Nothing particular occurred until we made the west end of Jamaica. We had intended proceeding at once to Port Royal, but seeing a large vessel, apparently a man-of-war, at anchor in Negril bay, with a blue flag at the fore, we stood in, and on exchanging signals, were ordered to anchor, the frigate proving to be the Admiral.
We were both invited to dine on board, and during dinner were nearly suffocated, by the cook having chosen to roast a jackfruit on a spit (the vessel riding head to wind), taking it for a bread fruit, to which it bears a strong external resemblance.
I landed at Negril that same evening, after having taken a most affectionate leave of De Walden, and proceeded over land to Ballywindle, where I found my excellent uncle in good health, and getting along cheerily with his preparations for leaving the island when the season should be a little more advanced. He lent me a hand with poor Lennox's affairs, and the issue was that we presently scraped together a good round sum to remit to England on this account, there to await the distribution of the executors.
In the month of March, we left Ballywindle, and I may safely say there was not a dry eye, black or white, master or servant, that day on the estate, and proceeded to Kingston, where, after a sorrowful parting from our warmhearted friends there, we embarked in the packet, and after a prosperous voyage, arrived at Falmouth.
I found a letter lying for me from my adorable, announcing that the family were now settled in Liverpool, where it was likely Mr Hudson was to be permanently domiciled; and I shall not weary the reader with the dreams of future happiness that floated through my brain that evening, as my uncle and I, after discussing our red mullet and beef-steak, were enjoying our bottle of port in that most excellent shop, the Green Bank hotel.
Next day, we posted across the country to Liverpool, as fast as four horses could carry us; but neither will I attempt to describe the joy of our meeting. Uncle Lathom was quite pleased with my choice, lamenting over and over again, however, what a pity it was, that she had not been an Irishman.
Here, to while away the time, the old gentleman chartered a pair of spanking hunters, and took a day now and then with the Cheshire hounds. One fine, you may call it summer, day, the last of the season, there was a noble field, and not a scanty sprinkling of Liverpool cotton brokers. Some time previous, a London dealer had brought down a batch of grey horses, that were too good for Tattersall's, in order to clap the leek, as the Welshman says, into the wealthy Liverpoolonians—"all real good, well-made hunters, sir." The fox at length broke cover in good style, and away we all went at a killing pace, my uncle leading with the coolness and skill of an old hand.
We came to one or two stiffish jumps, and there was nothing like the greys; aware that they were marked, from the conspicuous colour of their horses, the men of the long and short staple rode like devils, and for a time the Cheshire aristocracy were at a puzzle what to make of it.
At length we came to a post-and-rail fence, with a deep ditch beyond, which seemed to be a poser. "Hold hard," cried Mr Frenche to me, as he settled himself in his saddle, and gathered up his reins; "hold hard, Benjie, and let the greys lead." A tall military-looking personage had for some time hung on the flank of the Liverpool cavaliers, who, being strangers, kept pretty well together. He appeared to be reconnoitering their horses carefully, with that knowing sort of look as if he had recognised them to be old friends.
Having satisfied himself, apparently, he winked to a well-mounted sportsman near him, and reining in a little as they came up to the fence, he sung out, in a clear, sharp voice,