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 the conviction of the
impossibility of my now being able to go to the assistance of my poor
sister. I went down into the gunroom and threw myself on a chair, at the
same time tossing the letter to Thompson, the master. He read it over
carefully, and folded it up.
"Upon my word, Simple, I do not see that you have much to fear. These
charges are very frivolous."
"No, no--that I care little about; but it is my poor sister. I had
written for leave of absence, and now she is left, God knows how long,
in such distressing circumstances."
Thompson looked grave. "I had forgotten your father's death, Simple: it
is indeed cruel. I would offer to go myself, but you will want my
evidence at the court-martial. It can't be helped. Write to your sister,
and keep up her spirits. Tell her why you cannot come, and that it will
all end well."
I did so, and went early to bed, for I was really ill.
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