University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

The advertisement of the lost young stranger
duly appeared in the newspapers. Dame
Cresset felt that she had done her duty herewith,
and she hoped that by means of it some news
might reach “The Arrow.” Closely did she and
the half-pay captain examine, in vain, the columns
of the Times for a response.

Two weeks passed by, and she had tearfully
made up her mind that he was drowned, or had
been murdered for his ten pieces of gold which
he had in his belt; of the much larger amount
concealed in his breast, she was ignorant, as
Philip, in all his confidence, had not made it
known to her.

It was, however, fully four weeks, before she
quite gave up all hopes of ever hearing from
him again. It was with a sorrowful heart that
she came to this painful conclusion. The contents
of the knapsack of the young man now
became, very naturally, objects of attention.
Bringing them into the tap-room, she found
the worthy captain smoking his pipe and thinking
whether it were wisdom in him to give up
the peculiar comforts and independence of his
bachelor life, and press his long pending suit for
the hand of the widow and her two thousand six
hundred and seven pounds in the three per cents,
her snug inn, and not to speak of her many
wifely virtues. While he was thus meditating,
she came in with the knapsack. Of course, she
did not know what his thoughts were engaged
upon. It is true, he had often talked to her,
while smoking, about the advantages of a husband
to a lone woman; and he had more than
once hinted, at a great distance, that his half-pay
and his rank would present quite a respectable
consideration to a wise woman, were he inclined
to marry. But Dame Cresset never seemed to
take the hint; and he was apprehensive, if he
pressed matters home, he might, lose her favor,
and so be compelled to give up his corner in the
neat tap-room.

“Poor boy!” said the widow, plaintively, as
she placed the knapsack on the table on which
the captain's elbow was leaning.

The half-pay officer looked not at the knapsack,
but at the fair widow. His eye seemed to
inspect her face as if he were contemplating
some bold measure. He was not amiss in his
looks for a man of fifty-one. He had a martial,
red face, grey locks, was something portly, and
had a pleasant smile always a-twinkling about
his gray eyes. He was a man of sense, had
been a brave warrior, and limped from a sabre
wound across his knee. He loved ease, quiet
and a pipe, and Widow Cresset.

“Widow, I am thinking—” he began boldly.

“I know it—about the dear boy!” she said,
sorrowfully.

“No—about something still more dear!”

“This silver cup! yes—we ought to—”

“Not the cup, but the hand it is in! Widow
Cresset, I have made up my mind that I must
marry!”

“Do not do anything so foolish, Captain Bodley,
said the widow, with a sharp speech, but
coloring with pretty consciousness.

“I have made up my mind!” said the half-pay
captain, with emphasis; “I have known
you, wife and widow, nine years! You are the
only woman that could make me surrender. I
capitulate, this morning, without challenge.”

“Go out with your military phrases,” said the
blushing widow. She did not, however, look
angry nor say “nay.” So the captain took
courage, and took her by the hand.

“Will you consent? You know me! You
know my ways and tempers!”

“Yes—you are a good customer, but I don't
know if you may make as good a husband.”

“Try me, fair widow!”

“On one condition;” and she let her hand
rest in his.

“Name it, were it to take the tower of
London!”

“That you find Philip! That you bring me
some intelligence about him!”

“That is a hard condition, widow!” said the
captain, looking blank. Doubtless he is dead!”

“I fear me he is so! But I would like to
know his fate! Bring me some information
about him, and—and—”

“And you will be Mistress Captain Bodley?”

“Yes—I will marry you—for I do think we
would be happy together!”

“I am sure of it! But if you abide by this
condition, I fear that—”

“It is the only condition, captain! You have
nothing else to do but go about London and
hear what you can!”

“Faint heart never won a true woman! I
will accept the condition, for six months—nay,
for three months!”

“For six months!”

“And then?—”

“Then we will talk about other conditions.”

“Ah, Widow Cresset, you must not be too
cruel to an old soldier who would—”

“I don't want to hear what you will do; I
only wish to have you begin to do what I wish.”

“I will commence my Herculean task this
very day. First, had I not best go to the silversmith's,
and take the cup with me, and see if he
can tell who bought it?”

