himself. This offer he accepted with the warmest thanks; and when seated
by the comfortable fire in the kitchen, from which I dismissed for a
short time my only servant, he told me the simple tale of his sorrows. I
am not enough of a Scotchman to attempt to do justice to his national
dialect; so much the better, perhaps, for my English readers; but I fear
that what I gain in fluency I shall lose in expression. His name, he
said, was Dalzell; he was the son of a respectable and thriving merchant
in Kelso, who had given him, in his early years, the best education the
place afforded, with the view of preparing him, at a future day, for the
ministry; but before he was fifteen years old, his father, who was
commonly reputed wealthy, died insolvent, and his mother and he were
left in a state of utter destitution. Grief for the loss of her husband,
combined with anxiety of mind, occasioned by the unexpected change in
her circumstances, shortened the days of his beloved mother, and he was
left in the world alone. A neighbouring farmer, pitying his distress,
took him into his service, and treated him with the greatest kindness
and consideration. In this place he had remained nearly four years, and
had every reason to think that his master looked upon him more in the
light of a friend than a servant. He had done his duty faithfully and
conscientiously, because it _was_ his duty; but he was not happy; his
thoughts were constantly reverting to former days, and to his blighted
prospects, and he began to feel thoroughly discontented and disgusted
with his menial situation, when, all at once, a powerful and absorbing
feeling, like Aaron's serpent, swallowed all the rest. He loved! In the
moments when his impatient spirit most winced beneath the yoke of
servitude, light as it was, one glance at the bright blue eye and
winning smile of Grace Douglas was sufficient to chase the cloud from
his brow, and to cheer his heart with the thought that he had still
something worth living for. She was his master's only daughter, just
seventeen, and as bright and beautiful a creature as ever the eye of a
lover rested upon. Even her beauty, however, would have failed in making
any impression on the senses of the gloomy and discontented youth, had
not the better feelings of his heart been excited by her tender
sympathy. She knew his story; and, by her silent and unobtrusive
attentions, showed her pity for his misfortunes. Her tones of kindness
invested her, in his opinion, with a charm beyond mere beauty; his proud
heart was melted, and his long-pent-up affections were lavished upon
this new object with a violence that alarmed himself. It was not long
before he was awakened to the consciousness that his love was returned;
but that consciousness, blissful as it seemed at first, only gave
additional bitterness to his reflections, when he thought of the
difference in their respective situations. Poor, friendless, and
dependent, a labourer working for his daily bread, how could he hope to
gain the wealthy farmer's consent to a union with his daughter? and
without _that_ consent, she had said that, much as she loved him, she
never would be his. Prompt and impetuous, his resolution was soon
adopted; he could not bear suspense, and was determined to put an end
to it at once. He told his master all; told him that he could not bear
to deceive him; that he loved his daughter, but that he was well aware
it would be madness and presumption in him, situated as he was at
present, to hope for his approval of his passion; that he could not live
in the presence of the object of his hopeless affection; but that he
meant to depart, and to endeavour, by his own exertions in some other
sphere of life, to remove what he hoped was the only bar to his
wishes--his poverty; his birth and education, he said, were equal to her
own, and he trusted that his master had never had occasion to think
otherwise than well of his private character. The good farmer was much
surprised and affected by this disclosure, and, in reply, spoke in the
warmest terms of commendation of his young friend; but said that, as a
prudent father, he could not think of giving his consent to a union
which the want of means might render an unhappy one to both parties; and
that, much as he esteemed him, and grieved as he would be to part with
him, he perfectly agreed as to the propriety and necessity of his
departure. Next day, followed by the tears and good wishes of all the
inmates of the farm, he left the house, a sorrowful but a sanguine
wanderer. He had met his mistress before his departure; their parting
was sad and tender. He vowed unwavering constancy and attachment, but
would not accept an offered pledge of the same kind from her, leaving
her free, he said, to think of or forget him. He told her he felt he was
meant for better things; that brighter days would come; and that then he
would return to prove that he was worthy of her. His intention, he said,
was to go to sea; he had always a secret liking for it; and in the war
which was now raging, he had no doubt that opportunities of
distinguishing himself would present themselves. He was determined to do
his duty steadily and perseveringly; her image would be ever present
with him, to cheer him in the hour of danger, and to nerve him to
exertion. With such a prize in view, he said, he felt confident in his
own resolution, and was sanguine in his hope that fortune would
eventually smile upon him.
