boy would in future look up to him as a parent. To this speech Captain Delmar made no reply; but, changing the conversation, told her that he expected to sail in about three or four days, and that no time must be lost in fitting me out; that, all things considered, he thought it advisable that she should return at once to Chatham, and leave the boy with him as she could not know what was requisite for me, and would therefore be of no use.
At the idea of parting with me, my mother cried bitterly. Captain Delmar did then rise off his chair, and taking my mother by the hand speak to her a few words of consolation. My mother removed her handkerchief from her eyes and sighed deeply, saying to Captain Delmar, with an appealing look, “Oh! Captain Delmar, remember that for you I have indeed made great sacrifices; do not forget them, when you look at that boy, who is very dear to me.”
“I will do him justice,” replied the captain, somewhat affected, “but I must insist upon inviolable secrecy on your part; you must promise me that under any circumstances—”
“I have obeyed you for thirteen years,” replied my mother; “I am not likely to forget my promise now; it is hard to part with him, but I leave him in the hands of—”
“You forget the boy is there,” interrupted Captain Delmar; “take him away now; to-morrow morning I will send my coxswain for him, and you must go back to Chatham.”
“God bless you, sir,” replied my mother, weeping, as Captain Delmar shook her hand, and then we left the room. As we were walking back to our lodging, I inquired of my mother—“What’s the secret between you and Captain Delmar, mother?”
“The secret, child! Oh, something which took place at the time I was living with his aunt, and which he does not wish to have known; so ask me no more questions about it.”
After our return, my mother gave me a great deal of advice. She told me that, as I had lost my father Ben, I must now look upon Captain Delmar as a father to me; that Ben had been a faithful servant to the captain, and that she had been the same to Mrs. Delmar, his aunt; and that was the reason why Captain Delmar was interested about me, and had promised to do so much for me; begging me to treat him with great respect and never venture to play him any tricks, or otherwise he would be highly offended, and send me home again; and then I should never rise to be an officer in his Majesty’s service.
I cannot say the advice received the attention it deserved, for I felt more inclined to play tricks to my honourable captain than any person I ever met with; however, I appeared to consent, and, in return begged my mother to take care of my dog Bob, which she promised to do.
My mother cried a great deal during the night; the next morning she gave me five guineas as pocket-money, recommending me to be careful of it, and telling me I must look to Captain Delmar for my future supply. She tied up the little linen I had brought with me in a handkerchief, and shortly after the coxswain knocked at the door, and came upstairs to claim me for his Majesty’s service.
“I’m come for the youngster, if you please, marm,” said the coxswain, a fine, tall seaman, remarkably clean and neat in his dress.
My mother put her arms round me, and burst into tears.
“I beg your pardon, marm,” said the coxswain, after standing silent about a minute, “but could not you do the piping after the youngster’s gone? If I stay here long I shall be blowed up by the skipper, as sure as my name’s Bob Cross.”
“I will detain you but a few seconds longer,” replied my mother; “I may never see him again.”
“Well, that’s a fact; my poor mother never did me,” replied the coxswain.
This observation did not raise my mother’s spirits. Another pause ensued, during which I was bedewed with her tears, when the coxswain approached again—
“I ax your pardon, marm; but if you know anything of Captain Delmar, you must know he’s not a man to be played with, and you would not wish to get me into trouble. It’s a hard thing to part with a child, I’m told, but it wouldn’t help me if I said anything about your tears. If the captain were to go to the boat, and find me not there, he’d just say, ‘What were my orders, sir?’ and after that, you know, marm, there is not a word for me to say.”
“Take him, then, my good man,” replied my mother, pressing me convulsively to her heart—“take him; Heaven bless you, my dear child.”
“Thanky, marm; that’s kind of you,” replied the coxswain. “Come, my little fellow, we’ll soon make a man of you.”
I once more pressed my lips to my poor mother’s, and she resigned me to the coxswain, at the same time taking some silver off the table and putting it into his hand.
“Thanky, marm; that’s kinder still, to think of another when you’re in distress yourself; I shan’t forget it. I’ll look after the lad a bit for you, as sure as my name’s Bob Cross.”
My mother sank down on the sofa, with her handkerchief to her eyes.
Bob Cross caught up the bundle, and led me away. I was very melancholy, for I loved my mother, and could not bear to see her so distressed, and for some time we walked on without speaking.
The coxswain first broke the silence:—“What’s your name, my little Trojan?” said he.
“Percival Keene.”
“Well I’m blessed if I didn’t think that you were one of the Delmar breed, by the cut of your jib; howsomever, it’s a wise child that knows its own father.”
“Father’s dead,” replied I.
“Dead! Well, fathers do die sometimes; you must get on how you can without one. I don’t think fathers are of much use, for, you see, mothers take care of you till you’re old enough to go to sea. My father did nothing for me, except to help mother to lick me, when I was obstropolous.”
The reader, from what he has already been informed about Ben, the marine, may easily conceive that I was very much of Bob Cross’s opinion.
“I suppose you don’t know anybody on board—do you?”
“Yes, I know Tommy Dott—I knew him when the ship was at Chatham.”
“Oh! Mr. Tommy Dott; I dare say you’re just like him, for you look full of mischief. He’s a very nice young man for a small party, as the saying is; there is more devil in his little carcase than in two women’s, and that’s not a trifle; you’ll hunt in couples, I dare say, and get well flogged at the same gun, if you don’t take care. Now, here we are, and I must report my arrival with you under convoy.”
Bob Cross sent a waiter for the captain’s steward, who went up to Captain Delmar. I was ordered to go upstairs, and again found myself in the presence of the noble captain, and a very stout elderly man, with a flaxen wig.
“This is the lad,” said Captain Delmar, when I came into the room and walked up to him; “you know exactly what he requires; oblige me by seeing him properly fitted out and the bill sent in to me.”
“Your orders shall be strictly obeyed, Captain Delmar,” said the old gentleman, with a profound bow.
“You had better not order too many things, as he is growing fast; it will be easy to make good any deficiencies as
