Chapter Two.
Captain Leicester hears Bad News.
In the meantime, the Industry having come to an anchor in Portsmouth Harbour, Captain Leicester, waiting only to see the sails properly furled, jumped into the boat and hurried away to his owner’s residence.
Here he was detained for more than an hour, the individual he was desirous of seeing happening to be absent, “but expected back immediately,” according to the statement of the solitary clerk who occupied the little front room which did duty as an office.
The owner of the Industry having at length turned up, her captain was instructed to haul alongside the wharf forthwith, in readiness to begin discharging her cargo the first thing next morning. So George Leicester, greatly to his disappointment, had to return on board once more; and it was not until the clocks were striking seven that, the schooner having been duly hauled alongside the wharf and securely moored thereto, her commander felt himself at liberty to leave her and set out upon a pilgrimage to Alverstoke. But for the delay thus occasioned, the events herein recorded would probably never have occurred, those of them at least which chiefly concern Captain Leicester.
Let us take a good look at our hero as he stands for a moment in the golden evening light on the planks of the wooden structure which, supported by ricketty, worm-eaten piles, does duty as a wharf. Like a thorough seaman as he is, he is taking a last glance at the schooner before he leaves her, to see that everything is thoroughly “ship-shape and Bristol-fashion” on board her. She is a small and somewhat insignificant craft; but as George has sailed in her for the last four years of his life—two years as mate and two more as master—he has become attached to her, looking at her faults with a lenient eye, and striving to conceal them as much as possible from others. As he stands, with his hands lightly crossed behind him, his legs a trifle apart, and his eye wandering critically over the Industry’s hull and rigging, we see him to be a man of about five feet eight inches in height, with a well-knit figure, regular features, dark hair and eyes, the former surmounted by a jaunty crimson worsted cap with a silk tassel on its drooping end, and tied into a queue behind with a bow of very broad black silk ribbon, short black whiskers on each side of his face, with a clean-shaven upper lip and chin. He is clad in a wide-skirted coat of fine blue cloth, trimmed with large gilt buttons, and worn open to show the kerseymere waistcoat beneath, the long flaps of which are confined by a broad belt. He wears a white silk kerchief round his throat, lace ruffles at his wrists (in honour of his projected visit to his lady-love), and his nether man is encased in knee-breeches, white stockings, and shoes with large silver buckles. There is a frank, pleasant look in the keen dark eyes, and an expression of firmness about the closed lips which makes most people feel, when they look at him, that they would much rather have him for a friend than for an enemy. Altogether, as far as physique is concerned, he certainly has the advantage of Lieutenant Walford. As to the comparative moral qualities of the two men, the reader will have abundant opportunity to judge for him—or her—self.
Unfortunately, however, for his own and Lucy Walford’s peace of mind, George Leicester is not only unaware of this superiority on his own part, but he strongly suspects it to be all on the other side. He has made Walford’s acquaintance, having met him, perhaps, some half a dozen times in all, at “Sea View,” and, despite his simplicity, he has had no difficulty in recognising in the lieutenant a would-be rival. And this is just where his own modesty and self-depreciation have played him a scurvy trick. He has noted Walford’s easy, nonchalant bearing, and his two or three flashy accomplishments; he has noticed, too, that the lieutenant is not altogether devoid of good looks, and has jumped—all too hastily, as we are aware—at the conclusion that, where a woman is concerned, a plain, straightforward, honest sailor can have no chance against a dashing soldier like the lieutenant. At the same time, he has by no means given up the chase, nor ever will, so he tells himself, as long as Lucy is free. Over and over again has he been upon the point of speaking out and learning his fate, and over and over again has he hesitated and closed his lips, deeming the occasion unpropitious, or fearing to learn that which will make the remainder of his life a blank to him.
But now he has resolved to delay no longer. He has been screwing up his courage to the sticking-place during the whole of the passage from Waterford to Gosport, and when he stepped from the rail of the Industry on to the wharf, he was on his way to Alverstoke to learn his fate.
