The Birthright

by Joseph Hocking

While we were sailing along the coast I tried to think of my future, for never had it looked so black and hopeless as now. It is true I rejoiced at the thought of Naomi Penryn's kindness, and dreamed glad things of the days to come; but when I began to face facts, and saw my condition as it really was, my case looked hopeless indeed.

On our way to Plymouth I proved to Captain Maynard that I was not altogether ignorant of the duties of a sailor, and so pleased was he with me that he offered me a berth on the White Swan. Knowing of nothing better that I could do I accepted, and for the next few months worked as a common sailor. During that time we visited several ports on the coast. I saw Weymouth, Southampton, Portsmouth, Dover and London, but I will not write of my experiences at this time. Nothing of importance happened, neither does that time affect the history I am trying to write.

Of course, I was greatly moved with what I saw in London; at the same time, even as I mingled with the throng of people who threaded London streets, I longed for the quiet of St. Eve, and thought much of the maid to whom I had given my heart. At the same time, I saw no means whereby I could get back to Pennington, although I thought long and earnestly of many plans.

I stayed with Captain Maynard seven months, and then made up my mind to go back to Cornwall again. I felt sure that Cap'n Jack and his gang must have practically forgotten me, and I could not help thinking that Naomi Penryn needed me. I dreamed often that she was persecuted by the Tresidders, and that they were using many cruel means to make her marry Nick. I was afraid, too, that she, friendless and alone as she was, would at length be forced to yield to their wishes. And so although I had not moved one inch forward in the direction of winning back what was rightly my own, and although I could seemingly do no good by so doing, I determined that I would go back to Pennington again, and if possible obtain another interview with Naomi. My heart was very sad, for every day my love seemed to grow more hopeless. I had told her the desire of my heart, but although she had been kind to me, and had sacrificed much, she had not told me with her own lips that she cared for me more than she might care for any man who she thought was unjustly treated.

And thus the old proverb that "actions speak louder than words" is not true. For actions may be misinterpreted and misunderstood. Often I tried to comfort myself with the thought that had she not cared for me more than she cared for any other, she would not have granted me an interview that night when I escaped from Cap'n Jack's gang. Again I told myself many hundreds of times that did her heart not beat for me she would never have braved her uncle's anger, braved the cruel questions at Falmouth, and bore what must be hard for a shrinking maiden to bear. But for all this I could not believe that her heart was mine. How could it be? Who was I that I should be so blessed? A landless wanderer, who had been pilloried as a vagabond, and hooted at by the scum of the earth. No, actions did not speak loud enough for me. Nothing but the words from her own dear lips, saying, "Jasper, I love you," could convince me, unworthy as I was, that I could be aught to her.

All the same I determined to go to her, I determined to see her, for my heart ached in my hunger to be near her, and my eyes would not be satisfied until they again feasted on her beauty.

It was early in July when I landed in Falmouth Harbour. I think it was on the first of the month. It was late in the afternoon when I set foot on solid earth, but I did not stay in the town. Like one possessed I hurried toward St. Eve, and about half past nine at night I stood in front of Betsey Fraddam's cottage.

"Come in, Maaster Jasper," said the old woman; "supper es zet fur three. I knawed you wos a-comin', and zo ded Eli."

So I entered the hut, and there surely I saw three plates placed on the little table.

The old woman seemed to regard my coming as a matter of course, and made no more ado than if I had left her cottage that morning. Eli, on the other hand, made much of me. He caught my hands and fondled them, he rubbed them against his poor distorted face, and looked up into my eyes as though he were overjoyed at my coming.