University of Virginia Library

29. CHAPTER XXIX.

The following evening, after supper, we reminded
Jinkins of his promise. He replied as follows:

“It was true enough what the Commodore observed,
that he knew nothing at all of the particulars of his life,
but what were equally or better known to him.”

“I told thee I'd have to lend a hand—thee shall promise
a heap o' things—Now I have got the weather-gage
—such as that Algerin' story, thee always flies to,” said
he, smiling.

“Well, well, be it so,” said Jinkins, “tell the company
what you know.”

“Why, first thing as I knows about 'um, 'was a little
urchin, 'board a ship—I was settin' talkin' in the cabin
with some o' the men—that, I believe was on a voyage
to the East Indies, so we were talkin', and drinkin' our
wine, when hark! we hears a child cry—'never was
more astonished—rung for the Steward, what do I hear,
comrade? be there a child below? sure there's no women
aboard.”

“There's no women aboard,” said the boy.

“But there be's a child.”—“How comes that?”

“It is Jack Jinkins' child.”

“That's a clever thing—it were to be dinged with
the noise o' children. Say he must come hither, and gi'
an account o' himself—soon come, walkin' slow, afeard,
d'ye see, 'was leading a little child by the hand. The
tears was running down its—cheeks. I took it in my
lap, and wiped its face wi' my handkerchief—it was
soothed, looked up in my face and said pa, and smiled so
coaxin', d'ye see, that 'forgot I was to a been mad with
Jack for bringin' it aboard.

“But what be ye doin' wi' the child, and where be its
mother? thinkin' 'twas his own, and that he had slipped
her aboard unknown to me.”

“Why drowned; sure I told your honour the whole
crew were lost, but myself and the child. I hated to tell
ye about as how 'was takin' it to England, and thought
your honour would oppose it.”

“And how be ye goin' to take him to England, when
we're on our way to the Indies?”

“Then suppose, your honour, we never meets a ship
to thae parts.”

“But why do 'send it to England?”

“Because as how its relations live there, and they ha'
the best right to be bothered wi' it”

“And who do'st think would be troubled wi' thy
brats?”

“It's none of mine, sure—I told you who its father
and mother was.”

“'Got so mad, 'told him if 'come athawrt him 'would
shiver his upper works—ordered him out o' my sight,
'cause he couldn't come by the truth. So it passed on;
but as 'was saying, my heart warmed to the child, and
'twas a fine little rogue too—Sambo nursed it and took
care on't, and it prattled and would climb on my knee;
it was glad to be where it could see the light—so I makes
a mighty pet on't, 'twould sleep in my bosom, 'twas a
mischievous little dog too, it was clean spoiled, never
stir, we had a monkey aboard, and atween it and the
monkey 'was always complaints o' pranks or one mishap
or another, 'think it couldn't be less than a score o' china
cups and them sort o' things broke wi' it every day.
Thee may well laugh,” said my uncle, seeing Jinkins
unable to resist it any longer.

“Why did you let me be so bad then? why did you
not give me the cat?”

“Ah, thee knows 'wouldn't a hit thee, Dick for the
world. Well, it all passed on in this here sort o' way:
made several voyages, always took him along, 'would
a'cried himself to death to a'been left behind see, and
Sambo had a liking for it, but 'thought how't must have
some learning and like o' that, how was't to be come at.
Wouldn't agree to part wi' me, thee minds that, can't
ye?” to Jinkins.

“Yes sir, I mind that—I was a very bad boy when

you plead with me to stay in England, and gave me a
horse and a gold watch, to hire me to go to school.”

