I thought Portsmouth a much nicer place than London (in which idea some people, perhaps, will not agree with me); while I looked upon the “Star and Garter,” where we stopped, as a very fine hotel, though not equal in dignity to the “George.” My chest, made under Larry’s superintendence, showed that its owner was destined for the sea. Taking my hand, Larry stumped up the passage, following the said chest and the bag which contained his wardrobe.
“What ship has your son come to join?” asked good Mrs Timmins, the landlady, curtseying, as she encountered us.
“Faith, marm, it’s not after being the son of the likes of me is Master D’Arcy here,” he answered, pleased at the same time at the dignity thus conferred on him. “This is the nephew, marm, of Lieutenant O’Flaherty of His Majesty’s cutter, the Serpent; and I’ll make bold to ax whether she’s in the harbour, and what directions the Lieutenant has left about his nephew?”
“Oh dear, now, the cutter sailed this very morning for the westward,” answered the landlady; “that is unfortunate! And so this young gentleman is Lieutenant O’Flaherty’s nephew. Well, then, we must take good care of him, as she won’t be back for a week; and you know, mister, you needn’t trouble yourself more about him.”
“Faith, marm, it’s not I will be after leaving the young master till I see him safe in his uncle’s hands,” answered Larry, with a rap on his thigh. “So I’ll just trouble you to give us a room with a couple of beds in it, and we’ll take up our quarters here till the cutter comes back.”
This arrangement of course pleased the worthy Mrs Timmins, as she got two guests instead of one; and I thus found myself established for a week at Portsmouth. Having selected our chamber, we went into the coffee-room and ordered dinner. There were several youngsters there, and other junior officers of the profession, for the “Star and Garter” was at that time more frequented than the far-famed “Blue Posts.” At first some of the younger portion of the guests were a little inclined to look superciliously at Larry and me; but he stuck out his timber toe, and returned their glances with such calm independence, that they soon suspected he was not made of the stuff to laugh at; and they then showed an evident disposition to enter into conversation with him to discover who he could be. This, for my sake, he did not wish them to do; for, as he was to act the part of guardian, he thought it incumbent on him to keep up his dignity.
We passed, to me, a very interesting time at Portsmouth. We constantly visited the dockyard, which was my delight. He took me over the Victory, and showed me the spot where Nelson fell; and with old associations many a tale and anecdote which, long since forgotten, now returned to his memory, he poured into my eager ear.
Some people declare, and naval men even do so, that there’s no romance in a seafaring life—that it’s all hard, dirty, slaving work, without anything to repay one, except prize-money in war time and promotion in peace. Now, to my mind, there’s a great deal of romance and chivalry and excitement, and ample recompense in the life itself; and this Larry, who ought to have known, for he had seen plenty of hard service, had himself discovered. It is that some do not know where to look for the romance, and if found, cannot appreciate it. The stern realities of a sea life—its hardships, its dangers, its battles, its fierce contests with the elements, its triumphs over difficulties—afford to some souls a pleasure which ignobler ones cannot feel: I trust that my adventures will explain what I mean. For my own part, I can say that oftentimes have I enjoyed that intense pleasure, that joyous enthusiasm, that high excitement, which not only recompenses one for the toil and hardships by which it is won, but truly makes them as nothing in comparison to the former. All I can say is, let me go through the world sharing the rough and the smooth alike—the storms and sunshine of life; but save me from the stagnant existence of the man who sleeps on a feather bed and always keeps out of danger.