CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN JACKMAN.
It was about two o'clock in the morning, as they came afterwards to know, when Ada Conway sprang, with a violent ringing shriek, to her feet. She had been sitting close to the sphere in the cliff. Opposite to her squatted the man, apparently in slumber. The disc framed a scene of midnight heavens full of palpitating stars, and slowly moving snow-white clouds sailing northwards, and a corner of moon like a silver spear-head nestling in and visibly departing from the top arch of the orifice.
The girl shrieked, and the man also sprang to his feet.
'We are saved!' he shouted.
He caught her by the hand, and began to run. In the direction of the steps there was glowing a considerable glare of torchlight, amidst which the forms of several figures were clearly distinguishable, and whilst the pair ran, a voice, loud as a trumpet, came in echoes down through the hollow vault.
'Is Miss Ada Conway below here?'
'Yes,' screamed the girl.
'God Almighty! Come to your father! What are you doing in these vaults?' And the figure that was speaking started on perceiving, by the strong torchlight, that the girl approached with a male companion.
The commander was a little square man of the 'Boarders away!' type, equal, in his heyday, when in charge of a boat and crew, to a French or Spanish gunboat. He had been one of the most gallant officers in the service, and had quitted it as commander on an income of his own.
Ada, recognising him by the light, threw herself upon his breast in a wild storm of weeping. She sobbed; the commander stood silent, surveying the handsome bareheaded stranger, who was very visible in the flashes the torch-bearers waved about him. Then collecting herself with a sudden sense of rapture at the thought that she was safe, and with her father, she lifted her head, and holding her father's arm, exclaimed—
'Father, this is Captain Jackman. I was passing along the sands yesterday morning——'
'So! Yesterday morning! How many yesterday mornings do you mean?' groaned the commander.
'When,' continued the girl, 'I heard this gentleman crying for help out through that hole there. I came on to the green and got between the rails, and managed to lift the stone and descended. We forgot ourselves in talk; we lost ourselves in deviating from right to left. When we came to this place it was in total blackness; the stone was on, and we were entombed.'
'Let's get on deck,' said Commander Conway.
They passed up through the trap, five of them, lighting the land for a mile around. How gloriously sweet and fresh and boundless was the night! The piece of silver moon shone over the sea and shed a little light upon the earth. The stars sparkled, and the white clouds floated with a majesty that befitted their domain. Ada passed her hand through her father's arm on rising out of the earth, and exclaimed—
'Who could have put the hatch down upon me, father? There was no man in sight when I went to let Captain Jackman out.'
'He was that fellow Goldsmith,' answered the commander. 'He is one of the torch-bearers. He instantly came to apprise me, on recollecting. He said he fell asleep after walking from Spenpoor, just past a brow of land where you couldn't see him. No sooner had you gone down than he must have got up, and finding the cover off, put it on, according to the custom of these rogues.'
'The wretch,' cried the girl, turning and straining her eyes at the three men in their rear. 'Couldn't you have guessed, you savage, by sign of that stone being off,' she shouted at Goldsmith, 'that there must be people in the caves below?'
'I vow to Peter, then,' cried Goldsmith, waving his torch furiously so that the figures of the people came and went in a cannibal dance of glow, 'that I thought it was some wicked trick of a boy, or that it had been forgotten, and so I put it on again. God forgive me.'
'Who are you?' said Captain Jackman, addressing the other torch-bearer.
'My name is Herman, and I am a poor boatman,' answered the man. 'I've got nothing to do with this job.'
'Here,' said the captain, in the brisk tone of the sea; and he slipped a sovereign into his hand. 'Here, you Goldsmith,' and he also slipped a sovereign into the hand of the excited torch-bearer. 'See here,' said he, 'you pinned this lady down, and you might have killed us both. You might for sixpence, some ten years hence, have gone below and started back at beholding two skeletons lying athwart the entrance corridor. But you did not mean it. You were quick in your turn when reflection came to our service. So take this.'
The man was profound in his bows and brow-knuckling by the faint light of the moon. The conversation had been listened to in silence by the commander and his daughter.
'You've lost your 'at, sir. Shall I fetch it for yer?' said Goldsmith.
'I wouldn't send a wolf into that Devil's Walk,' answered Captain Jackman, with a dull laugh.
'We'll find your 'at, sir,' said the two men, and they plunged away back towards the broken fence and the hole in the earth.