“Just so, 'wouldn't a'stayed for all the horses and
watches in Christendom—and what do'st do, but takes
a man aboard to learn him to read and write, and he
took to it himself, after that 'had no trouble wi' him,
'got ashamed and got books and learned French, and all
them sort o' things—'dare say he's as high learned as
the best o' 'um. But I tell'ee what, Dick's spunk, 'understands
the main tack, try him who will, never see'd
the like—if he didn't take up a quarrel when 'was but a
lad, that took place 'tween a great hulk o' a fellow ('twas
big enough to swallow him) and me: the fellow talk't
impudent to me, and zucks, if Dick didn't light upon
like a gull, and made him strike in a twinkling; and
another time, when 'was coming home wi' a rich cargo,
my fellows mutinied and 'was laying a plan, d'ye-see, to
murder me and some o' them that they knew would be
for me: he was but a bit o' a boy, but so it was, he happened
to get wind o' it and come straight and told me.
Yes, Dick's spunk, though 'wouldn't find it out by him;
now thee may tell all that thee knows.”

Before Jinkins had time to reply, the landlord entered,
ushering a man whom from his dress I took to be a
sailor, saying as he introduced him, “here is a man who
wishes to see you, Captain Burlington.”

“Why, if it bean't Jack, as I live,” said my uncle,
giving him a shake of the hand—“just talking about
thee, old swab.”

The stranger then saluted Jinkins, to whom and my
uncle he appeared well known. He was then presented
to the company by the name of Jinkins, and almost the
first word my uncle addressed to him was,

“Did'ee find him? was it the same?”

“Yes, your honour, for that matter, I found him.”

“Charles, give him something to wet his pipes, he's
as good a tar, he's the fellow that saved Jinkins, you'll
hear now.”

After drinking a glass of rum, (he would not touch
wine) he continued.

“Yes, I found him out.”

“And what dids't do with him?”

“I did nothing with him—what could I do? I couldn't
prove that he stole the money, though I could swore to
it—that is, I could swear as how no one else could have
took it—but the justices, whatever they be, said that
was no evidence.

“And so thee did nothing by thy long voyage?”

“No, nothing at all.”

“And where did thee leave him?”

“I left him just where I found him, in Halifax.”

“And art thee sure 'twas the same tar?”

“To be-sure I am—isn't here the self-same pocket-book
that the money was in? I made him give it up to
me, after drinking friends at a tavern,” said Jinkins,
pulling out a pocket-book as he spoke.

“I told him now I am sorry for that shipmate, to go
back for the young man's sake, he will expect me to
bring him some news, and here I am broke up.”

“Why, the money, I thought, says he, was your own?”

“Curse the money, says I—I don't care a rope's-end
about the money, it is the pocket-book and the papers that
was in it I want: and so he made me give him the word of
a sailor, and that you know is sacred, not to hurt or harm
him, and so he took me to his lodging, and gave me the
pocket-book, and here it is—it's the very same, I knew
it the moment I saw it, though the scape-gallows has
greased and bedaubed it so, but I don't think you'll make
head or tail of the contents, (opening it) though he said
there's the same papers,” handing the whole to young
Jinkins.

The pocket-book proved to be Warberton's! Here
was another of the indescribable scenes.

Notwithstanding all Dick's heroism, it was some time
before he could ask the elder Jinkins—“My father, you
say, gave you this?”

“Yes.”

Jinkins then looked at Mrs. Cary, as if to prepare her
for what was to follow.

“What was the name of the ship?”

“The Phœnix, Captain Broomfield,” answered the
elder Jinkins.

Dick then advanced to Mrs. Cary, and thus addressed
her:

“These are your husband's papers, madam, and I
must be your son!”

She uttered a shriek, and rushed into his arms.—He
held her some time to his breast, while Martha petrified
with amazement, was waiting to embrace her brother.
Every one present was mute with astonishment.

“I give you joy,” said I, going up to Mrs. Cary, and
taking her hand. The rest followed my example.

After mutual congratulations, the elder Jinkins was
desired to explain. He in the first place, desired an explanation
on his part, his astonishment being greater
than ours.

He asked Mrs. Cary “if she was on board the Phœ
nix when she was wrecked?”

She replied in the affirmative.

“How were you saved?” said he.

