Jack's pockets were full of prize money. It burnt them sadly. What
should he do with it? He bethought him that, before it was all gone, he
would go down to his native village. He remembered the quiet
churchyard, with its yew trees, its white headstones, and its lowly
green mounds, where lay the only being he had ever learned to love--his
mother. He fancied that he should meet some old friends, some one who
knew her and him in his childhood. So the gallant hardy sailor set off,
with his bundle at the end of a stout stick over his shoulder, and his
pockets amply stored with money, towards his native village. He could
not reach the place on the night he had expected, so he slept at an inn
a little distance off, and it was noon before he entered it. The
steeple of the church guided him to the spot he sought. Changed was the
village, changed was everything around. The cottages seemed more
humble, the scenery on a smaller scale. He at once bent his steps to
the churchyard. Round and round it he wandered. He could not determine
the spot he looked for. At last he stopped in a remote corner, where
the rank herbage and tall weeds almost concealed the closely-packed rows
of long low mounds. No foot or headstones were there, but a piece of
the wall had fallen, and lay where it fell with grass growing thickly
around. He sat himself down on it, and rested his head on his hands. A
tear, the first he had shed for many a year, escaped through his
fingers.
"Alas, mother, mother, how comfortable I could have made you now had you
lived!" he thought, as he remembered the poverty and privations his
parent had endured. "I have not forgotten your words, the lessons you
gave me. I should not have been ashamed to meet you. Yes, you hear me,
mother, but not from down there," and he unconsciously pointed to the
lowly graves. "No, you are above--in Heaven, mother dear, and happy."
He raised his hand and looked up into the blue bright sky beyond the yew
tree, that fit emblem of mourning and sorrow, contrasting with the
glories of the firmament spread out above it, to which the Christian
believer looks with hope and joy as his abode for eternity.
Jack sat a while, then rose and went into the village. He wandered
about looking into the faces of the people he met, but not a countenance
could he remember. He recollected the names of a few. He inquired for
them at the bar of the public house. Nearly all were dead or scattered.
"You be from these parts, master, I s'pose?" said an old man who sat in
the bar eyeing him keenly. "I'd a son once who went away to sea. He
never came back. They told me he was killed by the enemy. May be you
knew him, he'd be about your age and size, I'm thinking."
"What was his name?" asked Jack.
The old man told him, and seemed sadly grieved when Jack had to say he
had never met him.
Resolved not to give up his search for some old acquaintance, Jack
shouldered his stick and bundle, and wandered along past the spot where
his mother's cottage had stood. It was on a piece of common. Though it
had fallen down, and most of the materials had been removed, he
recognised the outlines of the little bit of garden which had surrounded
it. Not far off was another cottage. An old woman stood at the door.
"Are you looking for anything, young man?" she asked, after watching him
for a time. He felt almost inclined to give her an embrace. The voice,
and expression, and figure he recognised as that of a neighbour.
"Are you not Dame Hughes?" he asked eagerly.
She nodded.
"And I'm Jack Buntline," he answered; "the son of widow Buntline. Do
you remember me?"
"Remember thy mother, lad, that I do, a good woman. And now I look at
thee I see that thou art her son. Come in. Come in. Thou art
welcome."
Thankfully did Jack enter the humble cottage. He had found what he
longed to meet--some one who knew his mother. Long and earnestly did he
talk to Mistress Hughes about her, and the dame was somewhat astonished
to find his voice falter and to see tears come into the rough seaman's
eyes as they spoke of her.
"Ah, the heart of the lad is in the right place I see," she muttered,
"though to be sure he don't look as if he often cried."
Jack at this time had huge brown whiskers, and a beard big enough for a
rook to build in, while his cheeks were of the colour of mahogany, and
his hands as hard as a smith's anvil. Dame Hughes had become a widow
since Jack went to sea, but she had a daughter. While they were talking
Nancy Hughes came in from gleaning. Nancy was a good girl, though she
had little that was attractive about her except an honest open
countenance; but she was the daughter of the woman who had known his
mother, and from the first Jack found his heart drawn towards her. Jack
lingered on in the village. The old man whose son had been killed at
sea lodged him, and loved to listen to his tales of sea fights and
adventures. So did Nancy. Before many days were over he offered to
make Nancy his wife, and she consented. They were married. Jack was
very happy. He cut out plenty of work for himself--built another room
to the widow's cottage, and helped the neighbours when any work was to
be done; but it was not profitable. Jack, like many a man possessing
far greater experience in the world, forgot that his money would not
last for ever. He put it into a bag, which he gave to Dame Hughes's
safe keeping, saying he could get plenty more when that was gone, but he
forgot to explain that he must go to sea to get it.
At last Jack found that the bag was getting empty. Poor Nancy was very
sad when he told her he must be off, but she saw that there was no
remedy for it; so with a sorrowing heart Jack shouldered his stick and
bundle and returned to Plymouth, where he had left his chest and other
worldly goods.
The long war was over, and England was at peace with all the world, but
he had not many days to wait before he found a ship fitting out for the
Pacific. The accounts he heard of her were favourable, so making
arrangements that his wife should receive half his pay, he joined her
for a four years cruise.
Away went Jack on board the _Hero_, once more to make the circuit, and
more than the circuit, of the world. Sometimes for months together he
was scorching under the sun of the tropics. At others, he was frozen up
among the icy regions of the northern pole. This voyage he had only the
elements, pestilence and famine, to fight with. Storms were skilfully
encountered, and the _Hero_ more than once narrowly escaped shipwreck,
but fever visited the frigate and carried off many a victim. Dreadful
were the ravings of the sufferers as they lay tortured by the fell
disease. Jack assisted to tend his shipmates with the tenderness of a
woman. While others stood aloof, fearless of danger he went among them.
Had he any talisman to guard him? No. But Jack knew that it was his
duty to tend the sick, and he trusted in God's right arm that He would
protect him. The fever at last disappeared, and Jack was unharmed.