



Produced by David Widger





RICHARD CARVEL

By Winston Churchill

Volume 2.


VIII.  Over the Wall
IX.    Under False Colours
X.     The Red in the Carvel Blood
XI.    A Festival and a Parting
XII.   News from a Far Country




CHAPTER VIII

OVER THE WALL

Dorothy treated me ill enough that spring. Since the minx had tasted
power at Carvel Hall, there was no accounting for her. On returning to
town Dr. Courtenay had begged her mother to allow her at the assemblies,
a request which Mrs. Manners most sensibly refused. Mr. Marmaduke had
given his consent, I believe, for he was more impatient than Dolly for
the days when she would become the toast of the province. But the doctor
contrived to see her in spite of difficulties, and Will Fotheringay was
forever at her house, and half a dozen other lads. And many gentlemen
of fashion like the doctor called ostensibly to visit Mrs. Manners, but
in reality to see Miss Dorothy. And my lady knew it. She would be
lingering in the drawing-room in her best bib and tucker, or strolling in
the garden as Dr. Courtenay passed, and I got but scant attention indeed.
I was but an awkward lad, and an old playmate, with no novelty about me.

"Why, Richard," she would say to me as I rode or walked beside her, or
sat at dinner in Prince George Street, "I know every twist and turn of
your nature. There is nothing you could do to surprise me. And so, sir,
you are very tiresome."

"You once found me useful enough to fetch and carry, and amusing when I
walked the Oriole's bowsprit," I replied ruefully.

"Why don't you make me jealous?" says she, stamping her foot. "A score
of pretty girls are languishing for a glimpse of you,--Jennie and Bess
Fotheringay, and Betty Tayloe, and Heaven knows how many others. They
are actually accusing me of keeping you trailing. 'La, girls!' said I,
'if you will but rid me of him for a day, you shall have my lasting
gratitude.'"

And she turned to the spinet and began a lively air. But the taunt
struck deeper than she had any notion of. That spring arrived out from
London on the Belle of the Wye a box of fine clothes my grandfather had
commanded for me from his own tailor; and a word from a maid of fifteen
did more to make me wear them than any amount of coaxing from Mr. Allen
and my Uncle Grafton. My uncle seemed in particular anxious that I
should make a good appearance, and reminded me that I should dress as
became the heir of the Carvel house. I took counsel with Patty Swain,
and then went to see Betty Tayloe, and the Fotheringay girls, and the
Dulany girls, near the Governor's. And (fie upon me!) I was not
ill-pleased with the brave appearance I made. I would show my mistress
how little I cared. But the worst of it was, the baggage seemed to
trouble less than I, and had the effrontery to tell me how happy she was
I had come out of my shell, and broken loose from her apron-strings.

"Indeed, they would soon begin to think I meant to marry you, Richard,"
says she at supper one Sunday before a tableful, and laughed with the
rest.

"They do not credit you with such good sense, my dear," says her mother,
smiling kindly at me.

And Dolly bit her lip, and did not join in that part of the merriment.

I fled to Patty Swain for counsel, nor was it the first time in my life
I had done so. Some good women seem to have been put into this selfish
world to comfort and advise. After Prince George Street with its gilt
and marbles and stately hedged gardens, the low-beamed, vine-covered
house in the Duke of Gloucester Street was a home and a rest. In my
eyes there was not its equal in Annapolis for beauty within and without.
Mr. Swain had bought the dwelling from an aged man with a history, dead
some nine years back. Its furniture, for the most part, was of the
Restoration, of simple and massive oak blackened by age, which I ever
fancied better than the Frenchy baubles of tables and chairs with spindle
legs, and cabinets of glass and gold lacquer which were then making their
way into the fine mansions of our town. The house was full of twists and
turns, and steps up and down, and nooks and passages and queer
hiding-places which we children knew, and in parts queer leaded windows of
bulging glass set high in the wall, and older than the reign of Hanover.
Here was the shrine of cleanliness, whose high-priestess was Patty
herself. Her floors were like satin-wood, and her brasses lights in
themselves. She had come honestly enough by her gifts, her father having
married the daughter of an able townsman of Salem, in the Massachusetts
colony, when he had gone north after his first great success in court.
Now the poor lady sat in a padded armchair from morning to night, beside
the hearth in winter, and under the trees in summer, by reason of a fall
she had had. There she knitted all the day long. Her placid face and
quiet way come before me as I write.