She informed him as already related.

“I don't see into it,” said Jack, musing, “and I saw
the boat,” said he, “but did not see you in it, but you
might, for it was all hurly-burley: but the boat was
overwhelmed in the sea.”

“Yes indeed, it was split to pieces in a short time after
I entered it: but by a miracle, I and three others
were thrown on the shore. But, dear sir, do tell me
how you and my son were saved?”

“Why, when the ship split, when it made that great
crack just as they were getting out the boat, a gentleman
I had often seen on deck came to me, with a child in
his arms, and says, `here, friend, save my child, and
take all that's in this,' handing a pocket-book, which is
this same that I brought here to-night. When he said
this, he said he `must go down for his wife,' and I never
saw him afterwards, for the ship went to pieces before
you could say Jack Robinson.

“I took the pocket-book and stuffed it in my bosom,
not that I cared for the money, and holding the child
with one arm, I tied myself fast with a rope to one of
the spars, and wave after wave rolled over poor Dick
and I. The most of the crew went to the bottom at

once, and the rest were soon swept from the wreck. I
heard the cries of those in the boat, and all on a sudden
it ceased. I thought all was lost; the wind and the
waves whirled me in a trice, God knows where; some
times under water and sometimes out: but as he would
have it, I still kept hold of Dick until day-light, when a
New York trader took us in, it being calm. And what
became of your husband?”

“He was drowned.”

“Yes, I thought as much, and I couldn't have stood
it much longer—was high dropping off, when I was discovered.
Well, well,” said he, thoughtfully, “and so
you are my Dick's mother, if that don't beat the mermaid.”

“Go on and tell the lady the balance of the story,”
said my uncle, “we was just speakin' o' it before
thee come in.”

“Why there is no more about it, I went to Havana.
You engaged me to go with you to the East Indies, and
you had like to have give me a basting about taking the
child aboard; but I knew when you found out that I
had it aboard, your heart was so tender, you would befriend
it, when you came to know it was a poor little
motherless babe.”

“Why t' d— I don't thee haul thy wind, and tell about
the money, and the man that stole it.”

“Why your honour, the man stole the money, and
there was the last of it.”

“Humph,” said my uncle, peevishly.

“And did you lose the money,” said Mrs. Cary,
“after all your trouble?”

“No, indeed madam—I went as I tell you to Havana,
I was acquainted with his honour here, and thought
he would want me about that time. I had been to England.—As
he said he would'nt sail for two or three
months, and a'body hates idleness, and so I got good
wages, and went, and there I was engaged by the captain
of the Phenix; very well, I wanted to return any
how, he gave me good wages too, but had high proved a
dear bargain to me, in the long run. So as I was saying,
I went to Havana, and one of the cursed crew of the

sailors, belonged to the ship that took me and little Dick
(as, I called him) in, stole my pocket-book, and all that
was in it, and cleared himself, and I never heard a breath
of him from that day to this, until I lauded here this fall,
with his honour the captain, here, when meeting with
an old mesmate, he told me as Clark (that was his name)
was in Halitax, and so to please his honour, and Dick
being old voyager, I have just been to see him.

"He was an ungenerous dog that's to a certainty. After
giving him, and every one of them a crown a piece,
and that was more than I got myself; but it's all one,
I shall never miss it, his honour and Dick will never forsake
old Jack."

"And how did it happen that you called him "Jinkins"?
said Mrs, Gary, " did you riot discover my husband's
name on the papers ?"

"To tell God's truth, I never saw the papers. and I
could'nt read if I had. But as I was saying, I was in a
bad trim, when the trader took us in, and was as you
may say, all one as dead, that day and he next, and could
give no accoung of myself. And when I got the use of
my speech, and revived a little, I told all about the disaster,
and being told the trader was bound to Havana,
the very place I wished to go. I made myself easy, thinking
to get some body, when I landed, to look into the
matter, and send the child to its friends, if they could be
heard of. But the very day we landed, the thief stole the
pocket-book. So I spliced my own name to the child,
and called him Dick, after a brother of mine--and I believe
he ,just did as well, don't you think so Dick?"

