The other two boats rescued several of the lugger’s crew; we got hold of six or seven more who were floating on spars or planks; one of them was the second officer of the privateer; but out of a hundred and forty men who were on her decks when she went down, not more than thirty were rescued. Toby and I met with a very pleasant reception when we got on board, and as soon as I had got on some dry clothes and had had a glass of grog to restore my circulation, Captain Collyer sent for me into the cabin to hear an account of our adventures. He seemed highly interested when I told him of the gallantry of the French captain, and expressed his regret at his death. A brave man always appreciates the bravery of his opponent. When I got back to the berth I had to tell the story all over again, and Toby, I have no doubt, was similarly employed among his messmates.
“It is very evident, Merry, that you are reserved for a more exalted fate,” was the only comment Spellman made, when I ceased.
“Thank you, Miss Susan,” I answered; “I owe you one.”
“It is a great pity that the lugger went down, though,” observed old Perigal; “I should have had a chance of taking a run home in her as prize-master, and seeing my wife. Besides, she might have given us a pinch of prize-money.”
The regret generally expressed was rather for the loss of the few pounds the lugger might have given them, than for that of the men who formed the crew.
“What! I did not know that you were married,” I observed to Perigal when he said he was married.
“But I am, though; and to a young and charming wife who deserves a better husband,” he answered in an abrupt way. “If it wasn’t for her I shouldn’t be now knocking about the ocean as I have been all my life; and yet, if it was not for her I should have very little to keep me on shore. It’s the prize-money, the booty, keeps me afloat. I am an arrant buccaneer at heart.”
“I should not have supposed you that,” said I. It was now evening, and old Perigal had his glass of grog before him. On these occasions he was always somewhat communicative.
“I’ve been married six years or more,” he continued in a half whisper. “My wife is the daughter of an old shipmate who was killed in action by my side. His last words were, ‘Take care of my orphan child—my Mary.’ I promised him I would as long as I had life and a shilling in my pocket. I expected to see a little girl with a big bow at her waist, and a doll in her arms—as he’d described her. He’d been five years from home or more, poor fellow. Instead of that, I found a handsome young woman, tall and graceful. What could I do? I was struck all of a heap, as the saying is; and I discovered at last, that though I was but a mate in the service, and an old fellow to boot compared to her, she liked me; so we married. I’d saved some little prize-money, and I thought myself rich; but it went wonderfully quick, and a rogue of a fellow who borrowed some wouldn’t even pay me; and if it hadn’t been for the sake of Mary I wouldn’t have said anything to him, but let the coin burn a hole in his pockets. I went to law, and the upshot was that I lost all I had remaining. Now came the tug of war. Was I to go to sea again and leave Mary? I couldn’t bear the thought of it. Anything would be better than that. I would enter into some business. A bright idea struck me. Three or four hundred pounds would enable me to carry it out. Mary and I agreed that I should have no difficulty in getting that, I had so many friends. I would pay them a good interest. I tried. You should have seen how they buttoned up their pockets and pursed up their lips; how many similar applications they had, how many decayed relations wanted their assistance! They didn’t say, however, that they had assisted them. I had no business to complain; I had made a mistake, and I felt ashamed of myself. At first, though my heart swelled, I was very angry; but I got over that feeling, and I resolved to trust to myself alone. It was not till then that I recovered my self-respect. I say, Merry; if you fancy that you have many friends, don’t you ever attempt to borrow money from them, or you’ll find that you are woefully mistaken. Mary and I talked the matter over, and she settled to keep a school, and I to come to sea again.
“It was a sore trial, youngster, and you may fancy that a rich galleon wouldn’t be an unacceptable prize, to save the poor girl from the drudgery she has to go through. It wasn’t the way her poor father expected me to treat her, but I have done my best; what can a man do more?”