Satisfied at last that everything was right on board the schooner, Leicester turned away and directed his steps up High Street, and thence out on to the Stoke Road. Alverstoke church-clock struck eight just as he came in sight of it; and the next moment he saw, far ahead of him, a man dart round the corner and come swinging along the road towards him at a tremendous pace. Distant as the man was, Captain Leicester had no difficulty in recognising in him his dreaded rival, Lieutenant Walford. He guessed at once that the lieutenant had been visiting at “Sea View;” but what struck him as strange was that Walford’s appearance and bearing was that of a man in a towering passion. Almost immediately afterwards, however, he decided that he must have been mistaken in supposing this, for as Walford looked up and recognised him he stopped dead in the road for a moment, and then hurried towards the skipper with outstretched hand and a beaming face.
“My dear Leicester, how are you?” Walford exclaimed with effusion, as he grasped the seaman’s hand and wrung it heartily. “How glad I am to see you. When did you arrive?”
“This afternoon only,” was the answer. “Have you been to ‘Sea View’ lately? There is nothing wrong there, I hope?”
“Wrong, my dear fellow! No. Why do you ask?”
“Well, when you rounded the corner just now you were walking at such a terrific pace, and looked so much as though you were greatly upset about something, that I feared there had been an accident at ‘Sea View,’ and that—”
“That I was hurrying off for the nearest doctor, eh? Well, you may set your mind at rest, my dear boy; nothing is the matter. I have just left Mrs Walford’s, and both she and Lucy are in excellent health, I am glad to say. It is deuced kind of you, though, to take such a warm interest in them, and I thank you for it with all my heart. You are a prime favourite there, I can tell you, my lad; I have been frightfully jealous of you for a long time, but now I shall never be so any more. Lucy—darling girl that she is—has had pity upon me at last, and has condescended to set all my fears at rest; so you may congratulate me if you like.”
“Upon her having—accepted you as—as—her future husband?” gasped Leicester, white to the very lips.
“Exactly; I knew you would be glad to hear it, being an old friend of hers,” was the reply. “But mum’s the word for the present. Our regiment is ordered away to the West Indies at once, so Lucy wishes the engagement to be kept secret until I can return home to claim her. Well, I must be off; you are going to ‘Sea View,’ I suppose? Don’t mention our conversation there, please; I should not like Lucy to know that I have already been prating of the engagement; if she feels inclined to tell you of it herself, of course that is another thing.”
“All right, I’ll not say a word about it, you may rest assured,” answered Leicester, as he suffered his hand to be clasped in farewell; “in fact, I don’t suppose I shall have an opportunity to mention it to them; I am not going to call there to-night, and I may not have time to call there at all, as I shall be very busy during the next few days. I—I am—thinking of giving up the Industry and going—somewhere—abroad, myself.”
“Are you?” ejaculated Walford with great heartiness. “Well done; I am glad to hear you say so. A fellow with your pluck and sinews was never intended to potter about in a trumpery little coaster. Well, good-bye.”
The two men separated; Walford to chuckle and exult over the complete success of his suddenly planned ruse, and Leicester, with all hope and brightness gone out of his face, to saunter despondently along the road and back to Gosport, by way of Haslar Common, avoiding “Sea View” altogether.
So Lucy was lost to him! Well, after all, it was no more than he had dreaded all along; he had been a fool, and worse than a fool, to suppose that he, a plain, unpolished seaman, could possibly have a chance of success when pitted against a fellow like Walford—curse him! No—no, not that, he did not mean that; why should he curse the man to whom Lucy had given her young, fresh love? Still it was very hard to bear—very hard; he hoped the fellow would treat her well; if not, let him look to himself. But why should not Walford treat her well? Who could do otherwise? Who was there in the whole wide world who could find it in his heart to be anything but kind and loving and tender to her? And yet—Psha! Who was he—George Leicester—that he should judge another man? True, he had heard some very queer stories about this same Lieutenant Walford, but doubtless they were all fabrications; Lucy was not the girl to love a man of whom such things could possibly be true. And as to his (Leicester’s) own feelings of distrust and dislike, why they were after all only the natural outcome of his jealousy, and were certainly not to be relied upon as indicating faultiness of character in his successful rival. Still, argue as he would, he had his doubts, and he could not dispel them, and—well, it was a hard blow, coming so suddenly, too; it was difficult to bear it patiently even now, and he had a shrewd suspicion that it would be still more difficult to bear by-and-by, when he fully realised the extent of his loss.
