`But when the news come one day, Ned,--that was to Barbados, after I got back there,--that a China trader home'ard bound had been spoke, that had my boy aboard, then, Ned, I took passage in the next ship and came home; arrived at home to-night to find it true, thank God!' said the old man, devoutly.
The Captain, after bowing his head with great reverence, stared all round the circle, beginning with Mr. Toots, and ending with the Instrument-maker; then gravely said:
`Sol Gills! The observation as I'm a-going to make is calc'lated to blow every stitch of sail as you can carry, clean out of the bolt-ropes, and bring you on your beam ends with a lurch. Not one of them letters was ever delivered to Ed'ard Cuttle. Not one o' them letters,' repeated the Captain, to make his declaration the more solemn and impressive, `was ever delivered unto Ed'ard Cuttle, Mariner, of England, as lives at home at ease, and doth improve each shining hour!'
`And posted by my own hand! And directed by my own hand, Number nine Brig Place!' exclaimed old Sol.
The colour all went out of the Captain's face, and all came back again in a glow.
`What do you mean, Sol Gills, my friend, by Number nine Brig Place?' inquired the Captain.
`Mean? Your lodgings, Ned,' returned the old man. `Mrs. What's-her-name! I shall forget my own name
next, but I am behind the present time--I always was, you recollect --and very much confused. Mrs.
`Sol Gills!' said the Captain, as if he were putting the most improbable case in the world, `it ain't the name of MacStinger as you're a trying to remember?'
`Of course it is!' exclaimed the Instrument-maker. `To be sure Ned. Mrs. MacStinger!'
Captain Cuttle, whose eyes were now as wide open as they could be, and the knobs upon whose face were perfectly luminous, gave a long shrill whistle of a most melancholy sound, and stood gazing at everybody in a state of speechlessness.
`Overhaul that there again, Sol Gills, will you be so kind?' he said at last.
`All these letters,' returned Uncle Sol, beating time with the forefinger of his right hand upon the palm of his left, with a steadiness and distinctness that might have done honour, even to the infallible chronometer in his pocket, `I posted with my own hand, and directed with my own hand, to Captain Cuttle, at Mrs. MacStinger's, Number nine Brig Place.'
The Captain took his glazed hat off his hook, looked into it, put it on, and sat down.
`Why, friends all,' said the Captain, staring round in the last state of discomfiture, `I cut and run from there!'
`And no one knew where you were gone, Captain Cuttle?' cried Walter hastily.
`Bless your heart, Wal'r,' said the Captain, shaking his head, `she'd never have allowed o' my coming to take charge o' this here property. Nothing could be done but cut and run. Lord love you, Wal'r!' said the Captain, `you've only seen her in a calm! But see her when her angry passions rise--and make a note on!'
`I'd give it her!' remarked the Nipper, softly.
`Would you, do you think, my dear?' returned the Captain with feeble admiration. `Well, my dear, it does you credit. But there ain't no wild animal I would sooner face myself. I only got my chest away by means of a friend as nobody's a match for. It was no good sending any letter there. She wouldn't take in any