"I do sir, I shall always be proud of the name, and
still more of him who gave it to me."

This brought the tear in Jacks eye--he wiped it
hastily. and resumed,--

"But I am glad you have found your mother, child--
It's more than I ever expected, for you know I always
told you that the whole ship's crew was drowned."

My uncle finding he had done, went on, "this that
Jack has, just told, is what Dick was going to tell himseIf,
as 'could remember it better, for 'never paid much
heed to it.--Has thee had thy supper? said my uncle
to Jack.

"No sir, I was in such a hurry to see you, that I
never waited for any thing."

"Well take another glass o' the rum, and go get thee,
just it, there, the same one 'it come in with'ee."

"May be he'll not like to supper such a sailor-looking'
fellow as I."

If he says a word o' haarm to thee I'll give him my
cane, seem as well as ever 'had om, in his life."

"Why Ling, do you know me ?"

Ling went to him, and wagged his tail." his tail.

When Jack left us, all sat silent. It was the first
time, since we had met, that none of us could find any
thing to say; each seemed to doubt his senses. Mrs.
Cary, and her son, eyed each other like; two bashful lovers.
Martha looked at him also, though the tear of sensibility.
would in spite of her white handkerchief, hold
its destined place. Mary's mirth had forsaken her. Wilson.
after some time, said, "this was a year prolific in
wonders, and said he would never be surprised at any
tiring after this."

I asked Mrs. Cary. "if she had never discovered any
resemblance of her husband in her son?"

She replied, "I did sir, and a very striking one, and
had often been upon the point of asking him about his
parents; and to tell the tyruth, I began to hope this evening
from the incidents of his childhood, and yet circumstances
were so strong against me, that it appeared a mere
chimera; but though I kept it to myself, I always
thought he resembled his father. My husband was rather
taller, but their features are very near the same."

My uncle with some thing like conscious pride, observed
"that Dick was a strim a las as you'll find atween
stem and stern."

"What will you do now, uncle," said I, "you and
Mrs. Cary, you will be obliged to unite, as you are not
I suspect willing to resign Jinking, and Mrs. Cary
will not agree to give him up, I can't see what's to be
done, unless you two marry, as he is a joing property."

"You are a topping fellow for making matches," said
Jinkins."

"And here is Martha, and Fredinand too,in which
you are alike interested--your children, are her children,
and her children are your's--why you are almost
man and wife, without the least trouble to yourselves."

I was afraid to look at Mrs. Cary, after risking so
much, but seeming as if my uncle was my exclusive object,
I looked at him for a reply.

The old gentleman was by no means unpleased. He
replied, "Would'ent have' to marry the lady see, without
she be's willing."

All my efforts, however, to rally the spirits of the
company failed. Wilson did make out to say. as lie seemed
to awake from a long reverie, "I think we had better
be setting off for home Mary, for if we stay here much
longer, some mermaid from the deep may claim me for
her swain."

I just at that moment thought of Betsey, and turning
toward her, "well Miss Watson," I said, "what do
you think of this world ? are you not afraid the fairies
will carry you off in some of their packs, one of these
nights?"

"I appear to be in a fairy land, said sire, "but I say
my prayers every night; and my grand-mother always
told me, that the evil spirits would have no power over
me, if I said my prayers."

"But if it should chance to be such a fairy as Jinkins
or myself, Madam, for it happens that to close this tragic,
comic, magazine of wonders, there must be two more
weddings. But waving the subject for the present,
Betsey, suppose you amuse us the balance of the evening,
with the events of your life. It will, I dare say, confer
a favour on us all, and myself in particular."

