Soon after he had seen his brother-in-law laid in the grave, Lieutenant Pack came home to find that his sister Fanny had followed her husband to the other world, and that Sally had already taken charge of their young nephew.
From that day forward she truly became a mother to the orphan, and as the lieutenant proved a kind, though not over indulgent father, Ned never felt the loss of his parents, and grew up all that his uncle and aunt could desire, rewarding them for their watchful care and judicious management of him. The lieutenant’s means would not allow him to bestow an expensive education on his nephew, but he was enabled to send him to a neighbouring grammar school, where the boy, diligently taking advantage of such instruction as it afforded, soon reached the head of each class in which he was placed. Though first in all manly exercises, he made good use of his books at home, his uncle giving him lessons in mathematics and navigation, so that he was as well prepared for the profession he desired to enter as any boy of his age. Ned was a favourite with all who knew him. His home training had answered, for, though kind, it had been judicious. He was truthful and honest, and sincerely, desirous of doing his duty, while he was manly and good-tempered, ever ready to forgive an injury, though well capable of standing up for himself. Had the “Worcester” training-ship then been established, and had Ned gone on board her, he would probably have become a gold medallist, and that is saying much in his favour. His uncle delighted in his society—“Ned always made him feel young again,” he used to say—and Aunt Sally bestowed upon him the affection of her kind and gentle heart. As to Mary, she thought there never had been, never could be, a boy equal to brother Ned, for so she always called him, ever looking on him as her brother. Ned faithfully returned the affectionate feelings evinced towards him by his relatives.
The one-legged lieutenant and his nephew continued their walk, the former stopping every now and then to impress a remark on Ned, or glancing over the ocean to observe the progress made by the outward-bound ship, until the row of whitewashed cottages, surmounted by a signal staff, which formed the coast-guard station of Longview, hove in sight. Lieutenant Hanson, who met them at a short distance from it, shook Ned and his uncle cordially by the band.
“We came to learn how poor Herron is getting on,” said the lieutenant.
“He’ll weather it, I hope; but it was a wonder he was not killed from his fall down the cliff, sixty feet, with exposure to the rain and wind during the whole of the night, for we did not find him until the morning,” answered the coast-guard officer. “The accident was even of more consequence to others than to himself, for had it not occurred, we might have been in time to save some more of the poor fellows from the wreck.”
“That may be so; but had you come, my black man Tom Baraka and Ned here would have lost the opportunity of showing what they are made of, by pulling one of them out of the water,” said Lieutenant Pack.
“What! had you a hand in saving the passenger?” asked Lieutenant Hanson, turning to Ned.
“Indeed he had, and had it not been for his courage I believe that the man would have been washed away again, for Tom was pretty well exhausted by that time,” answered Lieutenant Pack.
“You have begun well,” said Mr Hanson, casting an approving look at Ned.