But it was no use fretting over it; the question was, “What was now to be done?” He could not possibly live on the old humdrum life any longer. He must have excitement and activity, plenty of both, to keep his mind occupied, and to prevent his fretting over his disappointment. “Yes, that was a happy inspiration which had led him to tell Walford he intended giving up the Industry; that must be his first act. And after that? Well, after that he would look about him, and if he could pick up a tidy little vessel cheap; he would invest his savings in the purchase of her, sail in his own employ, and try to stifle all vain regrets by plunging into a more adventurous mode of existence.”
So ran George Leicester’s thoughts as he made his way back to the Industry.
Meanwhile, Lucy, having given one lover his congé waited with loving impatience but in vain, for the appearance of the other.
On the following day, the master of the Industry waited upon his owner, a Mr Winter, and requested his discharge. Mr Winter was both surprised and chagrined at the news that he was to lose so well-tried and faithful a servant as George; but, finding our hero inflexible in his resolution, he could, of course, do nothing but accede to his request, which he did at last with a very good grace.
“And now,” said Mr Winter, when the accounts had all been gone through and squared up, “since you are quite determined to go your own wilful way, I suppose I must do what I can to help you. You will go to London, of course, to look out for this ship that you propose to purchase; and I will give you a letter to a Mr Roberts, a ship-broker and a friend of mine, who has an office in Great Saint Helen’s. He is pretty sure to have or to know of something which will suit you; he is a thoroughly straightforward, honourable man, will do his best to suit you, and will charge you nothing; the seller is the man who will have to pay him his commission.”
George duly thanked Mr Winter for his kindness, received the letter, and on the following morning crossed over to Portsmouth, and booked himself to London on the “Highflyer” coach.
The next day found our hero at an early hour in Leadenhall Street, seeking for the whereabouts of Great Saint Helen’s. A clerk, going in that direction on his way to business, pointed out the place, and, turning into the narrow court, George soon found the office of which he was in search.
Mr Roberts was busy perusing a large pile of papers when his visitor was shown in, and he begged to be excused for a moment whilst he completed his task. This was soon done, whereupon Mr Roberts rang two distinct strokes upon a small hand-bell, and a clerk entered in response.
“Here, Wilson,” said the ship-broker, handing over the pile of papers, “take these. You will find from the notes I have jotted down upon this sheet of paper what to do with them. Now, sir,” turning to George, “what can I have the pleasure of doing for you?”
George briefly explained his business, and handed over Mr Winter’s letter of introduction, which Mr Roberts rapidly glanced through. Then the little bell was struck once, and another and much more substantial-looking clerk made his appearance.
“Bring me List A, if you please,” said Mr Roberts.
“List A,” a large leather-bound volume, was brought in and laid upon the table before the ship-broker, who at once opened it, and began to run his fingers slowly down an index. Then he rapidly turned up an entry in the book itself, and read out—
“‘Challenger—brig; 450 tons; softwood built, iron-fastened, sheathed with zinc; nine years old; well found in sails, ground-tackle, and all necessary stores, ready for sea. Price 1800 pounds.’ How will that do? She is really a very decent vessel of her kind, and exceedingly cheap at the price.”
“We might take a look at her,” remarked George, “but her description does not sound very inviting.”
Another reference to the index, another turning up of an entry, and—
“Well, what do you think of this? ‘Lucy—brigantine; 520 tons; oak-built, coppered, and copper-fastened throughout; has only been to sea twice; excellent sea-boat, very fast and weatherly; fully found in every respect, and quite ready for sea. Price 2500 pounds.’”
“That sounds very much better,” answered Leicester, who, to tell the truth, was almost as much taken with the name as anything else; “but I don’t particularly admire the rig.”
“Umph!” ejaculated Mr Roberts, pursing up his lips and referring to the index once more. “Um, um, Maid of the Mist—Lizzie—Highland Lass—Enterprise—ah! yes; perhaps this will do. ‘Enterprise—brig; seven years old, oak-built, iron-fastened, 350 tons register, will carry 600 tons dead-weight; well found. Price 2200 pounds. Requires a few trifling repairs amounting to possibly 500 pounds.’ How does that strike you?”
“Not very favourably,” was the reply.
“Well, let’s try again,” remarked the ship-broker. “I know I can suit you.”
Another reference to the index, then a sudden sharp closing of the book, with the muttered ejaculation, “The very thing! What a donkey I am not to have thought of her before.”
