He had often suspected that Sir Marcus Wardhill was his enemy, and now he learned from Lawrence, that he was the enemy of his son also, and would work him ill if he had him in his power.
“Then I will take him out of his power,” observed Rolf; and before the next morning he was away to Lerwick. Sir Marcus sent a fast rowing boat after him, but when she reached the capital of Shetland, Rolf and his son had already taken their departure. Sir Marcus Wardhill was reaping where he had sown.
From his younger and best-loved daughter he had long been almost totally estranged. Colonel Armytage had for years held no direct communication with him, while Edda’s letters were very brief, and she, having become the mother of a daughter, offered this as an excuse for not paying a visit to the north.
It was not till now that Hilda revealed to him the whole history of her marriage and the loss of her boy. His rage knew no bounds when he discovered that no certificate of this marriage was forthcoming. But one witness, who was forthcoming, survived—Bertha Eswick: she, however, had been in a declining state for some time, and but a few days had passed after Rolf and Ronald had quitted Lunnasting before she expired, leaving Hilda more solitary and miserable than ever.
Ronald Morton had commenced his life at sea with the greatest zest, and although he had a few difficulties to contend with, and not a few older boys to fight, he invariably came off victorious, and was altogether a general favourite. Rolf devotedly loved his son, and though not ambitious for himself, his great desire was to see Ronald on the quarter-deck, and rising in his profession: he certainly looked as if it were more his proper place than was the forecastle where he now was.
“Father,” he said, turning his beaming countenance, “I do long to be in a battle. Are we likely soon to fall in with an enemy?”
“No hurry for that, boy,” answered the boatswain, who had been in many a desperate fight, and knew what fighting was; “we shall fall in with one before long, depend on that.”
“I hope so, indeed,” exclaimed Ronald; “those Frenchmen who have cut off their king’s head deserve to be thrashed round and round the globe till not a man of them remains alive.”
This sentiment was warmly applauded both by the gunner and carpenter.
“I don’t say as how I ’zactly hates the Frenchmen,” observed Mr Rammage, the gunner; “but it’s my opinion that the sea is not big enough for both of us, and the sooner we drives them off it, the sooner we shall be friends again.”