The skipper produced unlimited champagne (of which, for a wonder, he still had a very fair stock) in honour of the occasion, and “a prosperous voyage, and success to the Water Lily” was drunk over and over again that evening. We kept it up until nearly midnight, the poop being converted into a ball-room by merely hanging a few lamps in the mizzen-rigging; the orchestra consisting of one of the seamen, who played the concertina better than I ever heard it played before or since.
The weather being as I have described it, without any signs of a change, such a departure from the ordinary routine of the ship was permissible, and I have no doubt everybody on board was glad enough of an occurrence which gave such an excuse for breaking in upon the monotony of the voyage.
Tedious enough they must have found it, for it appeared that they had already been becalmed five days, and had not altered their position as many miles; and there seemed every prospect of their being becalmed five days more, for the glass was as steady as if the mercury had been solid.
At last we visitors made signs of moving. The captains of the other vessels ordered their crews into their boats, and I was just about going over the side on my way to our small cabin to write a hasty line to Ada (our kind host having promised to post my letter for me immediately on his arrival), when a seaman stepped up to me, and with the usual nautical scrape of the foot and a respectful “Beg pardon, sir,” intimated a desire to speak to me.
“There’s a strange yarn going the rounds of this here craft’s fo’c’sle,” said he, “about your bein’ on a sort of v’yage of discovery a’ter your father, sir.”
I said, “Certainly; it was perfectly true.”
“Well, sir,” said he, “maybe I might be able to help you in your search. It needs no prophet to tell that you are Captain Collingwood’s son, when a man gets a fair squint at your figure-head, axing your pardon, sir, for my boldness; and if you’ll just give me your word that nothing I may say shall tell agin me, I’ll tell you all I knows about it, and gladly too; for I sailed with your father, sir, and a kinder skipper or a better seaman never trod a deck than he was, as I’ve had good reason to know.”
“Was?” exclaimed I, with a sudden sinking of heart.
“And is still, for aught I know, sir; at least I hope so; there’s no reason why he mayn’t be still alive,” replied the man, fully understanding all the meaning of my exclamation.
“Thank God for that,” replied I fervently. “But why is this strange pledge required? Surely, fellow, you will not have the temerity to tell me—his son—that he has been the victim of any foul play? If so—”