‘You will have to bid him farewell on board the ship he embarks in.’
‘I shan’t be able to see him, then?’ I cried, putting on an air of consternation and grief, that I might obtain some particular information from him.
‘I am sorry you will have no other opportunity of bidding him farewell.’
‘But tell me, sir,’ cried I, ‘shall I be certain of seeing him if I go on board his ship?’
‘Undoubtedly. You will be allowed the customary quarter of an hour.’
‘How am I to know he will be one of the convicts on board?’
‘Oh,’ said he, very good-naturedly (and I will say here that a kinder and better-tempered man than the deputy-governor of H.M.S. Warrior was not to be found among the prison officials of his time)—‘oh,’ said he, smiling, ‘there is no fear of his not being on board. The surgeon has passed him. He is one of the batch.’
My heart beat quickly on hearing this. He may have wondered at the effect of his words. He darted a keen look, with an expression of mouth that was like saying he was not used to the friends of convicts exhibiting delight on hearing that they were to be shipped off.
‘Can you tell me how he is?’ said I.
He gave me a sort of mocking bow as though he would intimate that he had told me enough. I took the hint and left the hulk, wondering that under the circumstances the warder or sentry should have passed me on board, but greatly rejoicing over the information I had received that Tom would undoubtedly be one of the convicts of the Childe Harold.