“How long has he been home?” Horace asked, delighted at the news.
“He only got in last week, sir; his ship got wrecked, and Mr. William turned up without any clothes, or anything except just what he stood up in.”
“Hurrah!” Horace exclaimed, to the astonishment of the woman, and then without another word ran down to the wharfs. He soon saw the figure he was in search of talking to two or three old sailors.
“Hullo, youngster!” Martyn said in surprise, as Horace came up, “where have you sprung from?”
“Off the top of the coach.”
“I suppose so. I have been having a bit of bad luck and lost my ship. We were wrecked off St. Catharine’s Point, at the back of the Isle of Wight, and there were only seven of us saved among a crew of thirty-five all told.”
“Yes, I heard from your servant you had been wrecked,” Horace said. “She didn’t say that any lives had been lost; but I must have astonished her, now I think of it, for I said ‘Hurrah!’ when she told me.”
“What did you say hurrah for?” the mate asked gruffly.
“Because I wanted to find you here, and was so pleased that you were not going to sail away again directly.”
“No,” Will Martyn said gloomily, “it is bad enough to have lost one’s kit and everything, and now I shall have to look about for another berth, for I think the vessel was only partly insured, and as the owners only have one or two ships I expect it will hit them rather hard, and that they won’t have another craft ready for some time, so it will be no use my waiting for that.”