Old England was reached at length. I need not give the particulars of
the passage home. Nothing very particular occurred. Portsmouth was a
very busy place in those days. Ships fitting out or paying off kept up
a constant bustle. The water was alive, the streets were alive with
human beings, and the inns were full of them. We were several days
paying off, but at length were once more free. I was eager to go and
see my mother, and the Little Lady, and our kind friends. Mr Schank,
having business in Portsmouth, told me to go on before him, promising to
follow in a few days.
"Give my love to my mother and sisters, and my very kind regards to your
excellent mother," he said.
I thought he looked somewhat oddly as he spoke, and I have an idea that
a more ruddy glow than usual came over his features; but that of course
might have been fancy. Oldershaw, who lived a little to the north of
Whithyford, agreed to accompany me, and Dicky Esse and Tom Twig happened
to be going up to London the same day. We therefore all took our places
on the coach together. Oldershaw had secured the box seat; we three
took our places behind him. There was one other spare place, and we
were wondering who would occupy it, when a stout, large-whiskered,
middle-aged man climbed up and took the seat. By the way he stepped up,
and by his general appearance, I saw at once that he was a seaman.
Whether he was an officer or not I could not exactly make out. The
guard's horn sounded, and off we dashed up Portsmouth High Street. I
had by this time grown into a tall, well-made lad. I looked indeed, as
I was, quite a young man, particularly contrasted with my companions,
who, though really older, were both remarkably small for their age. We
were not too old, however, to be up to all sorts of midshipmen-like
pranks, and Oldershaw had some difficulty in keeping us in order. Dicky
and Tom were somewhat inclined to play their tricks on our companion,
and made several attempts to sell him. He took their jokes, however, in
very good part, and always turned their batteries upon themselves. I
was sitting on the opposite side to him.
"Take care what you are about," I whispered to Esse. "He may be a
post-captain or an admiral, and you will find he is one of your
examining captains when you come to pass."
"They do not travel on the top of stage coaches," answered Dicky. "Only
small fry enjoy that privilege--lieutenants, mates, and midshipmen."
"Do not be too sure of that," I said. "At all events, you may find him
the First-Lieutenant of the next ship you join, and he may not forget
your free and easy style."
"If he is worth his salt he will not harbour revenge for what I have
said or done," persisted Dicky.
However, I observed that both he and Twig were more careful than before
in their way of addressing the stranger. I heard them telling him where
we had been and some of the adventures we had gone through.
"Have you ever been out in those parts, sir?" asked Tom.
"Yes, and I know something about them, but it is a good many years ago,
probably before any of you young gentlemen were born, or so much as
thought of," answered the stranger.
"Have you been away from England lately?" asked Tom.
"For a good many years, young gentleman," answered the stranger.
"To a distant station, I suppose--to North America or the West Indies?"
"No," answered the stranger; "I have been where I hope you may never be,
and where I may never be again--kept from all you love or care for on
earth. I have been inside the walls of a French prison."
"I hope not, indeed," said Tom. "Parlez-vous Francais, Monsieur?"
"As to that, I may understand a few words, but it is no pleasant matter
to learn the lingo of one's enemies, and I felt something like an old
master who was shut up with me, and declared he would never prove such a
traitor to his country as to learn one single French word all the time
he was in prison."
In a very short time Dicky and Tom got back to their chaffing mood. I
was sorry not to have some conversation with the stranger. The latter,
however, did not seem inclined to exchange jokes with them and became
silent, every now and then, however, speaking a few words with
Oldershaw, behind whom he sat. We separated in London, where Oldershaw
took us to a respectable lodging-house with which he was acquainted, and
early the next morning we started by the coach for Lincolnshire.
Oldershaw and I occupied the only two places outside.
Just as the coach was starting, who should we see but the stranger who
had come up with us from Portsmouth.
"There is one place inside if you do not mind taking it," said the
guard. "Very sorry, otherwise you will have to wait for the night
coach, or to-morrow morning."
The stranger stepped in and the coach drove off. I need not describe
the incidents of the journey. It was dusk when we arrived at
Whithyford. At length the light from the window of the little inn, at
the end of the lane where I purposed getting down, appeared in sight.
Begging the coachman to stop, I wished Oldershaw good-bye, and descended
from my perch on the roof. My chest and bag were handed down, and the
coach drove on.
"I cannot believe my eyes, Master Burton, sure it's not you!" exclaimed
Mrs Fowler, the landlady of the "Wheatsheaf."
I assured her that I was no other than little Ben Burton, though
somewhat increased in bulk during the five years I had been absent.
"And my mother?" I asked. "Is she well? And her kind friends?" The
answer was satisfactory. The Misses Schank had, however, gone out to a
tea party at Mr Simmon's the lawyer.
"And my mother?" I asked, "is she there too?"
"Oh! No, Lor' bless you, she never goes to such gay doings. She would
be stopping to look after the old lady, who keeps up wonderfully. And I
should not be surprised but what you find somebody else there. There
was a strange gentleman came over from Ireland some days gone, and has
been stopping in my house. He is a free and easy spoken sort of man,
though I do not understand all he says, for he speaks in the Irish way,
but he is a good customer at the bar, and is liberal-handed enough.
However, Master Burton, I do not know as I should advise your mother to
go and do it. You see if he was to ask me, it would be a different
matter. I could hold my own. Besides, I am accustomed to such doings
as his. When my good man that's gone, Simon Fowler, was alive, he was
not happy till he had got a few quarts of beer in his inside--not to
speak of gin and rum. But do you see, your dear mother is a different
sort of person, and it would not do for her to take up with a gentleman
with such habits."