'I wonder,' exclaimed Captain Jackman, coming abreast of Commander Conway, 'if my little hotel will be open at this hour?' and he gazed down at the short square man who trotted between him and his daughter, whose head towered above her father's.
'No need to talk of hotels, sir. Happy to put you up, I'm sure, after your desperate experiences. My house is close by, and, sir,' he said, turning, and extending his hand and clasping that of Captain Jackman, 'I thank you, from the heart of a father, for your courtesy during these long hours to my daughter.'
Captain Jackman shook the old gentleman by the hand and bowed, but made no reply; and they resumed their walk.
All their talk, till they arrived at the commander's cottage, was about this singular adventure under earth. Captain Jackman freely owned this—
'I wouldn't take a guide, for my hopes denied me one; frankly and truthfully, commander, I had been told that some smugglers' booty lay in a branch tunnel of this hiding-place, and my intention was to look at it, and afterwards to take measures to secure it by passing it through the window.'
The commander's laugh had the sepulchral note of the Devil's Walk.
'We were famous smugglers in our time, sir,' said he; 'we did not leave our run goods, earned at the very risk of our lives, to be fetched and enjoyed by strangers to the gang.'
'Who told you of a treasure lurking in an English cliff?' asked Miss Conway.
'The master of a brigantine,' answered the captain, 'who knew your little creek or port well, and the whole of the smugglers who had thronged it, before the lawless lot discovered their diggings were of no use to them, and departed.'
'That's not so long ago either,' said the commander. 'It's not above four years since that, from these cliffs, I witnessed one of the most desperate actions I ever saw between a large smuggler cutter and a Government schooner. They made a running fight, then came to a stand with wrecked canvas and blazing guns. They fought with extravagant courage, sir; then the smuggler, with his scuppers running crimson, threw his sweeps over, and by heaven the schooner remained silent and active only in making good the mischief done her.'
'It is abominably hard,' said Ada, 'to kill men for smuggling. I like the price of smuggled tea.'
'And what tobacco, sir, tastes like the run stuff?' said the captain.
'Here's my home,' said the commander.
He pushed open a front garden-gate. The house lay in blackness, save that in one corner a square of window was dimly illuminated. No lights were visible beyond in the neighbourhood of the town. It was three o'clock in the morning, growing into four, and the vast dome of midnight fast and faster flashed with stars as the morning grew. The horizon vanished in blackness thrilling with the white of charging seas.
'Captain Jackman is ready to die of hunger, father, and of thirst also,' said Miss Conway, as the party of three stepped along the walk.
'He shall be fed,' said the commander. 'You'll be perished, Ada, I don't doubt.'
He put a key into his door, opened it, and they entered.
An elderly woman in a dressing-gown, her hair curiously curled, her figure immensely stout, was descending the staircase, holding high a candle as they entered. She seemed to fall off the stairs, shrieking—
'I heard your voices. Oh, Miss Ada, where have you been hiding yourself?'
'Thanks, Mrs. Dove, I am safe, and am fortunate in having saved the life of another,' said Miss Conway, scarcely enduring the old housekeeper's embrace, and motioning towards Captain Jackman, to whom the stout old woman bowed.
Mrs. Dove had been twenty-two years in Commander Conway's family; had nursed Ada until she was too old to require a nurse; had nursed Mrs. Conway through a long, most distressing and fatal illness; and was now, in her somewhat advanced middle age, appointed by the commander, in gratitude for services rendered, to the honourable post of chief mate of his little craft.
'We want something to eat, Mrs. Dove,' said Ada. 'Is the servant up?'
'No, miss. I let her lie. I could not know you were coming.'
She pulled a small bell which rang upstairs, and they all went into the little room that was lighted by a candle. The commander lighted four or five more candles, and this made light to see by.
'No,' said Ada. 'I'll not go upstairs until I go to bed, and then I'll sleep for a week. I am not fearfully tunnel-soiled, I hope.' And she stood up and turned herself about, to the admiration of Captain Jackman.
It was a comfortable room that sparkled out to those slender beams of candle. The commander had had a little money with his wife, and had put good furniture into his home. Some maritime pictures of stirring excellence hung upon his walls. A great silver plate blazed at the back of the sideboard: the silver had been left out in the excitement of that night. Captain Jackman looked around him.
'How far is it from here to the "Faithful Heart"?' said he.
'You'll measure it easily in half an hour,' answered the commander, whilst Mrs. Dove went out to prepare a meal for them. 'But why not sleep here? You may find it hard to get into your inn.'
