Owen Prothero, like his sister Netta, had been very much spoilt by his father during his childhood and boyhood. Indeed it would have been difficult not to have spoilt him. Handsome in person, and frank in manners, he was a general favourite. His uncle, the vicar, quite idolised him, and would have lavished a fortune on his education had he been of a studious nature. His mother, alone, conscious of his many faults, strove to correct them, and to counterbalance the undue admiration he received on all sides, by impartial justice in her praises and reproofs.
But we have not much to do with his boyhood, which was wild and untameable; beyond the fact that, when sent by his good uncle to Rugby with a view to his becoming a clergyman, he resolutely declared his intention of going to sea, and ran away from school to effect his purpose. He was captured, however by the masters, and a sharp look-out kept upon him for the future, which prevented further escapades.
He did not make brilliant progress in his studies, though he was clever enough, and accordingly his aunt persuaded her vicar to adopt her favourite nephew, Rowland, in his stead, and to let Owen go a voyage or two in a merchant vessel, to cure him of his love for a seafaring life.
It was Mr Prothero's wish to have one of his two sons a farmer, he did not much care which, so it was with some difficulty that Aunt Jonathan induced him to listen to her proposal of making a clergyman of Rowland. He yielded at last, however, in the hope that when Owen had had enough of the sea, he would come and settle at home, since, next to this, his favourite hobby, he professed to like farming.
Owen was about fifteen when he first went to sea—he was just seven-and-twenty when he came home with the peep-show. During the intermediate twelve years he had been all over the world: not merely as a sailor, but as an adventurer, traveller, speculator, merchant, and wandering Jack-of-all trades. As quickly as he made money, so he lost it, spent it, or gave it away; and when he had no other resource, he worked as a common sailor, or labourer, until some lucky chance opened a passage for some fresh excitement. There is this to be said in his favour. During this long period he was never chargeable to his father in any way. If he got into difficulties, he got out of them pretty easily: if he was in want of bread, which had been frequently the case, his friends at home knew nothing of it. Beyond the regular new outfit, in the way of clothes, that his mother made for him each time that he returned home, he had never had anything from his parents, and resolutely refused it if offered. Always cheerful, hopeful, in high spirits, open as the day, affectionate, and attractive, he was a welcome guest wherever he went. Did he come home in rags, or as now, with a peep-show in his arms, or as once before, with a hurdy-gurdy and monkey, all his old friends made merry, and gave parties in his honour. And whatever the state of his wardrobe or exchequer, he was sure to be in the fields the following day, reaping, hay-making, ploughing, sowing, or even milking, as either of these, or similar avocations, came in his way. Nobody could be angry with him, and his father's lectures, and his brother's reasonings all melted away before the row of white teeth that he was for ever displaying in his joyous laughter.
Of middle height, athletic, sunburnt—with hands almost as brown as his merry brown eyes—with black, long, curly hair, a bushy beard, and plenty of whiskers, a bronze neck from which, in sailor fashion, the blue and white shirt-collar receded—and a broad forehead, showing all kinds of bumps, particularly those of locality over the bushy black eyebrows—Owen Prothero was as fine a type of an English sailor as could be found the broad seas over.
He was in the habit of falling desperately in love with at least one out of every five or six girls that came in his way, and of making frightful havoc in the hearts of females of all ranks and ages. Netta's general inquiry was,—'Well, Owen, who is the last new love?' to which Owen would gravely reply, by a recapitulation of the charms of some fair damsel on whom his affections would be for ever fixed, could he only afford to marry. All his beauties had bright eyes, bright complexions, mirthful smiles, and were very 'jolly,' which seemed to be the word including all that was necessary to make a woman charming in his eyes.
'So, Netta, Howel has come into a fine fortune!' he began one morning, when he and his sister were alone together. 'I suppose he won't think of little cousin Netta now?'
'Oh! indeed,' was Netta's reply with a toss of the head.
'I wish he was here now. He is a fine fellow in his way. I do like Howel.'