Sturdy and Strong; Or, How George Andrews Made His Way

by G. A. Henty

When they got up to the cottage they found that Jane Langley had got breakfast prepared. Rashers of bacon were smoking on the table, and a large tankard of beer stood by, for in those days the use of tea had not become general in this country.

"Have you heard, mother," Peter Langley said, "that the boy is to leave us again in forty-eight hours?"

"No, indeed," the old woman said; "but this is hard news. I had hoped that you would be with us for a bit, my boy, for we're getting on fast in life, and may not be here when you return."

"Oh, mother! we will not think of such a thing as that," Harry said. "Father was just saying that he's so seasoned that even time cannot make much of such a tough morsel; and you seem as hearty as he is."

"Aye, boy," Peter said, "that be true, but when old oak does come down, he generally falls sudden. However, we won't make our first meal sad by talking of what might be."

Gayly during the meal they chatted over the incidents of Harry's voyage to India and back. It was his second trip. The lad had had a much better education than most boys in his rank of life at that time, the boatswain having placed him at the age of ten in charge of a schoolmaster at Portsmouth. When Harry had reached that age Peter had retired from the service, and had settled down at Hayling, but for two years longer he had kept Harry at school. Then he had apprenticed him to a firm of shipowners in London, and one of the officers under whom Peter had served had spoken to the heads of the firm, so that the boy was put in a ship commanded by a kind and considerate officer, and to whose charge he was specially recommended. Thus he had not forgotten what he had learned at school, as is too often the case with lads in his position. His skipper had seen that he not only kept up what he knew, but that he studied for an hour or so each day such subjects as would be useful to him in his career.

After breakfast the pair again went out onto the sandhills, Peter, as usual, carrying a huge telescope with him, with which he was in the habit of surveying every ship as she rounded the west of the island and came running in through the channel to Portsmouth. Most of the men-of-war he knew in an instant, and the others he could make a shrewd guess at. Generally when alone with Harry he was full of talk of the sea, of good advice as to the lad's future bearing, and of suggestions and hints as to the best course to be adopted in various emergencies. But to-day he appeared unusually thoughtful, and smoked his pipe, and looked out in silence over the sea, scarcely even lifting his telescope to his eye.

"I've been thinking, Harry," he said at last, "that as you are going away again, and, as the old woman says, you may not find us both here when you come back, it is right that I should tell you a little more about yourself. I once told you, years ago, that you were not my son, and that I would give you more particulars some day."

The lad looked anxiously up at the old sailor. It was a matter which he had often thought over in his mind, for although he loved the honest tar and his good wife as much as he could have done his natural parents, still, since he had known that he was their adopted son only, he had naturally wondered much as to who his parents were, and what was their condition in life.

"I thought it as well," the old sailor began, "not to tell you this here yarn until you were getting on. Boys' heads get upset with a little breeze, especially if they have no ballast, and though it isn't likely now that you will ever get any clew as to your birth, and it will make no difference whether it was a duke or a ship's caulker who was your father, still it's right that you should know the facts, as no one can say when they start on a voyage in life what craft they may fall aboard before they've done. It may be, Harry, that as you intends to stick to the merchant service—saving, of course, that little time you mean to serve on board a king's ship—you may rise to be a skipper, and perhaps an owner. It may be, boy, that as a skipper you may fall in love with some taut craft sailing in your convoy. I've seen such things before now, and then the fact that you might be, for aught you know, the son of a marquis instead of being that of a boatswain, might score in your favor. Women have curious notions, and though, for my part, I can't see that it makes much difference where the keel of a craft was laid as long as it's sound and well-built, there are those who thinks different.