“You have not told me your son’s name, so that even should I meet him, I should not know that he is your son,” said Ned.
“Him called Chando,” answered Tom. “Him know dat name when you call him.”
“And your wife—what is her name?” asked Ned. “Him—Masika,” said Tom after a few moments’ thought—it was so long since he had uttered his wife’s name. “O Massa Ned, you bring dem back, and God bless you.”
“Chando—Masika,” repeated Ned. “But I am afraid that there is very little chance of my finding your family, Tom, though I should be truly thankful to meet with them; I don’t know even to what part of the coast of Africa I am going. It is a large country, and though I may see thousands of the inhabitants, those you care for may not be among them.”
“Massa Ned, if God wish to bring dem to you, He can find de way,” said the black, in a tone of simple faith. “I no say He will do it, but He can do it, dat I know.”
Ned did not forget this conversation with poor Tom, not that he entertained the slightest hope that he should fall in with his wife or son; indeed, should he do so, how should he possibly know them? He determined, however, to ask all the Africans he might meet with where they came from, and should it appear that they were natives of the part of the country Tom had described to him, to make more minute inquiries. He knew as well as Tom that God can bring about whatever He thinks fit; but he was too well instructed not to know that our Heavenly Father does not always act as men wish or think best—for that He sees what man in his blindness does not. No one, except Mary, perhaps, missed Ned more than did Tom Baraka. Poor Mary! it was her first great trial in life. She found more difficulty than she had ever done before in learning her lessons, and she about her daily avocations with a far less elastic step than was her wont. She was too young, however, to remain long sorrowful, and was as pleased as ever to accompany Aunt Sally on her rounds among her poor neighbours.
The travellers reached Portsmouth, and repaired to the “Blue Posts,” the inn at which Mr Pack had been accustomed to put up in his younger days. Next morning he took the two boys on board the “Ione,” which lay alongside the hulk off the dockyard. Lieutenant Hanson, who had already joined, received them in a kind manner, which made Charley whisper to Ned that they were all right, as it was clear that their first lieutenant was not one of those stiff chaps who look as if they had swallowed pokers, and he hoped that their commander was of the same character.
Two days passed rapidly away in visiting the numerous objects of interest to be seen at Portsmouth. Ned’s kit was ready, and his uncle finally took him on board the “Ione,” which had cast off from the hulk, and was getting ready to go out to Spithead. Ned was introduced to the commander, who shook his uncle and him by the hand in a friendly way.
“I hope that the ship will be a happy one,” said Captain Curtis. “It will depend much on his messmates and him whether it is so, and they’ll find me ready to serve them if they act as I trust may.”
The next day the “Ione” went out to Spithead, the one-legged lieutenant, by the commander’s invitation, being on board. With a beaming eye he watched Ned, who performed various duties in a way which showed that he knew well what he was about.