Poor fellow! his sufferings must have been great! The wild animal of the forest, when pining, for the first time, in a cage, or the weary land-bird, blown off, far away upon the restless sea, could not have been more out of their elements than tall and ungainly Reuben Gubbins on the deck of his Majesty’s ship Eos. I do not know how it was, for I am sure that I ought to have despised him for his unmanly and incessant weeping,—I knew that he had offended the laws of his country,—yet, when the great lout went forward disconsolately, and sat himself down, amidst the derision of the seamen, upon a gun-carriage on the forecastle, I could not help going and dispersing the scoffers, and felt annoyingly inclined to take his toil-embrowned hand, sit down beside, and cry with him. However, I did not so far commit myself. But a few hours afterwards I was totally overcome.
Strict orders were given not to allow Gubbins to communicate with anyone from the shore. A little before dusk, there was a boat ordered by the sentinels to keep off, that contained, besides the sculler, a respectable-looking old man, and a tall, stout, and rather handsome young woman. Directly they caught the eye of Reuben, he exclaimed, “Woundikins! if there bean’t feyther and our sister Moll.” And running aft, and putting his hat between his knees, he thus addressed the officer of the watch, “Please, Mr Officer, zur, there’s feyther and our Moll.”
“Well!”
“Zur, mayn’t I go and have my cry out with ’em, for certain I ha’ behaved mortal bad?”
“Against orders.”
“But, sure-ly, you’ll let him come up to comfort loike his undutiful son.”
“No, no; impossible.”
“Whoy, lookee there, zur,—that’s feyther with the white hair, and that’s sister crying like mad. Ye can no’ ha’ the hard heart.”
“Silence! and go forward.”
I looked over the side, and there I saw the old man standing up reverently, with his hat in one hand, and a bag, apparently full of money in the other. Undoubtedly, the simple yeoman had supposed that money could either corrupt the captain, or buy off the servitude of his guilty son. It was a fine old countenance, down the sides of which that silver hair hung so patriarchally and gracefully; and there that poor old man stood, bowing in his wretchedness and his bereavement, with his money extended, to every officer that he could catch a glimpse of as his hat or head appeared above the hammock-nettings or the bulwarks. The grief of his sister was commonplace and violent; but there was a depth and a dignity in that of the old man that went to my very heart. I could not help going up to the lieutenant, and entreating him to grant the interview.