At the appointed time the "Merry Andrew" weighed anchor, and started for China. Joshua rubbed his hands, and thought with a light heart of his pretty Ellen and his friend Dan, and his old mother and father, and that good friend the Old Sailor. He saw himself walking along the familiar street in Stepney, and saw all the neighbors running out to greet him, and saw Ellen, his own dear little wife, fluttering into his arms, and nestling there as prettily as could be. What wonder that his face grew bright, and that he went about his work with a cheerfulness that brought a darker scowl into the face of the Lascar! This worthy had not advanced a single step towards the furtherance of the scheme to which he had in a sort of measure pledged himself to Solomon Fewster before he left Gravesend. True, he had gone on board the "Merry Andrew" with the vaguest of ideas as to the manner in which he should be able to carry out his intentions regarding Joshua. The fact was, that he had been only anxious to get away from England for a time; the brawl in which he had been engaged and had used his knife was a serious one, and he was frightened for his own safety. But he had played his cards cunningly with Solomon Fewster, and had succeeded in extracting money and valuables from his cowardly master; thus providing for his safety, and putting money in his purse at the same time. Joshua had kept a sharp eye upon him during the whole of the voyage, and he was compelled to be careful and wary for he knew that Joshua was a favorite with the captain, and that he would be clapped in irons upon the first sign of insubordination. Then he was disappointed in finding that not another sailor on board but himself owed Joshua a grudge, or was envious of him; so that he was alone in his hate until that instinctive understanding took place between him and the second mate Scadbolt, which made Joshua a mark for their mutual animosity. The Lascar would have dearly liked to do Joshua an ill turn; but he could not see his way to the accomplishment of his wish. But even from this thwarting of his desire he derived a kind of malicious satisfaction; for he could not help thinking with pleasure of the dismay and disappointment Solomon Fewster would experience when Joshua came home safe and sound. He could not help chuckling to himself as he thought, "What a way he'll be in when the 'Merry Andrew' gets into Blackwall, and how he'll storm and swear! But he'd better mind what he's about with me. I owe him one for that threat of giving me into custody for stealing the things he gave me." Certainly no such sentiment as "Honor among thieves" found place in the breast of the Lascar.
And Minnie? She had not calculated the effect of living within herself, as she had been compelled to do. Loving Joshua as she did with all her heart and soul, she had deceived herself by believing that she would be happy if she were only in the ship with him. Happy she would have been, had he known her and spoken kindly to her; but the gulf that divided them seemed to her to be wider than it would have been had thousands of miles of ocean been between them. She had time for reflection on board ship; and reflection, although it did not turn the current of her love, nor lessen it, added to her misery. At one time during the voyage she had been so unhappy that she was almost on the point of throwing herself overboard; and indeed had she known of the marriage between Joshua and Ellen she might really have done so. Happily for her she was not aware of the marriage, and was spared the contemplated sin. But she was on a rack of love and doubt, and was truly unhappy in the present, and despairing in the future. She went about her work in a dull mechanical way, keeping aloof from every one, and never going on deck unless her duties called her there. Mrs. Liddle saw that the poor girl was miserable, and questioned her. But here Minnie's rebellious nature came into play; she shut her heart against the proffered sympathy, and returned cold answers to her mistress's kind questions. Mrs. Liddle was sorry, but not offended; she saw that the girl was struggling with a great grief. "A love affair, depend upon it John," she said to her husband; and she respected Minnie's desire not to have her confidence openly intruded upon. Minnie's behavior on board inspired Mrs. Liddle with the conviction that her maid was a thoroughly good girl, and she could overlook a great deal in a girl who behaved so well. And notwithstanding Minnie's retired behavior, she was an object of interest to all. The officers and sailors called her "the shy beauty," "the pretty gypsy-maid," "the brown-faced little beauty;" and, when she came towards them with her eyes downcast, made way for her with almost as much deference as they did for the captain's wife. But she spoke no word to any one of them, and lived her life of self-imposed isolation in grief and silence.
