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The night passed away in attempts at analysing the real feelings of Miss Trevannion, and also my own towards her; and now that I was to be separated from her, I discovered what I really had not before imagined, that my future happiness was seriously endangered by my sentiments towards her; in short, dear Madam, that I was most seriously in love.

“And now,” thought I, “of what avail is it to have made this discovery now, except it were to convince me, as Miss Trevannion had said, that it were better that I were gone.”

I did not fail to call to mind her observation about my unknown parentage and family, and this I reflected upon with pleasure, as it was the chief objection raised by her, and, at the same time, one that I could proudly remove, from my birth being really more distinguished than her own. Should I make it known? How could I?—we should, probably, never meet again. All this, and much more, was canvassed in my mind during the night, and also another question of more real importance, which was, what I was to do, and where I was to go? On this last point I could not make up my mind, but I determined that I would not leave Liverpool for a day or two, but would take up my quarters at my old lodgings, where I had lived with Captain Levee.

As the day dawned, I rose from the bed, and, taking my valise on my shoulder, I went softly down-stairs, opened the street-door, and, shutting it again carefully, I hastened down the street as fast as I could. I met nobody, for it was still early, and arrived at the lodging-house, where I had some trouble to obtain admittance; the old lady at last opening the door in great dishabille.

“Captain Elrington! Is it possible,” exclaimed she, “why, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Madam,” replied I, “but that I have come to take possession of your lodgings for a few days.”

“And welcome, Sir,” replied she; “will you walk up-stairs while I make myself more fit to be seen. I was in bed and fast asleep when you knocked; I do believe I was dreaming of my good friend, Captain Levee.”[1]

I went up-stairs and threw myself on the old settee which was so familiar to me, and somehow or another, in a few minutes I was in a sound sleep. How long I might have slept on I cannot tell, but in less than an hour I was waked up by loud talking and laughter, and a few seconds afterwards found myself embraced by my brother Philip and Captain Levee. The Arrow had anchored at break of day, and they had just come on shore. I was delighted to see them, as every one is when he meets with friends when he is in distress. I briefly stated how it was that they found me there, and when breakfast was on the table, I entered into full details of what had passed, with the exception of Miss Trevannion having entered my room—that I considered too sacred to repeat to any one.

“You know, my dear Elrington,” said Captain Levee, “that I have not the scruples which you have relative to privateering, but still I respect the conscientious scruples of others. There is no excuse for Mr. Trevannion’s conduct, and I cannot think but there is something else at the bottom of all this. You haven’t been making love to his daughter, or, what would amount to the same thing, she has not been making advances to you?”

“I have not dared the first, Levee, and you do not know her, to suppose her capable of the latter.”

“Well, if she had done so, there would have been no harm done,” replied he; “but I will say no more as you look so grave. Philip and I will now call upon Mr. Trevannion; and while I engage the old gentleman, Philip shall run alongside of the young maiden, and between the two we shall get our bearings and distance, and know how the land lies—and I will tell you more, Elrington, although I have no objection to be captain of a privateer, I certainly consider the command of a king’s ship more reputable; and if I could manage to get the Arrow hired into the king’s service (I still remaining in command of her), I should prefer it being so. At all events, I’ll side with you, and that will drive the old gentleman on a dead lee-shore. Come along, Philip—we shall be with you in two hours, Elrington.” With these words Captain Levee left the room, followed by my brother.

It was nearly three hours before they returned, and then I received the following narratives: Captain Levee, as he sat down, said, “Now, Philip, we’ll hear your account first.”

“Well, mine is soon told,” replied Philip; “I had made up my mind how to act, and did not tell Captain Levee what I intended to do. When Mr. Trevannion met us in the room behind the counting-house he appeared very much flurried: he shook hands with Captain Levee, and offered me his hand, which I refused, saying, ‘Mr. Trevannion, I have just seen my brother, and I hardly need say that nothing will induce me to remain in your employ. I will, therefore, thank you for my wages at your convenience.’[2]

“‘Hey-day, young man,’ cried he, ‘you give yourself strange airs. Well, Sir, you shall have your discharge; I can do without such snip-jacks as you are.’

