When a ship is making sail, the boatswain has more to do than anybody else, and some hours passed before I could get to my cabin and break the seal; it was, as Susan supposed, from Jerry. Having it still by me, I give it in his own words:—
“Dear old Ship,—I am comfortably moored at last in a cottage of my own, with a small independence left me by my father—more than I deserved. I might have had it years ago, if my good sister Mary and her husband, Mr Pengelley, had known where to find me. I had been here some time before I could make up my mind to let Mary know who I was. Instead of giving me the cold shoulder, bless her heart, she welcomed me at once, and I have been as happy as the day is long ever since, except when I think of the past and my own folly; but as it does me no good dwelling on that, I try to forget it. Mr Pengelley is a lawyer, and lawyers, as you know, hear a good many things. One day I told him about Harry; he had never heard of a child being saved from the wreck of the Royal George, nor had any people about here that I can make out. The next day he told me that he had been thinking over the matter, and asked me if I had ever in my wanderings been to the house of an old Mr Hayward, living some miles off. I remembered not only the house, which is a very solitary one, half a mile or more from any highroad, but the old gentleman himself, and a lady whom I heard was his widowed daughter. She spoke to me kindly when I first went there, and said that she loved sailors, and wanted to hear all about the sea. She invited me into the house, and gave me a good dinner, and begged that I would look in whenever I came that way. I went several times. Though she was every inch a lady, I saw no servant in the house, and guessed that she took care of the old gentleman; indeed it was evident that their means were very scanty. She must have been very pretty in her youth, but care and sorrow had left their traces on her countenance; and I remembered, too, that she was always dressed in black. ‘I will tell you her history,’ said Mr Pengelley. ‘Her father, Mr Hayward, was once a flourishing merchant at Bristol, and she, his only daughter, was looked upon as his heiress. A young naval officer, Henry Stafford, met her at Bath, where she was staying with some friends; they fell in love with each other, and were engaged to marry as soon as he got his promotion, for he was then only a mate in the service. He and his only sister, Emily, lived with their widowed mother at the same place. Henry had good prospects, for he was heir to his uncle Sir Mostyn Stafford, of an old and very proud family, who had an estate in the neighbouring county. When the baronet heard that his nephew was about to marry without consulting him, he was very indignant, and declared that if he persisted in connecting himself with a family which he looked upon as inferior to his own, he would stop the allowance he now made him, and not leave him a penny beyond the title and estate, from which he could not cut him off. Henry did not believe that his uncle would, or indeed could, act as he threatened. He would possibly have, at all events, deferred his marriage; but going one day to see Miss Hayward, he found her in great distress. She then told him that her father was on the point of failing, and wished her to marry a man of large means, who would help him out of his difficulties. On this, Henry Stafford, fearing that he should lose her altogether, persuaded her to run off with him, promising to raise money, as he thought he could, to assist her father. They married, and Henry, who was the idol of his mother, took his young wife to live with her and his sister. He soon discovered that he was utterly unable to help Mr Hayward as he intended; and though the merchant was at first much annoyed at his daughter’s clandestine marriage, he was quickly reconciled to her, especially when she told him of Harry’s intentions. He soon afterwards failed, when, without making any attempt to retrieve his fortunes, he went to live at the retired house where he still resides. When Sir Mostyn Stafford heard that his nephew had actually married, he was highly incensed, and carried out his threats, depriving even Mrs Stafford of a portion of her income over which he had power. As he was not a badly-disposed man, I believe that he would not have acted thus severely towards his nephew and sister-in-law had he not been greatly influenced by a cousin of his, Biddulph Stafford, who was heir to the estate after Henry. Biddulph Stafford’s whole soul was set on making money, and he had been heard to express his satisfaction when war broke out, as Harry was in the navy, that the enemy’s shot might give him possession of the estate and title. His vexation and disappointment was therefore very great when young Mrs Stafford gave birth to a son, and from that moment he had redoubled his efforts to induce the baronet to take harsher measures towards his nephew. Harry was compelled to go to sea as the only means of finding support for his young wife and child. He had been afloat about a year or more, when Mr Hayward