“Who knows, too,” she added, as a clincher to her argument, “whether Tom may not rise to be a leftennant, ay, and even an admiral, through this good Captain Mordaunt’s introduction!”
“Right you are, my lass, bless you!” chimed in father, rising up enthusiastically from his seat and tossing off the glass of beer he held in his hand. “So he will too, you’ll see, or I’m a Dutchman. Hurrah, Sarah, here’s good luck to the boy and speedy promotion!”
“’Oo-ray, Say-rah!” screamed ‘Ally Sloper,’ the cockatoo, in cordial appreciation, apparently, of this sentiment. “’Ip, ’ip, ’oo-ray!”
That settled the matter.
So, early the following morning, after an affectionate hug from mother and a kiss from Jenny, who came to the corner to see the last of me, I started off for the Saint Vincent with father, who rowed me aboard himself, I being the very first fare he had for the day, though, of course, as you can imagine, he did not earn much by the job.
However, it pleased father at any rate; and, as soon as he had landed me safe and sound at the foot of the accommodation ladder on the port side of the old ship, which lay broadside on, almost on the mud abreast of Haslar Creek, the tide being out, he handed me a big official letter which Captain Mordaunt had given him overnight, as he had promised, recommending me to the commander of the training-vessel, and enclosing certificates of my birth and character.
“There, sonny, them’s yer papers,” said he, thus laconically wishing me good-bye, sheering off out of the way of an approaching galley from the shore whose sternsheets were chock-full of big quartern loaves of bread, and then laying on his oars as I skipped up the ladder. “You jest give that there letter to the cap’en when you sees him, and good luck to you, my lad!”
I waved my hand in reply as he sculled away, all alone now in the wherry, towards the flagship to try and pick up some stray passenger for Gosport or Hardway; and the next instant I had gained the top of the accommodation ladder, and was standing within the entry-port leading on to the middle deck.
“Hullo!” cried a bluejacket stationed at the gangway, who, I noticed, had a red stripe on his arm, and subsequently learnt was one of the ship’s corporals, who serve as police always aboard a man-of-war. “What do you want here, boy?”
“I’ve come to join the ship, sir,” said I to him respectfully, seeing that he was some one in authority, and having been taught by father to be deferential to everybody, especially those who were my superiors, respect to rank and station being the very essence of the discipline of the service. “Got a letter for the cap’en.”