“And what good will this do?”

“It is possible that it may give me a clue to
find out who his parents were; and it is barely
possible that he may in the same way have discovered
them, and, forgetting all else, be now
with them, and unable, from his ignorance of
London, to return here to unfold to you his
good fortune.”

“This is an idea I never thought of!”

“It only just occurred to me, widow. You
see the hopes you hold out to me sharpen my
wits. I will take the cup and compass, and follow
this scent first. I cannot think he can be
murdered!”

“But if he had found his relatives, he would
have seen the advertisement, or some of them
would.”

“Perhaps not. Good morning, fair Cresset, I
will be diligent in my task. But here is a little
book in the pocket of this coat. It is a small
and well-worn prayer-book!”

“Doubtless he was a pious youth, he seemed
so gentle and good,” said the hostess, sighing.
“Here is a part of a picture and a name on the
first page.”

“The part of a picture, as you term it, is the
half of a coat of arms; and the name is so
faded that I can only make out, `Cla'—`lia.'
This book might lead to something, if these
were not so defaced.”

“It looks as if he was well-born.”

“It may not be his own—perhaps some one
given to him by some of the gentility in his parish.
It doesn't prove anything.”

An hour after leaving the inn, the captain
was at the silversmith's on the Strand. He had
now a motive for making the most stringent investigations.

“Sir,” he said to the chief salesman, “I
have here a silver cup. Will you tell me if it
was made by your house!”

“Yes, sir. You see our stamp!” answered
the man, looking at it. “It is an old-fashioned
pattern, and must have been bought a long time
since.”

“Can you tell me when?”

“Let me see! The number is nearly worn
off. I have it—249. That must have been sold
about twenty years ago.”

“Be so kind as to ascertain.”

“Indeed, sir, it will be no little trouble. Its
sale must have been recorded in the old books
which are stowed away.”

“I am ready to pay for what trouble your

clerks may be put to, if you are sure you can
discover when it was sold and to whom.”

“Without doubt, when—but as to the whom,
it is not so certain. In those days, we were not
so particular in making such full records of
plate sales as we do now. But, as you seem,
sir, very anxious to ascertain the fact, you are at
liberty to go into that room and examine the
old books. You will find the year labelled on
each, and you had best go back twenty years ago.”

The captain thanked the silversmith, and was
shown by a lad into an old lumber-room. Here
he found the books of sales, covered with dust
and cobwebs. After some trouble, he found that
of twenty years before; and looking over the
index which named the articles sold and the
page where the sale was registered, he found
many silver cups, but none with so high a number
as that he held in his hand. So he came
down a year later; and finding that the last cup
sold that year was numbered 235, he knew that
he was near the end of his long search. The
next volume bore, under letter “C,” in the index,
this record:

“Cup (silver)—No. 249—vide page 57.”

Turning to the page indicated, he read, with
joy, the following entry:

“May 7, 1781. To Lady Wortley Devon 1
chased silver cup, No. 249—£6 8s.”

“I have now a clue to the labyrinth—I have
hold of the end of the thread,” said the captain,
with animation. “But,” he reflected, “what
good will this discovery do the poor youth?
Evidently he has not found his friends, for he
has not been here to examine these books. He
is not with them, unless, indeed, he has discovered
them through the compass. I will next go
to the nautical instrument shop and learn what
is to be revealed there!”

Having carefully noted down the entry upon
his private pocket-book, he left the lumber-room,
and thanking the shopman for his courtesy, departed
for the place where the compass was sold.

“At all events, the purchaser of the cup was
of the highest nobility!” he mused, as he went
along; “and Dame Cresset may be right in her
conjectures that he comes of good blood. But
then there is no evidence that the cup found on
the deck and the child rescued from the vessel
are necessarily connected. But here is the compass-maker's
shop! Doubtless, if I can get a
link here, I can learn by-and-by what ship had
the instrument.”

“Sir,” he said, as he entered, addressing an
old man in round iron spectacles, who was fitting
a polar needle accurately to its centre, on the
pivot of a new compass, “will you allow me to
occupy a few moments of your time?”