fell ill, and his daughter hurried off to see him, leaving her child in charge of Mrs Stafford and Emily. What Biddulph Stafford’s object was I don’t know, but, being well informed of all that occurred, he persuaded Sir Mostyn to offer not only to restore to Mrs Stafford her income, but to increase it, provided she would consent not again to receive her daughter-in-law, and to bring up the child herself. This was a hard trial to the poor young mother, but she could not hold out when old Mrs Stafford persuaded her son to consent to the arrangement under the belief that it was likely to prove advantageous to the boy. Both Mrs Stafford and her daughter had, however, cause to regret this arrangement, for they found that they were constantly watched, they believed, by some agent of Biddulph, and they were persuaded his object was to get possession of the child; however, by constant vigilance, they were able to defeat it. Now comes the mysterious part of the business. Old Mrs Stafford, who had been for some time in declining health, died; and the day after her funeral Emily and the child disappeared. The idea was that either Biddulph had won her over, or that she, frightened by his threats, had gone off secretly to escape from him, thinking that by some means or other he would get hold of the boy. The latter opinion I believe to be the true one; indeed, Biddulph Stafford, having been seen at Bath the day before, it is possible that he might have followed Emily, and by some means or other got possession of the child—perhaps have carried the aunt and her nephew off abroad. That there was foul play no one doubted. Young Mrs Stafford was as much in the dark as anyone; she had not heard from Emily, nor had she been aware of her intention of leaving Bath. Living so completely out of the world as she did, it was not till some time after that she heard her child and sister-in-law were missing. When the account of the loss of the Royal George reached her, she knew that it was the ship aboard which her husband was serving, and she was for some days left in doubt whether he was among the many who perished or the few which escaped. In vain she waited to hear from him; at last she saw his name among the list of those who were lost. It was a wonder that she did not sink under her misfortunes, and she would probably have done so had she not undertaken the sacred task of watching over her invalid father. Another strange circumstance occurred: Biddulph Stafford, who knew all along where she was living, unexpectedly called on her, and expressed the greatest sympathy with her at the loss of her husband, and offered to assist her in obtaining a portion of the subscriptions raised for the widows of those who perished. She, knowing less about him than her sister-in-law did, accepted his offer. He assured her also that he had made every inquiry for Emily and the little boy, but could not trace in what direction they had gone. It was remarkable that all the information she obtained about the wreck of the Royal George was from her cousin, and he seems thoroughly to have won her confidence by his apparently frank and pleasing manners.’”
“Such was the account I received from Mr Pengelley. I wish I could tell you more; but I cannot help thinking that something will come of it, and you may depend on me for doing my best to ferret out the truth, as I think you may also on my good brother-in-law. Good-bye for the present, Ben; I don’t know whether it will be wise to tell this to your young friend.”
I thought the matter over, and at last resolved to make a copy of the letter, and to give it, sealed up, into Harry’s keeping. I did so, charging him not to open it, except in the case of my death. Recollecting Susan’s natural curiosity to know the contents of the letter, and also in case the original and the first copy should be lost, I made a second, which I sent on shore at Falmouth, charging Susan not to show it to anyone. I also wrote to Jerry, thanking him for his exertions, and begging him to send Susan all the information he could collect.
We had been at sea some time, and had taken a French privateer and three Spanish merchantmen, though we had met with no enemy which offered opposition. We were cruising in the Bay of Biscay, when one evening, Cape Ortegal bearing south-west, distant eight or nine leagues, we discovered a large fleet to windward, which our captain believed consisted of Spanish merchant vessels under convoy of some men-of-war.
“We will pick up some of those fellows before long,” he exclaimed; and we stood towards the enemy. As we drew near we made out five frigates and two men-of-war brigs, with full eighty merchant vessels, steering to the northward, having apparently come from Cadiz. In spite of their number, our captain kept to his resolution of attacking them, and stood on till we weathered the leading frigate, which was ahead and some distance from the convoy. The darkness of night had come on when we got up alongside the enemy. Our captain hailed and asked her name. The answer was—
“The Spanish frigate Ceres.”
“Then strike your colours,” cried our captain.