Such was the simple and affecting tale of the wayfarer. I was as much
pleased with the modest, yet firm and determined manner in which he
expressed himself, as with the narrative itself. I did not attempt to
dissuade him from his purpose, but, on the contrary, urged him to
persevere. I told him of the many gallant commanders who had
distinguished themselves in the naval annals of their country, and who
had risen to rank and fame from as humble a condition as his own. It was
with the greatest difficulty I persuaded him to accept of pecuniary
assistance to help him on his journey, and then only on the score of its
being a loan, which, if he lived, he could at some future time repay.
"I shall never forget your kindness to a friendless stranger, sir," said
he, as he grasped my hand at parting. "To have met with such an
unexpected friendship at my first outset, I may well consider a
favourable omen; and I trust that the recollection of it will act as an
additional incentive to prove myself worthy of it."
Years passed on, and I heard nothing further of my interesting
acquaintance. In the meantime, I had become a husband and father; and my
wife, to whom I had related the story of the young adventurer, felt
equally interested with myself in his welfare, and we used often to
speculate as to his probable fate. Ten years after the rencounter with
which my story commences, I was sitting reading to my wife in the
drawing-room, after breakfast, when we were startled by a knock at the
front-door, followed by the servant's announcement that a gentleman
wished to speak to me. I desired that he might be shown up-stairs, and
hastened to meet him, thinking it was one of my neighbours, from whom I
expected a visit. But what was my surprise when a tall, handsome man,
with dark, sunburnt features, and whose person was quite strange to me,
grasped my hand, and shook it most cordially, at the same time smiling
as he watched the doubting scrutiny of my gaze, as a faint recollection
of his features crossed my mind.
"I see you are puzzled, my dear sir," said he; "you do not remember me."
"I have a confused idea of having seen features like yours before," said
I; "but where or when I cannot at this moment recall to my
recollection."
"I do not wonder at your not remembering _me_," replied he, "but your
disinterested kindness made an impression on a grateful heart, which
neither time nor change have weakened. I am, or rather was, the boy
Dalzell--the poor, friendless, desolate wanderer, whom you cheered with
your benevolence, and animated by your advice. Do you remember me now?"
"I do--I do," said I, returning his warm grasp; "and most happy am I to
see you again, and to see you thus; for I perceive that your sanguine
hopes have not been disappointed, and that you have risen from your
humble station to one more worthy of you."
"Fortune has indeed favoured me beyond my deserts," answered he. "I told
you that my having met so kind a friend at my outset was a fortunate
omen; it proved so. I entered the service as a boy before the mast; I am
now a lieutenant in His Majesty's navy."
"I congratulate you with all my heart; but your modesty must not
attribute your success to good fortune alone, there must have been merit
likewise to deserve it. But I forget; I have a new acquaintance to
introduce to you--my wife; a new acquaintance, but an old friend, I can
assure you; for she has long been acquainted with, and felt interested
in, your story."
My wife cordially welcomed him, and expressed her gratification at his
return home in health and happiness.
"Alas, madam!" said he, "happiness, I fear, is as far from me as ever. I
told my kind friend there, that I felt confident fortune would smile
upon me: I was then a sanguine boy. Fortune _has_ smiled upon me; I have
risen from the humble station in which I commenced my career; I have
gained for myself rank and competency; and I am now a disappointed
man--the hope that cheered me on in my career is blighted. I returned to
the home in which I had left all that was most dear to me in life: I
found it deserted; my old master was dead--died in poverty; and
Grace--my Grace, was gone, no one knew whither."
We were both too much shocked at first by this announcement to be able
to express our sympathy; but, on reflection, I expressed my conviction
that there was no cause for serious alarm; that, while there was life,
there was hope; and that no doubt he would, ere long, succeed in gaining
some intelligence which would lead to the discovery of the orphan's
retreat. I told him I would write to some friends in the neighbourhood
of Kelso, who would, I was sure, be happy to exert themselves in making
the necessary inquiries; and that I was able and willing to accompany
him as soon as he thought proper, to assist him in his search. He was
much gratified by the offer of my services, which he seemed inclined to
avail himself of immediately.
