CHAPTER XXXII. A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.
My mother, who was very sharp about some things, could not have failed to discover from me, or else from Uncle Bill, who was as simple as a child, that he had spent a long time in telling me a portion of one of his manifold adventures; which recalled to my mind, once or twice, the rare doings of that grandest of all rovers, Captain Robinson Crusoe. But when she returned from a very long visit to Mrs. Windsor, she had such a quantity not only to tell, but to give her own opinion on, and to get it confirmed by mine (whenever she could stop), that it was next to impossible for her to look about, as she generally did, or even wait to be talked to, unless it was about the matter she was so wrapped up in. And she declared that she had not heard a quarter of it yet; being forced by her duties here, to come away abruptly—though she could not have had less than five hours there, however well she steered the cabman—and if she could only be sure, that her dear invalid would not miss her so very much, she had promised to go again, and give her very humble advice about many things, to-morrow. It was very painful for her—she confessed that freely—when she remembered what might have been; and £12,125 might better have stopped in the boiling connection, than gone into the meat trade, to buy up opposition. However, her dear boy would not break his heart; had he cared to come forward, he might have put a spoke in somebody's wheel; and there always had been something about Polly, which she would be the last to remind her mother of.
When the coast was quite clear, as Captain. William expressed it, after looking down the "drive," as we called it (which was very nearly twelve yards long, whenever the gate was opened outwards), and receiving a wave from a new white handkerchief—for my dear mother had taken three that day, having wept into her capstrings yesterday—he made his preparations, or directed me to make them, for a very long voyage in the narrative trade. He had three pipes ready, not to smoke them hot, for fear of any tendency towards coughing, and a glass of "regulation," to be served when he made signal, and his little spy-glass handy, that he might see the bus from Hampstead, at a turn of the road a long way up the hill; and he always expected to see sailors on it, and if he saw one, he would be sure to drink his health.
"Tommy," he said in a determined tone; "I mean to have a quid, and no mistake. It is six months now, since I have had a quid. In the pocket of that coat behind the door——"
"But, sir," I answered, looking at him with surprise; "you have been most strictly forbidden to do it. You spoke of it yesterday, and Dr. Flebotham said that congestion at least might ensue. Try to wait till mother comes, and if she allows it——"
"Don't be crafty, Tommy, now. I hate crafty people. Your mother would never allow it, you know well; and my only chance for it is, when she is gone away. Do as I tell you. I am the skipper here. Mutiny, indeed, from a younker just shipped! You won't hear another word, until you bring my knife from the pocket with the yellow button to it, and a cake of Cavendish from the little midship locker. Very good; now cut where I scar my nail. It's not so much the comfort of it that I want, as to keep the throat juicy, and prevent me coughing, from hauling so many dry words out of my hold. Very well done, Tommy; I shall promote you. Now, where did I break my yarn off?"
"About your all getting safe into the ship, sir, with two men wounded, and poor little Tommy dead. And you said, you hadn't come to the best part yet. Though I thought it was very good indeed already."
"Well, my son, you shall hear the rest of it, and judge. As soon as we had brought ourselves round with victuals, for the sake of the hard day we had been through, I sent for the man we had rescued, and held a long talk with him in my cabin. As yet, I have only been able to meet with two men who had the gift of gratitude, and both of those happened to be Welshmen. The name of this man was Rees Edwards; and a smarter hand never went aloft. Welshmen, as a rule, are not first-rate seamen; but when they are good, they beat everything; and Rees Edwards was the best of them I ever came across. His last trip had been in an American bark called the Beaver, engaged in the Beachymess, and sponge-trade, among these Pacific islands. She had struck in the night, on the great coral-reef surrounding these two islands, and a smart breeze from seaward setting in, they had found it impossible to haul her off. A heavy sea got up, and she broached to, with the rocks grinding through her timbers. But the crew contrived to launch their boats, and finding a passage through the reef, made land, and were very soon surrounded by the natives.