Well, Stephen, you have been wrecked again, I am told? said Kenneth.
So I have, sir; its the sixth time now. Its quite plain I aint born to be drownded. I only hope as how I wont live to be hanged.
I hope not, Stephen. What was the name of the ship?
The Fairy Queen.
The Fairy Queen, echoed Kenneth, with a slight feeling of disappointment; from Australia?
Yes, from Australia.
Did she go to pieces?
Ay, not an inch of her left. She was an old rotten tub not fit for sea.
Indeed! Thats by no means an uncommon state of things, said Kenneth, with some degree of warmth. It seems to me that until men in power take the matter up, and get a more rigid system of inspection instituted, hundreds of lives will continue to be sacrificed every year. It is an awful thing to think that more than a thousand lives are lost annually on our shores, and that because of the indifference of those who have the power, to a large extent, to prevent it. But that is not the point on which I want to speak to you to-day. Was the Fairy Queen bound for this port?
No; for the port of London, said Gaff, with a cautious glance at his questioner.
Then why did she make for Wreckumoft? inquired Kenneth.
Thats best known to the capn, whos gone to his long home, said Gaff gravely.
Were all lost except yourself? pursued Kenneth, regarding his companions face narrowly; but the said face exhibited no expression whatever as its owner replied simply
Its more than I can tell; mayhap some of em were carried away on bits o wreck and may turn up yet.
At all events none of them came ashore, to your knowledge?
I believe that every mothers son o the crew wos lost but me, replied Gaff evasively.
Were none of the children saved?
What childn? asked the other quickly. I didnt say there was childn aboord, did I?
Kenneth was somewhat confused at having made this slip; and Gaff, suddenly changing his tactics, stopped short and said
I tell ee wot it is, young manseems to me youre pumpin of me for some ends of yer own as Im not acquainted with; now, I tell ee wot it is, I aint used to be pumped. No offence meant, but I aint used to be pumped, an if youve got anything to say, speak it out fair and above board like a man.
Well, well, Gaff, said Kenneth, flushing and laughing at the same moment, to say truth, I am not used to pump, as you may see, nor to be otherwise than fair and aboveboard, as I hope you will believe; but the fact is that a very curious thing has occurred at our house, and I am puzzled as well as suspicious, and very anxious about it.
Here Kenneth related all that he knew about the little girl having been left at Seaside Villa, and candidly admitted his suspicion that the child was his niece.
But, said Gaff, whose visage was as devoid of expression as a fiddle figure-head, your brother-in-laws name was Graham, you know.
True, thats what puzzles me; the childs Christian name is Emmathe same as that of my niece and sisterbut she says her last name is Wilson.
Well, then, Wilson aint Graham, you know, any more nor Gaff aint Snooks, dye see?
Yes, I see; but Im puzzled, for I do see a family likeness to my sister in this child, and I cannot get rid of the impression, although I confess that it seems unreasonable. And the thought makes me very anxious, because, if I were correct in my suspicion, that would prove that my beloved sister and her husband are drowned.
Kenneth said this with strong feeling, and the seaman looked at him more earnestly than he had yet done.
Your father was hard on your sister and her husband, if I beant misinformed, said Gaff.
He thought it his duty to be so, answered Kenneth.
And you agreed with him? pursued Gaff.
No, never! cried the other indignantly. I regretted deeply the course my father saw fit to pursue. I sympathised very strongly with my dear sister and poor Tom Graham.
Did you? said Gaff.
Most truly I did.
Hum. You spoke of suspicionswot was your suspicions?
To be candid with you, then, said Kenneth, when I came to see you I suspected that it was you who left that child at our house, for I heard of your sudden re-appearance in Cove, but I am convinced now that I was wrong, for I know you would not tell me a falsehood, Gaff.
No more I would, sir, said Gaff, drawing himself up, and no more I did; but let me tell to you, sir, nevertheless, that your suspicions is crect. I left Emmie Wilson at your house, and Emmie Wilson is Emma Graham!
Kenneth stopped and looked earnestly at his companion.
My sister and brother? he asked in a low suppressed voice.
Dead, both of em, said Gaff.
With a mighty effort Kenneth restrained his feelings, and, after walking in silence for some time, asked why Gaff had concealed this from his family, and how it happened that the child did not know her proper name.
You see, sir, replied the sailor, Ive knowd all along of your fathers ill-will to Mr Graham and his wife, for I went out with them to Australia, and they tuk a fancy to me, dye see, an so did I to them, so we made it up that wed jine company, pull in the same boat, so to speak, though it was on the land we was goin and not the sea. Theres a proverb, sir, that says, misfortin makes strange bed fellows, an I spose its the same proverb as makes strange messmates; anyhow, poor Tom Graham, he an me an his wife, we become messmates, an of course we spun no end o yarns about our kith and kin, so I found out how your father had treated of em, which to say truth I warnt sprised at, for Ive obsarved for years past that hes hard as nails, altho he is your father, sir, an has let many a good ship go to the bottom for want o bein properly found
You need not criticise my father, Gaff, said Kenneth, with a slight frown. Many mens sins are not so black as they look. Prevailing custom and temptation may have had more to do with his courses of action than hardness of heart.
I dun know that, said Gaff, howsever, I dont mean for to krittysise him, though Im bound to say his sins is uncommon dark grey, if they aint black. Well, I wos a-goin to say that Mr Graham had some rich relations in Melbourne as he didnt want for to see. He was a proud man, you know, sir, an didnt want em to think he cared a stiver for em, so he changed his name to Wilson, an let his beard an mowstaches grow, so that when he put his cap on there was nothin of him visible except his eyes and his nose stickin out of his face, an when his hair grew long, an his face was tanned wi the sun, his own mother would have cut him dead if shed met him in the street.
Well, we worked a year in Melbourne to raise the wind. Tom, (he made me call him Tom, sir), bein a clever fellow, got into a store as a clerk, an I got work as a porter at the quays; an though his work was more gentlemanly than mine, I made very near as much as him, so we lived comfortable, and laid by a little. That winter little Emma was born. She just come to poor Tom and his wife like a great sunbeam. Arter that we went a year to the diggins, and then I got to weary to see my old missus, so I left em with a promise to return. I comd home, saw my wife, and then went out again to jine the Grahams for another spell at the diggins; then I come home again for another spell wi the missus, an so I kep goin and comin, year by year, till now.