CHAPTER IX.

GRUBB’S HONORABLE DISCHARGE.

All the night and the next day Brydell’s heart was heavy for his old friend. The next evening at the same time he got leave. The officers knew of Brydell’s affection for Grubb, and he had no difficulty in getting off when they knew where he wished to go.

Walking rapidly along the street from the wharf, whom should Brydell almost run over but Admiral Beaumont with Billy Bowline as always rolling along behind him.

“I was just thinking about you, boy!” shouted the admiral. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Going to see poor Grubb, sir,” answered Brydell, shaking hands with the admiral and nodding pleasantly to Billy Bowline. And then with the admiral’s hand upon his shoulder, standing in the narrow, fast-darkening street, Brydell told of Esdaile’s disgrace and of the terrible blow it was to poor Grubb.

His story was punctuated with explosions of wrath from the admiral, such as “Infamous cad, the boy! Shoot me, but I’d like to get that young villain on a ship of mine! Why didn’t you lick him, sir? Why didn’t you lick him when you found the rascal out? Poor old Grubb—one of the best men I ever knew; ten good men like him will keep a whole ship’s company in order.”

Billy Bowline’s indignation was expressed by sundry snorts, sniffs, and angry hitchings up of his trowsers, but was not the less emphatic because not expressed in the admiral’s vigorous language.

“Come along, sir,” cried the admiral when Brydell had finished his brief account. “I’m going to see Grubb with you.”

The admiral mounted the rickety stairs with his quick step, as alert as Brydell’s. Billy Bowline remained below because, as he whispered to Brydell:—

“There ain’t no love lost between sailors and jirenes, and Grubb, he were the best jirene I ever see; but I don’t reckon as how he keers about seein’ sailor men when he is in trouble.”

After knocking at the door the admiral and Brydell entered Grubb’s little room. By the light of the small lamp they could see him distinctly, and he looked more gaunt, more ashy, and nearer death than the evening before. But he was feebly delighted to see them.

“How’s this, Grubb?” began the admiral in his “quarterdeck voice.” “You must get up. You must get well. You were the best orderly I ever had, and it never occurred to me that you intended getting out of the service like this.”

“Thankee, sir, for your good opinions,” answered Grubb, a light appearing in his sunken eyes, “but I can’t git well.”

“Nonsense, nonsense. You’ve had trouble with your boy; but you must bear up—bear up, sir.”

“Ah, sir, askin’ your pardon, you don’t know what it is to have trouble with your own flesh and blood! I couldn’t abear to be p’inted out as Grubb, the feller whose son was drove out of his class for lyin’. I’m a plain man, sir, and maybe that’s why I hold on to be respectable so hard—I ain’t got nothin’ else. I didn’t think, though, ’twould go so hard with me. I made up my mind in a minute to git out o’ the corps and take off this uniform as I respects and loves. But I didn’t think to fall down in the street, and I know I’ve got a shock as I’ll never get over.”

The admiral could not but believe him. For three or four days Brydell and the admiral went to see Grubb regularly, and so did Dr. Wayne, and it was plain to the most inexperienced eye that the marine was traveling fast out of this world. At last one evening about the usual hour of dusk, when Brydell went in the room he saw that Grubb had started on the great journey. His face was slightly flushed and his eyes bright, and occasionally his mind would wander.

“I’ve been a-waitin’ for you, Mr. Brydell,” he cried in a weak voice. “There’s two things as I want done. One is, I want you to git that little Bible out o’ my haversack hanging up yonder and read them promises about them as believes in Jesus Christ shall live though they die. And the other is, to put my best uniform on me. You see, sir, something’s goin’ to happen; it’s a inspection, seems to me, but my head ain’t clear—yes, it’s a inspection sure. And Private Grubb ain’t never been reported at inspection in twenty-four, goin’ on twenty-five years, as long as I’ve been in the service.”

“Don’t you think you’d better wait until the doctor comes, Grubb?” asked Brydell soothingly.

“Lord, no, sir! I’ve got to be on time—there’s the bugle now, sir”—and indeed a faint echo of the bugle came through the open windows from the Constellation lying out in the harbor, half a mile away. He was so insistent that Brydell went to the closet and took out a new private’s uniform that hung there. He brought it to the bed and laid it down. Grubb began to finger it, and his face changed and his manner calmed.

“I know what ’tis, sir,” he said. “It ain’t no inspection here on earth I’m in for; it’s a inspection by the Great Captain as to how we’ve did our duty. But all the same, Mr. Brydell, I want this here uniform on—because I always said I wanted to die in it. Howsomever, do you think it’s right, as I might get my discharge papers any day, for me to be wearin’ it and bein’ buried in it?”

“I don’t believe anybody in the world would call it wrong, Grubb.”

“Well, sir, I’m glad to hear you say that. It does seem hard if, after I’ve served twenty-four, goin’ on twenty-five years, I’m to die and be buried like a plain cit.[2] And I’d like you to ask the admiral as how if I couldn’t have the right sort of a funeral; you know we give it to old Capps. I ain’t set on the band particklar, but I want the flag on my coffin, and I want to be carried by my messmates. Now will you ask the admiral all about this?”

“Yes,” said Brydell in a trembling voice. Then holding Grubb up by main force he managed to get the uniform on him, the poor fellow helping feverishly and showing unexpected strength. When at last it was done Brydell got the thumbed Bible and read to him those promises of comfort to the dying.

“That’s it, that’s it, Mr. Brydell. Life’s a sort o’ puzzle to me. I don’t know where my boy got his bad ways from,—and I’m afraid he won’t get over ’em,—but if ever you have a chance, I want you to befriend him for the sake of poor old Grubb. Ha! ha! What a funny little shaver you were! I can see you now, sir, the day I grabbed you for tearing up the turf at the navy yard and the way you banged away at me with that little rifle.”

He was getting excited and beginning to toss about on his narrow bed.

“Don’t you think you had better keep quiet and try to go to sleep? The doctor will be here presently,” said Brydell, trying to restrain his tears.

“Well, yes, sir; good-night,” answered Grubb in a pleasant, natural voice.

In a little while the door opened softly and the doctor walked in. He went up to the bed. “He’s asleep, sir,” said Brydell in a whisper. The doctor bent over him and listened for his breathing.

“Yes, he is asleep,” he said after a while. “He will wake no more.”

* * * * * * * *

Brydell told the admiral about Grubb’s last wish.

“It shall be done, by George!” cried the admiral with tears in his eyes.

So poor Grubb, after having served twenty-four, going on twenty-five years, was buried in his uniform and taken covered with the flag to his last resting-place, and nobody asked a word about his discharge papers; the admiral arranged all that.

Behind the coffin of his humble friend walked Brydell, in full uniform; and as he kept the slow step of the funeral march solemnly played by the band, he thought to himself: “This man was a poor uneducated private, but I hope I shall be able to have as good a report to give the Great Captain.”