“I’ll show you what to do, Harry,” he said, “and you’ll turn out as good a seaman as any on board.”
The following day the ship went out to Spithead.
Harry wrote two letters, no easy task amid the multitude of persons on board, male and female visitors of all sorts, at whose language and conduct Harry’s heart sickened. It was well that it did so. Better be disgusted with vice than witness it unconcerned. Very often our young sailor was interrupted, his paper saved with difficulty from profane hands. Still at last the letters were finished. One was to Mabel. He did not describe the scene by which he was surrounded. He told her simply that he had taken the final plunge, was now a seaman sworn to serve his king and country, but hoped soon to be an officer, entreating her not to mention his name to her father, and sent a message to Madam Everard and Paul Gauntlett. He entreated her to think kindly of him, and assured her that his own heart would be faithful to death.
Poor Mabel! the letter did not give her much pleasure. “As if I should ever cease to think of him,” she said to herself. “Oh, that he had been better guided.”
He wrote also to Mr Kyffin, directing the letter wisely to his private house, for he thought it more than probable that Silas Sleech would otherwise take possession of it. The letter was a long one, tolerably coherent on the whole. He confessed all that had occurred, made no excuses for himself, nor did he accuse Sleech. He dated his letter from the “Brilliant,” begging his guardian to reply to it, in the hope that an answer might reach him before the ship sailed. Day after day passed by, and no answer came.
Harry heard with some considerable trepidation that Captain Everard was expected on board. He saw his gig coming off. The sides were manned, and the captain passed through the gangway to the quarter-deck, touching his hat in return for the salute offered him by the marines drawn up on either side. He glanced his eye aloft, and then along the deck. Everything was in excellent order. Harry, who was nearer than he could have wished, stood his gaze steadily. He spoke a few words of approval to the first-lieutenant, and then went down below. Harry saw at a glance that Captain Everard on shore and Captain Everard in command of a frigate were two somewhat different characters. As the captain disappeared, Blue Peter was run up to the mast-head. It became generally known that the ship was to sail the next day; her destination, the North American Station and the West Indies. Harry’s heart sank when he heard this.
“I may be away then three, perhaps four long years,” he said to himself. “What changes may take place in the meantime! Yet I may have better opportunities of distinguishing myself than on the home station. I ought to be thankful.”
Harry, as he looked round the decks, could not conceive how order could ever spring out of the fearful disorder which had seemed to prevail.
The ship was crowded with visitors. Boats in great numbers hung alongside, in which the boatmen were quarrelling with each other, while eager Jews endeavoured to find their way on deck to obtain payment of debts which they alleged were due to them from the seamen. Harry had little fear at this time of being recognised, the captain being generally employed in the cabin. He was watching what was going forward, when he saw a wherry standing up under sail from the westward towards the ship.
“Is that the ‘Brilliant’?” asked a voice from the boat, in which sat three persons—the boatman, his boy, and a young woman.