"No, no, my friend," said I; "we have too lately found you, to part with
you so easily. You must stay with us a few days at least, until I
receive answers from Kelso, and afterwards, when we have succeeded in
the object of our search, make this house your home till you have one of
your own."
At first he seemed rather impatient at the delay; but gradually became
more tranquillised and cheerful. He gratefully accepted my offer of
extended hospitality, and pleased us by the frankness with which he
seemed immediately to take us at our word, and to feel himself at home.
We were both delighted with him; his manners were as pleasing as his
conversation was entertaining. On my requesting him to favour us with an
account of his adventures since we parted, he replied, "No one has a
better claim than yourself, my dear sir, to be informed of the progress
of an adventure of which you witnessed and cheered the commencement; but
I feel an unwillingness to commence a story, the hero of which is the
narrator, who, to do justice to it, must speak more of himself than is
either seemly or agreeable."
"Oh," said I, "do not allow your modesty to stand in the way of our
enjoyment. Speak fully and freely, in the consciousness that you are
talking to friends, who will be pleased with the narration of the most
trifling incidents connected with one in whose fate they have always
felt the warmest interest."
He bowed, and without further preface commenced as follows:--"After I
left you, I made the best of my way to London, and from thence to
Portsmouth, where I volunteered on board the Dareall frigate, fitting
out for the Cape station. I was asked if I wanted to ship as an able or
ordinary seaman, and replied that I had never been at sea, but that I
was active and willing. The lieutenant seemed pleased with my appearance
and with my answer. 'You're just the lad for us, then,' said he; 'if
you're active and willing, we'll soon make you _able_. I like the cut of
your jib, my lad; and, if you perform as well as you promise, I've no
doubt you'll make a smart fellow yet. Here, Telford,' said he to a
boatswain's mate standing near, 'I give this youngster into your charge;
make a man of him.'
"'Ay, ay, sir. Come along, young blowhard,' said he, 'as the first
leaftennan has trusted your edicashun to me, we must saw wood at once,
and see what we can make of that block of yourn. Can you handle a
marlinspike?'
"'No.'
"'Can you reef or steer, or heave the lead?'
"'No.'
"'Then what the devil _can_ you do?'
"'I can read and write, and keep accounts.'
"'Oh, ho!--a reg'lar long-shore gemman!--the makings of a sea-lawyer!
And so you can't do nothin' but read and write?'
"'Yes, there's one thing I can do, and am determined to do--to learn
everything you will take the trouble to teach me. _You_ knew nothing
before you were taught--how can you expect _me_ to do so?'
"'Well, there's reason in that, anyhow,' said he; 'and if so be you pays
attention, why, there's no saying but we may see _you_ a bosun's mate
some o' these days. But I say, young un, make your number. The poor
gulpin doesn't understand me'--(this was said half aside). 'What's your
name?'
"'Dalzell.'
"'Dalzell! Dalzell!' said he; 'blow'd if that isn't a Kelso name! Where
d'ye hail from, eh?--where d'ye come from?'
"'Scotland.'
"'Ay, that's as plain as the nose on your face, whenever you open your
mouth. Now, nobody would never go for to doubt me to be an Englishman by
my lingo. But I'll tell you a bit of a secret--I'm a Scotchman born and
bred.'
"'Well, I can tell you a secret too, if you'll promise not to tell it.'
"'Speak on, youngster. I'll never blab till you give me leave. I'm as
silent as the ship's bell, as never speaks till it's tolled.'
"'Well, then, _Telford's_ a Kelso name, as well as Dalzell. Many a
penny-bap have I bought, when I was at school, at old Jamie Telford's;
and, if I'm not mistaken, I'm speaking to his son.'
"'Did you know the old boy? Bless his old heart! Well, you're right for
once in your life, my boy; but how the devil did you find me out?'
"'I've often heard the old man talk of his son Tom, the boatswain's
mate; and your name and your talking of Kelso together made me fancy you
must be the man.'
"'Well, that beats cock-fighting! Give us your hand, my hearty! I'll
stick to you through thick and thin, for the sake of the old town and
them as lives in it, and if I don't, call me a liar, that's all, and see
what I'll give you. But who are _your_ people? I suppose that's part o'
the secret you were going to tell me?'
"'It was; and you will keep it?'