My friendship with Patty had begun early. One autumn day when I was a
little lad of eight or nine, my grandfather and I were driving back from
Whitehall in the big coach, when we spied a little maid of six by the
Severn's bank, with her apron full of chestnuts. She was trudging
bravely through the dead leaves toward the town. Mr. Carvel pulled the
cord to stop, and asked her name. "Patty Swain, and it please your
honour," the child answered, without fear. "So you are the young
barrister's daughter?" says he, smiling at something I did not
understand. She nodded. "And how is it you are so far from home, and
alone, my little one?" asked Mr. Carvel again. For some time he could
get nothing out of her; but at length she explained, with much coaxing,
that her big brother Tom had deserted her. My grandfather wished that
Tom were his brother, that he might be punished as he deserved. He
commanded young Harvey to lift the child into the coach, chestnuts and
all, and there she sat primly between us. She was not as pretty as
Dorothy, so I thought, but her clear gray eyes and simple ways impressed
me by their very honesty, as they did Mr. Carvel. What must he do but
drive her home to Green Street, where Mr. Swain then lived in a little
cottage. Mr. Carvel himself lifted her out and kissed her, and
handed her to her mother at the gate, who was vastly overcome by the
circumstance. The good lady had not then received that fall which made
her a <DW36> for life. "And will you not have my chestnuts, sir, for
your kindness?" says little Patty. Whereat my grandfather laughed and
kissed her again, for he loved children, and wished to know if she would
not be his daughter, and come to live in Marlboro' Street; and told the
story of Tom, for fear she would not. He was silent as we drove away,
and I knew he was thinking of my own mother at that age.

Not long after this Mr. Swain bought the house in the Duke of Gloucester
Street. This, as you know, is back to back with Marlboro. To reach
Patty's garden I had but to climb the brick wall at the rear of our
grounds, and to make my way along the narrow green lane left there for
perhaps a hundred paces of a lad, to come to the gate in the wooden
paling. In return I used to hoist Patty over the wall, and we would play
at children's games under the fruit trees that skirted it. Some instinct
kept her away from the house. I often caught her gazing wistfully at its
wings and gables. She was not born to a mansion, so she said.

"But your father is now rich," I objected. I had heard Captain Daniel
say so. "He may have a mansion of his own and he chooses. He can better
afford it than many who are in debt for the fine show they make." I was
but repeating gossip.

"I should like to see the grand company come in, when your grandfather
has them to dine," said the girl. "Sometimes we have grand gentlemen
come to see father in their coaches, but they talk of nothing but
politics. We never have any fine ladies like--like your Aunt Caroline."

I startled her by laughing derisively.

"And I pray you never may, Patty," was all I said.

I never told Dolly of my intimacy with the barrister's little girl over
the wall. This was not because I was ashamed of the friendship, but
arose from a fear-well-founded enough--that she would make sport of it.
At twelve Dolly had notions concerning the walks of life that most other
children never dream of. They were derived, of course, from Mr.
Marmaduke. But the day of reckoning arrived. Patty and I were romping
beside the back wall when suddenly a stiff little figure in a starched
frock appeared through the trees in the direction of the house, followed
by Master Will Fotheringay in his visiting clothes. I laugh now when I
think of that formal meeting between the two little ladies. There was no
time to hoist Miss Swain over the wall, or to drive Miss Manners back
upon the house. Patty stood blushing as though caught in a guilty act,
while she of the Generations came proudly on, Will sniggering behind her.

"Who is this, Richard?" asks Miss Manners, pointing a small forefinger.

"Patty Swain, if you must know!" I cried, and added boylike: "And she is
just as good as you or me, and better." I was quite red in the face, and
angry because of it. "This is Dorothy Manners, Patty, and Will
Fotheringay."

The moment was a pregnant one. But I was resolved to carry the matter
out with a bold front. "Will you join us at catch and swing?" I asked.

Will promptly declared that he would join, for Patty was good to look
upon. Dolly glanced at her dress, tossed her head, and marched back
alone.

"Oh, Richard!" cried Patty; "I shall never forgive myself! I have made
you quarrel with--"

"His sweetheart," said Will, wickedly.

"I don't care," said I. Which was not so.

