Chapter Fifty One.
Being the last chapter, the reader may pretty well guess the contents of it.
“Tom, do you know that I very often find myself looking about me, and asking myself if all that has happened is true or a dream,” said Bramble to me, as we sat inside of the coach to Dover, for there were no other inside passengers but ourselves. “I can’t help thinking that great good fortune is as astounding as great calamity. Who would have thought, when I would, in spite of all Bessy’s remonstrances, go round in that ship with you, that in the first place we should have been taken possession of by a privateer in the very narrows (he was a bold cruiser, that Frenchman)? After we were captured I said to myself, Bessy must have had a forewarning of what was to happen, or she never would have been, as I thought, so perverse. And since it has turned out so fortunately, I can’t help saying how fortunate it was that we did not allow her to persuade us; for had we not both gone, nothing could have been done. Well, I think we may promise Bessy this time when we meet her, that we will not trust ourselves to salt water again in a hurry. What do you think, Tom?”
“No; I think the best thing I can do is to marry, and live on shore,” replied I.
“Yes, Tom, that’s it. Give me your hand, you don’t know how happy you make me; we’ll all live together. But where shall we live? for the poor little cottage that I thought quite big enough for us a month ago will not do now.”
“We have plenty of time to talk that over, father. I love the cottage for many reasons; although, as you say, it is not large enough now for our means, or future way of living.”
“And I love it too, boy; I love to look out of the door and see the spot where my Bessy rescued me from death. God bless her! she is a noble girl, Tom, though I say it who—but I’m not her father, after all, and if I were, I would still say it.”
“It is evident, by her letter to you, that she has been most anxious about us. What will she say when she hears we have both been wounded?”
“Ay! it wouldn’t have done to have told her that, or she would have set off for Chatham, as sure as we are sitting here.”
Here a pause ensued for some time, and we were busied with our own thoughts: the silence was at last broken by me.
“Father,” said I, “I should like to ask my father and Peter Anderson to come down to us; they can easily get leave.”
“Is it to be present at your wedding, Tom?”
“Exactly—if Bessy will consent.”
“Well, I have no doubt of that, Tom; but she will now require a little courting, you know why.”
“Why, became all women like it, I suppose.”
“No, Tom; it is because she was in love before you were, d’ye understand?—and now that things are all smooth, and you follow her, why, it’s natural, I suppose, that she should shy off a little in her turn. You must mind that, Tom; it’s a sort of soothing to the mortification of having at one time found herself, as it were, rejected.”
“Well, I shan’t mind that; it will only serve me right for being such a fool as not to have perceived her value before. But how do you understand women so well, father?”
“Because, Tom, I’ve been looking on, and not performing, all my life: except in one instance in a long life, I’ve only been a bystander in the way of courtship and matrimony. Here we are at last, and now for a chaise to Deal. Thank God, we can afford to shorten the time, for Bessy’s sake, poor thing!”
We arrived at the cottage: the sound of the wheels had called out not only Bessy and Mrs Maddox, but all the neighbours; for they had heard of our good fortune. Bessy, as soon as she had satisfied herself that it was Bramble and me, went into the cottage again. Once more we entered the humble roof. Bessy flew into her father’s arms, and hung weeping on his shoulder.
“Haven’t you a kind word to say for Tom?” said Bramble, kissing her as he released himself.
“Does he deserve it, to leave me as he did, laughing at my distress? He had no right to treat me so.”
“Indeed, Bessy, you do me injustice. I said at the time that I thought there was no risk, and I certainly did think there was none. Who would have expected a privateer half-way up the Thames, any more than a vessel with twenty men on board could be re-captured by two men?”
“Well, Bessy, you ought to make friends with him, for without his arm, your father would not have been back here quite so soon. He beat down the Frenchmen, one after another, in good style, when they attempted to recover the vessel—that he did, I can tell you, wounded as he was.”
“Wounded?” cried Bessy; starting, her eyes running over me to find out where.
“Yes, with a bullet in his leg; I didn’t like to say a word about it in the letter. But I suppose if he had been killed you would not have cared?”
“Oh, father!” cried Bessy, as she turned towards me, and I received her in my arms.
Bessy soon recovered her smiles, and thankful for our preservation and good fortune, and satisfied with our mutual affection, we passed a most happy evening. Somehow or another Bramble, having sent Mrs Maddox on a message, found out that it was very sultry indoors, and that he would take his pipe on the beach. He left me alone with Bessy; and now, for the first time, I plainly told her the state of my affections, and asked her to consent to be my wife. I did not plead in vain, as the reader may suppose from what he has already been made acquainted with.