The captain bowed.
'I fear,' said he, addressing Ada, 'that I have sufficiently embarrassed you. Since one o'clock yesterday morning in a dark pit, with a shadowy stranger, and with a prospect of a dreadful death confronting you! Miss Conway,' he said, bowing to her with shining eyes, 'you are the bravest young lady I have ever read or heard of, and you deserve a great heroic admiral for a husband.'
This was a queer compliment; she laughed, nevertheless, in clear enjoyment of his speech: indeed, she got few speeches of any sort from good-looking men, from men of any kind. This even the commander secretly admitted to himself was a peculiarly handsome man who had complimented her.
A maid-servant, owl-like with wonder and sleep, stumbled in with a tray of beef and bread, and beer, and other matters. Mrs. Dove followed. She placed the candles and the chairs, and threatened to wait. The commander told her to go to bed and take the girl with her. He then took the head of the table, and carved liberal trenchers for the famished pair.
'This is good beer,' said the captain, putting his mug down with a deep sigh.
'We are dull, but what we have is good. Our views are magnificent, and although Ada would like to live in London and dwell within musket-shot of St. James's Palace, I am satisfied, and therefore happy.' He added suddenly, 'Jackman! The name recurs to me. I think I saw a paragraph in a little sheet that makes its way hereabouts, stating that a Captain Jackman of the ship Lovelace had been knocked down in London, and robbed of fifteen hundred pounds.'
'I am that man, sir,' said the captain, without any emotion in his face.
'Was the money recovered?' said the commander.
'Not a dollar.'
'Have you any suspicions as to the thief?' inquired Miss Conway.
'I believe he is a dirty little forecastle hand, who got scent that I was carrying the money ashore, and followed me,' answered Captain Jackman. 'I saw such a figure disappear as it threw my bag down an area.'
'Fifteen hundred pounds is a considerable slice for a merchant vessel to lose in these times, sir,' said the commander.
'And a merchant vessel is a considerable slice for a master to lose at all times, sir,' answered Captain Jackman.
'Have they dismissed you?' inquired Ada.
'Yes,' said the captain with a careless laugh, 'and so I came down here to enjoy myself by getting locked down in a cave, and making for one of the ugliest of deaths. How can I thank you—how can I thank you, madam?' he said, languishing towards Ada.
Just then a single knock fell upon the hall door, and the commander returned with Captain Jackman's round hat.
'Thanks for all things,' he exclaimed, as he took it.
'I wonder, sir,' remarked the commander, 'that you should have thought proper to venture your life in an underground cutting with one candle only.'
'It was a tall candle,' answered the captain; 'and I did not think that I was going below to be locked down.'
'True!' exclaimed old Conway.
Captain Jackman, in these few moments of pause in the talk, seemed to make an askant study of the commander, who sat opposite. The light was poor for facial revelations. He distinguished a rather stern expression, brows heavily thatched with white hair, a nearly bald head, with the white hair cut short about the ears. He was disproportionately square, and sat a massive figure. The captain's scrutiny was brief. He turned his eyes upon the young lady, whose eyes met his; then he looked at the clock.
'I am the cause of keeping you out of bed,' he said, rising. 'Will you permit me to retire?'
'Show the captain his room, Ada,' said the commander.
The girl lighted a rush-light that was upon the hall table, and led the way upstairs, and the commander followed, calmly receiving the impassioned shake of the hand Captain Jackman bestowed upon him.
That morning at ten o'clock Captain Jackman awoke, and found himself in a snug little bedroom of white dimity, trembling with brilliance that streamed upon the blinds from the sea. As he got out of bed, he heard a woman singing low and clear. He raised the blinds, and beheld a prospect that assuredly justified Commander Conway's choice of residence. No loftiest mast-head yields you a grander scene. It was painted here and there with a ship, and was coloured blue and white, and the heavens bent blue to the edge of it; but a number of clouds of delicate shape, and charged with a dark softness of rain, were rolling up from the south-west.
'This is a home to suit me,' thought the captain, and, hearing the girl singing either next door or downstairs, he fell a-musing.
The maidservant, answering his bell, brought him the commander's razor and some hot water, and in twenty minutes he was downstairs. The house door was open, and the commander walked up and down his lawn, smoking a pipe of Dutch pattern. He showed himself by daylight as a man of strong features, heavily bronzed, as by years of travel. His eyes were a keen blue, and deep set, and his mouth a curl, the under lip slightly protruding.
