I thought a good deal about my father’s words, but though I regularly made Bigley my confidant, and told him pretty well everything, I did not tell him that, for I knew it would make him very uncomfortable, and besides it seemed such a horrible idea for us to have to be fighting against his father—our men against his.
The time went on, and we kept on hearing about the French war, but we seemed to be, away there in our quiet Devon combe, far from all the noise and turmoil, and very little of the news excited us.
We knew when there was a big fight, and when one side got the better of the other; but to read the papers we always appeared to get the victory. But, as I say, it did not seem to concern us much, only when the country traffic was a bit disturbed, and our lead began to accumulate for want of the means of sending it away.
“I don’t so much mind the lead, Sep,” my father used to say; “what I mind is the silver.”
This was when the store beneath the counting-house became charged with too valuable a collection of ingots; and the second time this happened my father suddenly altered his arrangements.
“I can’t rest satisfied that all is safe,” he said, “when I am away at the Bay, and this place is only depending upon locks and keys.”
“What shall you do then, father?” I asked. “Have a watchman!”
He nodded.
“Who? Old Sam?”
“No,” he said; “ourselves, Sep, my lad. It will not be so comfortable, but while the country is so disturbed we will come and live over here.”