Poor Jack

"Well," said Mrs. St. Felix, "I shall not forget to make the Spanish claim, and prevent Tom from walking Spanish. The doctor is very inconsiderate; he forgets that Tom's regard for liquorice is quite as strong as his own liking for a cigar. Now, if the doctor don't promise me to have a fresh supply for Tom, I won't let him have a cigar for himself."

The doctor was compelled to surrender at discretion. The next wagon brought down one hundred weight of liquorice, and Tom recovered his health and the smiles of Anny Whistle.

When I left the widow's I proceeded to the hospital to find Anderson and my father. As I walked along I perceived Dick Harness on a bench, who hailed me.

"Well, Tom, I haven't seen anything of you for I don't know how long, since you've taken to a seafaring life. This is a beautiful day, is it not? It makes one feel so happy and cheerful such a day as this. Everybody and everything looks gay, the birds seem so merry, and the little clouds seem to scud away as if their hearts were as light as themselves. Come, sit down a minute; here's a song for you you've never heard, one I don't often sing, because they say it's all about myself."

"Well, then, I should like to hear that."

"Here goes, then.

"Sam Swipes, he was a seaman true,
As brave and bold a tar
As e'er was dressed in navy blue
On board a man-of-war.

"One fault he had—on sea or land
He was a thirsty dog;
For Sammy never could withstand
A glass or so of grog.

"He always liked to be at sea,
For e'en on shore, the rover,
If not as drunk as he could be
Was always 'half seas over.'

"The gunner, who was apt to scoff,
With jokes most aptly timed,
Said Sam might any day go off,
'Cause he was always 'primed,'

"Sam didn't want a feeling heart,
Though never seen to cry;
Yet tears were always on the start,
'The drop was in his eye.'

"At fighting Sam was never shy,
A most undoubted merit;
His courage never failed, and why?
He was so full of 'spirit.'

"In action he had lost an eye,
But that gave him no trouble;
Quoth Sam, I have no cause to sigh,
I'm always 'seeing double.'

"A shot from an unlucky gun
Put Sam on timber pegs;
It didn't signify to one
Who ne'er could 'keep his legs.'

"One night he filled a pail with grog,
Determined he would suck it;
He drained it dry, the thirsty dog!
Hiccupped, and 'kicked the bucket.'"

"There's Bill's fiddle, Dick," said I, getting up; "I thought you would bring him out."

"Yes, I was sure of that. I'll sing another verse or two, and then be off to the park, and leave him in the lurch."

"I can't wait any more, Dick; I must go to my father," said I.

"Well, off with you, then, and I'm off, too. Sing tura la, tura la, tura lura la. Bill's coming down. How savage the nigger will be!"

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

In which my Father proves he can give good Advice as well as Peter Anderson.

I found my father under the colonnade, and inquired of him if Anderson was there.

"No, he's not," replied my father; "he has been sent for by the officers; so stop, Tom—that is, if you can spare a minute for your own father."

"Of course I can," replied I, taking my seat by him.

"Why, you see, boy," said my father, "I have but very little of your company, and I feel it, Tom, I do indeed. I'm not jealous, and I know that Peter Anderson has done more for you than ever I could, for I've no larning to signify; but still, Tom, I am your father, and I don't think Peter, although he may be proud of your turning out so well, can feel exactly for you what a father does. I'm proud enough of you, Heaven knows, and it does hurt me a little when I find that, whenever you come here, it is for Peter Anderson, and it makes me wish sometimes that I had been Peter Anderson instead of your father."

"Indeed, father," replied I, "I hope you don't think that I like Anderson better than I do you; but you recollect that I have been accustomed all my life to take his advice."

"I know it, boy, I know it. I was serving my country and doing my duty on board of a King's ship, and you were left here, and therefore lucky it was that you fell in with old Peter; but, Tom, I could not be in two places at the same time, and if I did not do my duty as a father toward you, at all events I was doing my duty to my country."

"To be sure you were, and it was of more importance than looking after a brat like me," replied I, soothingly, for I really never had the idea that my father could have showed so much feeling.

"Why, Tom, I can't say that I thought so, for the fact is I didn't think about it; indeed, I thought about nothing. Sailors afloat have little time to think; they can't think when it's their watch on deck, for they are too busy; nor at their watch below, for they're too tired; nor at meal-times, for they must look after their share of the victuals; indeed, there is not any time to think on board ship, and that's a fact. But, Tom, since I've been laid up here I have thought a good deal. All is calm and quiet, and one day passes just like the other, and no fear of interruption when one don't wish it—and I have thought a good deal. At first I thought it a hard case to be shoved on the shelf at my age, but I don't think so now—I'm quite satisfied."

"I'm glad to hear you say so, father."

"Yes, Tom. And then, you see, when I was afloat, I didn't think any good of your mother, and I was glad to keep out of her way; and then I didn't care about my children, for I didn't know them; but now I've other thoughts, Tom. I don't think your mother so bad, after all; to be sure, she looks down upon me 'cause I'm not genteel; but I suppose I aren't, and she has been used to the company of gentlefolk; besides she works hard, and now that I don't annoy her by getting tipsy, as I used to do, at all events she's civil; and then I never knew what it was to have children until I came here, and found Virginia and you; and I'm proud of you both, and love you both better than anything on earth; and, although I may not be so well brought up or so well taught as you both are, still, Tom, I'm your father, and all I can say is, I wish for your sakes I was better than I am."

"Don't say so, father. You know that Virginia and I are both as fond of you as you are of us."

"Well, mayhap you are; I don't say no. You are both good children, and at all events would try to like me; but still I do feel that you can't look up to me exactly; but that's my misfortune, Tom, more than my fault. I haven't larning like Anderson, or gentility like your mother. I've only a true heart to offer to you. You see, Tom, I've said all this because you are always after Anderson; not but that I like Anderson, for he's a good man, and has been of sarvice to me, and I don't think he would ever say anything to you that would make you think less of me."

"No, indeed, father; on the contrary, I once asked him his opinion about you, and he spoke most highly of you; and whenever I go to him for advice, he always sends me to you to approve of what he has said."

"Well, he is a good man, and I'm very sorry to have any feeling of envy in me, that's the truth; but still a father must have a father's feelings. Don't let us say anything more about it, Tom; only try next time, when you want advice, whether I can't give it. You can always go to Peter afterward, and see whether I'm right or wrong."

"I will indeed, my dear father, now I know that you wish it."