After Bessy had retired, and I was sitting with Bramble, who had his glass of grog and pipe as usual, I made him acquainted with my success.
“All right, Tom,” said he, “I’m thankful—and God bless you both.”
And had I not reason also to be thankful? When I had retired to my room that night, I thought over the various passages in my life. What might I have been if Providence had not watched over me? When neglected in my youth, in a situation which exposed me to every temptation, had not old Anderson been sent as a guardian to keep me in the right path, to instruct me, and to give me that education, without which my future success might have turned out a disadvantage instead of a source of gratitude? In Bramble, again, I had met with a father, to supply the place of one who was not in a situation to do his duty to me or forward me in life. In old Nanny I had met with a kind friend, one who, at the same time that she would lead me right, was a warning to me from her sufferings. To Mrs St. Felix I was equally indebted, and had I not been permitted to pay the debt of gratitude to both of them? Even my mother’s harshness, which appeared at first to my short-sightedness to have been so indefensible, was of great advantage to me, as it had stimulated me to exertion and industry, and pointed out to me the value of independence. Was I not also most fortunate in having escaped front the entanglement of Janet, who, had I married her, would, in all probability, have proved an useless if not a faithless helpmate; and still more so, in finding that there was, as it were, especially reserved for me the affection of such a noble, right-minded creature as Bessy? My life, commenced in rags and poverty, had, by industry and exertion, and the kindness of others, step by step progressed to competence, and every prospect of mundane happiness. Had I not, therefore, reason to be grateful, and to feel that there had been a little cherub who had watched over the life of Poor Jack? On my bended knees I acknowledged it fervently and gratefully, and prayed that, should it please Heaven that I should in after life meet any reverse, I might bear it without repining, and say, with all humility, “Thy will and not mine, O Lord, be done!”
How bright was the next morning, and how cheerful did the dancing waves appear to me!—and Bessy’s eyes were radiant as the day, and her smiles followed in rapid succession; and Bramble looked so many years younger—he was almost too happy to smoke—it was really the sunshine of the heart which illumined our cottage. And thus did the few days pass, until Anderson and my father made their appearance. They were both surprised at Bessy’s beauty, and told me so: they had heard that she was handsome, but they were not prepared for her uncommon style; for now that her countenance was lighted up with joy, she was indeed lovely.
“Well, Tom,” observed my father, “there’s only one thing which surprises me.”
“What is that?”
“Why, how, with such a fine craft in view, you could ever have sailed in the wake of such a little privateer as—but I must not mention her—never mind, don’t answer me that;—but another question—when are you going to be spliced?”
“Very soon, I hope; but I really don’t exactly know: all I can say is the sooner the better.”
“And so say I. Shall I bring up the subject on the plea of my leave being only for ten days?”
“Yes, father, I wish you would, as it is really a good reason to allege for its taking place immediately.”
“Tom, my dear boy,” said old Anderson, “from what I can perceive, you have great reason to be thankful in having obtained this young woman for your future partner in life. I admire her exceedingly, and I trust in Heaven that you will be happy.”
“I ought to be,” replied I, “and grateful also, particularly to you, to whom, under Providence, I am so much indebted.”
“If the seed is sown upon good ground, it will always yield a good harvest, Tom. You are a proof of it, so thank Heaven, and not me. I wish to tell you what your father has mentioned to me. The fact is, Tom, he is in what may be called a false position at Greenwich. He is a pensioner, and has now sufficient not to require the charity, and he thinks that he ought not to avail himself of it, now that you have made him independent; but if he leaves the hospital and remains at Greenwich, he and your mother would not agree well together; they are very good friends at a certain distance, but I do not think, with her high notions, that they could ever live together in the same house. He says that he should like to live either with you or near you; and I think myself, now that he is become so very steady a character, it does require your consideration whether you ought not to permit him. He will be a very good companion for Bramble, and they will get on well together. I do not mean to say that it might not be more agreeable if he were to remain at Greenwich, but he is your father, Tom, and you should make some sacrifice for a parent.”
“As far as I am concerned, Anderson, I most gladly consent. Bramble is to live with us—that is arranged, and if no objections are raised by others you may be sure of my acceding, and, indeed, if objections should be raised, of persuading all I can.”
“You can do no more, Tom,” replied Anderson; “nor can more be expected.”
This point was very satisfactorily arranged. Bramble and Bessy both gave their cheerful consent, and it was settled that as soon as we had a house to receive him, my father should quit Greenwich, and live with us. The arguments of my father, added to the persuasions of Bramble and me, had their due weight, and on the 13th of September, 1807, Bessy and I exchanged our vows, and I embraced her as my own.