The old man did not raise his eyes until he
had completed the tremulous adjustment. Then
pushing his great glasses back upon his forehead,
he looked sharply at the captain, when, seeing
his military coat, he bowed with respectful consideration.

“How can I serve you, sir?” he asked, with
a serving smile.

“I have here an old compass,” answered the
captain, unwrapping the instrument from his
red pocket-handkerchief. “Has any one called
here—a youth—to ask you about it?”

“Not that I recollect, sir. Why, that is one
of my own make! It is an old one! I have
not seen one of mine of that date for a long
time!” and the compass-maker took it and examined
it with evident satisfaction.

“Then it is of your own manufacture?”

“There is our name, `Kerr & Kerr!”'

“Can you tell me how long ago it was that
you sold it?”

“Let me see! Here you see the number, on
the inside of the rim. It is No. 106. We had
not made many compasses then!”

“Is it possible for you to remember to whom
you sold it?”

“Perhaps our old books will show!”

“May I ask you to take the trouble to look
into them? The ship, on which this compass
was found, was lost on the Lincolnshire coast
ten or twelve years ago, and circumstances render
it important that the name of the vessel
should be discovered, in order to know who her
passengers were, for a child was rescued from
the wreck at the same time with the compass,
and if we can ascertain the name of the ship,
we may possibly learn whose child was thus
saved!”

“True—true! This is a very interesting affair!
I will do what I can. Let me see—No.
106—that must have been about—about—let me
see—about the year 1779 or '80. It will be easy
to refer to my sales book of those years, as I
always have everything in order and at hand!”

Opening a large oaken case, he laid his hands
upon one of a score of large sales books. On
the back was printed “1779, 1780.” He laid it
open before the captain and began to examine
the index. It gave only the names of the ships
or of persons to whom articles had been sold.

“It will take some trouble and time, sir, to
look over each name. But if you will examine
the book and look for the first entry of a compass
sold, its number will indicate pretty nearly
how far in the book from it may be found 106.”

The captain opened the book at the beginning,
and examined full thirty entries of sales before
the words, “Mariner's compass, No. 62, sold
the brig Adonis,” met his eyes. He now knew
that the compass which he had must have been
sold later. So he turned over the leaves rapidly,
here and there, among entries of spy-glasses,
hour-glasses, quadrants, sextants, and all sorts
of nautical instruments, catching sight of the
words, “compass, 73,” “compass, 81,” “compass,
96,” “compass, No. 100,” “mariner's
compass, No. 105.” He now examined carefully
each page, until, at length, he read—and they
seemed to his rejoicing eyes to be written in letters
of gold:

“On 4th January, 1780, two mariner's compasses
to ship `Exeter Castle,' Nos. 106 and
107.”

There were other entries to the ship, but this
one alone fixed the eyes of the captain. Pointing
it out to the maker, he said, with animation:

“Here is what I look for! Do you recollect
the call?”

“The Exeter Castle! It was Captain Norman
who was master. He bought them here
himself. I recollect the captain well! and now
I think of it, I recollect a report some years ago
that he and his ship had been lost at sea—or, at
least, had never been heard from. She belonged
to Newcastle on Tyne!”

“This is all I want to know, just now,”
said Captain Bodley, as he finished copying the
entry of this important sale into his note book.
“Sir, I am greatly obliged to you for the favor
you have done me.”

He hastened along the Strand, overjoyed at
his success thus far in this direction; for, though
he was no nearer on the track of the missing
Philip, yet he had obtained a clue to discover
who he was, which would be something towards
gaining favor with Widow Cresset. Nay, more;
he had begun to take a lively interest in following
out the mystery for curiosity's sake.

In another hour, he was again at “The Arrow,”
and detailing to the widow the result of
his day's work.

“Well, captain, you deserve praise and shall
have it,” she said, warmly. “I am sure he will
turn out to be high-born—for he looked and
spoke it! A great lady bought the cup, and
she, perhaps, was his mother!”

“Do not be too sanguine, fair widow. The
cup and the boy may have no necessary connection.
The child rescued may have been the son
of a poor passenger, while the cup might have
belonged to a rich child who was lost.”

“You always look so on the wrong side of
everything, Captain Bodley,” said the widow,
with some anger.

