"Buy a song, young woman, to sing to your sweetheart, while you sit on his knee in the dog-watch--
"But duty appeased, "tis the heart of a lamb."
I believe there are few people who do not take a strong interest in the English sailor, particularly in one who has been maimed in the defence of his country. I always have; and as I heard the poor disabled fellow bawling out his ditty, certainly not with a very remarkable voice or execution, I pulled out the drawer behind the counter, and took out some halfpence to give him. When I caught his eye I beckoned to him, and he entered the shop. "Here, my good fellow," said I, "although a man of peace myself, yet I feel for those who suffer in the wars;" and I put the money to him.
"May your honour never know a banyan day," replied the sailor; "and a sickly season for you, into the bargain."
"Nay, friend, that is not a kind wish to others," replied I.
The sailor fixed his eyes earnestly upon me, as if in astonishment, for, until I had answered, he had not looked at me particularly.
"What are you looking at?" said I.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed he. "It is--yet it cannot be!"
"Cannot be! what, friend?"
He ran out of the door, and read the name over the shop, and then came in, and sank upon a chair outside of the counter. "j.a.phet--I have found you at last!" exclaimed he, faintly.
"Good heaven! who are you?"
He threw off his hat, with false ringlets fastened to the inside of it, and I beheld _Timothy_. In a moment I sprang over the counter, and was in his arms. "Is it possible," exclaimed I, after a short silence on both sides, "that I find you a disabled sailor?"
"Is it possible, j.a.phet," replied Timothy, "that I find you a broad-brimmed Quaker?"
"Even so, Timothy. I am really and truly one."
"Then you are less disguised than I am," replied Timothy, kicking off his wooden leg, and letting down his own, which had been tied up to his thigh, and concealed in his wide blue trowsers. "I am no more a sailor than you are, j.a.phet, and since you left me have never yet seen the salt water, which I talk and sing so much about."
"Then thou hast been deceiving, Timothy, which I regret much."
"Now I do perceive that you are a Quaker," replied Tim; "but do not blame me until you have heard my story. Thank G.o.d, I have found you at last. But tell me, j.a.phet, you will not send me away--will you? If your dress is changed, you heart is not. Pray answer me, before I say anything more. You know I can be useful here."
"Indeed, Timothy, I have often wished for you since I have been here, and it will be your own fault if I part with you. You shall a.s.sist me in the shop; but you must dress like me."
"Dress like you! have I not always dressed like you? When we started from Cophagus"s, were we not dressed much alike? did we not wear spangled jackets together? did I not wear your livery, and belong to you? I"ll put on anything, j.a.phet--but we must not part again."
"My dear Timothy, I trust we shall not; but I expect my a.s.sistant here soon, and do not wish that he should see you in that garb. Go to a small public-house at the farther end of this street, and when you see me pa.s.s, come out to me, and we will walk out into the country, and consult together."
"I have put up at a small house not far off, and have some clothes there; I will alter my dress and meet you. G.o.d bless you, j.a.phet."
Timothy then picked up his ballads, which were scattered on the floor, put up his leg, and putting on his wooden stump, hastened away, after once more silently pressing my hand.
In half an hour my a.s.sistant returned, and I desired him to remain in the shop, as I was going out on business. I then walked to the appointed rendezvous, and was soon joined by Tim, who had discarded his sailor"s disguise, and was in what is called a shabby-genteel sort of dress. After the first renewed greeting, I requested Tim to let me know what had occurred to him since our separation.
"You cannot imagine, j.a.phet, what my feelings were when I found, by your note, that you had left me. I had perceived how unhappy you had been for a long while, and I was equally distressed, although I knew not the cause. I had no idea until I got your letter, that you had lost all your money; and I felt it more unkind of you to leave me then, than if you had been comfortable and independent. As for looking after you, that I knew would be useless; and I immediately went to Mr Masterton, to take his advice as to how I should proceed. Mr Masterton had received your letter, and appeared to be very much annoyed. "Very foolish boy," said he; "but there is nothing that can be done now. He is mad, and that is all that can be said in his excuse. You must do as he tells you, I suppose, and try the best for yourself. I will help you in any way that I can, my poor fellow," said he, "so don"t cry." I went back to the house and collected together your papers, which I sealed up.
