Lord Belmore called the next morning, and the general consulted him. His lordship took great interest in my concerns; and, previous to any further steps, advised me to step into his carriage, and allow him to relate my case to the First Lord of the Admiralty. This was done immediately; and, as I had now an opportunity of speaking freely to his lordship, I explained to him the conduct of Captain Hawkins, and his connexion with my uncle; also the reason of my uncle’s persecution. His lordship finding me under such powerful protection as Lord Belmore’s, and having an eye to my future claims, which my uncle’s conduct gave him reason to suppose were well founded, was extremely gracious, and said, that I should hear from him in a day or two. He kept his word, and on the third day after my interview, I received a note, announcing my promotion to the rank of commander. I was delighted with this good fortune, as was General O’Brien and Celeste.
When at the Admiralty, I inquired about O’Brien, and found that he was expected home every day. He had gained great reputation in the East Indies, was chief in command at the taking of some of the islands, and, it was said, was to be created a baronet for his services. Everything wore a favourable aspect, excepting the disappearance of my sister. This was a weight on my mind I could not remove.
But I have forgotten to inform the reader by what means General O’Brien and Celeste arrived so opportunely in England. Martinique had been captured by our forces about six months before, and the whole of the garrison surrendered as prisoners of war. General O’Brien was sent home, and allowed to be on parole; although born a Frenchman, he had very high connections in Ireland, of whom Lord Belmore was one. When they arrived, they had made every inquiry for me without success: they knew that I had been tried by a court-martial and dismissed my ship, but after that, no clue could be found for my discovery.
Celeste, who was fearful that some dreadful accident had occurred to me, had suffered very much in health, and General O’Brien, perceiving how much his daughter’s happiness depended upon her attachment for me, had made up his mind that if I were found, we should be united. I hardly need say how delighted he was when he discovered me, though in a situation so little to be envied.
The story of my incarceration, of the action to be brought against my uncle, and the reports of foul play, relative to the succession, had, in the meantime, been widely circulated among the nobility; and I found that, every attention was paid me, and I was repeatedly invited out as an object of curiosity and speculation. The loss of my sister also was a subject of much interest, and many people, from good will, made every inquiry to discover her. I had returned one day from the solicitor’s, who had advertised for her in the newspapers without success, when I found a letter for me on the table, in an Admiralty enclosure. I opened it—the enclosure was one from O’Brien, who had just cast anchor at Spithead, and who had requested that the letter should be forwarded to me, if any one could tell my address.
“My dear Peter,—Where are, and what has become of, you? I have received no letters for these two years, and I have fretted myself to death. I received your letter about the rascally court-martial; but, perhaps, you have not heard that the little scoundrel is dead. Yes, Peter; he brought your letter out in his own ship, and that was his death-warrant. I met him at a private party. He brought up your name—I allowed him to abuse you, and then told him he was a liar and a scoundrel; upon which he challenged me, very much against his will; but the affront was so public, that he couldn’t help himself. Upon which I shot him, with all the good-will in the world, and could he have jumped up again twenty times, like Jack in the box, I would have shot him every time. The dirty scoundrel! but there’s an end of him. Nobody pitied him, for every one hated him; and the admiral only looked grave, and then was very much obliged to me for giving him a vacancy for his nephew. By-the-bye, from some unknown hand, but I presume from the officers of his ship, I received a packet of correspondence between him and your worthy uncle, which is about as elegant a piece of rascality as ever was carried on between two scoundrels; but that’s not all, Peter. I’ve got a young woman for you, who will make your heart glad—not Mademoiselle Celeste, for I don’t know where she is—but the wet-nurse who went out to India. Her husband was sent home as an invalid, and she was allowed her passage home with him in my frigate. Finding that he belonged to the regiment, I talked to him about one O’Sullivan who married in Ireland, and mentioned the girl’s name, and when he discovered that she was a countryman of mine, he told me that his real name was O’Sullivan, sure enough, but that he had always served as O’Connell, and that his wife on board was the young woman in question. Upon which, I sent to speak to her, and telling her that I knew all about it, and mentioning the names of Ella Flanagan, and her mother, who had given me the information, she was quite astonished; and when I asked her what had become of the child which she took in place of her own, she told me that it had been drowned at Plymouth, and that her husband was saved at the same time by a young officer, ‘whose name I have here,’ says she; and then she pulled out of her neck your card, with Peter Simple on it. ‘Now,’ says I, ‘do you know, good woman, that in helping on the rascally exchange of children, you ruin that very young man who saved your husband, for you deprive him of his title and property?’ She stared like a stuck pig, when I said so, and then cursed and blamed herself, and declared she’d right you as soon as we came home; and most anxious she is still to do so, for she loves the very name of you; so you see, Peter, a good action has its reward sometimes in this world, and a bad action also, seeing as how I’ve shot that confounded villain who dared to ill-use you. I have plenty more to say to you, Peter; but I don’t like writing what, perhaps, may never be read, so I’ll wait till I hear from you; and then, as soon as I get through my business, we will set to and trounce that scoundrel of an uncle. I have twenty thousand pounds jammed together in the consolidated, besides the Spice Islands, which will be a pretty penny; and every farthing of it shall go to right you, Peter, and make a lord of you, as I promised you often that you should be; and if you win you shall pay, and if you don’t, then damn the luck and damn the money too. I beg you will offer my best regards to Miss Ellen, and say how happy I shall be to hear that she is well; but it has always been on my mind, Peter, that your father did not leave too much behind him, and I wish to know how you both get on. I left you a carte blanche at my agent’s, and I only hope that you have taken advantage of it, if required; if not, you’re not the Peter that I left behind me. So now, farewell, and don’t forget to answer my letter in no time.
“Ever yours, Terence O’Brien.”
This was indeed joyful intelligence. I handed the letter to General O’Brien, who read it; Celeste hanging over his shoulder, and perusing it at the same time.
“This is well,” said the general. “Peter, I wish you joy; and, Celeste, I ought to wish you joy also, at your future prospects. It will indeed be a gratification if ever I hail you as Lady Privilege.”
“Celeste,” said I, “you did not reject me when I was penniless, and in disgrace. O my poor sister Ellen! if I could but find you, how happy should I be!”
I sat down to write to O’Brien, acquainting him with all that had occurred, and the loss of my dear sister. The day after the receipt of my letter, O’Brien burst into the room. After the first moments of congratulation were past, he said, “My heart’s broke, Peter, about your sister Ellen: find her I must. I shall give up my ship, for I’ll never give up the search as long as I live. I must find her.”