Ben Burton Part 15

"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 pa.s.s."

"They do not travel on the top of stage coaches," answered d.i.c.ky. "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 d.i.c.ky.

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 d.i.c.ky 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 a.s.sured 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."

I now began to comprehend the drift of the landlady's remarks.

"What!" I exclaimed, "is there a person such as you describe wanting to marry my mother?"

"Well, that's the plain matter of fact," answered Mrs Fowler; "and what is more he swears he will have her. He has come all the way over from Ireland, and is not going back nonplussed."

I was greatly concerned at hearing this, for although, had my mother wished to marry again, I should have been very thankful if she could have found a suitable protector, yet I was sure that such a person as Mrs Fowler described would make her miserable. There was another person I was longing to ask about, but I own, from a somewhat different feeling, I hesitated. "And Miss Emily?" I asked at length, trying to get out of the light of the candle as I spoke. "How is she?"

"Oh! She is the light of the house--the most beautifullest and brightest little creature you ever did see," answered Mrs Fowler, with enthusiasm. "Whether she's the captain's daughter, or anybody else's daughter, it does not matter to me, but I know she is a blessing to all around her."

"Thank you, Mrs Fowler, thank you," I answered, scarcely knowing what I said. "I am anxious to see my mother. Take care of my chest; I will take my bag with me." Saying this, I darted out of the house and hurried down the lane. I well knew how delighted my mother would be to see me, and I had an undefined feeling that the sooner I could be with her the better. Pa.s.sing through the wicket I found the house-door partly open, and heard a voice proceeding from the back parlour. It was a somewhat loud one too:

"Oh! Mistress Burthen! Mistress Burthen! Ye will be after breaking my heart, ye will; and me waiting for you these long years, and now at last come all the way over from old Ireland to find ye as hard and obdurate as the blacksmith's anvil in the corner of Saint Patrick's street, in Ballybruree," were the first words that caught my ear. "Shure you will be afther relenting and not laving me a disconsolate widower, to go back to Ballyswiggan all alone by myself."

"Indeed, Mr Gillooly, I feel that your constancy--your pertinacity shall I call it?" and there was a slight touch of sarcasm in the voice,--it was my mother who spoke, "deserves to be rewarded; but at the same time I confess that I cannot bring myself to undertake to recompense you as you desire. All I can do is to give you my best advice, and that is to try and find some other lady who is more disposed to receive your addresses than I am."

I did not wish to be an eaves-dropper, and at the same time I scarcely liked suddenly to rush unnoticed into the room. Old Mrs Schank would, I concluded, be in the front parlour, and perhaps Emily might be with her, and I would ask her to break my arrival to my mother. Again Mr Gillooly pleaded his cause. I began to fancy, from the tone of my mother's voice and the answers she made, that she was somewhat relenting. I knew enough of the world to be aware that even sensible people sometimes marry against their convictions, and I thought it was now high time for me to interfere. Just then I heard my mother exclaim:

"Who's that? I saw someone at the window. It is impossible; yet--Oh!

Mr Gillooly, you are very kind, you are very generous, but I cannot, I cannot marry you. After what I have just now seen, it is impossible!"

"It's on my knees, then, I implore you, widow Burthen!" exclaimed Mr Gillooly. "Oh! Say, would you render me a desperate man and send me forth to join the Ribbonmen, or Green Boys, or other rebels against King George? It's afther killing me ye'll be by your cruelty; and it's more than Jim Gillooly can stand, or has stood in his life, and so by the powers, Mistress Gillooly, you shall be, in spite of your prothestations and a.s.sartions, and--"

I now thought it high time to interfere, and rushing into the room, presented myself to the astonished gaze of Mr Gillooly, who was on the point of rising from his knees, with anger depicted on his countenance, and a gesture sufficient to alarm even a less timid person than my mother. She was staring with eyes open and lips apart towards the window which looked into the garden. The light from the lamp on the table fell on the face and figure of a man whom I at once recognised as my fellow-traveller from Portsmouth.

"Who are you?" exclaimed Mr Gillooly, as he saw me advancing. "That lady's son," I answered.

"Then out upon you for an impostor. That lady can have no big spalpeen of a son like you!" exclaimed Mr Gillooly, rushing towards me with uplifted fist. I could easily have escaped him by flight, but that I disdained to do, though his blow was likely to be one capable of felling me to the ground. My mother uttered a scream. At that instant the window was flung open, and in sprang the stranger. The scream arrested my a.s.sailant. He turned his head and discovered the stranger, a man of powerful frame, rushing towards him.

"Murther! murther! I'm betrayed!" shouted Mr Gillooly. "Oh! Widow, it's all your doing, and you have led me into an ambush! Murther!

Murther!" and without stopping to pick up his hat or whip he rushed from the door and out through the garden and along the lane, so I concluded, as I heard his heavy footsteps growing less and less distinct as he gained a distance from the cottage.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

I left my mother, at the end of the last chapter, standing in the middle of the back parlour of Mr Schank's cottage, her Irish admirer, Mr Gillooly, scampering up the lane as fast as his two legs would carry him, the stranger who accompanied me from Portsmouth having just before, most opportunely for me, sprung through the window and saved me from the effects of that worthy's anger.

I had no disposition to follow him; indeed, I had a matter of far more interest to occupy my attention at the moment. My mother sank into a chair. I sprang forward to embrace her, and while she threw one of her arms round my neck, she pointed at the stranger, exclaiming:

"Is it real, or am I in a dream? Who are you? Say! Say! Do not mock me!"

"Polly, you are my own true loving wife, and I am your live husband-- your faithful d.i.c.k Burton!" exclaimed my father, for he it was in reality, as he came forward and took my mother in his arms.

"No wonder you thought me dead, Mary, and a long yarn I have to tell you, how it all happened. And is this young gentleman Ben, our Ben?" he asked, as he put his arm round my neck and kissed me on the brow. "I know it is; yet if I had not seen him here I should not have known him.

Well, to see him a quarter-deck officer, and on the road to promotion, and you, Mary, alive and well, and as young looking as ever, repays me for all I have gone through, and that's no trifle."

Now, most women under the trying circ.u.mstances I have described would have fainted away or gone into hysterics, but my mother did neither one nor the other. Perhaps we had to thank Mr Gillooly for saving her from such a result. My idea is the agitation which that worthy gentleman had put her into counteracted the effects which might have been produced, first from my sudden appearance, and then by the unlooked-for return of my father. I do not mean to say that she was not agitated, and was very nearly fainting, but she did not faint; indeed, her nerves stood the trial in a most wonderful manner. After I had been with my mother and my newly-found father for some time, I bethought me that I ought to go and pay my respects to Mrs Schank and to Miss Emily, who, my mother told me, was sitting with her; I therefore went to the drawing-room door, and, tapping, asked if I might enter.

"Come in," said a sweet voice. The owner of the sweet voice started when she saw me, for she was evidently uncertain who I could be, while the old lady peered at me through her spectacles.

Emily, however, coming forward, put out her hand.