I PUT OUT MY HAND AND SHE TOOK IT.
I put out my hand. She took it and sank down at the side of the bunk.
"John dear, forgive me," was all she said; and then—and then— Well, what is the use of telling more? Women are strange creatures. But suffice it. I had, of a truth, taken the fairest prize in all the world. How she had won the old gentleman to her way of thinking I do not pretend to tell. I have never asked, nor did he inform me. But some women have a way with them against which there is no gainsaying. Mr. Middleton is a wise man, and this may account for it. But I was not the only one under Mary's care. Dugan and three others were wounded lying in the forecastle; but I am glad to here record, so far as I know, they are at this moment well and hearty. On the fourth day I was on deck when land was sighted. It was my own country that lay off to the westward. I, the happiest man in all the world, was home again.
Thus ended my adventures. Since then I have made many cruises in my own vessels, always knowing that there was waiting for me when I returned the dearest little woman in the world, and were I a nobleman with vast estates I could be no wit happier, nor could I be so happy as I am at this very moment. Of that I am sure.
There is just a half-page left of this old ledger. As my story is done, I can but go over it again; and in looking back, what a strange record I have made here, for I began as a child without a name and without a country, who chose both for himself. I had been a mysterious waif in a Connecticut village, an instructor in small-arms on board a privateer, an English prisoner of war, a French nobleman among the refugees in England, a lieutenant of a fine schooner, and the commander of two vessels, all inside of a week; yes, and had I not been a robber also? For I robbed an English officer and a scare-crow of their clothes, and an old man of his granddaughter. (Of the last I am prouder than I can tell in calm words.) And now I am a prosperous ship-owner, with nothing in this wide world to wish for, except that I were a better scribe. Oh, I might set down that I learned, of course, of the death of my uncle, and found out that Gaston had disappeared with the belongings of Belair; no one knew whither. I was sorry for this, for there was much that I would like to have possessed. As for any other title than that of an American citizen, I care not so much as the snap of my finger; nor would my sons, I am sure, even if they had but to extend their hands to grasp it. They may read in this a great deal that their father has not told them, but it could make no difference, I am sure, in our relations toward one another.
One thing more—I returned all the personal effects found in the Bat's cabin to my namesake who lives in Sussex, England.