''This
is nearly the spot, my honest tar,' said I to him, 'where I first
embarked for Spain in the brig Industry of this port. It is just
40 years ago, and a rough passage we had of it to Cadiz; we were
all but ashore, one dark night at Cape St. Vincent.
The
captain's name was Lettus; but he must be dead and buried long ago,
for he was then apparently quite at his best; and what with so long
a war, and with so many perils of the sea, no doubt he is safely
stowed away in Davy's locker.'
'I saw him, Sir,' said the tar, 'no later than yesterday morning.'
'And where is he?' said I .
'He is safely moored in the house for poor decayed sea-captains,
and he is as well and as happy as is possible for a man of his years
to be.' I bade my informer good-bye, and having stepped into the
inn for my umbrella; as the weather threatened rain, I went down
the street in quest of my old commander. I found him sitting on
a bench facing the south, with a pipe in his mouth, and I recognised
him at first sight, although disappointment, time, and poverty,
had made deep furrows in his face.
On asking him if he remembered affair he had with a brig bound to
Vigo, about forty years ago; his eye brightened up, and he went
through the whole story with wonderful minuteness.
I then gave him a brief account of the many gales I had weathered
since I bade him farewell at the sally-port in Cadiz; and he, on
his part, told me that our mate, Mr Davis, had got drowned in the
Baltic; and that he himself had continued to buffet the waves for
a mere livelihood till at last, old age and poverty had dismasted
him; but that he was now safe in dock, thanks to the generous people
of Hull; and that he would be comfortable there, in a good snug
berth, with plenty of excellent food, till death should break his
crazy vessel into pieces. [1]
Following
this little echo from the past, the Squire settled his account at
the Victoria Hotel, boarded the Seahorse, and steamed for Rotterdam.
The Victoria Hotel, Kingston-upon-Hull. It was established in the early 1800s.
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