected to find it,
the greater difficulty did he experience in making his way. Several
times he had to pull up his horse, and look around him to consider which
direction he should take. Whenever he thought he was right, he pushed
on across the country. Although there were many hard places, there were
still many wide districts of fen-land, in no way changed in appearance
to what it had been when he left it, and often with difficulty he
avoided riding into bogs, out of which it would have been almost
impossible to extricate the horses. At length, to his great
satisfaction, he reached a group of willows which he remembered well.
He was now sure that he could not be mistaken. His own heart beat
quick. He saw by the working of Monsieur de Merten's countenance the
agitation with which he suffered, as at length he pointed out to him in
the far distance the trees which grew round the farm-house to which they
were bound. Jack took the lead, his companion following close behind
him. Already he could distinguish the windows of the house, and he
expected every moment to see the old dogs, which once knew him so well,
come out barking loudly, and then when they should recognise him, leap
up, as they had been accustomed to do, and lick his hands. He hoped to
see Dame Pearson or Elizabeth appear at the door, attracted by the
noise, to observe the approaching horsemen. In vain he waited however.
Not a sound was heard. No barking of dogs, either in anger or in
welcome, reached his ears. As he advanced his heart began to sink.
There was an air of desolation about the place which it had never been
accustomed to wear. No cattle were to be seen in the neighbouring
meadow. Many of the fences were thrown down. There were no fowls in
the farm-yard. No pigeons circled around the barn. An ominous silence
reigned over the place. Still he went on. He felt that he must speak
to his friend. Yet it seemed to him almost cruel to utter the words
which he had to say.
"You must be prepared for a disappointment, my dear sir. I fear that
the former inhabitants of the place have left it. We may, however, be
able to learn where they have gone."
The ground was now sufficiently hard to enable them to gallop on. On
reaching the front door he threw himself from his horse and struck
loudly against it. A hollow sound was the only answer returned. He
lifted the latch, for the door was unlocked. He gazed round the room
where the dame and Elizabeth had been accustomed to sit, after the chief
labours of the day were over, with their distaffs or spinning-wheels--
that very room where he had last parted from the young girl! The
lighter articles of value had been removed, though the heavy pieces of
furniture still remained in their places, thickly covered with dust. It
was evident that for many months no one had entered the house. Green
mildew was on the walls. The very floors were covered with damp.
Poor Monsieur de Mertens sank down on a seat, overcome by the bitter
disappointment which he experienced. Jack endeavoured to re-assure him,
by telling him that he knew several persons in the neighbourhood, and
that he should probably be able to ascertain from them where Master
Pearson and his family had gone. Before leaving the house, however, he
would go over every part of it, to try and discover any thing which
might give them the desired information.
The examination of the house was a very melancholy one, for not a sign
could he discover to afford the wished-for clue. One of the rooms was
locked. He hesitated about attempting to break it open. At length, on
searching around, he found a bunch of keys. They had evidently been
dropped by accident, and unintentionally left behind. Among them he
discovered the key which opened the door of the closed room. He at
first almost dreaded to enter, though he could scarcely tell why. At
length he mustered courage. He breathed more freely when he found that
the room was simply filled with bedding and bed-clothes and household
implements. They had been placed there probably for the purpose of
being afterwards sent for and brought away, and if such was the
intention of the occupants of the house it had by some reason been
frustrated. There were many signs, however, of a hasty departure,
though why Master Pearson had suddenly gone away with his wife and
reputed daughter Jack could not determine.
He feared, however, from the contents of the room which he had examined,
that they must have gone to some distance, or otherwise these articles
would probably have been sent for and brought away. Not a particle of
food was to be found in the house, and it was therefore impossible for
them to remain for the night, and Jack believed that there was time to
return to the nearest village where accommodation could be obtained. He
there also hoped to gain some information regarding Master Pearson's
movements.
With heavy hearts the two horsemen mounted their steeds and took their
way across the marsh. Night however closed in upon them before they
were clear of it. At length a light appeared before them. It seemed to
come from a cottage window close down to the ground. Jack was on the
point of riding towards it, when he knew by the hesitation shown by his
horse that he was approaching treacherous ground. At that instant the
light vanished--again to appear, however, at a little distance farther
off.
