I have but one more circumstance to relate. I was one day sitting with Bessy and my children, at the old cottage on the beach, Bramble and my father were smoking their pipes on a bench which they had set up outside, when one of the Deal boats landed with passengers. As they passed by us one old gentleman started, and then stopped short, as he beheld Bessy.
“Mine frau!” he cried, “mine frau dat was in heaven!”
We stared very much, as we did not comprehend him; but he then came up to me and said, “I beg your pardon, mynheer, but what is dat young woman?”
“She is my wife,” replied I.
“I was going to say dat she was my wife, but dat is impossible. Look you here, sar.”
The old man pulled a miniature out of his breast, and certainly the resemblance to Bessy was most remarkable.
“Now, sar, dat was my wife. Where did you get dis young woman?”
I requested him to walk into the cottage, and then told him the history of Bessy.
“Sar, my wife was coming home with her child in a brig, and the brig was never heard of. It was supposed that she did perish, and every one else too. Sar, this lady must be my daughter.”
“I’m sorry that we have no proofs to offer you,” replied I; “she had only bed-clothes on when she was taken into the boat, and there is nothing to establish her identity.”