To carry out the confidence thus reposed in him will be a labour of love; and he vows in his heart it shall be done, if need be, at the risk of life.
Indeed, the interview just ended has made a new man of him in more senses than one; for upon the spot he registers a mental resolve to give up dram-drinking for ever, or at all events till he has seen his charge—the two Spanish señoritas—safe landed at Panama, and the Chilian ship snug in the harbour of Valparaiso. After that, he is less sure that he may not again go upon a spree, and possibly a big one.
Heaving a sigh as the English officers pass out of sight, he turns back into the bar-room. It is no longer a question of his going aboard the Crusader. He must remain ashore, to be up betimes in the morning, so that he may be early at the office of the ship-agent.
And now, again, a shadow, though only a slight one, comes over his countenance. He has still before him the undetermined question, where he is to sleep. Notwithstanding his fine prospects for the future, the present is still unchanged, and yet unprovided for.
Unfortunately, he did not think of this while the officers were with him, else a word would have made all well. Either of them, he doubted not, would have relieved his necessities had they been but told of them. Too late now; they are gone out of sight, out of hail, and whether he cannot tell or guess; and to attempt searching for them in such crowded streets would be only a waste of time.
While thus ruefully reflecting, he is confronted by the bar-keeper, whose usually grave countenance is now beset with smiles. The fellow has got it into his head that his sailor-guest is no longer impecunious. The navy gentlemen just gone have no doubt been to engage him for their ship, and perhaps made him an advance of wages.
“Well, my salt,” says he, in a tone of jocular familiarity, “I guess you’ve got the shiners now, an’ kin settle up your score?”
“No, indeed, sir,” answers Harry, more than ever taken aback; “I’m sorry to say I ha’n’t.”
“You hain’t! Then what hev them gold-buttoned fellers been palaverin’ ye about?”
“Not about money, master. Them’s two o’ the officers belongin’ to my old ship—the British frigate Crusader. An’ fine young fellows they be too.”