I have heard it said, reader, that there was not much romance about the merchant service; that, like the glory of war, it all clung to the Royal Navy. This is not quite true, and were I but to describe one half the adventures—none very wild, perhaps—and half the fun we had for the next four years of our life at sea, giving an account at the same time of the storms and dangers we encountered, and a pen-and-ink picture graphically told of the lovely lands and seas we made the acquaintance of, it would be one of the most readable books ever printed. But I have that to tell of poor Jill and myself which I believe will be far more absorbing than the every-day events in the life of a sailor.
Our voyage, then, to Bombay was all that could be desired. Now that Jill and I really felt ourselves to be seafarers in the strict sense of the word, we settled down to our life, and began to enjoy it.
This is a feeling that comes sooner or later to all who make going to sea their profession, and it is born of the fact that your ship becomes your home; so that on shore you always feel out for the day or the week, as the case may be, but as soon as your foot is on deck you feel back and settled down. It is this feeling I doubt not which makes every true sailor love his ship.
From Bombay we went to China, and thence to Sydney, and it was there the great grief found us, a grief which made Jill and I feel we had left our boyhood behind us and grown suddenly old.
We had lost our father!
He had died, as heroes die, fighting at the head of his regiment, sword and revolver in hand, against fearful odds.
I shall not dwell on this sorrow; it had better be imagined. It was Mrs Coates who broke the news to us, after taking us below to our cabin. She let us weep as young orphan brothers would, in each other’s arms, unrestrained for a long time, before she broke gently in with the remark:
“Dear boys, God is good to you; you still have your mother.”
Oh yes, we still had our mother, and when the first wild transports of our grief were past, our thoughts sorrowfully reverted to her, and her lonely life in auntie’s cottage by the sea.