1830.] The Pressed Man: a Tale of the Coast. 539 



It was already twilight when, leaving the inn, I took the well-remem- 

 bered path to the churchyard, to gaze, for the first time, on a head-stone 

 I had caused to be engraved with the humble names of my parents, and , 

 of an only and much loved sister, who had shared the dawn of my pro- 

 sperity, and presided at the first table I could call my own. Business, 

 tyrant business, had forbidden my travelling 150 miles to pay the last 

 sad honours to their remains ; and I now shed my first tears over the 

 place of their rest. But this is not my tale. The moon had risen, and 

 I was still pacing the avenue of limes which led to the church porch, 

 when my ear was startled by the single bell, of which its steeple boasted 

 tolling minute bells. Torches soon after gleamed in the distance, and 

 two coffins, one arrayed in all the pomp and heraldry of aristocratic woe, 

 the other, humble as its cold inhabitant, were borne into the same isle, 

 and deposited side by side in the same vault. The unusual hour, the 

 glare of torches, added solemnity to a scene always awful ; and here a 

 half frantic female, carried fainting from the vault, into which no per- 

 suasions could prevent her descending, heightened a picture which 

 wanted not her soul-harrowing shriek to deepen its melancholy traits. 



The figure and whole appearance of one among the mourners had 

 powerfully attracted my attention, and at length, when all were dis- 

 persing, I ventured to say, speaking rather to myself than him, " Is 

 that, or is it not, Kit Missen ?" " Who hails ?" was the instant reply. 

 " Who hails ? Why, Will Thornton !" " Will Thornton ! no, that be 

 d d (that I should say so, and but just seen my master under ground), 

 Will Thornton '& dead, or turned tailor years ago." 



" I am sorry to hear that. Who was it then that watched all night 

 with you, Kit, for the laughing Jenny, and helped to pilot her into the 



cove, when Ned Needham had jammed his ?" 



" By G d, this must be Will Thornton, or the devil in his likeness. 

 Why, how fares it, old messmate ? Many a long cruise, and a hard one 

 too, since we last parted company. Well, and how stands it on the 

 purser's books but no matter, well or ill, come along with me and we 

 will freshen the nip, and have a yarn of old times, as long ay, as long 

 as the main-top bowline and signal halyards spliced." 



A few words of explanation sufficed to rejoice the heart of the honest 

 tar, who, ten years my senior, had erst been my instructor alike in the 

 rigging of a cutter, and the occasional mysteries of a moonlight watch 

 among those who (God forgive them!) thought brandy and tobacco none 

 the worse flavoured for not having paid the king's duty. He freshened 

 his nip with me at the inn, and from his explanation of the scene we 

 had just quitted arises my story. 



" Why, look ye, master Will, it is not that I am going to say any thing 

 agen pressing. I knows it 's a damned hard line for a poor fellow to be 

 hauled out of his own craft and clapped aboard a king's ship, with the 

 articles of war on one side of him, and the boatswain's daughter on 

 t' other, whether he will or no. But then, this here 's the case. If so 

 be the king's majesty, God bless him, wants hands; and the parly vous, 

 God d n them, want licking, why he as won't sarve voluntare-ily 

 must be made to sarve. But there 's reason in all things, as our old 

 boatswain used to grumble between his gums, when the skipper swore 

 the yards wer'n't squared sharp enough. And I am sure if the history 

 of those two poor fellows as we just saw laid alongside of each other in 

 their last berth was known, it would make some of our leeftenants more 



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