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Updated: June 14, 2025
If so, it wasn't Jasper Begg, nor Peter Bligh, nor little Dolly Venn, nor Seth Barker with the bludgeon in his hand. They'd as good as given it up when we came to the pool and stood there like hunting men that have lost all hope. "Done, by all that's holy!" says Peter Bligh, drawing back from the pond as from some horrid pit.
"'Tis a pom-pom, or I'm a heathen nigger!" cries Peter Bligh, half mad at the sight of it. "A pom-pom, and a shield about it. The glory to Saint Patrick that shows me the wonder!" And Dolly Venn, catching hold of my hand in like excitement, he says: "Oh, Mr. Begg, oh, what luck, what luck at last!" I crossed the plateau and saw the thing with my own eyes.
It was time to speak of thanks. "What you've done for us neither me nor mine will ever forget," said I, warmly. "Here's a seaman's hand and a seaman's thanks. Should the day come when we can do a like turn to you, be sure I'll be glad to hear of it; and if it came that you had the mind to go aboard with us aye, and the young ladies, too why, you'll find no one more willing than Jasper Begg."
He answered readily enough that he had never thought of such a thing. "Where you lead, there I follow, Captain Begg," said he. "I shall not be far behind you, rely upon it." "And me not far from the shore when it's 'bout ship and home again," chimes in Peter Bligh. "God go with you, captain, for you are a brave man entirely!" I laughed at their notion of it, and went a little way up the beach.
Yes, Mrs. Begg will be very much missed. She was a capital manager for her husband when he was at sea. Oh yes, shipping is a very great loss." And he sighed heavily. "There was hardly a man of any standing who didn't interest himself in some way in navigation. It always gave credit to a town. I call it low-water mark now here in Dunnet."
Others might be with her and the moment inopportune for our encounter. She walked with slow steps. Care had written its story upon her sweet face. I saw that she was alone, and I put out my hand and touched her upon the arm. "Miss Ruth," said I, so soft that I wonder she heard me "Miss Ruth, it's Jasper Begg. Don't you know me?" She turned swiftly, but did not cry out.
Tam's master, one Charles Begg, was a drunken London workman, who had wandered gradually north; a good shoemaker, but a quarrelsome, rowdy fellow, loving nothing on earth so much as a round with his fists on the slightest provocation.
"Three days in prison, and no man come to me," he said, pathetically; "then I hear your voice. I say it is Captain Begg. I am glad, monsieur, because it is a friend. I break the door of my prison and would come up to you; but no, there is no one in the house; all gone. I say that my friends die if I do not serve them. There are lads with me; but they are honest.
"Jasper," says she, in a whisper that was pretty as the south wind in springtime; "Jasper Begg, how could it be any one else! Oh, we must light a candle, Jasper Begg," says she, "or we shall lose ourselves in the dark."
"The Lord be good to me," cried Peter Bligh, at last; "I can go no farther if it's a million a mile! Oh, Mister Begg, for the love of God, clap a rope about the wild man's legs." I pushed him on over a sloping peak of shale, and told him to hold his tongue. "Will you lie in the pool, then? Where's your courage, man? Another hundred yards and you shall stop to breathe.
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