Patty felt no resentment for my miss's haughty conduct, but only a
tearful penitence for having been the cause of a strife between us.
Will's arguments and mine availed nothing. I must lift her over the wall
again, and she went home. When we reached the garden we found Dolly
seated beside her mother on my grandfather's bench, from which stronghold
our combined tactics were powerless to drag her.

When Dolly was gone, I asked my grandfather in great indignation why
Patty did not play with the children I knew, with Dorothy and the
Fotheringays. He shook his head dubiously. "When you are older,
Richard, you will understand that our social ranks are cropped close.
Mr. Swain is an honest and an able man, though he believes in things I do
not. I hear he is becoming wealthy. And I have no doubt," the shrewd
old gentleman added, "that when Patty grows up she will be going to the
assemblies, though it was not so in my time." So liberal was he that he
used to laugh at my lifting her across the wall, and in his leisure
delight to listen to my accounts of her childish housekeeping. Her life
was indeed a contrast to Dorothy's. She had all the solid qualities that
my lady lacked in early years. And yet I never wavered in my liking to
the more brilliant and wayward of the two. The week before my next
birthday, when Mr. Carvel drew me to him and asked me what I wished for
a present that year, as was his custom, I said promptly:

"I should like to have Patty Swain at my party, sir."

"So you shall, my lad," he cried, taking his snuff and eying me with
pleasure. "I am glad to see, Richard, that you have none of Mr.
Marmaduke's nonsense about you. She is a good girl, i' faith, and more
of a lady now than many who call themselves such. And you shall have
your present to boot. Hark'ee, Daniel," said he to the captain; "if the
child comes to my house, the poll-parrots and follow-me-ups will be
wanting her, too."

But the getting her to go was a matter of five days. For Patty was
sensitive, like her father, and dreaded a slight. Not so with Master
Tom, who must, needs be invited, too. He arrived half an hour ahead
of time, arrayed like Solomon, and without his sister! I had to go for
Patty, indeed, after the party had begun, and to get the key to the
wicket in the wall to take her in that way, so shy was she. My dear
grandfather showed her particular attention. And Miss Dolly herself,
being in the humour, taught her a minuet.

After that she came to all my birthdays, and lost some of her shyness.
And was invited to other great houses, even as Mr. Carvel had predicted.
But her chief pleasure seemed ever her duty. Whether or no such
characters make them one and the same, who can tell? She became the
light of her father's house, and used even to copy out his briefs, at
which task I often found her of an evening.

As for Tom, that graceless scamp, I never could stomach him. I wondered
then, as I have since, how he was the brother of such a sister. He could
scarce bide his time until Mr. Swain should have a coach and a seat in
the country with the gentry. "A barrister," quoth he, "is as good as any
one else. And if my father came out a redemptioner, and worked his way,
so had old Mr. Dulany. Our family at home was the equal of his." All of
which was true, and more. He would deride Patty for sewing and baking,
vowing that they had servants enough now to do the work twice over. She
bore with him with a patience to be marvelled at; and I could never get
it through my head why Mr. Swain indulged him, though he was the elder,
and his mother's favourite. Tom began to dress early. His open
admiration was Dr. Courtenay, his confessed hope to wear five-pound
ruffles and gold sword knots. He clung to Will Fotheringay with a
tenacity that became proverbial among us boys, and his boasts at King
William's School were his father's growing wealth and intimacy with the
great men of the province.

As I grew older, I took the cue of political knowledge, as I have said,
from Mr. Swain rather than Captain Daniel, who would tell me nothing. I
fell into the habit of taking supper in Gloucester Street. The meal was
early there. And when the dishes were cleared away, and the barrister's
pipe lit, and Patty and her mother had got their sewing, he would talk by
the hour on the legality of our resistance to the King, and discuss the
march of affairs in England and the other colonies. He found me a ready
listener, and took pains to teach me clearly the right and wrong of the
situation. 'Twas his religion, even as loyalty to the King was my
grandfather's, and he did not think it wrong to spread it. He likewise
instilled into me in that way more of history than Mr. Allen had ever
taught me, using it to throw light upon this point or that. But I never
knew his true power and eloquence until I followed him to the Stadt
House.

Patty was grown a girl of fifteen then, glowing with health, and had
ample good looks of her own. 'Tis odd enough that I did not fall in
love with her when Dolly began to use me so outrageously. But a lad of
eighteen is scarce a rational creature. I went and sat before my oracle
upon the vine-covered porch under the eaves, and poured out my complaint.
She laid down her needlework and laughed.