“‘Snip-jacks! Mr. Trevannion,’ replied I; ‘if I must say it, we are better born and better bred than you or any of your connexions, and you were honoured by our service.’”

“You said that, Philip?—then you were wrong!”

“I told the truth.”

“Still, you should not have said it; we took his service, and therefore—”

“We are not snip-jacks,” interrupted Philip, “and his calling names brought on the reply.”

“You must admit the provocation, Elrington,” said Captain Levee.

“Well, go on, Philip.”

“‘Indeed,’ said Mr. Trevannion, in a great passion; ‘well, then, I will soon rid myself of the obligation. Call this afternoon, Master Philip, and you shall receive your wages. You may now quit the room.’

“I did so, and put my hat a-cock to annoy him.”[3]

“So far his narrative is quite correct,” said Captain Levee;—“now go on.”

“Well,” said Philip, “instead of turning out of the house, I turned into it, and went to the young lady’s sitting-room. I opened the door softly, and found her with her hand up to her head, looking very sedate and sorrowful. ‘Master Philip,’ said she, ‘you startled me; I am glad to see you—when did you arrive?’

“‘This morning, Miss Trevannion.’

“‘Well, sit down and bear me company for a time. Have you seen your brother?’

“‘I have, Miss Trevannion,’ replied I, still remaining on my feet, ‘and I have just seen your father. I come now to bid you farewell. I have left the privateer, and shall never join her again; perhaps I may never see you again either, which, believe me, I am truly sorry for.’

“She covered her eyes with her hand, as she leant on the table, and I saw a tear fall as she said—‘It is a sad business altogether, and has distressed me very much. I hope your brother does not think that I blame him; tell him that I do not in the least, and that he must forget my behaviour to him when we parted. I did him injustice, and I beg his pardon. Tell him so, Philip.’”

“Did she say those words, Philip?”

“Yes, word for word, and looked like an angel when he said so. I replied that I would certainly deliver her message, but that I must not remain, for fear of Mr. Trevannion finding me with her, as he ordered me to quit the house.”[4]

“‘Indeed,’ said she; ‘what can be the matter with my poor father?’

“‘Why, Miss Trevannion,’ said I, ‘he was very angry, and he had reason, for I was very saucy, and that’s the truth.’

“‘Why, Philip, what did you say to him?’

“‘Oh, I hardly know,’ replied I, ‘but I know that I said more than I ought; for I was very angry at my brother’s dismissal. Good bye, Miss Trevannion.’

“Miss Trevannion was taking a ring off her finger as I said good bye, and I thought she was going to give it me as a keepsake; but, after a little hesitation, she put it on again, and then held out her hand, saying, ‘Good bye, Master Philip, let us not part in anger, at all events.’ I took her hand, bowed, and turned away to quit the room; when I was at the door I looked round, and she was sitting with her face in her hands and I think she was weeping. I went out into the street, and waited for Captain Levee, and there’s an end of my story.”

“Well, now I’ll give you my portion, Elrington.—As soon as Philip went out of the room, Mr. Trevannion said, ‘That’s a most impudent boy, and I am glad that he is gone. You are of course aware that his brother has left me, and the cause of our disagreement?’

“‘Yes, Sir,’ replied I, drily, ‘I have heard the whole particulars.’

“‘Did you ever hear of such ridiculous scruples?’ said he.

“‘Yes, Sir, I heard them before, and so did you, when he gave up the command of the privateer, and I respected them, because I knew that Mr. Elrington was sincere. Indeed, his observations on that head are undeniably true, and have had great weight with me; so much so, that I intend to enter into the king’s service as soon as I possibly can.’

“I wish you had seen the look of Mr. Trevannion when I said this—he was stupefied. That I, Captain Levee, who had commanded his vessels so long—I, the very beau idéal of a privateersman, a reckless, extravagant dare-devil, should also presume to have scruples, was too much for him. ‘Et tu,’ he might have exclaimed, but he did not; but he stared at me without speaking for some time; at last he said, ‘Is the golden age arrived, or is this a conspiracy?’

“‘Neither one nor the other, Sir,’[5] I replied; ‘I follow privateering because I can do no better; but as soon as I can do better, I shall leave it off.’

