All who had received letters from home were busy reading them, and the discipline of the squadron was sufficiently relaxed to permit them to do so without interruption; but Tom Speers put his letter into his pocket. O’Hara had news from home, and he was busy digesting it, so that he could not speak to him about his affairs. He felt the need of counsel, while he dreaded to receive it lest it should oblige him to abandon the Tritonia and the brilliant hopes of the future.
Perhaps his uncle had left him a fortune, for there were a dozen fortunes in the vast pile of wealth the dead man had left behind him. It was even probable, in Tom’s estimation, that he had done so, for he had been named after his uncle; and, if he did not care for his nephew, he might desire to have his name live after he could no longer bear it except upon the costly monument that marked his last resting-place. The young man felt no deep affection for his uncle, and had no great respect for his memory. A few thousands given to his mother while she was pinching herself to bring up her boy would have been better than as many hundred thousands to him now that she was gone.
Tom felt that he was alone in the world, and he had only to look out for himself. While he cherished no spite or ill-will towards his departed uncle, he did not quite like the idea of being made a rich man by his bounty. He was very proud and independent; and to accept a fortune from his uncle, seemed almost like treachery to his mother. It was the sentimentalism of the young man, which a few years of contact with the world would obliterate.
The letter from Judge Rodwood was in his pocket, and it seemed to burn there. He was curious to know its contents, but he did not wish to be influenced by any thing it might contain. He did not like to be tempted by wealth to give up his present ambitious prospects. He thought every minute, as he looked at his shipmates reading their letters from home, that he would open the one from the judge; but he did not. He sat upon the quarter-deck, gazing listlessly at all the objects in sight, from the lofty rock bristling with guns and batteries, to the scenes which were transpiring on board of the schooner; but he could not decide to do any thing to settle the present problem of existence.
He had made up his mind to be a sailor. He had longed for a “life on the ocean wave” since he was a small boy, and read the tales of the sea; but his devotion to his mother did not permit him to mention the subject after he had observed her shudder when he alluded to it for the first and last time. But he had dreamed, all the time, of roaming the seas, and visiting the distant lands of the earth. He had put himself in the way to realize these visions as soon as he had in a measure recovered from the deep grief occasioned by the death of his mother. Now, when he had almost reached the pinnacle of his hopes, came this command of his uncle’s executor—as he supposed the judge was—to abandon his delightful mission.
But Judge Rodwood was not his guardian, so far as he knew; and he was not willing to recognize his right to order him to London. Perry Bowman, his mother’s brother, was all the guardian he could recognize. This gentleman had possession of his little fortune, or what was left of it; for his expenses in the academy squadron had already absorbed a considerable portion of the principal, besides the income.
While he was thinking of the subject, unable to come to a decision in regard to the letter, which he was confident was a repetition of the order for him to hasten to London, he saw a boat leave the American Prince, and pull first to the Josephine, and then to the Tritonia. The officer in charge of it delivered a note to each vice-principal, and then returned to the steamer, which was still taking in coal at the station.
All the preparation for the voyage among “The Isles of the Sea” had been completed on board of the two consorts. All the water-tanks and spare casks had been filled with water, and an abundance of fresh and salt provisions had been taken on board. The compasses had been adjusted, and the chronometers had been regulated; and every thing was in readiness for sailing at a moment’s notice, though the steamer would not have received all her coal till after dark.
The boat which brought the note had hardly returned to the flag-ship before the signal for sailing appeared at the mainmast of the Tritonia. Word was passed along among the officers, that the two schooners would sail at ten, leaving the American Prince to follow in the evening.
“We are off in ten minutes,” said O’Hara, disturbing the meditations of Tom Speers, as soon as the news had been circulated among the students.