"You silly boy," said she, "can't you see that she herself has prescribed
for you? She was right when she told you to show attention to Jenny.
And if you dangle about Miss Dolly now, you are in danger of losing her.
She knows it better than you."

I had Jenny to ride the very next day. Result: my lady smiled on me more
sweetly than ever when I went to Prince George Street, and vowed Jenny
had never looked prettier than when she went past the house. This left
my victory in such considerable doubt that I climbed the back wall
forthwith in my new top-boots.

"So you looked for her to be angry?" said Patty.

"Most certainly," said I.

"Unreasoning vanity!" she cried, for she knew how to speak plain.
"By your confession to me you have done this to please her, for she
warned you at the beginning it would please her. And now you complain
of it. I believe I know your Dorothy better than you."

And so I got but little comfort out of Patty that time.




CHAPTER IX

UNDER FALSE COLOURS

And now I come to a circumstance in my life I would rather pass over
quickly. Had I steered the straight course of my impulse I need never
have deceived that dear gentleman whom I loved and honoured above any in
this world, and with whom I had always lived and dealt openly. After my
grandfather was pronounced to be mending, I went back to Mr. Allen until
such time as we should be able to go to the country. Philip no longer
shared my studies, his hours having been changed from morning to
afternoon. I thought nothing of this, being content with the rector's
explanation that my uncle had a task for Philip in the morning, now that
Mr. Carvel was better. And I was well content to be rid of Philip's
company. But as the days passed I began to mark an absence still
stranger. I had my Horace and my Ovid still: but the two hours from
eleven to one, which he was wont to give up to history and what he was
pleased to call instruction in loyalty, were filled with other matter.
Not a word now of politics from Mr. Allen. Not even a comment from him
concerning the spirited doings of our Assembly, with which the town was
ringing. That body had met but a while before, primed to act on the
circular drawn up by Mr. Adams of Massachusetts. The Governor's message
had not been so prompt as to forestall them, and I am occupied scarce the
time in the writing of this that it took our brave members to adopt the
petition to his Majesty and to pass resolutions of support to our sister
colony of the North. This being done, and a most tart reply penned to
his Excellency, they ended that sitting and passed in procession to the
Governor's mansion to deliver it, Mr. Speaker Lloyd at their head, and a
vast concourse of cheering people at their heels. Shutters were barred
on the Tory houses we passed. And though Mr. Allen spied me in the
crowd, he never mentioned the circumstance. More than once I essayed to
draw from him an opinion of Mr. Adams's petition, which was deemed a work
of great moderation and merit, and got nothing but evasion from my tutor.
That he had become suddenly an American in principle I could not believe.
At length I made bold to ask him why our discussions were now omitted.
He looked up from the new play he was reading on the study lounge, with a
glance of dark meaning I could not fathom.

"You are learning more than I can teach you in Gloucester Street, and at
the Stadt House," he said.

In truth I was at a loss to understand his attitude until the day in June
my grandfather and I went to Carvel Hall.

The old gentleman was weak still, so feeble that he had to be carried to
his barge in a chair, a vehicle he had ever held in scorn. But he was
cheerful, and his spirit remained the same as of old: but for that spirit
I believe he had never again risen from his bed in Marlboro' Street. My
uncle and the rector were among those who walked by his side to the dock,
and would have gone to the Hall with him had he permitted them. He was
kind enough to say that my arm was sufficient to lean on.

What peace there was sitting once again under the rustling trees on the
lawn with the green river and the blue bay spread out before us, and
Scipio standing by with my grandfather's punch. Mr. Carvel would have me
rehearse again all that had passed in town and colony since his illness,
which I did with as much moderation as I was able. And as we talked he
reached out and took my hand, for I sat near him, and said:

"Richard, I have heard tidings of you that gladden my heart, and they
have done more than Dr. Leiden's physic for this old frame of mine. I
well knew a Carvel could never go a wrong course, lad, and you least of
any."

"Tidings, sir?" I said.

"Ay, tidings," answered Mr. Carvel. Such a note of relief and gladness
there was in the words as I had not heard for months from him, and a
vague fear came upon me.

"Scipio," he said merrily, "a punch for Mr. Richard." And when the glass
was brought my grandfather added: "May it be ever thus!"