"'In coorse; didn't I tell you so afore?'
"I then told him my story, which he heard with great attention, and
which evidently increased his respect for me. 'I have often heard tell
of your father,' said he, 'and for his sake I'll do all I can for his
son. I liked the looks of you before--I like you ten times better now;
it shan't be my fault if you don't larn your duty. I'll live to see you
an _admiral_ yet--who knows? You're right, however, to keep your story
secret, for some o' these devil's limbs would be jeering about your
being a gemman in a cog, as they calls it, come to sea to wear out his
old toggery.'
"The good-hearted fellow kept his promise. Never had scholar a more
zealous and indefatigable teacher, and never had teacher a pupil more
anxious to avail himself of his advantages. We were detained for nearly
three weeks, and I made the most of my opportunities. During the day, my
friend Telford employed all his leisure time in initiating me into the
mysteries of knotting and splicing, and in teaching me the names and
uses of the various ropes; and at night, when there were none to laugh
at my awkward exhibitions, he encouraged me to go aloft, and to learn
to make active use of my hands and feet. When we went on shore on
liberty, he used to hire a boat, and teach me how to handle the oar: in
fact, my kind instructor neglected no means of teaching me how to make
myself useful. My whole heart and soul were in the matter, and my
progress was proportionably rapid; and I was cheered on to redoubled
exertion by the kind encouragement of the first lieutenant, who
complimented Telford highly on his success. Before the ship sailed, I
was on a par, as to qualifications, with many who, without a similar
stimulus to exertion, had been some time at sea. I could hand, reef,
and--no, I couldn't steer--but I knew all the marks on the lead-line,
and had often taken a sly cast. I was constantly on the watch for
instruction, always on the alert to start forward when any particular
duty was required, and, by evincing a habitual desire to do my duty
actively and well, I soon gained ground in the opinion of my superiors.
The caterer of the midshipman's mess had been disappointed in his
servant, and wished to promote me to that _high_ honour. I thanked him
heartily for his kind intentions, but declined his offer; as I wished, I
said, to learn my duty as _seaman_. This coming to the ears of the first
lieutenant, increased his good-will towards me. 'We shall make something
of that young man yet,' said he. A circumstance occurred a few days
before we sailed, fortunate in its results as far as concerned me, but
which might have terminated fatally. The captain's son, one of our
midshipmen, a fine boy of thirteen, had been forward on the forecastle
with some orders, and, in returning aft again, stopped to look over the
gangway. How the accident happened I know not, but he lost his balance,
and toppled over into the water. The men were below at supper at the
time, but I happened to have just come on deck, and had passed him to go
forward, when I heard the plunge, and, turning round, missed him from
the deck. I instantly surmised what had happened, and, raising the cry
of 'A man overboard!' I dashed over after him. There was a strong tide
running, and objects were indistinct in the dusk of the evening, but I
fortunately caught sight of him, and reached him just in time, for he
was sinking. By dint of great exertion, I contrived to support him while
I edged down to a buoy, some distance astern, to which we clung till
taken off by a boat from the frigate. The captain, who was on board at
the time, thanked and praised me before the whole ship's company for my
gallantry, as he was pleased to call it, in saving the life of his son;
and the boy, after whispering to his father, came up to me, and
presenting me with his watch, begged that I would accept it as a mark of
his gratitude. I have it still. From that day, both father and son
behaved with the most marked kindness to me, and took every opportunity
of showing their good-will. For some weeks after we sailed for the Cape:
nothing particular occurred beyond the regular routine of duty; but, at
the end of that time, the captain wanted some one to assist his
secretary, and the word was passed round the decks by the
master-at-arms, for those who were good writers among the crew, to send
in specimens of their penmanship. I was one of the candidates. Our
specimens were sent to the captain, and all the writers were ordered
aft.
"'Who is the writer of this specimen?' said the captain, pointing to
mine.
"'I am, sir.'
"'And is the motto your own?' (It was, 'When a man's foot is on the first
step of the ladder, he should never rest till he reach the top.')
"'Yes, sir.'