“‘Perhaps,’ said Mr. Trevannion, ‘you would wish to resign the command at once. If so, I beg you will not make any ceremony.’

“‘I have not wished to put you to any inconvenience, Mr. Trevannion,’ replied I, ‘but as you kindly beg me to use no ceremony, I will take advantage of your offer, and resign the command of the Arrow this day.’”

“Surely, Levee, you have not done so?”

“Yes, I have,” replied Captain Levee, “and I have done so, in the first place, out of friendship to you, and, in the second, because I wish to be employed in the king’s service, and my only chance of obtaining that wish is doing what I have done.”

“How will that effect your purpose?”

“Because the men have sailed so long with me, that they will not sail under any other person, if I tell them not. Mr. Trevannion will find himself in an awkward position, and I think we can force him to hire his vessel to government, who will gladly accept such a one as the Arrow.”

“That I believe, if from her reputation alone,” replied I. “Well, Levee, I thank you very much for this proof of sincere friendship. The plot thickens, and a few days will decide the question.”

“Very true, and now let me finish my story. ‘I am afraid,’ said Mr. Trevannion, in a very sarcastic tone, ‘that I shall not be able to find any one to replace you in this moral age, Captain Levee; but I will try.’

“‘Sir,’ I replied, ‘I will now answer your sarcasm. There is some excuse for ignorant seamen before the mast, who enter on board of privateers; they are indifferent to blood and carnage, and their feelings are blunted: there is some excuse even for decayed gentlemen like me, Mr. Trevannion (for I am a gentleman born[6]), who, to obtain a maintenance without labour[7], risk their lives and shed their blood; but there is no excuse for those who, having already as much wealth and more than they can require, still furnish the means and equip vessels of this description to commit the destruction which they do, for the sake of gain. There is a sermon, Sir, for you from a captain of a privateer, and I now wish you good morning.’ I then got up, and, making a profound bow, I quitted the room before Mr. Trevannion made any reply, and here I am. Now all we have to do is to wait quietly, and see what takes place; but first, I shall go on board the Arrow, and let them know that I have quarrelled with the owner. The men are not very well pleased as it is with their want of success these two last voyages, and it will require but little to blow up the discontent into a mutiny[8]. Come, Philip, I shall want you to assist me. We shall be back to dinner, Elrington.”

When I was again alone, I had time to consider what had passed. What I chiefly dwelt upon was the interview, between Philip and Miss Trevannion—her message to me—her hesitation—and keeping the ring. I could not help surmising that our feelings towards each other were reciprocal, and this idea gave me infinite delight, and repaid me for all that had passed. Then my brother’s hasty declaration to her father, that we were better born and bred than he was, would certainly be repeated by him to his daughter, and must make an impression. And what would Mr. Trevannion do? Would he give way to the unanimous opinion against him? I feared not, at least without another struggle. All these questions occupied my thoughts till the return of Captain Levee and Philip from the privateer. They had well managed their business. The crew of the Arrow had come to an unanimous resolution that they would not sail with any other captain but Captain Levee; and that if he did resign the command of the vessel, as soon as their wages were paid, and they received their share of prize-money,[9]they would leave, and enter into the king’s service.

That afternoon Mr. Trevannion sent for the officer next in command, to give him the command of the vessel; but as he went over the side, the men, expecting that he was sent for for that purpose, told him that they would serve under no one but Captain Levee, and that he might acquaint the owner with their determination. This put the finishing blow to Mr. Trevannion. As soon as this was communicated to him, he was wild with rage in being thus thwarted in every way. As I afterwards was informed, he went even to his daughter, acquainted her with all that had passed, and gave vent to his indignation, accusing her of being a party in the conspiracy.[10] But this was to be his last effort: the excitement had been too great, and after dinner he felt so unwell that he went to bed. The next morning he was in a raging fever, and at times delirious. The fever was so violent that the doctors had much to do to reduce it, and for ten days Mr. Trevannion was in great danger. At last it was got under, leaving him in a state of great weakness and exhaustion, and his recovery was anything but rapid. Humphrey, the porter, had brought us this intelligence; as now there was no one to transact the business of the house, and the poor fellow did not know what to do, I desired him to apply to Miss Trevannion for directions[11], and told him that, although I would not enter the house, I would, if she wished it, see to the more important concerns which could not be neglected. She was then attending her father, and sent me a message, requesting, as a favour to her, that I would assist all I could in the dilemma. I consequently sent for the books, and gave orders, and made the necessary arrangements, as I had done before I had been dismissed by Mr. Trevannion.