"Ah, how foolish I was to be tempted by such a `will o' the wisp' as
that!" he exclaimed. "We must keep away, my dear sir, to the left, and
I hope ere long that we shall escape from this treacherous
neighbourhood." He had been through a good many trying scenes, but he
had never felt more perplexed than he did at this moment. He was
grieved too, and sick at heart. Somewhat surprised also, perhaps, to
find how much he felt the absence of Elizabeth, though he soon persuaded
himself that it was more on his friend's account than his own. After
riding some way, Jack did what under such circumstances is the only
course to pursue. Going first himself, he allowed his horse to follow
the path which his own instinct dictated; and by so doing, in the course
of an hour the hoofs of his animal once more trod hard ground. In a
short time afterwards a twinkling light appeared, far brighter, however,
than the "will o' the wisp" which had before deceived them, and they
rode up to the very inn which Jack had hoped to reach. The landlord was
well pleased to see two well-equipped cavaliers arrive at his humble
hostel, and under took to supply them with every thing they required.
Jack's first inquiry, however, after Master Pearson, made him look more
suspiciously at them.
"Master Pearson?" he said, "the farmer who lived out there in the fens?
Ah, curious things have been told about him since he went away. I
cannot exactly make out what to say about it."
"But where has he gone?" asked Jack eagerly; "can you tell me that?"
"No; nor no one either, master," he answered. "It's the better part of
six months gone, when Bill Green, who was riding across the fen, made
his way to the farm and found not a human soul there. Why they had
gone, or how they had gone, or where they had gone, no one from that day
to this can tell. The only thing we know is, that they did not come by
this road, and so it is supposed that they made for the sea-coast.
There was Master Pearson, and Mistress Pearson, who all said was a very
good woman, and their young daughter; but not a servant or a follower of
any sort did they take with them, that we know of. None of the
farm-servants belonged to this part of the country, and they had all
gone away some time before. Altogether the matter was a mystery, and is
a mystery still to my belief."
This information given by Master Bowleggs, the landlord of the Goose and
Goslings, was very unsatisfactory to Jack and his friend. They feared
from the circumstantial way in which it was given them that it was too
likely to be true. Jack had therefore great difficulty in keeping up
the spirits of his companion. He undertook to make further inquiries in
the neighbourhood, and to devote himself to the search for Elizabeth.
Leaving the anxious father at the little inn, Jack the next day rode off
to call on the different people with whom he had been acquainted during
his stay at the farm. Several days were employed in this manner, but
none of those on whom he called could give him the slightest
information. They all believed that Master Pearson had left the
country, and some supposed that he had gone to one of the plantations in
America, but that was only a surmise, as he had for some reason or other
left no trace of the direction he had taken. Very unwillingly,
therefore, Jack and his companion returned to Norwich.
Poor Madame de Mertens suffered greatly from the disappointment she felt
at the account which her husband and John Deane brought. Her kind
friends, however, entreated her to keep up her spirits, pointing out to
her how thankful she should be at having her husband restored to her,
and that the same kind Providence which had given her that blessing
might yet further increase it by sending back to her her long-lost
daughter.
Jack's mission at Norwich having been accomplished, though not in the
satisfactory way he had hoped, he set forward to Nottingham. The
greater part of his journey was speedily accomplished, and wishing to
learn how matters were going on in that town, and also to arrive at home
at an early hour of the day, he put up at his old friend the miller's,
where he had stopped on his last visit to Harwood Grange. He had some
difficulty in making the miller believe who he was, for from his dress
and the arms he carried, the good man at first took him to be a
highwayman, and even his dame would not believe for some time that he
was the same lad she had known but a few years back. As far as he could
learn, all his family at home were well, though the miller told him of
the death of several people he knew. He inquired, not without some
hesitation, about Harwood Grange and its owner.
"Ah! the Squire. He had to go abroad some years ago, about the matter,
it was supposed, of Sir John Fenwick, whose head was cut off, you mind.
Well, the poor gentleman never came back again, and it is believed that
he took on so, about leaving his native land and horses and hounds, that
he at last died. Certain it is that his daughter came into the
property, and is now mistress of the Grange. Not that she lives there
though, for I heard that she was going to marry some young gentleman in
Nottingham, and she has taken up her abode there. Well, it is as well
that she should give the Grange a master, for it is a pretty property,
and it requires a gentleman to look after it."
This news was not over pleasant to Jack. He was sorry, certainly, to
hear of the death of Mr Harwood, but the account of Alethea's intended
marriage made his heart sink somewhat lower than it had ever sunk
before. His only hope was that the miller's story might not be true.
He could not believe that all his bright dreams should prove to be cruel
unrealities just as he was returning home. He therefore answered the
miller with as indifferent an air as he could, but the effort was
somewhat vain, and the good dame, observing that he must be tired after
his long journey, recommended him as soon as supper was over to seek his
bed.