A voyage in the narrow seas, from which I had returned but a few days before, more than anything else had given me the desire to see service with some foreign nation where a stout arm had more value than a heart set on “paternosters” or psalm books.
In truth, though this trouble was partly of my own making, I had had enough of the merchant service. To go back to Tavistock was not to my liking; for though I had a taste for peace among men I had no stomach for a life of idleness. I had been bred by my father to the sights and smells of the sea, the voice of which was more grateful to my ears than the sounds of the wood-birds which had ever seemed to me mere shrill and noisy pipings. And though in no manner a brawler, a life of enterprise suited me mightily.
As I labored in this quandary, a hand was laid upon my shoulder and a rough voice at my side said heartily, “Why,—is not this Sydney Killigrew of Tavistock?” And turning I saw Master David Hooper, my father’s friend, who went as Master Commander in the last cruise of the Great Harry.
“None other, Captain Hooper!” said I, grasping with great joy his hairy fist. He held me off at arm’s length and looked at me carefully, noting my great stature with evident enjoyment.
“The very image of thy father—though, by my faith, thou’rt built upon a more sumptuous scale. But, lad, what’s wrong? You’ve the air of a farmer’s boy two days from land.”
And with that, after other exchanges of compliments, I told him how the world had gone with me; how our estates had fallen from bad to worse and how little chance there seemed of pursuing the calling upon the ocean I loved and wished for. He heard me through, tapping the while thoughtfully with his fingers upon the pier head.
“Come,” said he at length, “let us go to some place where we can discuss thy affairs at leisure.”
And he led the way from the dock up the street to the Pelican Inn, where seafaring men such as ourselves were wont to go for a pot or so of Master Martin Cockrem’s own brewing. Once seated there in the quiet window seat overlooking the Sound, he questioned me closely as to my disposition in religious and political affairs. Then finding that I was not averse to taking up a true life of adventure upon the sea, he unburdened himself of his own plans for the future.
“You know, lad, of the state of the Royal Navy. Nothing I can say will make you feel that the merchant service is secure from injury at foreign hands. Great Harry, the wonder of all Europe, lies rotting her ribs yonder, and there are no capable ships afloat. France would love well to see us all singing our ave Marias and salves in our deck watches, yet she has no love for the greed of Philip. So I say, lad, there is no present danger.”