“Because it was no laughing matter. I owe my life to you, and if I had been adrift by myself, I should never have put my foot on shore again. Do you know,” said she to me, very solemnly, “I’ve made a vow—yes, a vow to Heaven, that I’ll leave off drinking; and I only hope I may have strength given me to keep it.”
“Can you keep it?” said I.
“I think I can; for when I reflect that I might have gone to my account in that state, I really feel a horror of liquor. If James would only give it up, I’m sure I could. I swear that I never will bring him any more on board—that’s settled. He may scold me, he may beat me (I don’t think he would do that, for he never has yet); but let him do what he pleases, I never will; and if he keeps sober because he hasn’t the means of getting tipsy, I am sure that I shall keep my vow. You don’t know how I hate myself; and although I’m merry, it’s only to prevent my sitting down and crying like a child at my folly and wickedness in yielding to temptation.”
“I little thought to hear this from you. When I was with you in the boat, I thought you a very different person.”
“A woman who drinks, Mr Keene, is lost to everything. I’ve often thought of it, after I’ve become sober again. Five years ago I was the best girl in the school. I was the monitor and wore a medal for good conduct. I thought that I should be so happy with James; I loved him so, and do so still. I knew that he was fond of liquor, but I never thought that he would make me drink. I thought then that I should cure him, and with the help of God I will now; not only him, but myself too.”
And I will here state that Peggy Pearson, whose only fault was the passion she had imbibed for drinking, did keep her vow; the difficulty of which few can understand who have not been intemperate themselves; and she not only continued sober herself, but by degrees broke her husband of his similar propensity to liquor.
It was not till the evening of the fourth that we arrived at the Nore. I had four pounds in my pocket at the time that I went adrift, which was more than sufficient, even if I had not intended to go and see my mother. A wherry came alongside, and Peggy Pearson and I stepped into it, after I had thanked the captain, and given a sovereign to the seamen to drink my health.
As soon as we landed at Sheerness I gave another of my sovereigns to Peggy, and left her to find her way back to Portsmouth, while I walked up to Chatham to my mother’s house.
It was past eight o’clock and quite dark when I arrived; the shop was closed, and the shutters up at the front door; so I went round to the back to obtain admittance. The door was not fast, and I walked into the little parlour without meeting with anybody. I heard somebody upstairs, and I thought I heard sobbing; it then struck me that my supposed loss might have been communicated to my mother. There was a light on the parlour table, and I perceived an open letter lying near to it. I looked at it; it was the handwriting of Captain Delmar. The candle required snuffing; I raised the letter to the light that I might read it, and read as follows:—
“My dear Arabella:—
“You must prepare yourself for very melancholy tidings, and it is most painful to me to be compelled to be the party who communicates them. A dreadful accident has occurred, and indeed I feel most sincerely for you. On the night of the 10th, Percival was in a boat which broke adrift from the ship in a gale of wind; it was dark, and the fact not known until too late to render any assistance.
“The next day a cutter was despatched by the admiral to look for the boat, which must have been driven out to sea; there was a woman in the boat as well as our poor boy. Alas! I regret to say that the boat was found bottom up, and there is no doubt but that our dear child has perished.
“You will believe me when I say that I deeply lament his loss; not only on your account, but because I had become most partial to him for his many good qualities, and often have I regretted that his peculiar position prevented me from showing him openly that regard which, as his father, I really felt for him.
“I know that I can say nothing that will alleviate your sufferings, and yet I fain would, for you have been so true, and anxious to please me in every point since our first acquaintance and intimacy, that there is nothing that you do not deserve at my hands.
“Comfort yourself, dear Arabella, as well as you can with the reflection that it has been the will of Heaven, to whose decrees we must submit with resignation. I am deeply suffering myself; for, had he lived, I swear to you that I intended to do much more for him than ever I had promised you. He would have made a good and gallant sailor had it pleased Heaven to spare him, and you would have been proud of him; but it has been decided otherwise, and we must bow in obedience to His will. God bless you, and support you in your afflictions, and believe me still,
“Yours, most sincerely and faithfully,
“Percival Delmar.”