It was nearly five weeks before Mr. Trevannion had sufficiently recovered to mention anything about business to him, and then it was that he learnt from his daughter that I had carried it on for him during his illness, and that everything had gone on as well as if he had acted for himself. Although Miss Trevannion had not expressed a wish that I should call, she had sent Humphrey for my brother Philip, to let us know the dangerous state in which her father was, and after that Philip called every day, and was the bearer of messages to me. As her father recovered, she told Philip that he had expressed himself very strongly as to his conduct towards me, and had acknowledged that I was right in my scruples, and that he was astonished that he had not viewed privateering in the same light that I did.[12]That he felt very grateful for my considerate and kind conduct in conducting the business during his illness, and that as soon as he was well enough he would call upon me, to beg my pardon for his conduct towards me. Miss Trevannion also told him that her father had said that he considered his illness a judgment upon him, and a warning to open his eyes to his sacrifice of principle[13] to the desire of gain, and that he received it accordingly with humility and thankfulness; that it was his intention to offer the privateer vessels to government, and if they did not hire them, he should dispose of them in some other way. This was very agreeable intelligence, and was the source of much conversation between Captain Levee and me.

About a fortnight afterwards, Mr. Trevannion, who was still weak, sent me a billet, in which he said that he was afraid that his anxiety to see me and his being still confined to his room, rather retarded his recovery, and begged as a favour that I would accept his acknowledgment in writing, and come to see him. That I consented to do, and repaired to his house accordingly. I found him in his room, sitting in his dressing-gown, and he had evidently suffered much.

“Mr. Elrington,” said he, “I trust to your excellent nature to accept my apologies for the very unjust treatment you have received at my hands. I am ashamed of myself and I can say no more.”

“I beg, Mr. Trevannion, that you will say no more; I accept the return of your friendship with pleasure,” replied I; “I am sorry that you have been so ill.”

“I am not,” replied he; “it is good for us to be chastised at times. My sickness has opened my eyes, and made me, I trust, a better man. May I ask a favour of you?”

“Most certainly, Sir,” replied I.

“It is that you will execute a commission for me, which is to go to London on my account, see the government people who control the naval affairs, and offer the Arrow as a hired vessel. You know all her qualifies[14] so well, and have kept her accounts so long, that you will be able to furnish them with all necessary information. I should wish Captain Levee to go with you, and, if you possibly can, make it a condition that he is taken into the king’s service, and appointed the captain of her.”

“I will do so with pleasure,” replied I.

“One more favour I have to beg, Mr. Elrington. When I so foolishly quarrelled with you, you left a bag of money, to which you were fully entitled from your good services, upon the table in the inner room. I trust now that you will not mortify me by refusing it, or I shall think that you have not really forgiven me.”

I bowed assent.

“I thank you, Mr. Elrington—thank you very much. Now I shall soon get well. To-morrow, perhaps, you will have the kindness to come and see me again. I feel rather overcome at present. Remember me kindly to Philip. Good-bye for to-day,” said Mr. Trevannion holding out his emaciated hand. “God bless you.”

I took his hand and quitted the room, shutting the door softly. Mr. Trevannion was quite alone when I was with him. Humphrey, the porter, had shown me up-stairs to the room.

Anxious as I was to see Miss Trevannion, I did not venture into the sitting-room, but passed the door and went down-stairs; when I was going out of the street-door, Humphrey followed me, and said Miss Trevannion wished to see me. I went back again with a beating heart, a sensation I had not felt before, when about to go into her presence. She was standing by the table.

“Mr. Elrington,” said she, as I bowed upon entering, “I did not think that you could carry your resentment against me so far as to leave the house without asking to see me; but if you do not wish to see me, ’tis a duty I owe to myself to wish to see you, if only for a moment, that I may beg your pardon for my conduct towards you when we last parted. I have suffered much since that, Mr. Elrington; do not make me suffer more by continuing your resentment. Recollect I am but a weak woman, and must not be judged so severely as one of your own sex.”

