I forgot to say in the last chapter, that before shaping our course for Malta, we ran a little way down the coast, and landed our young Reefian prisoner. It might have been better had Captain Poynder endeavoured, through his means, to treat with the old Sheikh for the liberation of his captives; but, probably, the success of such a plan was considered too doubtful to be attempted. What became of Mr Vernon’s jewel-box I do not know: I fancy the contents were of very little intrinsic value. We carried Major Norman and his daughter to Gibraltar, whence they went to England. Mr Vernon did not marry for upwards of a year after this. He and his wife are among my most intimate friends. We met with no more adventures worth recording in the old Harold. At length we returned to Portsmouth, and being paid off, I was once more a gentleman at large. I did not long remain so, for my kind uncle took care to get me another ship as soon as possible. In the meantime, I accompanied Dicky Sharpe to the home of his father and mother, Sir John and Lady Sharpe. They were excessively kind, and made a great deal of me; and so did the Misses Sharpe, who, being a good deal older than Dicky, treated us somewhat like little children, petting and humouring our fancies, which did not altogether please me. It made me much more inclined to act like a child, and to join Dicky in any pranks he proposed. I was very sorry, however, to have to go away. It was, at the same time, no little satisfaction to both of us, that we found ourselves appointed to the same ship—a fine sixteen-gun brig, just fitting out—the Opossum, Captain Cranley. Dicky, however, got leave for two or three weeks, while I had to join at once. His friends got him the appointment because it was considered better that he should see some service in a small craft, with a smart officer, which our commander was said to be; while I joined because I was not likely to get a better. I had gone to see Larry as soon as I reached England, and found him and his wife flourishing. When I got back to Portsmouth, while the brig was fitting out, I paid him frequent visits, to the old man’s great delight; and he used to tell everybody he met what a first-rate sailor I had become, winding up invariably, with a look of no little pride, “Ay, sir, and ’twas I taught him—didn’t I, Master Neil?”
I must not forget to mention my kind uncle and aunt, and Daisy Cottage, where I was always a welcome guest. He had paid the cutter off, but expected soon to obtain another appointment. Of the Marlows I could only hear that they had gone abroad; but as Miss Alice had promised to write to my aunt as soon as they had settled, I was in hopes of hearing about them. But I must get on with my story. The Opossum was at sea, running down Channel, with orders to wait at Falmouth for despatches and mails for Halifax, Nova Scotia. With the exception of Dicky Sharpe, all my brother officers were strangers to me, and mostly to each other, so it took a little time before we became acquainted and shook into our places. Captain Cranley, I found, was somewhat of the old school—very kind-hearted and simple-minded, and not less strict towards himself than towards others—with a nice sense of honour, and very sensitive of rebuke. I was very glad to find that my old friend Jack Stretcher had volunteered, with the hope of one day becoming a warrant-officer. I must also mention the boatswain, who, though an oldish man, had not long taken out his warrant. He was a prime seaman, with nothing very remarkable in his appearance, except that he was tall and thin, and had a long bushy beard, now somewhat grizzled. The aforesaid individual, Mr Popples, was neat and clean, and had really good manners; his great ambition being to rise in the world, though he had begun to ascend rather late in life. We youngsters had a great respect for him, notwithstanding some of his peculiarities, and should never have dreamed of playing him the tricks we did old Chissel and Trundle in the Harold. Two days after we left Falmouth, the wind, which had been from the eastward and moderate, chopped round to the westward and north-west, and began to blow very heavily. Our commander, however, was not a man to be frightened by a capful of wind; so we close-reefed the topsails, and lay upon our course as near as we could. The gallant little brig headed the seas bravely, and gave us every reason to hope that we might weather out the gale without damage. Towards the evening of the third day, however, it came on to blow harder than ever; the clouds came gathering up in thick masses, as if hurried one on the other, without the means of escaping, and the sea rose higher and higher. Mr Pullen, the master, kept glancing to windward in a significant manner.
“What do you think of it, master?” asked Captain Cranley.
“Why, sir, the sooner that we up-helm, and run into port, the better for the ship and ourselves,” replied Mr Pullen. “There’s no use straining a vessel till every timber in her creaks and groans with pain,—that’s my opinion.”
“A very just one, master, and I’ll follow your advice,” said the captain. “All hands wear ship.”
The delicate, operation was successfully performed. The helm was put up—the aftersails were brailed up and furled—more headsail was got on her. For an instant she rolled heavily in the trough of the sea; then her headsail, feeling the full force of the wind, carried her head away from it, and, like a sea-bird released from imprisonment, off she flew on rapid wings before it. A number of vessels, driven in by stress of weather, were collected in Falmouth Harbour as we entered. We ran by them, past the flag-ship, for the purpose of bringing up, when we were hailed with—
“What! Captain Cranley, are you afraid of a capful of wind? There’s nothing to hurt you now outside; so go to sea again without bringing up.”
These words stung our old captain to the quick.
“It’s the first time James Cranley was ever taunted for being afraid of anything, much less a gale of wind; and it shall be the last time, too, whatever comes of it, so help me Heaven!”
Fearfully did the old man keep his vow. Accordingly, we forthwith stood out again to sea. When we were clear of the land, we found the gale completely abated, and we had a very fine passage, till within about a hundred miles of our port, when it fell calm. Never do I recollect a more perfect calm. The sea was like lead in colour, but as smooth as glass, though every now and then there came a long, slow, gently-moving undulation, as if there were some unseen power beneath the water. There was something, I thought, very ominous in the whole appearance of the atmosphere. The barometer, the seaman’s warning friend, began also to sink, and each hour the quicksilver got lower and lower. Thus passed two days, but not a breath of wind came. Captain Cranley paced his deck with uneasy steps. The master likewise looked far from satisfied, I thought, with the appearance of the weather, and kept continually glancing round the horizon, in search of the expected sign of a change. The sails hung idly down against the masts, every now and then flapping loudly, as the vessel rolled slowly in the swell. It would have been more seamanlike had they been furled; but, to tell the truth, our commander appeared seized with a fit of infatuation, which deprived him of his usual clear judgment on professional matters. He had not got over his late unjust reprimand. With a morbid feeling of injured honour, he allowed it to rankle in his bosom. People are apt to have a foreboding of evil; but on the present occasion there were ample reasons for dreading mischief.