Chapter Twenty Nine.
As it was too soon to present myself to the admiral, I dressed, ready to go on shore, and hoisted the number of the Diligente as given by the admiral at Jamaica; but, as I expected, it was not known to the guard-ship, and there was much surmise among the early risers as to what might be the large ship, schooner, and brig-of-war, which had entered.
We had just finished the washing of the decks, and I was standing aft with Cross, who had the morning watch, when he observed to me, “Captain Keene, we are now at anchor as near as possible to where the Calliope was when you went adrift in the boat with poor Peggy. Some difference between your situation now and then.”
“Yes, Bob,” replied I; “I was thinking the same when I was dressing this morning, and I was also thinking that you would be very anxious to go on shore—so you may take a boat as soon as you please; I will order one to be given to you.”
“Thankey, sir. I am a little anxious to see the poor girl, and I think matters will go smooth now.”
“I hope so, with all my heart. Let the gigs be all dressed and cleaned, and the boat manned at six bells. Pass the word for them to get their breakfast.”
As it was better that I should wait for the admiral’s getting up, than that he should wait for me, I was on shore, and up at the office at half-past seven o’clock, and found that the admiral was in his dressing-room. The secretary was there, and I delivered my orders and despatches, with which he went up to the admiral. In about a quarter of an hour he came down again with the port-admiral’s request that I would wait for him, and stay to breakfast. The secretary remained with me, extracting all the West India intelligence that I could give him.
As soon as the admiral made his appearance, he shook me warmly by the hand. “Captain Keene,” said he, “I wish you joy: I see you are following up your career in the West Indies. We know you well enough by the despatches, and I am glad to be personally acquainted with you. This last business will, I have no doubt, give you the next step, as soon as you have been a little longer as commander. Mr Charles, desire them to make the signal for the Diligente and schooner to come into harbour. The Indiaman may, of course, do as he pleases. Now then, for breakfast.”
The admiral, of course, asked me as many questions as the secretary, and ended, as I rose to take my leave, in requesting the pleasure of my company to dinner on that day. As the reader may suppose, I had every reason to be satisfied with my reception.
As soon as I had left the admiral’s office, I put into the post-office, with my own hands, my letter to my mother, and one to Lord de Versely. In the latter I told him of my good fortune, and enclosed a copy of my despatch to the Admiralty. Although the despatch was written modestly, still the circumstances in themselves—my having recaptured an Indiaman, and carried, by boarding, a vessel of equal force to my own, and superior in men—had a very good appearance, and I certainly obtained greater credit than it really deserved. It was not at all necessary to say that I hoisted French colours, and therefore took the schooner unawares, or that at the time most of her men were on board of the Indiaman; the great art in this world is, to know where to leave off, and in nothing more than when people take the pen in their hands.
As soon as I had finished my correspondence—for I wrote a few lines to Mrs Bridgeman, at Chatham, and a postscript to my mother’s letter—I went down to the saluting battery, when I found that the two vessels were just entering the harbour. I went up and reported it at the admiral’s office, and the admiral went on board of both vessels to examine them himself, and he ordered a dock-yard survey. They were both pronounced fit for his Majesty’s service, with the necessary dock-yard alterations. The crew of the Diligente were turned over to a hulk, preparatory to unrigging and clearing her out for dock. As soon as I left the admiral’s house, I sat down at the George Hotel, where I had taken up my quarters, and wrote a long letter to Minnie Vanderwelt.
Cross called upon me the next morning. I saw by his countenance that he had good news to tell me. He had found his lady-love as constant as he could wish, and having explained to the blind old smuggler that he had been offered and accepted the situation of boatswain in his Majesty’s service during the time that he was in the West Indies, he had received his approbation of his conduct, and a warm welcome to the house whenever he could come on shore.
“I have not put the question to the old chap yet, Captain Keene,” said he, “but I think I will very soon.”
“Don’t be in too great a hurry, Bob,” replied I. “Give the old fellow a little more ’baccy, and ask his advice as to what you are to do with your prize-money. You must also talk a little about your half-pay and your widow’s pension.”
“That’s very good advice, Captain Keene,” replied Cross. “Mercy on us! how things are changed! It appears but the other day that I was leading you down to this very hotel, to ship you into the service, and you was asking my advice, and I was giving it to you; and now I am asking your advice, and taking it. You have shot ahead in every way, sir, that’s sartain; you looked up to me then, now I look up to you.”
I laughed at Cross’s observation, which was too true; and then we went into the dock-yard, and were very busy during the remainder of the day.
The following morning I received an answer from Lord de Versely, couched in most friendly terms. He complimented me on my success, and the high character I had gained for myself during so short a career, and added that he should be happy to see me as soon as I could come to London, and would himself introduce me to the first lord of the Admiralty. He advised me to request leave of absence, which would be immediately granted, and concluded his letter, “Your sincere friend and well-wisher, de Versely.”
As soon as I had laid down the letter, I said to myself, I was right—the true way to create an interest in a man like Lord de Versely, is to make him proud of you. I have done well as yet—I will try to do more; but how long will this success continue? Must I not expect reverses? May not some reaction take place? and have I not in some degree deserved it? Yes, I have used deceit in persuading him of my mother’s death. I began now to think that that was a false step, which, if ever discovered, might recoil upon me. I remained a long while in deep thought. I tried to extenuate my conduct in this particular, but I could not; and to rid myself of melancholy feelings, which I could not overcome, I wrote a letter, requesting leave of absence for a fortnight, and took it myself to the admiral’s office. This depression of spirits remained with me during the time that I remained at Portsmouth, when, having obtained leave, I set off for London, and on arrival, put up at a fashionable hotel in Albermarle Street.