“I have nothing to pardon that I am aware of, Miss Trevannion,” replied I; “I did not intrude upon you just now, because being no longer an inmate of the house, and not having parted with you in complete amity, I thought it would be presumptuous in me so to do.”

“You are very generous, Mr. Elrington,” replied she; “now take my hand, and I promise never to be so hasty again.”

I took the proffered hand, and raised it respectfully to my lips. I had never done so before; but Miss Trevannion showed no signs of displeasure, or attempted to withdraw it.

“Do you think my father looks very ill, Mr. Elrington?” said she.

“From his appearance, I think that he must have suffered much.”

“I am most thankful that you have come to see him, Mr. Elrington. You have no idea how his mind was troubled, and how he longed to be reconciled to you. I trust he has made his peace.”

“I have always had too much respect for your father, and gratitude for his kindness to me, to have made that a work of difficulty.”

“You rejoice me much—make me very happy, Mr. Elrington,” replied Miss Trevannion, as the tears dropped fast from her eyes. “You must excuse me,” said she; “I have become very weak and nervous during my father’s illness—and sitting up with him so much,—but it is over now.”

“You have had much anxiety, I see, Miss Trevannion; you are pale and thin to what you were.”

“Did my father—? But I have no right to ask such questions.”

“You would inquire, Miss Trevannion, whether anything was said as to future arrangements?”

Miss Trevannion made a sign of assent.

“I have promised to execute a commission for him, and am going to London, accompanied by Captain Levee.”

“To get rid of those wretched privateers, is it not?”

“Yes it is, and I am to come to-morrow to arrange further: but I think you want to return to your father’s room, so I will now take my leave.”

“You are considerate, Mr. Elrington; I did want to go up-stairs; but before I go I have some property of yours to place in your hands.”

I bowed, thinking that she referred to the ring, which I perceived on her finger, and was annoyed that she was in such haste to return it. But, on the contrary, she went to the buffet and brought out the bag of gold jacobuses, which she laid on the table.

“You are very proud, Mr. Elrington, not to take what was fairly your due,” said Miss Trevannion, smiling.

“It is much more than I have ever earned,” replied I; “but your father made me promise not to refuse it a second time, and of course I shall now take it.”

My heart was much lightened when I found that it was the gold, and not the ring.

“Then good-bye, Mr. Elrington; to-morrow I shall see you, of course.”

Miss Trevannion then left the room and hastened up-stairs to her father, and I went home to my lodgings. I narrated the substance of what had passed between Mr. Trevannion and me to Captain Levee and Philip, and also that I had been kindly received by Miss Trevannion.

“Well, I like the reconciliation and arrangement very much,” said Captain Levee; “and as you have such a bag of gold, and I have not fifty guineas in the world, you shall stand treat in London, Elrington.”

“That I will with pleasure; it will only be discharging an old debt, Levee. Philip shall go with us.”

“But,” said Captain Levee, “do you not think they will recognise their state-prisoner, and be cautious of a Jacobite?”

“They may remember the name,” said I, “but my person was seen but by few. I do, however, think it would be advisable, as I shall have to sign papers, to take another.”

“I think so, too,” replied Captain Levee; “what shall we call you?”

“Let me see; I’ll have a good name. I had a relative of the name of Musgrave; I think I will borrow his name. What say you, Philip? Will you be, for the future, Philip Musgrave?”[15]

“Yes, brother, with all my heart. The name appears to fit me better than that of Elrington.”