“But I would not have your hopes raised to
be disappointed!”

“What matters now—hopes or fears,” she
said, sorrowfully. “The poor boy is dead!”

“I do not think so! Do you know that a
murder cannot be hid in London, with its three
millions of eyes and six millions of hearing
ears! We should have heard of him, if he had
been killed. As I was coming along, I was delayed
by a press-gang. They had two young
men in custody, one of whom was desperately
fighting his captor, while the other wept like an
infant. The thought struck me, as I saw them
dragged past, that Philip, your favorite, might
have been pressed!”

The widow shrieked, and for a moment
seemed to be overcome by the terrible idea.

“It must be so! It is what has become of
him! I wonder I had not thought of it before.
I have had in my day at least twenty persons,
who had lodged here, pressed and carried to
sea.”

“His costume was that of a Lincolnshire
sailor, and he was the very youth a press-gang
would desire!”

“What can be done?”

“It is hard to say! It would be impossible to
find what ship he is on board of, if, as I now believe,
he is pressed. Such is the demand for
men now, in this coming war with France, that
all ships are pressing, and no plain man is safe
in the streets after dark.”

“It is an infamous practice, and if I were a
pressed sailor,” said the widow, indignantly, “I
would turn the guns against my captors: I
would not serve my country as a captive.”

“You are right. The great English heart is
cowed by its habitual and hereditary submission
to nobles and to petty tyranny of the titled landlords.
They are not free, but slaves—and so
they submit, when pressed by violence, to the
masters whose feet have been on their necks for
eight centuries.”

“What shall be done?”

“I see no way of learning his fate!”

“You shall have money to aid you.”

“But money is not all. I must have influence
with the admiralty.”

“What then?”

“They could ascertain at once what ship-of-war
received pressed men on the night of Philip's
disappearance; and if he were on board,
they could find it out. There are many war
ships in the Thames, and even if I should ascertain
that any one of them took on board men,
and should inquire, I should receive no answer.
No revelations of this kind are ever made by
the officers, except by authority.”

“Do you know any great lords who could
help us in this matter?”

“Not one! I am too obscure now, and have
been forgotten by the few nobility I once knew
in my best army days.”

“If I was certain he was pressed, I would go
to the Admiralty myself—”

“Only to be disappointed and ill-entreated!
You could never get past the out-works of menials
and liveried sentries, to reach head-quarters.
You would fail in approaching the citadel!
But who is here?”

His abrupt inquiry had reference to a man in
the costume of a Thames waterman, who, pale
and weak, staggered into the door. Dame
Cresset, supposing he was intoxicated, would
sharply have bidden him begone; but the captain's
more practised eye saw that the man's irregular
gait proceeded from debility.

“Excuse me, ma'am! I have a writing for
you! I am weak, and will sit down, if you
please!”

Here he took a chair and began to search his
pocket, and took out a piece of paper, soiled and
crumpled.

“It was the lining of his cap, ma'am!”

“Whose?”

“He tore it out, ma'am, and gave it me!”

“Who are you talking about, man?” asked
the captain, at a loss.

“Why, the—the young man! Here is the
paper he gave me!”

“Philip—can it be from Philip?” almost
shrieked the widow, as with trembling fingers
she opened the piece of paper.

“I don't know his name, ma'am! He had
black eyes and hair! When he writ it in his
cap and tore it out and gave it to me, I promised,
if ever I reached shore, I'd sacredly bring
it to you at `The Arrow.' I'd have done it
sooner, ma'am, but they shot me in the side as I
was swimming; and I have only got about again
to-day.”

“It is from Philip! Hear what he says!”
cried the hostess, between smiles and tears.

“Poor, dear young man!” ejaculated the
hostess, wiping her eyes. “It is then as we
feared! But it is some comfort to know he is
alive! Here, my good man! drink this can of
beer. You look pale and weak!”

“So you were a pressed man, also?” asked
the captain, of the waterman, after he had set
down the empty can.

“Yes, sir; I was pressed the same time he
was! But I knew their ways and kept quiet
and let them think I was well contented to serve
my country. When we got to the boat, we
found the young man Philip in the hands of two
of the oarsmen. He afterwards told me he had
lost his way and had gone to the boat to ask
them to direct him to the Strand; and that
when he would have left, they seized him. He
came near escaping from the gang, but was
knocked down and taken aboard senseless!”

