“He would not have been here to come to at all if it had not been for you, my friend,” said the captain in a choking voice.
Jack Bell said nothing,—he was too busy,—and the captain, seeing the color return to his boy’s face, and that he was breathing better at every moment, sat and watched with longing eyes his return to life. The Widow Stubbs was as useful in her way as Jack Bell, while Dicky seemed to have six hands and four legs, he was so helpful.
In half an hour the young fellow was laid in the widow’s plain though clean bed, and, except a little weakness, was as well as ever he was in his life, and was carried on board the Diomede that very afternoon. The story of Jack Bell’s plunge into the surf for him was known on board, and from that hour Jack was safe from being denounced as a deserter.
The fact that he was born in America had already deprived his offence of the moral guilt that would have attached to it. It was common enough for British sailors to be pressed into the service of Spanish and French ships when captured on merchant vessels, but there was an unwritten law that they should desert the first chance they had. This rule applied perfectly to Jack Bell, and his plucky dive after a young British officer secured for him that his past should be universally winked at among the officers and sailors at Newport who might recognize him.
That same night Captain Forrester came ashore and went straight to the Widow Stubbs’ cottage, where he felt certain he would meet the three persons he most desired to see there.
Sure enough, on opening the door he found the widow, Jack Bell, and the boy Dicky sitting before a blazing hickory fire in the humble living-room. The widow sat at her spinning wheel in one corner, and the wheel hummed merrily. They were so poor they could not afford even a tallow dip, but the fire made the tidy little place quite bright and cheery. Jack Bell sat on the wooden settle, and curled up by him was Dicky Stubbs.
Dicky had just been displaying his new accomplishments in the singing line, and the Widow Stubbs had swelled with pride at the display of Dicky’s talents. It was happiness enough to get him back alive and well, but to find him so grown, so much improved from the ragged urchin who had run away, and with such a wonderful new gift of singing, made the Widow Stubbs an uncommonly happy woman.
They all rose as Captain Forrester entered, and the widow gave him her only armchair.
“I have come to thank you all for my son’s life,” said Captain Forrester as soon as he was seated, “but especially Jack Bell, here, who risked his own life in jumping overboard among the rocks for my son. Of course I never can pay you for it—but here is something that at least may give you some comforts;” and the captain took from his breast a small package made up of golden sovereigns banded together and held it toward Jack Bell.
Jack, however, shook his head and folded his arms.