Thus, Madam, did I resume my real name without any suspicion on the part of Captain Levee; but I could not well sign government papers with an assumed one.[16][17]

On the following day I called upon Mr. Trevannion, who received me with great affection, and it was arranged that I should set off in three days, which time would be required for preparation, and to make the necessary purchases. To supply funds for the journey, Mr. Trevannion gave me another bag of jacobuses, of the same amount as the former,[18] saying that he wished us to appear bravely when we arrived in London, and that he should require no account of the expenditure, only that if the contents of the bag were not sufficient, he would supply more. This was nothing more but an excuse on his part to be generous; for one quarter of the money[19] would have been sufficient for all needful expenses. I told him that I had taken the name of Musgrave, as that of Elrington might be remembered to the injury of the proposal, and he said that it was well thought of by me. Miss Trevannion had entered the room when I mentioned that to her father, and afterwards had quitted it. After I had taken leave of Mr. Trevannion, I went down to the sitting-room, where I found his daughter waiting for me. We had much friendly discourse, and at one time she said, “I heard you say that you had taken the name of Musgrave for your intended journey. Do you intend to retain that name when you return?”

“Why should I?” replied I.

“Because,” replied she, “perhaps it is your real name. Excuse a lady’s curiosity, but is not that the fact?”

“Miss Trevannion,” replied I, “my real name must at present remain a secret.”

“That is to say, it will no longer be a secret if intrusted to me? I thank you, Sir, for the compliment.”

“I do not intend to imply that, Miss Trevannion; I fully believe that you can keep a secret.”

“If you fully believe so, you might, then, reply to my question; the more so, as I now pledge myself to keep your secret most faithfully.”

“Then, Miss Trevannion, my real name is Musgrave,” replied I.

“I thank you for your confidence, Mr. Musgrave, which shall not be misplaced. I might now follow up my inquiries as to why you changed your name, with many other queries; but I am too discreet for that—the time may come when I shall know all; but I am content with your proof of confidence, and thank you for it.”

Miss Trevannion never was so lively and communicative with me before, as she was this morning; there was a friendliness without any of her usual reserve, and I left her more full of admiration and devotion than ever.

In three days more our preparations were made, and, taking leave of Miss Trevannion and her father, who was recovering, and had admitted company to his room, we set off on horseback, as we had done before, and attended by the same two men of Captain Levee’s who had served us on a former journey to London. We had no adventure whatever on this journey which could be worth narrating, and I shall therefore say that we arrived in good health and spirits, and took up our abode at once at our former lodging-house, instead of going to the inn. We were welcomed by the hostess, who had her house almost empty. The following day I made inquiries, and, in consequence, went to the Navy Office, and, requesting to see one of the head clerks, informed him of the occasion of my coming up to London. He was very civil, and replied that the government were in want of vessels, and he had no doubt but they would have the Arrow, as she was well-known as a strong privateer. I then inquired whether they thought it likely that Captain Levee might be taken into the service, stating what an excellent crew the Arrow had, and that they would not remain in her, unless they were commanded by him, in whom they had great confidence.

The clerk replied that it might be done certainly,—“but,” added he—“Sir, you cannot expect people to do such kind offices without they are rewarded.”

I perfectly understood him, and replied, that, of course, I did not expect it; but I was so ignorant as to what ought to be done, that I begged that he would give me his advice, for which I should be most grateful.

“Well, well, you understand me, Mr. Musgrave, and that is sufficient. I will be plain with you. It will cost 100 guineas[20] to obtain what you want for Captain Levee, and of that money I shall not receive a doit.”[21]

“I shall be most happy to give that sum and half as much more to obtain my wish, Sir, and shall feel much obliged to you in the bargain; and while I am negotiating, I may as well state that I have a brother who sails with Captain Levee, who is most anxious to be with him, and sail as his lieutenant.”

“That will cost another fifty guineas, Mr. Musgrave.”

“I am most willing,” replied I.

“Well, we must first get the vessel hired into the service. You have your tonnage and equipment all on paper?”

“Everything that is requisite; and, moreover, every cruise she has made, the actions she has fought, and the prizes she has taken under the command of Captain Levee, and with the crew now on board.”

“Furnish all these documents, Mr. Musgrave, and leave it to me. I am to understand that you perfectly agree to the terms I have proposed?”

“Perfectly, Sir; and, if you please, I will sign a memorandum to that effect.”

“No, no,” replied he, “we never put such things down on paper. It is an affair of honour and good faith.[22] You say your money is all ready.”

“At a minute’s warning.”

“That is sufficient, Mr. Musgrave. I will now wish you good morning. Send me the documents.”