'Good-morning, sir!' he exclaimed to the captain. 'I hope you slept well.'
The usual civilities were exchanged.
'Breakfast will be ready when my daughter is pleased to appear. She is risen,' said the commander.
'I have been listening to her charming voice. Is she your only child, sir?'
'I lost a promising young son in the navy eight years ago,' answered the commander.
'I served as midshipman in the navy,' exclaimed Captain Jackman.
'Oh!' said the commander, with sudden interest. 'What ship and captain, sir?'
'The Parkhurst; Captain Trottman.'
'I knew them both. A fine frigate, and a stout seaman. Why didn't you stick to the service?'
'Why, the life of the mercantile flag was free and easy; it offered more money; it provided plenty of voyages and chances. I never particularly coveted the glory that was to be got in the navy. I should want my flag first.'
'That sort of glory is a slow sunrise with us, sir,' said the commander.
'Then, again, I was to a certain degree independent,' continued Captain Jackman, talking in a careless, confidential way. 'My father had left me an annuity—not, indeed, enough to roll on wheels with—that and a small, handsome brig under two hundred tons, now lying in the East India Dock. I have often been tempted to sell her. Now that my kindly owners have given me my quietus through no fault of my own, I have a very great mind to fit her out——'
'And go for a cruise on the Account,' interrupted the clear voice of a girl.
And Captain Jackman, turning, clasped the extended hand of Miss Conway.
Her garb was simple and charming. The hat she held was a kind of helmet, with a wreath and a tuft of feathers. She stood in the pride of her fine but simple apparel.
'Breakfast should be ready,' said the commander.
He led the way into the house. Captain Jackman and Miss Conway followed, chatting with life and spirit over the wonderful incident of yesterday. How could such a heart-shaking sensation be exhausted! The commander had furnished a savoury breakfast of large fried soles and delicate fried whiting, and bacon and eggs. They seated themselves; and when the captain had concluded his apologies for detaining the commander, he turned to Miss Conway, and said—
'You have read books which deal with pirates?'
'Yes. Papa will tell you that I was ever a lover of the pirate. I mean the real thing, not the Byronic dandy with his bright costume and four or five houris and lovely homes on coral strands. I love the rough brute with a slash across his brow—the man who has lost a piece of his nose, who, perhaps, has captured a Spanish galleon whilst skipper of a vessel of twenty or thirty tons.'
'It has been done,' said the commander. 'If there's a scoundrel this side the moon, it's the pirate. All the woods of Scotland could not furnish gibbets enough for him. Give the piccaroon the stem, you know. That's the cry through the service, sir. We'd show mercy to anything else.'
'In spite of my father's objections to pirates, Captain Jackman,' said Ada Conway, leaning back in her chair, and beginning to laugh, and showing a fine set of white and even teeth, 'if I had your ship, I would equip her as a privateer, and sail away as a sea-robber. What splendid luck should always attend such enterprises, seeing that your quarry is the clumsy, unprepared, easily-frightened merchantman! whilst you—a single broadside might settle the matter, and win you enough treasure to fill you a large cave with.'
Captain Jackman, laughing lightly and gazing with admiration at the young lady, tapped applause of her sentiments with his knife upon the table.
'I would advise you to stick to the honourable red flag,' said the commander.
'Freights are always ruling low, as they call it,' answered the captain, 'and a man wants an office and a book-keeper; and there are expenses ashore going on,' said he, addressing the commander, but with occasional side looks at Ada. 'But, depend on't, any scheme I may form shall provide for my neck.'
'I cannot, I will say, consider the revenue worth the loss of a drop of blood, were it not for the officials of it,' said the commander, who was making a great breakfast of fried sole.
'How are your blockaders coming forward, sir?' inquired the captain.
'They are very sparsely settled at present, and they are not coming forward. I doubt if there's half-a-dozen preventives betwixt this and St. Ives. It must grow into a considerable force if it is to protect the revenue. They keep their few best men about Folkestone and Ramsgate; and there the fighting is mostly going on. Calais is near; so is Dunkirk. The Goodwins are convenient for dodging.'
'What could have made them construct such caves as Miss Conway and I were locked up in?' asked the captain.
'They probably had an idea. In the middle of it they found that it would not work out, so they dropped it with the dexterity of men accustomed to rapidity of thought and action.'
'I believe there are similar caves some leagues round the coast—Cornwall way—perhaps in Cornwall,' said the captain.
