Chapter Seven.
Encounter my new uncle—Aunt Bretta’s home—Happy meeting—Settle at home—A description of my uncle—Old Jerry Vincent—His stories—The smoke-worms, and his cruise round the Isle of Wight.
On reaching Portsmouth, I buttoned my money tight up in my pockets, for, thought I, “I’ll have no land-sharks taking it from me in the way many poor fellows have lost all the profits of their toils.” I had no difficulty in finding my way through the gate under the ramparts to Southsea Common, and then I turned to the left till I reached a number of small, neat little houses. The fine big mansions and great hotels which stand there now were not built in those days. I walked up and down for some time trying to discover the house my aunt lived in from what Miss Rundle had told me, but I could not make up my mind to knock at any door by chance to inquire. At last I saw a stout, fine sailor-like looking man come stumbling along the road on a wooden leg. I looked at his face. He had a round, good-natured countenance, somewhat weather-beaten, with kind-looking eyes, and a firm mouth, full of fine white teeth.
“You’re the man who will give me a civil answer at all events, and maybe help me to find my aunt, so I’ll just speak to you,” I thought to myself. “Please, sir,” said I, stepping up to him, “can you tell me if a young woman called Bretta Wetherholm lives any way handy here?” He looked at me very hard as I spoke, with some surprise in his countenance. Then I recollected myself; “that was her name, I mean, sir,” said I; “it’s now Mrs Kelson, I am told. Her husband is Tom Kelson. Yes, that’s his name.”
“I think I can show you the house, young man,” said the stranger, casting his eye all over me. “You are a stranger here.”
“Yes, sir,” said I, “this is the first time I have been at Portsmouth. I’ve been knocking about at sea all my life. There are very few days in which I have set foot in England since I was a little boy.”
“Just paid off from a ship, I suppose.”
“Yes, sir,” said I, “a few days ago.”
“Ah, I see, come round from Plymouth,” he remarked, stumping on at a pace which kept me at a quick walk.