Then a single stroke on the bell, followed by the reappearance of the substantial-looking clerk.
“Bring me in the inventory of the Aurora, if you please; that paper that was left here by Mr Sutton yesterday.”
The document was brought in, and Mr Roberts at once handed it over to his client with the remark—
“There, my dear sir, just run your eye over that; if the Aurora won’t suit you, nothing will. She is a capital little ship; I know her well. Her owner, poor fellow—who is captain of her also—had the misfortune to lose his wife last voyage—washed overboard somehow in a gale of wind—and it has so upset him that he has resolved to cut the sea altogether and everything connected with it. He is even willing to sell at a great sacrifice, so as to get rid of the ship as soon as possible. Great bargain, captain; most extraordinary bargain; never get another such a chance.”
“That looks much more promising,” said George, returning the paper. “Where is she, and when can I see her?”
“London Docks—see her in an hour—I’ll take you down on board at once,” was the reply.
And merely stopping to change his coat, and give some instructions to his clerks, Mr Roberts invited George to follow him; and, getting into the street, they hailed the first hackney-coach which passed, and in a few minutes were jolting along on their way to the London Docks.
Dismissing the coach at the dock gates, Mr Roberts inquired of the gate-keeper where the Aurora was to be found.
“Inside ship, fourth berth, north side,” answered the man, pointing out the direction they were to take.
They soon found the vessel, and George, standing on the edge of the dock wall, saw before him a pretty little barque of some four hundred and odd tons, copper-bottomed, with a flush deck fore and aft, a fine set of spars, and such a shapely hull as set his eyes glistening. He walked away from her and knelt down so as to take a good look at her “run;” then went ahead of her to see what her bows were like; and finally, very much prepossessed in her favour already, went on board, accompanied by Mr Roberts.
Here they were received by the ship-keeper, who at once led the way into the cabin. This proved to be an exceedingly snug and comfortable apartment, not very large, yet roomy enough, and very tastefully fitted up. Abaft this they found the captain’s cabin, a room some twelve feet long, and the entire width of the ship, well lighted—there being both a skylight and stern-ports—and fitted up in a style which gave unmistakable evidence of the refined taste of the former captain’s poor drowned wife. From the cabin they proceeded to the forecastle, and from thence into the hold, George all the time peering about everywhere for signs of weakness or bad workmanship, without finding any. Having at length satisfied himself as to the soundness of the hull, he went aloft and gave to the spars and rigging a careful examination. Here, too, everything was perfectly satisfactory; and when he at length stepped down out of the rigging on to the deck, he nodded approvingly to Mr Roberts and said—
“All right; I’ll take her.”
“Glad to hear you say so, captain,” was the cheery reply; “she is a capital little craft, and I’m sure you’ll like her. Now—as it is nearly two o’clock—what say you, will you come and take dinner with me?”
Leicester acquiescing, they made the best of their way to the eating-house which Mr Roberts patronised, and, while discussing the meal, made arrangements for the completion of the purchase.
The meal ended, George wended his way back toward the dock, and, turning into Nightingale Lane, established himself in tolerably comfortable quarters in a boarding-house kept by a widow, whose husband had been what she called a “sea-captain.”
On the following day Captain Leicester paid over the full amount of the purchase-money, receiving in return the ship’s register properly endorsed; and that same evening he found himself the undisputed owner of the Aurora.
His next task was to secure a freight. This he had no difficulty in doing—in fact he had his choice of some half a dozen—and by noon he had accepted a charter for the conveyance of a general cargo to Kingston, Jamaica; to commence loading at once. Having completed the business, he hurried away to the shipping-office, and was fortunate enough to secure the services of a very promising-looking mate, who undertook to establish himself on board forthwith, so as to be on the spot in readiness to receive the cargo as it came down to the ship.
George now found himself comparatively at leisure, and he had at one time serious thoughts of running down to Gosport, were it only for a day, just to see Lucy once more, and bid her good-bye. Well would it have been for both of them had he done so. But on reconsidering the matter, he arrived at the conclusion that no good could possibly come of any such proceeding, whilst the sight of Lucy would only too certainly increase the pangs of regret he already so keenly felt at his failure to win her; so he eventually decided to remain where he was, and occupy himself in watching the stowage of the cargo.