“Infamous!” cried the captain.

“Poor boy! did it hurt him much?” asked
the widow.

“He came to, after awhile, and was good as
new, only a little heavy about the head. I took
a fancy to him, and he told me how he should
feel happier if he could let you know where he
was. So I up and told him I had made up my
mind to escape by swimming; for I am a waterman,
and we swim, sir, like sharks, you know.
So he wrote on the lining of his cap what you
read, and the same night I dropped out of a port
into the river. The sentinel soon saw me. I
watched the flash of his musket and dove; but
a boat was sent after me, and a pistol shot from
one of them hit me in the side. At the same moment,
I grasped hold of the cable of a ship near
the pier, climbed upon her deck, and, making
my way along her bowsprit, dropped upon the
quarter of another vessel and so on, from craft to
craft, till I reached the pier. Here I was so
weak from loss of blood, that I should have
fallen, but for two of my comrades, watermen,

who having heard the noise of the chase, placed
me into their boat, and pulled me beyond pursuit,
and thence took me to one of their houses, and
cared for me so well I am now on my feet again.”

“You shall now stay in my house,” said the
widow, “until you get entirely well, and at no
charges. You have done me and Philip service.”

“And I dare say that you will reward him, fair
Widow Cresset, as I hoped to have been, since he,
and not I, has brought news of your favorite.”

This was spoken half in jest; half in earnest,
by the captain.

“What a speech, captain!” said the hostess,
with a smile. “I will once more make conditions,
that you may have hopes yet.”

“Name them, were it to capture the frigate!”
said the half-pay officer, gallantly.

“That you get him from this frigate! You
say that you do not know the name of this vile
ship?” she asked of the waterman.

“No. But I might learn it.”

“Do so, and you shall be well rewarded.”

“I can inquire among the watermen, and learn
what frigate was then anchored below the tower.”

“This will be easy,” said the captain.

“But it will be impossible to recover the
young man. Besides, the vessel has sailed ere
this, for she was only waiting men; and I heard
the lieutenant of the press-gang say that we
made up her full complement, and that they
would put to sea the next day. They are a
thousand miles off now.”

The hostess clasped her hands in distress, and
looked appealingly heavenward, as if she had no
hope of aid on earth.

“How did he seem when you left him?” she
asked the waterman.

“He bore up bravely; but he seemed to feel
most for a young lady he called Agnes, who was
blind, he said, and he had come to London to
try and find some one to cure her.”

“Yes, he had her in his thoughts, you may
be sure! Captain Bodley,” she added, turning
to him with decision, “what is now to be done?”

“If this worthy man will make the inquiries
he proposes, and bring the name of the frigate,
I will see what can be done. But I fear—” and
here he shook his head despondingly.

“Fear what?”

“That I can do nothing.”

“But suppose you could ascertain by the silver
cup that he was of noble blood, couldn't you
then interest—”

“Your bright wits have given me just the
idea! I will follow up diligently the thread
found at the stores! It may lead to something
favorable. If it does, why, there may be higher
interest than mine set to work in his behalf.
But let me say beforehand, that all is doubt and
uncertainty; for—”

“But it must be seen whether doubt may not
end in certainty. I have read of as marvellous
things as that Philip should turn out to be a
lord, in some of my girl-day's novels.”

“Yes, but we are not acting parts in a novel,
dear dame, but are real flesh and blood, living
and real persons. Ours is common life!”

“I have my hopes, nevertheless!”

“And I my doubts! But what would I not
undertake for your fair hand, dear Mistress Cresset!
Be sure I will leave no stone unturned to
see where leads the thread of circumstances I hold
in my hand, and the end of which I picked up
at the silversmith's and compass-maker's.”

A long consultation now followed as to the
expediency of the captain's calling on Lady Devon,
or advertising the cup, and also asking for
information as to the last port which the “Exeter
Castle” sailed from.

It was finally decided to try the columns of
the Times once more, in the hopes of ascertaining
the information they knew not how so well to
obtain in any other way.