Dear Mrs Clayton had faithfully fulfilled her promise of carefully nursing my little sister, by holding her half the night in her arms, during the raging of the storm, fearful that any harm should come to her new-found treasure; and it was only when the sea subsided, and the ship was more steady, that she would consent to place her in a little cot which had been slung by her side. In the afternoon all the passengers were again collected together on deck. We, of course, afforded the subject of general conversation and curiosity. Speculations of all sorts were offered as to who we could be—where we could have come from, and how it happened that we were in an open boat in the condition in which we were found. I was asked all sorts of questions; but to none of them could I return a satisfactory answer. I had some indistinct idea of having been on board another ship, and of there being a great disturbance, and of my crying very much through fear; and I suspect that I must have cried myself to sleep, and remained so when I was put into the boat. Ellen Barrow had taken me under her especial protection, though everybody, more or less, tried to pet me, and I was very happy. Scarcely four-and-twenty hours had passed, it must be remembered, since, without food or human aid, we floated on the open ocean, the dying and the dead our only companions; and now we were on board a well-found ship, and surrounded by kind friends, all vying with each other to do us service. Sir Charles every now and then, as I passed him, patted me on the head; and as I looked up I liked the expression of his countenance, so I stopped and smiled, and frequently ran back to him. In this manner we shortly became great friends.
“I wonder what their names can be!” exclaimed Mrs Clayton, as those most interested in us were still sitting together in earnest consultation. “The boy’s initials are M.S., and the little girl’s E.S., that is certain. If we cannot discover their real names, we must give them some ourselves.”
“Oh, let them be pretty ones, by all means!” cried Ellen Barrow. “I must not let my pet be called by an ugly name. Let me consider—it must not be romantic either, like invented names found in novels.”
“I should advise you to choose the surname first for both the children, and then settle the respective Christian names,” remarked the judge.
“Will you help us, Sir Charles?” asked Miss Barrow.
“No, my dear young lady—I propose that our committee abide by your choice, if I am allowed to have a word to say about the Christian name—so on your shoulders must rest the responsibility,” was Sir Charles’s answer.
“It must begin with S, that is certain,” said Ellen Barrow, speaking as she thought on. “Something to do with the sea: Seagrave—I don’t like that; Seaton—it might do. What do you think of Seaworth, Sir Charles? It is a pretty name and appropriate—Seaworth—I like Seaworth.”
“So do I; and I compliment you on the selection,” said the judge. “Let the surname of the children be Seaworth from henceforth, till the real name is discovered; and now for a Christian name for the boy. It must begin with M. I do not like long names, and I have a fancy for one in particular—I must beg that he be called Mark. I had a friend of that name, who died early. Do you object to it, Miss Ellen?”
“I had not thought of it, certainly,” said Ellen Barrow. “I was going to propose Marmaduke; but let me try how it sounds in combination with Seaworth—Mark Seaworth—Mark Seaworth. A very nice name; I like it, and I am sure I shall like it very much in a short time.” So, thanks to Sir Charles and Ellen Barrow, I was called Mark Seaworth.
Mrs Clayton now claimed the right of naming her little charge. It was a matter, however, of still longer consideration. Emily, and Eliza, and Elizabeth, and a number of others beginning with E were thought of, but none seemed to please.