



Produced by David Widger





RICHARD CARVEL

By Winston Churchill


Volume 4.


XIX.   A Man of Destiny
XX.    A Sad Home-coming
XXI.   The Gardener's Cottage
XXII.  On the Road
XXIII. London Town
XXIV.  Castle Yard
XXV.   The Rescue



CHAPTER XIX

A MAN OF DESTINY

I was picked up and thrown into the brigantine's long-boat with a head
and stomach full of salt water, and a heart as light as spray with the
joy of it all. A big, red-bearded man lifted my heels to drain me.

"The mon's deid," said he.

"Dead!" cried I, from the bottom-board. "No more dead than you!"

I turned over so lustily that he dropped my feet, and I sat up, something
to his consternation. And they had scarce hooked the ship's side when I
sprang up the sea-ladder, to the great gaping of the boat's crew, and
stood with the water running off me in rivulets before the captain
himself. I shall never forget the look of his face as he regarded my
sorry figure.

"Now by Saint Andrew," exclaimed he, "are ye kelpie or pirate?"

"Neither, captain," I replied, smiling as the comical end of it came up
to me, "but a young gentleman in misfortune."

"Hoots!" says he, frowning at the grinning half-circle about us, "it's
daft ye are--"

But there he paused, and took of me a second sizing. How he got at my
birth behind my tangled mat of hair and wringing linsey-woolsey I know
not to this day. But he dropped his Scotch and merchant-captain's
manner, and was suddenly a French courtier, making me a bow that had done
credit to a Richelieu.

"Your servant, Mr.--"

"Richard Carvel, of Carvel Hall, in his Majesty's province of Maryland."

He seemed sufficiently impressed.

"Your very humble servant, Mr. Carvel. 'Tis in faith a privilege to be
able to serve a gentleman."

He bowed me toward his cabin, and then in sharp, quick tones he gave an
order to his mate to get under way, and I saw the men turning to the
braces with wonder in their eyes. My own astonishment was as great. And
so, with my clothes sucking to my body and a trail of water behind me
like that of a wet walrus, I accompanied the captain aft. His quarters
were indeed a contrast to those of Griggs, being so neat that I paused at
the door for fear of profaning them; but was so courteously bid to enter
that I came on again. He summoned a boy from the round house.

"William," said he, "a bottle of my French brandy. And my compliments to
Mr. MacMuir, and ask him for a suit of clothes. You are a larger man
than I, Mr. Carvel," he said to me, "or I would fit you out according to
your station."

I was too overwhelmed to speak. He poured out a liberal three fingers of
brandy, and pledged me as handsomely as I had been an admiral come
thither in mine own barge, instead of a ragged lad picked off a piratical
slaver, with nothing save my bare word and address. 'Twas then I had
space to note him more particularly. His skin was the rich colour of a
well-seasoned ship's bell, and he was of the middle height, owned a
slight, graceful figure, tapering down at the waist like a top, which had
set off a silk coat to perfection and soured the beaus with envy. His
movements, however, had all the decision of a man of action and of force.
But his eye it was took possession of me--an unfathomable, dark eye,
which bore more toward melancholy than sternness, and yet had something
of both. He wore a clean, ruffled shirt, an exceeding neat coat and
breeches of blue broadcloth, with plate burnished buttons, and white
cotton stockings. Truly, this was a person to make one look twice, and
think oftener. Then, as I went to pledge him, I, too, was caught for his
name.

"Paul," said he; "John Paul, of the brigantine John, of Kirkcudbright, in
the West India trade."

"Captain Paul--" I began. But my gratitude stuck fast in my throat and
flowed out of my eyes. For the thought of the horrors from which he had
saved me for the first time swept over me; his own kind treatment
overcame me, and I blubbered like a child. With that he turned his back.

"Hoots," says he, again, "