Could I doubt that Aurora had done this? Could I be less than grateful that she—the only being who inherited the same name and blood, was determined not to forget me? Thus, finding that in my stubborn pride I declined the cornetcy by purchase, without further consultation she had resolved to drag me into my place by a commission without it.
As yet I knew not all this with certainty, and was too proud to write to Netherwood Hall; moreover, I knew not whether Aurora was there, though had I considered, the celerity with which the whole affair had been transacted should have convinced me that she was in the metropolis.
And thus I was an officer, an officer at last, and without having performed even the smallest of those superhuman acts of heroism of which I had drawn such dashing pictures in my day-dreams; without capturing standards sword-in-hand, without leading on furious charges, or disastrous forlorn hopes; made an officer simply through a note, written by a pretty girl's hand to some official source.
Thus was I promoted; my comrades congratulated me, and I felt a joyous certainty that their emotions were sincere, even those of the old grumblers and the "knowing ones," who at the outset of his career had fleeced poor Basil the recruit of his bounty at the Canteen and tavern.
The day of embarkation for Germany had not been named, but it was known to be drawing near: thus, with the extremely limited means at my disposal I had little else to think of than providing myself with a horse in addition to my trooper uniform and other et cetera befitting my rank. Those friendly and fatherly gentlemen of the race of Judah who hang about all barracks as the carrion crow and vulture in mid-air overhang a battle-field, were at hand to aid me for a "moderate consideration" in the way of thirty or forty per cent. interest, and the whole affair was soon done—all the sooner that old Colonel Preston was my friend.
In a week after my appointment (the rules of the service were not then what they were afterwards) I found myself on duty as an officer, and oddly enough it was that of a marine on board a frigate.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE PRISON SHIP.
A thirty-six gun frigate, the Alceste, crowded with French prisoners, had for some reason, I know not what, come into the old harbour of Rye, which was then becoming rapidly choked up with sand, and unfortunately she became, as the sailors term it, neaped, which means being left so far aground by the neap-tide, which there rises to the height of seventeen feet, that there was no chance of her floating even at high-water, until the spring-tide flowed again.
In this state she lay imbedded in the sand, and careened over to port, much to the discomfort of those on board.