There came a day at last when the rats in Redwharf Lane obtained an entire holiday, doubtless to their own amazement, and revelled in almost unmolested felicity from morning till night. The office of Denham, Crumps, and Company was shut; the reason being that the head of the firm was dead.
Mr Denham had died without a will.
At the time when Guy offended his uncle by expressing his opinion too freely, Denham vowed in his heart that his nephew should not inherit his business or fortune. He resolved to leave both to another nephew, the son of a younger brother, at that time in the East India Company’s service. But as death was a contingency inconceivably remote from himself, at least in his own opinion, he did not think it necessary to make his will at that time. He died, therefore, as we have said, without making it.
He died, also, without carrying out any of his good intentions!
It is a common mistake to suppose that a man has only to repent of his evil deeds, and that thenceforth all will be plain sailing. The habits of a lifetime are not to be overcome without a hard struggle, even in the most sincere of Christians.
Denham, after being saved by the Ramsgate lifeboat, had made up his mind to turn his wealth to good account, and, in his philanthropic plans, had resolved to look with special favour on the Lifeboat Institution. But he delayed to carry out these plans. He did not strike when the iron was hot, and so the iron began slowly to cool. He had also determined to reinstate Bax in his employment, and to take Guy into partnership, but he delayed in these matters also. The love of gold and the memory of fancied insults began to tell on him, as of old. He even went so far as to meditate carrying out his former intention of making his will in favour of the nephew in India!
Still Denham did not fall back to his old position. A struggle which began when he resided with his sister at Deal, went on in his breast continually. While this struggle was yet undecided, a fever seized him. His constitution, weakened by the hardships which he had so recently undergone, gave way, and he died.
The result was that the business fell to the next-of-kin,—Mrs Foster, whose son, in the natural course of things, stepped into his uncle’s shoes. The result of this was that poor Denham’s good resolves, and a great many more good resolves than Denham could ever have conceived of, were carried out in a way that would have amazed him had he been there to see it, and that almost took the breath away from old Mr Crumps.
A glance at Guy in his office, not long after his uncle’s death, will show the reader how things were managed by the new head of the firm.
Guy was seated in Denham’s chair, at Denham’s desk, reading and writing what, in former days, would have been Denham’s letters. Presently Mr Crumps entered.
“I was just going to ask you to consult with me,” said Guy; “pray sit down, sit down, Mr Crumps.”
The old man in his modesty meant to stand, as, in former days, he would have stood before Denham.
“Here is a letter from a friend,” continued Guy, “asking for a contribution towards the establishment of a lifeboat on the coast of Wales. He reminds me that I myself was once indebted to the services of a lifeboat when my life was in great danger, and hopes that I will respond liberally to his appeal. His name is Clelland. He was on board the old ‘Trident,’ when she was wrecked in Saint Margaret’s Bay. I made his acquaintance then. Now, what do you think we ought to give? I should like to have your advice on this point, and on several other matters of a similar nature, Mr Crumps, because there has been no regular ‘Charity’ account in our ledger, I find, and I would like to open one. Don’t you think it would be as well to open one?”
Mr Crumps thought it would, and—being a man of naturally charitable and liberal impulses, who had been constantly snubbed by Mr Denham for many years past—he felt overjoyed at the prospect of a new era opening up before him.
“Well, what shall we send to Mr Clelland?” pursued Guy. Mr Crumps, unable all at once to get over old habits and associations, suggested fifty pounds, timidly.
“The district is a poor one,” said Guy; “perhaps, that being the case—”
“Say a hundred,” put in Crumps eagerly (and then, in a partially apologetic tone), “the business can afford it, my dear sir. Heaven knows it is but little that—”
The old man’s voice faltered and stopped. He was going to have made a remark that would have cast a slur on the character of his late partner, so he checked himself and sighed.
“Well, then, it shall be a hundred,” said Guy, jotting down the sum on a slip of paper. “I would not advise more to be given to that particular district just now, because it might tend to check the efforts of the people on the spot. If they fail to raise the requisite sum, we can then give what is necessary. Now, there is an urgent appeal for funds being made just now to the public by the Lifeboat Institution. I think this a good opportunity to give away some of the cash which ought to have been—”
Guy hesitated. He too was about to make a remark that would have been unfavourable to the character of his late uncle, so he checked himself.
“What do you say to giving them a thousand pounds?”
Mr Crumps said nothing to it. He was too much taken aback to say anything; but when he saw that Guy had jotted the sum down, and was apparently in earnest, he nodded his head, blew his nose violently, for a man of his years and character, and chuckled.
“Well, then,” continued Guy, “there is another subject which occurs to me just now, although it does not come under the head of charities. I wish to supply a ship’s lifeboat to every vessel that belongs to us, and a set of life-belts, besides other things. I estimate that this will require a sum of nearly two thousand pounds. Let me see—”
Here Guy began to jot and calculate, and to talk to himself in an undertone, while Mr Crumps, utterly bereft of speech, sat staring in amazement and delight at his young partner.