I drained the toast, not falling into his humour or comprehending his
reference, but dreading that aught I might say would disturb him, held my
peace. And yet my apprehension increased. He set down his glass and
continued:

"I had no hope of this yet, Richard, for you were ever slow to change.
Your conversion does credit to Mr. Allen as well as to you. In short,
sir, the rector gives me an excellent good account of your studies, and
adds that the King hath gained another loyal servant, for which I thank
God."

I have no words to write of my feelings then. My head swam and my hand
trembled on my grandfather's, and I saw dimly the old gentleman's face
aglow with joy and pride, and knew not what to say or do. The answer I
framed, alas, remained unspoken. From his own lips I had heard how much
the news had mended him, and for once I lacked the heart, nay, the
courage, to speak the truth. But Mr. Carvel took no heed of my silence,
setting it down to another cause.

"And so, my son," he said, "there is no need of sending you to Eton next
fall. I am not much longer for this earth, and can ill spare you: and
Mr. Allen kindly consents to prepare you for Oxford."

"Mr. Allen consents to that, sir?" I gasped. I think, could I have laid
hands on the rector then, I would have thrashed him, cloth and all,
within an inch of his life.

And as if to crown my misery Mr. Carvel rose, and bearing heavily on my
shoulder led me to the stable where Harvey and one of the black grooms
stood in livery to receive us. Harvey held by the bridle a blooded bay
hunter, and her like could scarce be found in the colony. As she stood
arching her neck and pawing the ground, I all confusion and shame, my
grandfather said simply:

"Richard, this is Firefly. I have got her for you from Mr. Randolph, of
Virginia, for you are now old enough to have a good mount of your own."

All that night I lay awake, trying to sift some motive for Mr. Allen's
deceit. For the life of me I could see no farther than a desire to keep
me as his pupil, since he was well paid for his tuition. Still, the game
did not seem worth the candle. However, he was safe in his lie. Shrewd
rogue that he was, he well knew that I would not risk the attack a
disappointment might bring my grandfather.

What troubled me most of all was the fear that Grafton had reaped the
advantage of the opportunity the illness gave him, and by his insidious
arts had worked himself back into the good graces of his father. You
must not draw from this, my dears, that I feared for the inheritance.
Praised be God, I never thought of that! But I came by nature to hate
and to fear my uncle, as I hated and feared the devil. I saw him with my
father's eyes, and with my mother's, and as my grandfather had seen him
in the old days when he was strong. Instinct and reason alike made me
loathe him. As the months passed, and letters in Grafton's scroll hand
came from the Kent estate or from Annapolis, my misgivings were confirmed
by odd remarks that dropped from Mr. Carvel's lips. At length arrived
the revelation itself.

"I fear, Richard," he had said querulously, "I fear that all these years
I have done your uncle an injustice. Dear Elizabeth was wont to plead
for him before she died, but I would never listen to her. I was hearty
and strong then, and my heart was hard. And a remembrance of many things
was fresh in my mind." He paused for breath, as was his habit now. And
I said nothing. "But Grafton has striven to wipe out the past. Sickness
teaches us that we must condone, and not condemn. He has lived a
reputable life, and made the most of the little start I gave him.
He has supported his Majesty and my Lord in most trying times. And his
Excellency tells me that the coming governor, Eden, will surely reward
him with a seat in the Council."

I thought of Governor Sharpe's biting words to Grafton. The Governor
knew my uncle well, and I was sure he had never sat at his Council.

"A son is a son, Richard," continued Mr. Carvel. "You will one day find
that out. Your uncle has atoned. He hath been faithful during my
illness, despite my cold treatment. And he hath convinced me that your
welfare is at his heart. I believe he is fond of you, my lad."

No greater sign of breaking health did I need than this, that Mr. Carvel
should become blind to Grafton's hypocrisy; forget his attempts to
prevent my father's marriage, and to throw doubt upon my mother's birth.
The agony it gave me, coming as it did on top of the cruel deception,
I shall not dwell upon. And the thought bursting within me remained
unspoken.

I saw less of Dorothy then than I had in any summer of my life before.
In spite of Mrs. Manners, the chrysalis had burst into the butterfly,
and Wilmot House had never been so gay. It must be remembered that
there were times when young ladies made their entrance into the world at
sixteen, and for a beauty to be unmarried at twenty-two was rare indeed.
When I went to Wilmot House to dine, the table would be always full, and
Mr. Marmaduke simpering at the head of it, his air of importance doubled
by his reflected glory.

