“I am rebuked, Prose,” replied Stewart; “you shall have my glass of grog for that speech, for you never made a better. Give me your hand, my good fellow.”
“I am glad that you, at last, show some symptoms of reason,” observed the still indignant Jerry, standing close to the door. “I have some hopes of your Majesty yet, after such an extraordinary concession on your part. You must have great reason to be proud that you are able to trace your pedigree up to a border chieftain, who sallied forth on the foray, when the spurs were dished up for his dinner: or, in plain words, went a cattle stealing, and robbing those who could not resist. It might then be considered a mark of prowess; but times are altered now; and if your celebrated ancestor lived in the present time, why,” continued Jerry, pointing his finger under his left ear, “he would receive what he well deserved, that’s all.”
“By Him that made me, get out of my reach, if you do not wish me to murder you!” cried Stewart, pale with rage.
“I took care of that,” replied Jerry, “before I ventured to give my opinion; and now that I’m ready for a start, I’ll give you a piece of advice. Trace your ancestors as far back as you can, as long as they have continued to be honest men,—if you don’t stop there you are a fool”—and Jerry very prudently made his escape at the conclusion of his sentence.
“The hour of retribution will come,” cried Stewart after Jerry, as the latter sprang up the ladder; but it did not, for when they met next morning, it was to feast their eyes upon the chalky cliffs of the Isle of Wight, as the Aspasia steered for the Needles. There are two events on board of a man-of-war, after which injuries are forgotten, apologies are offered and received, intended duels are suppressed, hands are exchanged in friendship, and good-will drives away long-cherished animosity. One is, after an action—another, upon the sight of native land, after a protracted absence.
Jerry fearlessly ranged up alongside of Stewart, as he looked over the gangway.
“We shall be at anchor by twelve o’clock.”
“You may bless your stars for it,” replied Stewart, with a significant smile.
The Aspasia now ran through the Needles, and having successively passed by Hurst Castle, Cowes, and the entrance to Southampton Water, brought up at Spithead, in seven fathoms. The sails were furled, the ship was moored, the boat was manned, and Captain M— went on shore to report himself to the port admiral, and deliver his despatches. When the boat returned, it brought off letters which had been waiting the arrival of the ship. One informed Jerry of the death of his father, and of his being in possession of a fortune which enabled him to retire from the service. Another, from the Admiralty, announced the promotion of Stewart to the rank of lieutenant; and one from McElvina to our hero, inviting him to take up his quarters at his house, as long as the service would permit, stating that Captain M— had been written to, to request that he might be allowed leave of absence.
As soon as Captain M— had received an answer from the Admiralty, he returned on board, and acquainted his officers that he had obtained leave to remain on shore for some time, for the re-establishment of his health, and that another captain would be appointed to the ship. He turned the hands up, and addressed the ship’s company, thanking them for their good behaviour while under his command, and expressing his hopes, that upon his reappointment he should find them all alive and well. The first-lieutenant, to his great surprise and delight, was presented with his rank as commander, which Captain M— had solicited from the Admiralty. The men were dismissed, and Captain M—, bidding farewell to his officers, descended the side and shoved off. As soon as the boat was clear of the frigate, the men, without orders, ran up, and manning the shrouds, saluted him with three farewell cheers. Captain M— took off his hat to the compliment, and, muffling up his face with his boat-cloak to conceal his emotion, the boat pulled for the shore.