My dear
Peter, God bless you! You are one of the very few whom I always loved.
God bless you, my boy! and never forget that all I have is at your
command if you come my way."

I thanked him, and saluting the officers, went down the side. As I
expected, when I came on board, the captain demanded, in an angry tone,
why I had stayed so long. I replied, that I was shown down into Count
Shucksen's cabin, and he conversed so long, that I could not get away
sooner, as it would not have been polite to have left him before he had
finished his questions. I then gave a very civil message, and the
captain said no more; the very name of a great man always silenced him.

Chapter LXI

Bad news from home, and worse on board--Notwithstanding his previous
trials, Peter forced to prepare for another--Mrs Trotter again; improves
as she grows old--Captain Hawkins and his twelve charges.

No other event of consequence occurred until we joined the admiral, who
only detained us three hours with the fleet, and then sent us home with
his despatches. We arrived, after a quiet passage, at Portsmouth, where
I wrote immediately to my sister Ellen, requesting to know the state of
my father's health. I waited impatiently for an answer, and by return of
post received one with a black seal. My father had died the day before
from a brain fever; and Ellen conjured me to obtain leave of absence, to
come to her in her state of distress. The captain came on board the next
morning, and I had a letter ready written on service to the admiral,
stating the circumstances, and requesting leave of absence. I presented
it to him, and entreated him to forward it. At any other time I would
not have condescended, but the thoughts of my poor sister, unprotected
and alone, with my father lying dead in the house, made me humble and
submissive. Captain Hawkins read the letter, and very coolly replied,
"that it was very easy to say that my father was dead, but he required
proofs." Even this insult did not affect me; I put my sister's letter
into his hand--he read it, and as he returned it to me, he smiled
maliciously. "It is impossible for me to forward your letter, Mr Simple,
as I have one to deliver to you."

He put a large folio packet into my hand, and went below. I opened it:
it was a copy of a letter demanding a court-martial upon me, with a long
list of the charges preferred by him. I was stupefied, not so much at
his asking for a court-martial, but at th