She replied that, "like Mr. Jinkins, she would be
obliged to refer to another, for she remembered nothing
of her parents--that her friend Mrs. Cary, who had always
treated her as her own child, was at liberty to indulge
my curiosity, and was much more capable--that
her life independently of the incidents in which Mrs. Cary
was involved herself', with which you are already acquainted.
would yield very little amusement."

Mrs. Cary being thus appealed to, began as follows

"Miss Watson's mother was a widlow, and being a
near neighbour to me, when I first settled in America,
became one of my first aquaintances ; she came to see
me on the day I landed in Boston. I was at that time as
distressed a being as ever existed, being afflicted both in
body and mind, and Mrs. Watson being a woman of
great humanity and feeling, sympathized with me, and
endeavoured by the kindest attention, and the most endearing
language to comfort me. She spent her time
chiefly in my room, and I seemed lost when slre would
leave me but fore a moment, to attend to tier household
affairs.

"She had lost her husband six months only before my
arrival, and in the same instant almost she became a
mother. She never had but one child, which is Betsey,
who was then only six months old, which makes her six
months older than Martha. The similarity of our misfortunes
led to a friendship which will last to the end of
our lives. Mrs. Watson had been genteely reared, but
was in low circumstances; she had married against the
consent of her parents, and they gave her nothing.

"They were both dead, however, prior to my acquaintance
with her, and she was to have received something at
their death: but her brother, as she informed me, defrauded
her out of it. Finally, I persuaded her to break
up house-keeping and live with me: we were both lonely,
and never happy but when we were together--I was rich,
in comparison with her, who in the end became soleIy
dependent on me for support.

"At the end of three years, she was taken down on a
bed of sickness and lingered about four months and some
days, and died--leaving Betsey to me. With respect
to her child, she said she had no fears; she died happy,
in the full assurance, that I would be a mother to her. I
was much affected at her death, and have never seen a
person, that is a stranger, either before or since for
whom I had so strong an attachment. And as to Betsey.
I might, but I don't think I ever made any difference
between her and Martha--I sent her to the same
school, nor was one taught more, than the other.

"When I was turned nut of house and home, I told
Betsey that I could no longer support her, it was true, as
she had hitherto lived: but if she would share my adversity.
as she had my prosperity, I would still be a
mother to her--but left it to her option to stay or go elsewhere
she thought she could do better. Sihe said nothing
would induce her to leave me; indeed, she was much
hurt that I mentioned the subject to her. But, poor
child--"

"Ah, that's enough, mother," said Martha, "we are
all happy now, so let us be thankful, instead of murmuring.

I observed to them, upon retiring, "that I should set
out for New-York probably in two days. and should be
glad if any of them felt disposed for a jaunt, to have the
pleasure of their company."

No one accepted the invitation, but Jinkins. He
looked at his mother first, and then at my uncle, with
one of those fascinating smiles, which he never wants,
and observed, that

"He would willingly accompany me, if lie could get
the consent of iris father and mother."

Mrs. Cary blushed, and replied "that as she never
had any controul over him, she would exercise none."

The Commodore said, "I hates for thee to be away,
'is such a cunning dog, keeps one in heart."

"I am sure you have friends enough here to amuse
you: you can play whist with Wilson for a partner, you
can treat Ferdinand and Mary, and when tired of that,
you can beguile my mother into matrimony, by relating
some of your by-past achievements Surprising you
should always want me hanging about you."

"Pshaw! pshaw! quit thee nonsense, Dick--but 'spose
'must go. But I'll not forget thy impudence a whit 'less
o' that, talking so to thy mother--'is a saucy fellow,
madam--he be indeed."

"Oh," said Mrs. Cary, "he is only jesting, sir, to
make us old folks laugh: he means no disrespect.''

Jinkins and I retired to our room shortly after this,
taking old,Jack with us to lull us to sleep with his sea.
adventures.

Next morning I waited on Hunter, to know his commands,
to New-York. He gave me a, letter to his wife,
and one to his father: and the following day, accompanied
by Jinkins, Iset out to New-York.