“Deal.
“Dear Uncle,—I’m sorry to have to inform you that the ‘Nancy’ has become a total wreck on the Goodwin Sands. The cargo has been entirely lost—also two of the hands.
“I am at present disabled, from the effects of a blow on the head received during the storm. No doubt Bax will be up immediately to give you particulars.
“The cause of the loss of your schooner was, in my opinion, unseaworthiness of vessel and stores.
“Your affectionate nephew, Guy Foster.”
“Hallo!” thought Tommy, “that’s a stinger!”
“There,” said Guy, as he attached his signature, “fold and address that, and be off with it as fast as you can to the post.”
Tommy vanished in an instant, and was quickly at the post-office, which stood, at that time, near the centre of the town. He dropped the letter in, and having thus fulfilled his mission, relapsed into that easy swagger or roll that seems to be the natural and characteristic gait of Jack when ashore. He had not proceeded far when the sound of voices in dispute attracted his ear. The gale was still at its height, and the noise occasioned by its whistling among the chimneys and whirling round street corners was so great that the words uttered by the speakers were not distinguishable. Still there was some peculiarity in the tone which irresistibly attracted the boy. Perhaps Tommy was unusually curious that night; perhaps he was smitten, like Haroun Alraschid, with a desire for adventure; but whatever was the truth in regard to this, it is certain that, instead of passing on, as most people would naturally have done, Tommy approached the place whence the sounds proceeded with cautious steps—keeping as much in the shade of the houses as possible, although owing to the darkness of the night, this latter precaution was unnecessary.