The girl, looking at him a little expressively, said, 'You had better take two candles with you next time.'
He smiled and bowed, whilst she was all geniality and kindness, in arch humour of fair face of gipsy cast.
'I do not believe, madam,' said he, 'that I shall disturb the silence of another smuggler's cell.'
'Booty or no booty?'
'Don't mislead the gentleman, Ada,' exclaimed her father. 'There is no booty. I would not give the value of this button,' said he, fingering one of his coat-buttons, 'for the whole of the booty that you shall find deliberately left, never more to be fetched by these free-traders.'
'I had hoped,' said Ada, whose eyes shone over her mounted colour, 'that you were going to submit a romantic project; I am very romantic myself. I could die for a lovely young man.'
The commander grinned.
'If he was worth dying for. Must he be lovely?' said Captain Jackman, pushing his chair from the table and nursing his knee, and regarding her with obstinate pleasure, for he not only found her a handsome woman; she had saved his life at the risk of her own.
'I had thought,' continued the girl, from the interest you take in these caves, and by your accent, which is slightly American——'
'Ho!' cried the captain, 'that's news to me.'
'That you were going to fit out your brig with some romantic reference to these holes in the rocks. Strange ideas enter one's head.'
'They do indeed, madam.'
They rose from the table. The captain, turning to the commander, said, putting all the graceful bows and courtesy of that age into his demeanour—
'Will you, commander, and Miss Conway, give me the pleasure, the real pleasure—of your company at dinner at the "Faithful Heart"? Say six o'clock.'
The commander seemed to pause. The girl's eyes burnt upon him. He began a little awkwardly—
'As strangers, sir, we really have no claim.'
'Do not speak of me as a stranger, I beg,' said the captain.
The commander looked at his daughter, saw a quarrel in her fine eyes, sulkiness running into days, much discomfort to an elderly widower living with an only child, and so he whipped out—
'Be it so, captain. We will be with you at six o'clock.'
Shortly after this, Captain Jackman left the pretty little house, having stood a few minutes by Miss Conway's side, greatly admiring the spacious view from the lawn. The commander walked to the side of his daughter, who remained on the lawn, watching the departing figure of Captain Jackman.
'What do you think of him, father?' said she, laying her hand upon his square shoulder.
'Think! He is no introduction of yours that we should think,' cried the little seaman.
'You know him through me, and cannot but have thoughts about him, good or bad,' she exclaimed, with an irritable toss of her head, dropping her hand.
'Well, betwixt you and me,' said the commander, turning to take a view of his house, 'I don't like him.'
'Oh, I knew it would be so!' she exclaimed. 'He is much too handsome. Had I appeared in the company of an old man of sixty, with a brown wig down his back, and a yellow nose down his face, you would have found him a welcome presence.'
The commander did not readily lose his temper. 'I do not like this man because I do not like his manner of losing fifteen hundred pounds—the property of others. It is strange. It is peculiar. It is memorable. And I recollected it, as you may have observed, when we were seated.'
'Was it good taste?' said the girl, slightly sneering.
'Oh, we don't live in these parts to cultivate what you call taste! We speak the truth—or should.'
'What do you want to imply, father?'
The commander looked at the ocean and grinned.
'You mean to say,' continued the girl, 'that Captain Jackman knocked himself down and robbed his owners of fifteen hundred pounds?'
'They do not charge him with it; why should I, whatever I may think?' And humming a popular song of that day, the commander turned on his heel and went into his house.
His daughter remained on the lawn—looking at the sea, do you think? No; but at the fast disappearing figure of Captain Jackman, whom, on her own confession, she thought a handsome man. A handsome man was of more interest and rarity than a sea view, which she had gazed at hundreds of times o'er and o'er. The race of the sea flashed in vain; its heavy guns of breakers thundered at deaf ears; that fine frigate abreast, with canvas white as driven snow so leaning as to expose a portion of her bright copper, the long wake bubbling and rushing, swept through the deep before blind eyes. No beauty of cloud, of liquid, or land recess could arrest her; she saw but a figure, and when it vanished, she re-entered the house with a very thoughtful face.
Captain Jackman walked straight into the little town. A little town it was, with one good, and two or three middling streets. It had a row of houses called the Lawn, and most of the important people of the town lived there. Captain Jackman went straight to the 'Faithful Heart,' and entered the darkling bar that had a brightness of reflected oak, and of highly polished pewter, and said to the woman who sat sewing behind—
'You see I have returned, Mrs. Davis!'