“I have them in my pocket, Sir.”

“Better still; then the affair may be arranged this afternoon, and you may call to-morrow at about two in the afternoon; and you may as well bring the money with you, as you can but take it away again if everything is not to your satisfaction.”

I returned to the lodgings quite delighted with the prospect of such a fortunate issue to my mission, and was in good time for dinner. I did not tell Captain Levee or Philip of what had passed, but merely that I considered that there was a good chance of success, and that I was to call on the following day. That night we went to the theatre, and saw a play performed, written by Shakespeare, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, and called the “Merry Wives of Windsor.” We were much pleased with the character of Falstaff, a fat knight, full of humour. The next day, at the time appointed, I called upon the head clerk, who told me that everything was arranged according to my wishes; that the hiring of the vessel was according to her tonnage; and he considered that the price offered by the government was fair and liberal; so did I, and immediately accepted it. He then drew from his desk the articles of agreement between the government and the owner of the vessel, and, at the same time, the warrants for Captain Levee and Philip, to act as commander and lieutenant.

“Now, Mr. Musgrave, all you have to do is to sign the first paper, and fulfil the other portion of our agreement.”

I immediately pulled out the bag of money which I had brought with me, and, after counting it over, the clerk gave me his pen to sign the document, and handed to me the warrants for Philip and Captain Levee.

“You have behaved liberally in this affair, Mr. Musgrave,” said the gentleman, as he locked up the bag of money in his desk: “if at any time I can be of use to you, you may command me.”

“I thank you, Sir,” replied I; “I may by-and-by have to ask you to exert your influence in behalf of my brother, that he may obtain the command of one of the king’s ships, and if you can help me, I shall be most grateful.”

“Depend upon it I will,” replied he, “and I beg you will use no ceremony on making the application.”

He then shook hands with me, and I went home. Dinner was over when I came back, but the hostess had put away some victuals for me, and while I was eating them I gave them an account of my success, handing their warrants to Captain Levee and Philip. They could hardly credit me, even when the documents were in their hands, but, pledging them to secrecy, I told them by what means I had been so successful. Whereupon they thanked me, and we then went out to procure the uniforms suitable to their respective ranks, and this occupied us till the evening, when we agreed to go to the cockpit and see the fights between the various animals, with which Philip particularly was much delighted. As we had nothing to detain us in London, and it was necessary that the Arrow should immediately run round to the Nore, we determined, as the uniforms were to be ready on the following day, that the day after that we would return to Liverpool.

NotesEdit

  1. How good a friend he was is interesting grounds for speculation
  2. That is, the prize money
  3. A wonderful archaic gesture
  4. Actually, it was only to "quit the room", however given their verbal altercation he would likely not stand on technicalities if he found them together.
  5. Actually, according to the chapter headings, it was the latter
  6. An interesting assertion, since his lineage or history is never revealed
  7. How captaining a war ship is "without labor" is not immediately obvious, he may mean compared to the labor required of common seamen
  8. A risky proposition: Mutiny is a capital offence!
  9. This suggests they were paid regular wages in addition to prize money, similar to the official service
  10. An accurate accusation, given that she was responsible for inciting most of it an encouraging all of it.
  11. Legally, this makes sense as she is his sucessor
  12. The entire illness was something of a [[w:Deus ex machina|]]
  13. This implies that he had such principles originally and later lost then.
  14. [sic]
  15. The death of all the other hands on board the "Jane and Mary" was most providential in this instance, otherwise one of them might have run across Philip under his new new name and called him by his original assumed name (Which certainly wasn't Erlington) and so blown his cover and hence his brother's
  16. Why not? The likelyhood of them knowing would be minimal, especially with Levee and Trevannion to attest to his assumed one
  17. "Musgrave" is also used, albeit more famously, by [[w:Arthur Conan Doyle|]] in his [[w:Sherlock Holmes|]] story "[[w:The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual|]]".
  18. Total value of both, 84,082.49 GBP
  19. 21,020.62 GBP, or 156¼ pounds
  20. 105 pounds or 14,125.86 GBP
  21. The British Civil Service had not evolved to the point at which this would be a criminal offence
  22. Or slightly less then legal, or regular