While thus occupied, he is accosted by another officer, one yet younger than himself—the midshipman already mentioned.
“Can I go with you?” the latter asks, as if addressing an equal.
“Certainly, my dear fellow,” responds the lieutenant, in like familiar tone. “I shall be only too pleased to have you. But you must get the captain’s consent.”
The young reefer glides aft, sees the frigate’s commander upon the quarterdeck, and saluting, says:
“Captain, may I go with the cutter?”
“Well, yes,” responds the chief; “I have no objection.” Then, after taking a survey of the youngster, he adds, “Why do you wish it?”
The youth blushes, without replying. There is a cast upon his countenance that strikes the questioner, somewhat puzzling him. But there is no time either for further inquiry or reflection. The cutter has been lowered, and rests upon the water. Her crew is crowding into her; and she will soon be moving off from the ship.
“You can go, lad,” assents the captain. “Report yourself to the third lieutenant, and tell him I have given you leave. You’re young, and, like all youngsters, ambitious of gaining glory. Well; in this affair you won’t have much chance. I take it. It’s simply boarding a ship in distress, where you’re more likely to be a spectator to scenes of suffering. However, that will be a lesson for you; therefore you can go.”
Thus authorised, the mid hurries away from the quarterdeck, drops down into the boat, and takes seat alongside the lieutenant, already there.
“Shove off!” commands the latter; and with a push of boat-hook, and plashing of oars, the cutter parts from the ship’s side, cleaving the water like a knife.