Hair-Breadth Escapes: The Adventures of Three Boys in South Africa. Adams Henry Cadwallader
sir, they might have forgiven that, seeing as they got the best of it I was in that, sir – b’longed to the Foxy and was one of Nelson’s boat’s crew, and we got nothing out of the Dons but hard knocks and no ha’pence that time.”
“That’s true. But you see Nelson has done them so much harm since, that the damage they did him then seems very little comfort to them. No, we mustn’t attempt anything at the Canaries.”
“Very good, sir. Then go on to the Cape Verdes. If this wind holds, we shall soon be there, and the Cape Verdes don’t belong to the Dons.”
“No; to the Portuguese. Well, I believe that will be best. I have received information that the French and Spanish fleets are off Cape Trafalgar; and our fellows are likely to have a brush with them soon, if they haven’t had it already.”
“Indeed, sir! Well, Admiral Nelson ain’t likely to leave many of ’em to follow us to the Cape. We’re pretty safe from them, anyhow.”
“You’re right there, I expect, Jennings,” said the skipper, relaxing for the first time into a grim smile. “Well, then, shape the ship’s course for the Cape Verdes, and, mind you, keep the matter of those scoundrels deserting as quiet as possible. If some of the passengers get hold of it, they’ll be making a bother. Now you may go, Jennings. Stay, hand me those letters about the boys that came on board at Plymouth. I’ve been too busy to give any thought to them till now. But I must settle something about them before we reach the Cape, and I may as well do so now.”
The quartermaster obeyed. He handed his commanding officer the bundle of papers he had indicated, and then left the cabin, willing enough to be dismissed. The captain, throwing himself with an air of weariness back on his sofa, broke the seal of the first letter, muttering to himself discontentedly the while.
“I wonder why I am to be plagued with other people’s children? Because I have been too wise to have any of my own, I suppose! Well, Frank is my nephew, and blood is thicker than water, they say – and for once, and for a wonder, say true. I suppose I am expected to look after him. And he’s a fine lad too. I can’t but own that. But what have I to do with old Nat Gilbert’s children, I wonder? He was my schoolfellow, and pulled me out of a pond once, when I should have been drowned if he hadn’t I suppose he thought that was reason enough for putting off his boy upon me, as his guardian. Humph! I don’t know about that. Let us see, any way, what sort of a boy this young Gilbert is. This is from old Dr Staines, the schoolmaster he has been with for the last four or five years. I wonder what he says of the boy? At present I know nothing whatever about him, except that he looks saucy enough for a midshipman, and laughs all day like a hyena!
“‘Gymnasium House, Hollingsley,
“‘September 29th, 1805.
“‘Sir, – You are, no doubt, aware that I have had under my charge, for the last five years, Master George Gilbert, the son of the late Mr Nathaniel Gilbert, of Evertree, a most worthy and respectable man. I was informed, at the time of the parent’s decease, that you had been appointed the guardian of the infant; but as Mr Nathaniel had, with his customary circumspection, lodged a sum in the Hollingsley bank, sufficient to cover the cost of his son’s education for two years to come, there was no need to trouble you. You were also absent from England, and I did not know your direction.
“‘The whole of the money is not yet exhausted; but I regret to say I am unable to retain Master George under my tuition any longer. I must beg you to take notice that his name is George, as his companions are in the habit of calling him “Nick,” giving the idea that his name, or one of his names, is Nicodemus. Such, however, is not the case, George being his only Christian appellative. Why his schoolfellows should have adopted so singular a nomenclature I am unable to say. The only explanation of it, which has ever been suggested to me, is one so extremely objectionable, that I am convinced it must be a mistake.
“‘But to proceed’ – (‘A long-winded fellow this!’ muttered the captain as he turned the page; ‘who cares what the young scamp’s called?’) – ‘But to proceed. I cannot retain Master George any longer. His continually repeated acts of mischief render it impossible for me any longer to temper the justice due to myself and family with the mercy which it is my ordinary habit to exercise. I will not detail to you his offences against propriety’ – (‘thank goodness for that,’ again interjected Captain Wilmore, ‘though I dare say some of his offences would be entertaining enough’) – ‘I will not detail his offences – they would fill a volume. I will only mention what has occurred to-day. If there is any practice I consider more objectionable than another, it is that of using the dangerous explosives known as fireworks. Master Gilbert is aware that I strictly interdict their purchase; in consequence of which they cannot be obtained at the only shop in Hollingsley where they are sold, by any of my scholars. But what were my feelings – I ask you, sir – when I ascertained that he had obtained a large number of combustibles weeks ago, and had concealed them – actually concealed them in a chest under Mrs Staines’s bed! The chest holds a quantity of linen, and under this he had hidden the explosives, thinking, I conclude, that it was seldom looked into. Seldom looked into! Why, merciful heaven, Mrs Staines is often in the habit of examining even by candlelight’ – (‘I say, I can’t read any more of this,’ exclaimed the captain; ‘anyhow, I’ll skip a page or two.’ He turned on a long way and resumed.) – ‘When I found out this morning that he was missing, I felt no doubt that my words had produced even a deeper effect than I had designed. Mrs Staines and myself both feared that in his remorse he had been guilty of some desperate act; and we made every effort, immediately after breakfast, to discover the place of his retreat. Being St Michael’s day, it was a whole holiday, and we were thus enabled to devote the entire day to the quest. It has been extremely rainy throughout; but when we returned, two hours ago, exhausted and wet to the skin, after a fruitless search, we found him, dry and warm, awaiting us in the hall. This was some relief; but judge of our feelings when we discovered that the shameless boy had put on my camlet-cloak and overalls – they had been missing, and I had been obliged to go without them! he had taken Mrs Staines’s large umbrella, and had waited for us, from breakfast time, round the corner, under the confident assurance that we should go to look for him. Sir, it has been his amusement to follow us about all day, gratifying his malevolent feelings with the spectacle of our exposure to the elements, our weariness, our ever-increasing anxiety! You will not wonder after this, sir – ’”
“There, that will do,” once more exclaimed the skipper, throwing aside the letter with a chuckle of amusement. “I must say I don’t wonder at the doctor’s refusing to keep him any more after that! Well, his father wanted him to be a sailor, and maybe he won’t make a bad one. Only we must have none of his tricks on board ship. I’ll have a talk with him, when I can spare the time. That’s settled. And now I can see Dr Lavie about this other lad, young Warley. Hallo there, Matthews, tell the doctor I am at liberty now.”
In a few minutes the person named was ushered into Captain Wilmore’s presence. The new comer was a gentlemanly and well-looking young man, and bore a good character, so far as he was known, in the ship. The captain was pleased with his appearance, and felt at the moment more than usually gracious – possibly in consequence of his recent mirth over George Gilbert’s exploits. He spoke with unusual kindness.
“Well, doctor, what can I do for you? You have come to speak to me about young Ernest Warley, I think?”
“Yes, Captain Wilmore, I want to ask your advice. His father was the best friend I ever had. He took me by the hand when I was left an orphan without a sixpence, and put me to school, and took care of me. When he was dying, he made me promise to do my best for his boy, as he had for me. But I’m afraid I can’t do that, glad as I should be to do it, if I could – ”
“But I don’t understand, doctor. Old Warley – I knew a little of him – was a wealthy man, partner in Vanderbyl and Warley’s house, one of the best in Cape Town. The lad can’t want for money.”
“Ah, he does, though. His elder brother has all the money. He was the son of the first wife, old Vanderbyl’s daughter, and all the money derived from the business went to him. The second wife’s fortune was settled on Ernest; but it was lost, every farthing