"We see nothing of you, my lad," he would say; "you must not let these
young gallants get ahead of you. How does your grandfather? I must pay
my compliments to-morrow."

Of gallants there were enough, to be sure. Dr. Courtenay, of course,
with a nosegay on his coat, striving to catch the beauty's eye. And Mr.
Worthington and Mr. Dulany, and Mr. Fitzhugh and Mr. Paca, and I know not
how many other young bachelors of birth and means. And Will Fotheringay,
who spent some of his time with me at the Hall. Silver and China, with
the Manners coat-of-arms, were laid out that had not seen the light for
many along day. And there were picnics, and sailing parties, and dances
galore, some of which I attended, but heard of more. It seemed to me
that my lady was tiring of the doctor's compliments, and had transferred
her fickle favour to young Mr. Fitzhugh, who was much more worthy, by the
way. As for me, I had troubles enough then, and had become used in some
sort to being shelved.

One night in July,--'twas the very day Mr. Carvel had spoken to me of
Grafton,--I had ridden over to Wilmot House to supper. I had little
heart for going, but good Mrs. Manners herself had made me promise, and
I could: not break my word. I must have sat very silent and preoccupied
at the table, where all was wit and merriment. And more than once I saw
the laughter leave Dorothy's face, and caught her eyes upon; me with such
a look as set my beast throbbing. They would not meet my own, but would
turn away instantly. I was heavy indeed that night, and did not follow
the company into the ballroom, but made my excuses to Mrs. Manners.

The lawn lay bathed in moonlight; and as I picked, my way over it toward
the stables for Firefly, I paused to look back at the house aglow, with
light, the music of the fiddles and the sound of laughter floating out
of the open windows. Even as I gaped a white figure was framed in the
doorway, paused a moment on the low stone step, and then came on until
it stood beside me.

"Are you not well, Richard?"

"Yes, I am well," I answered. I scarcely knew my own voice.

"Is your grandfather worse?"

"No, Dorothy; he seems better to-day."

She stood seemingly irresolute, her eyes new lifted, now falling before
mine. Her slender arms bare, save for the little puff at the shoulders;
her simple dress drawn a little above the waist, then falling straight to
the white slipper. How real the ecstasy of that moment, and the pain of
it!

"Why do you not coarse over, as you used to?" she asked, in a low tone.

"I am very busy," I replied evasively; "Mr. Carvel cannot attend to his
affairs." I longed to tell her the whole truth, but the words would not
come.

"I hear you are managing the estate all alone," she said.

"There is no one else to do it."

"Richard," she cried, drawing closer; "you are in trouble. I--I have
seen it. You are so silent, and--and you seem to have become older.
Tell me, is it your Uncle Grafton?"

So astonished was I at the question, and because she had divined so,
surely, that I did not answer.

"Is it?" she asked again.

"Yes," I said; "yes, in part."

And then came voices calling from the house. They had missed her.

"I am so sorry, Richard. I shall tell no one."

She laid her hand ever so lightly upon mine and was gone. I stood
staring after her until she disappeared in the door. All the way home
I marvelled, my thoughts tumultuous, my hopes rising and falling.

But when next I saw her, I thought she had forgotten.

We had little company at the Hall that year, on account of Mr. Carvel.
And I had been busy indeed. I sought with all my might to master a
business for which I had but little taste, and my grandfather
complimented me, before the season was done, upon my management.
I was wont to ride that summer at four of a morning to canter beside Mr.
Starkie afield, and I came to know the yield of every patch to a hogshead
and the pound price to a farthing. I grew to understand as well as
another the methods of curing the leaf. And the wheat pest appearing
that year, I had the good fortune to discover some of the clusters in the
sheaves, and ground our oyster-shells in time to save the crop. Many a
long evening I spent on the wharves with old Stanwix, now toothless and
living on his pension, with my eye on the glow of his pipe and my ear
bent to his stories of the sea. It was his fancy that the gift of
prophecy had come to him with the years; and at times, when his look
would wander to the black rigging in the twilight, he would speak
strangely enough.

"Faith, Mr. Richard," he would say; "tho' your father was a soldier afore
ye, ye were born to the deck of a ship-o'-war. Mark an old