Sylvia's Lovers

Among the pieces of news, the rescue of the smack the night before

furnished a large topic; and by-and-by Philip heard a name that

startled him into attention.

The landlady of a small public-house much frequented by sailors was

talking to Coulson.

'There was a sailor aboard of her as knowed Kinraid by sight, in

Shields, years ago; and he called him by his name afore they were

well out o' t' river. And Kinraid was no ways set up, for all his

lieutenant's uniform (and eh! but they say he looks handsome in

it!); but he tells 'm all about it--how he was pressed aboard a

man-o'-war, an' for his good conduct were made a warrant officer,

boatswain, or something!' All the people in the shop were listening now; Philip alone seemed

engrossed in folding up a piece of cloth, so as to leave no possible

chance of creases in it; yet he lost not a syllable of the good

woman's narration.

She, pleased with the enlarged audience her tale had attracted, went

on with fresh vigour.

'An' there's a gallant captain, one Sir Sidney Smith, and he'd a

notion o' goin' smack into a French port, an' carryin' off a vessel

from right under their very noses; an' says he, "Which of yo'

British sailors 'll go along with me to death or glory?" So Kinraid

stands up like a man, an' "I'll go with yo', captain," he says. So

they, an' some others as brave, went off, an' did their work, an'

choose whativer it was, they did it famously; but they got caught by

them French, an' were clapped into prison i' France for iver so

long; but at last one Philip--Philip somethin' (he were a Frenchman,

I know)--helped 'em to escape, in a fishin'-boat. But they were

welcomed by th' whole British squadron as was i' t' Channel for t'

piece of daring they'd done i' cuttin' out t' ship from a French

port; an' Captain Sir Sidney Smith was made an admiral, an' him as

we used t' call Charley Kinraid, the specksioneer, is made a

lieutenant, an' a commissioned officer i' t' King's service; and is

come to great glory, and slep in my house this very blessed night as

is just past!' A murmur of applause and interest and rejoicing buzzed all around

Philip. All this was publicly known about Kinraid,--and how much

more? All Monkshaven might hear tomorrow--nay, to-day--of Philip's

treachery to the hero of the hour; how he had concealed his fate,

and supplanted him in his love.

Philip shrank from the burst of popular indignation which he knew

must follow. Any wrong done to one who stands on the pinnacle of the

people's favour is resented by each individual as a personal injury;

and among a primitive set of country-folk, who recognize the wild

passion in love, as it exists untamed by the trammels of reason and

self-restraint, any story of baulked affections, or treachery in

such matters, spreads like wildfire.