Bill heard the remark, but very wisely never repeated out of the cabin what he heard in it. He did, however, think to himself, “Mr Collinson is a kind, good officer, and I only hope, if he likes this Miss Lydall, that he will fall in with her, and maybe marry her one of these days.”
As the ship lay some way from the town, it was too late for any of the officers to go on shore that night. When dinner was over, and Bill had finished his duties in the gun-room, he went on deck, but found Tommy Rebow and some of the other lads skylarking about the fore-rigging. He soon joined them.
“Hillo, youngster!” cried Grimshaw, as he passed him. “Take care you don’t fall overboard again. You will not come off as easily as you did before. Look out there! What do you say to that chap?” and old Grim pointed to a dark triangular object which was slowly gliding by the ship. “Do you know what that is?”
“No,” said Bill, “I cannot make it out.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” said old Grim. “That’s Black Tom—the biggest shark in these seas. This harbour is his home; and he takes precious good care that no seaman shall swim ashore from his ship. He would be down upon him in a twinkling, if he caught him in the water. They say the Government keeps him in its pay to act watchman, and he goes up to the Dockyard to be fed every day.”
Bill now distinguished a large black body beneath the fin, but it soon passed ahead of the ship and was lost to sight.
The next day Mr Collinson sent for Bill, and told him to clean himself and get ready to go with him on shore, to carry his carpet-bag. Bill was very quickly ready, and took charge of the bag, which the lieutenant’s servant gave him. The purser, and master, and two or three midshipmen were going on shore at the same time. “Now,” thought Bill, “I shall hear all about the young lady, for I dare say Mr Collinson is going up to look after her.”
They passed several other ships of war, for it was a busy time then in the West Indies; for, though England had thrashed most of her enemies, there were still a number of privateers cruising about, and doing all the mischief they could. Captain Trevelyan expected to be employed in looking after them. He had already gone ashore in his gig to pay his respects to the admiral up at the Penn—as the residence of the commander-in-chief is called—situated on an elevation about two miles out of Kingston.
As soon as they landed, Mr Collinson, telling Bill to follow him, took leave of his companions, they casting knowing glances after him.
“Lucky fellow!” said one of the midshipmen. “Depend upon it he is all right, or he would not look so happy.”