CHAPTER XIV.
"After leaving Downash," said Eastwood, "I went, as was reported,to sea, and what passed there I would willingly hide from all myfriends; suffice it to say, though I always wished to be considered asa gentleman, my manners were so different from what properly belongsto that character, that none would admit me into their company; and Iassociated with the lowest of the crew; spending my time as they did,and oftener drunk than sober. But let me pass over what it pains meto remember; I was more than once or twice nearly drowned by my owntemerity; and two of the ships in which I was, were wrecked, from whichI narrowly escaped with my life. For nearly eighteen years I lived thismiserable life; discharged from ship to ship on account of my behaviour,till at the end of that time I contracted a very severe illness, whichbrought me a little to my senses. I was confined to my bed with arheumatic fever nearly twelve months; three of which I was on board avessel which put me on shore at Hull, in Yorkshire; and though it wasin this country that I was born, I did not know I had any relationsleft there, for I am ashamed to say, I had never inquired for them. Onmy first setting out in life, being taken from home very early, andthe favourite of my schoolmaster, who overrated my abilities when herecommended me to a medical friend of his, to teach me the profession; Ithought myself much above the rest of my family; and on coming to Londonwith my new master, I soon forgot them all. But I am departing from mystory, and relating the follies of my youth instead of those of riperage. Alas! what a retrospection is mine! _You_, Mr. Campbell, can lookback on a well-spent life; _I_ only on infamy!" His silence spoke hisdistress; and Mr. Campbell, wishing to relieve it, said:--
"I think I have heard you mention a brother."
"And it is to that brother," replied Eastwood, "next to DivineProvidence, that I am what I now am. When I first knew you I was ashamedof him, and my pride made me tell you an untruth (Oh, that prideshould descend to such meanness!) in saying that he was in businessfor himself; but at that time he was only a shopman, and not being ofso dissipated and idle a turn as I was, we never met during the time Imentioned. When I was put on shore at Hull, quite a stranger, thoughwithin a few miles of my native place, very ill, and without the use ofmy limbs, or any money in my pocket, except a very small overplus of mypay, which was left after discharging the surgeon's bill, who attendedme on board; my conduct had not been such as to gain me any friendsin the ship, and but for the humanity of one of the common sailors,who got me a lodging at a small public-house, I must have perished inthe streets. But what I suffered was little, _very_ little to what Ideserved. And now I had time to look back and reflect on the past,though I would have drowned reflection as I had often done before, hadnot the people of the house refused to bring me any liquor. I wish toshorten my tale as much as I can, and will only say, that my brother,who had opened a shop in Hull, and was very prosperous in business,heard my name; and his compassion induced him to come and see if it washis brother, who was formerly ashamed to call him by that name; but,poor and wretched as I was, he was not ashamed of _me_. He removed meto his own house, where both himself and his wife treated me with thekindest attention.
"Oh, how is it," said he, interrupting his narrative, "how is it, thatall my life through I have met with the kindest treatment from those ofwhom I least deserved it? and now again I experience it; what can I sayfor myself?
"The best medical aid was procured me, and I had sufficient time, asI said before, to reflect on my past life; and bitter reflectionsthese were. I seemed now for the first time to recollect that I had adaughter; and when sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey,I told my brother I was determined to find her, if she was alive. Ipreferred coming in person to writing, because I could say nothing goodof myself; but my brother told me, that, contrary to every appearance inour younger days, my father had prospered in the small farm he rentedwhen I left him, and had left what little property he died possessedof, between us. 'Your share, and the interest due upon it since hisdeath,' said he, 'shall be yours on your return to Hull; and shouldyou be so fortunate as to find your child alive, let me advise you tosettle it on her; and if my hopes of your reformation are realized, itmay still be in your power to add to it by an attention to business, inwhatever line you choose to enter.'
"I thanked him for his generosity and advice, determined not to acceptthe former, unless I found my child in a situation that needed it.
"I only arrived in this village about six hours back, and, ashamed andafraid to make any inquiry, my first visit was to the grave of my wife,thinking that if my child was also dead, I should see her name upon thesame stone; and then whether I should have proceeded to your house ornot, I cannot tell, but accident threw my child in my way at the veryspot I went to look for her, though I had not the least idea of who shewas, but thought my appearance had alarmed her, as she was passing by."
"Your words, my dear father," said Anna, "assured me who you were,before you saw me; and it was seeing you indistinctly on that spot,which has always been dear to me, and will _now_ be much more so, whichled me nearer to it, that I might discover what it was."
And now the father and daughter, and indeed the whole party, rejoicedat their meeting, and the evening was far advanced before Mr. Campbellrecollected that his wife would be anxious to hear who the stranger was,and hastened home to inform her. A bed was provided for Eastwood in Mrs.Meridith's house, and a servant sent to the public-house for the thingshe had brought with him. Bella and Syphax were informed who he was, andit was soon spread through the village, that "Miss Anna's father wascome, and that he was quite a gentleman, and seemed very sorry for hispast behaviour."
Most of the old folks who remembered his marriage, repaired the nextmorning to Mr. Campbell's, to know if it was really so; and nothing buthis declaring that he had forgiven him, and hoped that he was a reformedman, could have prevented their bestowing some invectives on him, forhis conduct to such a nice young woman as poor Anna Campbell was, andhis neglect of his daughter: but when in about an hour afterwards, theysaw him walk through the village, with Anna on his arm, and observed hisdejected and melancholy looks, they altered their opinion, and thoughtfarmer Campbell was right.
"It is a long lane that has no turning," said one old man; "he looksvery sorrowful, and may be a good father yet; we, have all something tobe forgiven."
"But will he take Miss Meridith away?" was the eager inquiry of all theyounger ones: "What shall we do then?" And great was the anxiety andconsternation in the village, till they knew what would be the result ofthis strange occurrence.
Anna after accompanying her father to the farm, left him there, andreturned to Mrs. Meridith; while all her movements were as minutelywatched by the young villagers, as those of the Emperor Alexander andour other illustrious Visitors, when they lately honoured England withtheir presence.