“Oh, no, my dear, he’s much too young-looking. You mustn’t have such a fancy. I’ll see what he wants,” said the dame, going to the door.
“Please, ma’am, does Miss Flamank still live here?” asked the young sailor.
“What do you want to say to her?” said the dame.
“I’ve a great deal to say to her, and I think shell know me when I tell her who I am,” replied the sailor.
“Do let him come in, Mrs Judson,” exclaimed Jessie, eagerly, her heart beating with the belief that she should hear news of Ralph.
The stranger, doffing his hat, advanced into the room and stood before Jessie with a smile on his countenance as if expecting instantly to be recognised. “I thought, Miss Flamank, that you’d have known me,” he said at length; “I’ve never forgotten you and your kindness to me. Don’t you remember Peter Puddle?”
“Oh! yes, yes; indeed I do,” exclaimed Jessie, putting out her hand. “And is the Amity not lost? Is Captain Mudge still alive?”
Peter shook his head. “I wish I could say there was any chance of that,” he answered. “When the old brig went down in the dead of night, I was left afloat on a hen-coop, which the old captain had just before cast loose and told me to cling to, for all our boats were stove in. And I never saw him, nor any one belonging to the Amity alive again. Next morning I was picked up by a ship bound out to the West Indies, and I’ve been knocking about in those seas ever since. The captain had taught me navigation, and, what was better still, to read the Bible; and as I just did what that tells me to do, I got a good character aboard. I was made third mate, and the other two dying, I became first mate for want of a better man; though I was very young for such a charge. But I did my best, and the captain was satisfied, and says that, as he didn’t want a better, I should sail with him again next voyage. We sailed for home at last, bound for London; but having sprung a leak, and carried away our fore-mast, we put into Plymouth for repairs—and that’s how I’ve been able to come up to see you. But I’ve not yet spun all my yarn. Tell me, Miss, have you never got any letters from me?”
“No,” answered Jessie, “I have not received a single letter from abroad for three long years or more,” and she sighed sadly.
“I thought ’twas so when I got no answers to three I wrote,” said Peter. “What I had to tell you was this,—that just before the brig went down the captain made fast to the hen-coop a bag with fifty golden guineas in it, and charged me, if I escaped, to take it to you. I unlashed it and managed to get it into my pocket just before I was hoisted on board. There would have been small chance of my keeping it, however, if I had not fallen among honest people; but when I came to know the captain, I was sure that it would be safe in his hands, so I gave it into his charge, and he stowed it away for me, and showed me where it was kept. If he hadn’t done this I should have lost it, for a few months ago, when we were down in the Bay of Honduras, we were chased and overtaken by a schooner under Spanish colours. Her crew, a set of fellows of all nations, calling themselves privateer’s-men, though they were more like pirates, robbed us of everything they could lay hands on, and all the specie they could find belonging to the captain and owners, and had begun to scuttle the ship, and would, no doubt, have set fire to her besides and carried off our boats, when an English man-of-war hove in sight, bringing up a strong breeze. The pirates, some of whom I was sure were Englishmen, in spite of their dress, for I heard them speaking, and should know two or three of them again, made off, and allowed us to stop the auger holes and pump out the water. Their schooner, being a fast craft, escaped; but the man-of-war, having seen us safe on our way to Barbadoes, went back to look for her. If she didn’t find her, she would at all events have made those seas too hot for the pirate. I was better pleased than anything else that your money was saved, and here it is all right, just as the captain did it up for you.”