I knew that the house was to be given up in a few days. I sold the furniture, and made the best I could of the remainder of your wardrobe, and other things of value that you had left; indeed, everything, with the exception of the dressing-case and pistols, which had belonged to Major Carbonnell, and I thought you might perhaps some day like to have them."
"How very kind of you, Timothy, to think of me in that way! I shall indeed be glad; but no--what have I to do with pistols or silver dressing-cases now? I must not have them, but still I thank you all the same."
"The furniture and everything else fetched 430 pounds, after all expenses were paid."
"I am glad of it, Timothy, for your sake; but I am sorry, judging by your present plight, that if appears to have done you but little good."
"Because I did not make use of it, j.a.phet. What could I do with all that money? I took it to Mr Masterton, with all your papers, and the dressing-case and pistols:--he has it now ready for you when you ask for it. He was very kind to me, and offered to do anything for me; but I resolved to go in search of you. I had more money in my pocket when you went away than I generally have, and with the surplus of what you left for the bills, I had twelve or fourteen pounds. So I wished Mr Masterton good-bye, and have ever since been on my adventures in search of my master."
"Not master, Timothy, say rather of your friend."
"Well, of both if you please, j.a.phet; and very pretty adventures I have had, I a.s.sure you, and some very hairbreadth escapes."
"I think, when we compare notes, mine will be found most eventful, Timothy; but we can talk of them, and compare notes another time. At present, whom do you think I am residing with?"
"A Quaker, I presume."
"You have guessed right so far; but who do you think that Quaker is?"
"There I"m at fault."
"Mr Cophagus."
At this intelligence Timothy gave a leap in the air, turned round on his heel, and tumbled on the gra.s.s in a fit of immoderate laughter.
"Cophagus!--a Quaker!" cried he at last. "O! I long to see him.
Snuffle, snuffle--broad brims--wide skirts--and so on. Capital!"
"It is very true, Timothy, but you must not mock at the persuasion."
"I did not intend it, j.a.phet, but there is something to me so ridiculous in the idea. But," continued Timothy, "is it not still stranger, that, after having separated so many years, we should all meet again--and that I should find Mr Cophagus--an apothecary"s shop--you dispensing medicines--and I--as I hope to be--carrying them about as I did before.
Well, I will row in the same boat, and I will be a Quaker as well as you both."
"Well, we will now return, and I will take you to Mr Cophagus, who will, I am sure, be glad to see you."
"First, j.a.phet, let me have some Quaker"s clothes--I should prefer it."
"You shall have a suit of mine, Timothy, since you wish it; but recollect it is not at all necessary, nor indeed will it be permitted that you enter into the sect without preparatory examination as to your fitness for admission."
I then went to the shop, and sending out the a.s.sistant, walked home and took out a worn suit of clothes, with which I hastened to Timothy. He put them on in the shop, and then walking behind the counter, said, "This is my place, and here I shall remain as long as you do."
"I hope so, Timothy: as for the one who is with me at present, I can easily procure him other employment; and he will not be sorry to go, for he is a married man, and does not like the confinement."
"I have some money," said Timothy, taking out of his old clothes a dirty rag, and producing nearly twenty pounds. "I am well off, you see."
"You are, indeed," replied I.
"Yes, there is nothing like being a sailor with one leg, singing ballads. Do you know, j.a.phet, that sometimes have taken more than a pound a day since I have shammed the sailor?"
"Not very honestly, Tim."
"Perhaps not, j.a.phet but it is very strange, and yet very true, that when honest I could make nothing, and when I deceived, I have done very well."