'God bless me! Yes,' cried the little woman, starting from her chair, dropping her work, and staring at him. 'We all gave you up for drowned.'
'I was in direr plight—I was entombed.'
Asking for a glass of brandy, he told her the story, whilst the landlord came in from the backyard to listen. He then went upstairs to his bedroom. He looked at himself in the glass, and seemed satisfied. The scars of the night of darkness had worn off, the tunnel stains had vanished. He took a considerable sum of money in gold out of his portmanteau or valise, and went downstairs. He called to Mrs. Davis.
'A word with you in your front parlour, madam.'
She rose, curtseyed, and conducted him to a front room of a fair size.
'This will do,' said Captain Jackman. 'Here's quite room enough. I want to give a dinner to two friends at six o'clock to-night. Can you manage it for me?'
'You shall have the best that is to be had, sir; and I may truly say that my cooking is known far and wide.'
'The guests are Commander Conway and his daughter. Do you know them?'
'By sight and name, sir. They are a little——' And here, not choosing to abase herself, she curtseyed.
Why should worthy Mrs. Davis have told the handsome gentleman that Miss Conway would no more have regarded her than the mould she trod on?
'I will make out a list of dishes now,' said the captain.
Mrs. Davis fetched a pencil and slate, and Captain Jackman, in the time that the well-known poet, Smithson, takes to turn out a sonnet, safe in the applause of fifty other Smithsons, had made out a really handsome dinner for those days of plain dishes. He then left the inn, and walked slowly up the High Street, looking into the shops on either hand, until he came to a jeweller's shop, at which he made a stand.
After inspecting the furnished window, he entered, and said to a bald-headed man behind the counter—
'This is a little place for a big order.'
'I hope not, sir. There may be larger shops, but there are not a better class of goods.'
'I want the very best,' said Captain Jackman, looking darkly at the bald head. 'Show me the best bracelets in your possession.'
'At what price?' stammered the old fool.
'I said the best,' thundered Captain Jackman, 'and I want one without delay.'
The man with the bald head produced a number of bracelets. They were not very good. He knew it, and did not make much of them. The captain pish'd and tossed them, and was going, when the bald-headed man cried out suddenly, as to an inspiration—
'I beg your pardon, sir. Six months ago, a family in this neighbourhood failed, and amongst the stuff sold was their jewellery. Some of it came into my hands. I can let you have the most magnificent bracelet you ever saw, providing that you don't care that it is second-hand, and I will give you a guarantee that I will return the money should the lady find out that it was ever worn.'
'Right,' said the captain.
The man disappeared, and the captain stood in the shop door looking at the town; then returned on the jeweller re-entering. The man, with a proud eye, placed on the counter a very beautiful bracelet, of old pattern, sparkling with diamonds and precious stones, massive, and wrought into some device of serpent.
'London shall not beat this, sir,' said the shopkeeper.
'This suits me,' answered Captain Jackman. 'How much?'
The shopkeeper had clearly just made up his mind.
'It is a second-hand article, sir. I'll not charge you more than forty-five guineas.'
The captain carefully examined the thing. He admired it hugely; it was probably a hundred years old, and was, perhaps, cheap at a hundred guineas. It was a beautiful gift for a beautiful woman, and the captain, putting it down, pulled out a handful of gold. The bald-headed jeweller stared at the sight of so much money. He was to stare at another handful before forty-five guineas could be told.
'Pack it,' said Captain Jackman, in the abrupt commanding manner of the sea; 'and give me a pen and ink and paper, that I may send a letter with it.'
The jeweller cleared a little table for him, and set a chair at it, and the captain began to write. It was a fine, dashing hand, a gentleman's hand.
'I have respectfully to entreat Miss Conway's acceptance of the accompanying trifling memorial of an incident which must have turned out a terrible tragedy to me, but for her noble bravery. So poor a jewel cannot possibly express the sensations which accompany it.
'Walter Jackman.'
By the time this letter was written, the jeweller had packed the bracelet.
'Address it,' said the captain, and he gave the address. This done, he exclaimed, 'Have you got a messenger you can trust?'
'I have my son, sir.'
The son was working upstairs. In a few minutes he was on his way to the home of the Conways, with the beautiful gift and letter in his pocket, whilst Captain Jackman, bestowing a farewell nod on the jeweller, stepped forth to take a view of the town, and to see what the little harbour was like.