“I’ll set all to rights, Mr Merry,” he observed, in a kind tone; “I saw how it all happened, and the brave way in which you jumped after the other youngster; but I wouldn’t say anything before that strange captain. I know him well. He’s a pest in the service, and always was. Had it not been for him I should have been on the quarter-deck. However, I must go and shift myself. Turn in and take a glass of grog; you’ll be all to rights to-morrow morning.”
Now the excitement was over, I felt very weary and uncomfortable, and was not sorry to follow his advice. As Mr Johnson had predicted, the next day I was not a bit the worse for my adventure; but poor Gogles took several days to recover from his fright, and the quantity of salt water he had imbibed.
I found that Captain Collyer treated me with more than his usual kindness, nor was I long in discovering that this arose from the account the boatswain took care should be conveyed to him of my conduct. I felt, however, that I was far more indebted to Mr Johnson than Gogles was to me. I had jumped overboard from impulse, he with forethought and deliberate coolness. The circumstance cemented our friendship more closely than ever, and I am certain that he loved me as a son. With his rough exterior, loud voice, and bravery, his heart was as gentle as a woman’s. I have seen tears trickle down his rough cheeks at a tale of sorrow, while with purse and sympathy he was ever ready to relieve distress, and I am convinced that he never wronged man, woman, or child in his life.
Two days after this, the signal was made that the Pearl corvette was in the offing. As soon as she entered the harbour, I got leave to pay my cousin Ceaton a visit. He was an admirer of my sister Bertha, if not actually engaged to her, which I thought he might be by this time, and I was anxious to get news from home, as well as to see him. A kinder, better fellow never breathed. His manners were most gentlemanly, and gentle, too, and, though brave as a lion, he had never been known to quarrel with a shipmate or any other person. He received me as a brother, and very soon told me that, on his return to England, he hoped to assume that character. He had a great deal to tell me about home, and said that I must stay on board and dine with him.
Our pleasant conversation was interrupted by the announcement of Major O’Grady. The name made me feel uncomfortable, for he was one of the soldier officers who had dined on board the Doris, and appeared to be on very intimate terms with Captain Staghorn. He was just that stiff, punctilious-mannered, grey-eyed person, for whom I have had always a peculiar antipathy. He hummed and hawed, and looked sternly at me, as if he could have eaten me up, and thought my presence especially impertinent; but budge for him I would not, till desired by my cousin to do so. At last he had to say, “I beg your pardon, Commander Ceaton, but the business I have come on cannot be discussed in the presence of a youngster.”
“Go on deck, Marmaduke,” said my cousin.
Unwillingly I obeyed. My worst apprehensions were confirmed. Captain Staghorn was resolved to carry out his diabolical intentions. What could be done? I felt that Charles Ceaton had never fired a pistol except in open warfare, and as to practising for the sake of being the better able to kill a fellow-creature, I knew that was abhorrent to his nature.
I hurried on deck as ordered, but as the skylight was off, and Major O’Grady spoke in a loud, and it seemed a bullying voice, I could hear nearly every word he said, nor did I consider myself wrong in drawing near to listen.
“I am not at all aware of ever having made use of the words imputed to me,” said my cousin, calmly.
“That is as much as to say, Commander Ceaton, that you consider my friend capable of uttering a falsehood,” answered the Major, in a deliberate tone.