While they were thus engaged, the tiger in blue who had supplanted Peekins entered, and said that three gentlemen wished to see Mr Foster.
“Show them in,” said Guy. “Sit still, Mr Crumps, I have not yet done with my calculations.”
In a few seconds Bax, Bluenose, and Tommy Bogey were ushered into the office. The latter had become a tall, handsome stripling during his residence abroad, and bid fair to rival Bax himself in stature. They shook hands cordially with Guy and Mr Crumps.
“Well, Bax, is the new ship a good one?” said Guy; “d’you think she will suit you?”
“That will she,” said Bax, with a gratified look. “As the old song says—
“‘She’s a ship that’s as tight to my fancy
As ever sailed o’er the salt seas.’
“I think she will be ready for sea in a couple of months. By that time I will be ready to take command, if you choose to trust her to me.”
“Trust her to you, Bax! Do you think we may trust our new vessel to him, Mr Crumps?” inquired Guy, with a smile.
Mr Crumps, not having recovered the power of speech, nodded his head, and rubbed his hands slowly, a benignant smile playing on his old face the while.
“Well, then,” continued Bax, “Amy, so far from making any objection to going to sea with me, says that she won’t let me go away without her, so that’s settled, and the wedding day is fixed for Monday next week. But I’m not satisfied yet. I want you to do me still another favour, Guy.”
“What is that?”
“To let Tommy Bogey go as supercargo. He’s seaman enough to go as first mate, but he’s too young for that yet. Also, I want to take Bluenose as a free passenger.”
“A free passenger!” said Guy, looking at the Captain with surprise.
“Yes, you see,” said Bluenose, modestly, “I’m raither moloncholy about old Jeph, an’ if Bax and Tommy leave me, I’ll feel quite desarted like. Moreover, I wants to see furrin’ parts—specially the antypodes. But I hain’t blunt enough to pay my passage, d’ye see, and so—and so—”
“In short,” interpolated Tommy, “he’s blunt enough to ask a free one!”
“A1 on Lloyds’!” said Bluenose, looking at Tommy with a broad grin; for the Captain regarded all his nephew’s jokes—good, bad, and indifferent—as being perfect!
It need scarcely be said that Guy readily agreed to their request, and that Mr Crumps was ready to agree to whatsoever Guy proposed.
These matters being happily settled, the trio, having been invited to dine with Guy at a neighbouring chop-house at five o’clock, rose and left the partners to continue their consultation.
From that time forward Bax and Tommy Bogey remained in the service of Denham, Crumps, and Company, and Amy Russell went regularly to sea with her husband. Bluenose was afterwards appointed coxswain to a lifeboat on the coast of Kent where he rendered good service in many a wild storm, and was the means of snatching many a fellow-creature from the devouring sea. His friend Coleman happened to be on the coast-guard station near him; and many a pipe did these two smoke together, under the lee of the boat-house—spinning yarns of other days, chiefly connected with the sea and shipwrecks. Old Coleman had had considerable experience in rough, coast life, and was well able to speak on such subjects. The records of the Lifeboat Institution show that about one-third of the medals and rewards granted for meritorious services are awarded to men of the coastguard. Old Coleman was one of those who had taken his full share of the dangerous work of saving life. He was also gifted with that rare quality—the power of telling a story well, so that he and Bluenose became fast friends and constant companions during their residence on the Kentish coast.
Similarity of tastes and desires drew other members of our tale together, besides Coleman and Bluenose. Old Mr Summers and Mr Clelland, the dark passenger in the “Trident,” found such a strong bond of sympathy existing between them, that they took cottages in juxtaposition in the town of Deal, and went about continually “doing good.” Mrs Foster, Lucy, and Guy were allies, as a matter of course. Rodney Nick improved somewhat in his character, and became a respectable boatman. People said that Mr Burton, the missionary to seamen, had something to do with this improvement. It is not improbable that he had. But Long Orrick died as he had lived,—a notorious and incorrigible smuggler.
Peekins was changed from a tiger into a clerk; and, in process of time, came to keep the books of that celebrated firm in which he had originally figured as a spider in blue tights and buttons.
Bax and Tommy sailed together for several years. They also engaged in mercantile ventures to China on their own account, and were so prosperous in their career that they realised ample fortunes, and finally settled near each other on the coast of Kent.
Here they resumed their old career of saving human life. They became noted as men who were ready to devise and prompt to act in cases of emergency. They helped to man the lifeboat in their neighbourhood when occasion required. They were the means of establishing a library and a mission to seamen, and were regarded as a blessing to the district in which they dwelt.
They were literally heroes of the coast, for they spent their time in doing good to those whose lot it is to brave the dangers of the deep and sweep the stormy sea.
The End.
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