“There you are, Richards!” exclaimed Blair.
“And you are counted out,” added the new fourth master.
“I am; but I shall not cry about it. You are an officer, and I am a seaman now; and, if I conclude to get up a mutiny at your suggestion, I shall not say any thing to you about it.”
Blair shrugged his shoulders, and, making a merit of necessity, he stepped down from the quarter-deck into the waist. A few minutes later his name was read as one of the highest of the petty officers. There was not much consolation in this position, as he was turned out of the cabin.
The rest of the numbers were given out in the order of merit. As usual, there was considerable grumbling, while not a few were elated over the rank they had won. Before noon the officers put on their uniform, though two of them were absent.
Tom Speers in his frock-coat and cap was a good-looking officer. He was well received by the other occupants of the cabin,—possibly with the exception of Richards, who could not wholly forgive him for getting above him. Tom had quite forgotten the telegraphic despatch he had received, till he put on his uniform, and changed the contents of his pockets into those of the new dress.
He was not much interested in the document: his big promotion monopolized all his thoughts. He had no time to look at it; for, as soon as the rank was assigned in the squadron, the signal for sailing appeared on the American Prince. When the fleet was under way, the second part of the port-watch to which Tom Speers belonged was off duty, the first part being in charge of the vessel.
O’Hara, the fourth lieutenant, was his associate watch-officer. The Irish Italian had treated him very handsomely from the moment the rank of the new-comer into the cabin was announced. They were to spend days and nights together in charge of the deck, and it was pleasant to be on good terms with each other. They had a long talk together as soon as the Tritonia was clear of the Bay of Gibraltar.
While they were thus engaged, Speers took from his pocket the telegraph despatch, which got into his hand by accident rather than by design. He had been too much interested in the conversation with O’Hara to think of it before. He took it from his pocket that he might not forget it again, and not with the intention of opening it in the presence of his companion; but it attracted the attention of the fourth lieutenant.
“What have you there, Speers?” asked O’Hara. “A letter from home? We have had no mail in the ship for a fortnight.”