The wind was fair, and a favorable voyage was anticipated. Sail after sail was clapped on, and Captain Liddle walked up and down the deck with a beaming face and in a state of high satisfaction. Five of the passengers were below in the first agonies of sea-sickness. Four were on deck--the two friends, James Heartsease and Harry Wall, Stephen Homebush, and Rough-and-Ready. The friends had travelled too many thousands of miles upon the ocean to be troubled by sea-sickness now; they had struggled with and vanquished that fell enemy years ago. Rough-and-Ready was not the sort of man to give in; he treated sea-sickness as he treated every thing else that came to him in a threatening shape--he laughed in its face. Perhaps previous experience enabled him to do so with impunity. Stephen Homebush was not so fortunate. He had a large stock of bile, and (speaking after the manner of a well-known great man) when he had got rid of a great deal, he would have a great deal left. He certainly got rid of a great deal upon this occasion; and accustomed as he was to wrestle against yearnings of the flesh and terrible foes, this foe was too powerful for him, and this yearning of the flesh sent him into a deep pit of tribulation from which he saw no chance of escape. Some kind friend had advised him not to go below when he was attacked; and in accordance with that advice he remained on deck, possessed by a spirit so fiendish as not only to set at naught the pious exhortations of the worthy Stephen, but even to change words of piety into utterances that sounded very like anathemas. Even in the midst of his agony, he looked round for some one, as was his wont in his happier moods, upon whom to pour the vials of his spleen; for Stephen Homebush had this peculiar conviction with respect to himself. His invariable verdict when tribulation visited other persons was, that it was a just punishment--it was a visitation of the Lord. But there was no such acknowledgment regarding any vexation by which he was afflicted. In that case his opinion was, that he was suffering for the sins of others, and the conviction was to him a sufficient proof of his own worthiness and of the wickedness and unworthiness of every other person. He looked round for some one on whom to vent his spleen; but no person met his eye but Rough-and-Ready, whose merry face and cheerful manner were an additional sting to the miserable Stephen. Rough-and-Ready nodded encouragingly to the pale-faced Stephen, who was leaning against the bulwarks, and said cheerfully, and really from no ill-natured motive--
"You will be better by and by, Mr. Homebush. Besides, it will do you good."
These last words were unfortunately chosen; for the afflicted Stephen--who had heard the discreditable stories attached to Rough-and-Ready, and who had already judged him as a sinner of the first magnitude--glared at the speaker, and said with difficulty, "Scoffer, sinner!"
He intended to add, "Repent!" but a sudden paroxysm compelled him to confide that exhortation to the waves.
Rough-and-Ready laughed gayly, and turning on his heel, met the captain, and fell into step with him.
"Some of the sailors are grumbling," observed Rough-and-Ready, "because we have set sail on a Friday."
"Grumble!" exclaimed Captain Liddle, pettishly. "Ay, and they'll grumble till the end of the voyage. I have had that sort of thing occur to me before. This is the fifth time I have started on a Friday, and nothing more unusual ever occurred than occurred at any other time. But the men wouldn't believe it, and won't believe it now. If a head-wind comes, it is because we set sail on a Friday; if we're becalmed, because we set sail on a Friday; if there's a squall, because we set sail on a Friday; if a man tumbles overboard, because we set sail on a Friday; if we lose a spar, if a sail is split, because we set sail on a Friday. I do believe, if one of them cuts his finger, he thinks, 'Curse the skipper! What the something unmentionable did he set sail on a Friday for?'"
"I have no doubt, skipper," said Rough-and-Ready, smiling and pointing to Stephen Homebush, whose head was hanging over the bulwarks, as if its owner were curiously interested in the swelling of the waves, "that Mr. Homebush is quite ready to side with the men, and to declare that he is sea-sick because you set sail on a Friday."