"'Indeed!--you seem to try to act on that principle. Go on as well as you
have begun, and there is no telling where you may stop. In the meantime,
you may act as assistant to my secretary.' He then called the first
lieutenant, Mr Barlow, and walked up and down the deck with him some
time; after which Mr Barlow beckoned to me to come to him:--'Dalzell,'
said he, 'Captain Edwards and myself have both had reason to be
satisfied with you since you joined the ship, and, as you have proved
yourself to be qualified to assist his clerk, we wish to keep you
separate from the ship's company, and to allow you to mess with the
midshipmen, if they have no objection.'
"I felt a flushing of the cheek and a fluttering of the heart. I felt
that _the first step of the ladder_ was under my foot.
"'I hope they can make no objection to me on account of character, sir;
and my birth and education place me nearly on an equality with them.'
"'Ah! how came you to be here then? You took to bad courses, I suppose,
and so your friends sent you to sea, to reclaim you: was that it?'
"'No, sir. Misfortune and necessity brought me here, united with the
love of the profession of a sailor. It is a duty, however, which I owe
to you as well as myself, on the present occasion, to appear in my true
colours; and to tell you a tale which I would otherwise have kept
secret, and which is only known to myself and my kind friend and
townsman, Telford, the boatswain's mate.' I then proceeded to relate to
him what I have already told you. Both the captain and Mr Barlow
appeared to be much interested in my narrative, and were pleased to
compliment me upon my independence of spirit, and the clear and distinct
manner in which I expressed myself. 'After this,' said Captain Edwards,
'there can be no bar to your messing with the young gentlemen, as I
suppose you have no objection to their hearing your story?'
"'None whatever, sir.'
"'Begging your pardon, Captain Frederick,' said Mr Barlow; 'I know a
midshipman's berth too well, and he may tell of his birth and his
misfortunes; but let him know the love, sir, and you'll never hear the
end of it.'
"'I daresay you're quite right, Mr Barlow. Dalzell, I have no doubt you
will be discreet in your communications, for your own sake.'
"That same day I was admitted into the midshipmen's mess, and was
treated by them with the greatest kindness and consideration. My life
was now a comparatively easy one, as I had hardly any duty to perform,
except that of writing; but I determined in my own mind, if possible, to
prove myself as quick as a clerk as I had endeavoured to do as a sailor.
I was fortunate enough, in my new capacity, not only to please my
immediate superior, but to add to the captain's good opinion of me. One
stormy night, as we were nearing the Cape, I was letting go some rope on
the poop, the hands having been called out to reef topsails, when
something fell heavily upon the deck almost close to my feet. The night
was so dark that I could not distinguish what it was; but I thought that
a coil of rope, or something of that kind, had been thrown out of the
top by the motion of the ship, and I began to feel about, to discover
what it might be. My hand touched something soft and warm, and at the
same time I heard a faint groan. I immediately gave the alarm, and a
quartermaster brought up a lantern, by the light of which we discovered
the lifeless body of young Hawkins, one of our midshipmen. He had been
up furling the mizzen-royal, had lost his footing, and been precipitated
to the deck. Poor fellow! he never spoke again--that groan had been his
last. A few days after his death, the captain called the hands out, and
told me, before them all, that he had entered me on the ship's books as
midshipman, as a reward for my good behaviour; and he had no doubt that
the same high sense of duty which had been the means of raising me to
the quarterdeck would incite me to do credit to the appointment. He
then told the ship's company to obey my orders for the future as their
officer, and then dismissed them. I was immediately surrounded by the
midshipmen, all of whom cordially congratulated me upon my appointment,
and resolved to have a jollification on the occasion. I was much amused
with my old friend Telford, who took the earliest opportunity of
touching his hat to me, and calling me Mr Dalzell.
"'Why, Telford, what makes you so distant?' said I, offering my hand at
the same time.
"'No, sir, thank ye,' said he; 'I knows my place better nor that. If so
be you likes to give us your flipper down in your cabin, well and good;
but not here, sir--not afore the people--'twould look too free-and-easy
like. I'm plain Tom Telford still; but you've got a handle to your name
now, Mr Dalzell.'
"My messmates laughed heartily, and Tom was desired to come down to the
berth, where he shook me heartily by the hand, and wished me all manner
of success, and then tossed off a tumbler of strong grog in the most
approved fashion: nose invisible--eyes raised heavenward--out-stretched
little finger--gurgling noise in the throat, ending with a suffocating
gasp of enjoyment, and a sweeping over his mouth with the cuff of his
jacket.