He uttered a faint laugh as he said, “What has come over the fellow? However, lend me five sovereigns, and I’ll try my luck. If I lose, I shall be in your debt; if I win, I will pay you double.”
“I want no profits,” I answered, giving him my purse, from which he helped himself. “I’ll take a stroll along the shore of the bay, and come back for you in time for the opera.”
Taking back my purse, without waiting to hear what he said, I hurried out. On returning to the billiard-room, after a pleasant walk, at the hour I had named, Owen was not there, and I was told that an English officer, who had been desperately wounded in an affray, was lying in a house close by, and apparently dying. I hurried to the spot, and found, as I expected, Owen. He was unconscious, and so I engaged some porters, and had him conveyed immediately on board, where I knew that he would receive better treatment than elsewhere from our surgeon. When he came to himself, and heard that I had had him brought on board, he was very angry at my interference, though the surgeon assured me that by my promptitude his life had been saved. According to his account, he had received his wound from an assassin, who, probably mistaking him for some one else, had rushed out and struck him with his dagger; but the surgeon, who was not among his admirers, hinted that this was impossible, and that there would have been no great loss to the world had the wound been half-an-inch deeper. He was a long time recovering, and as he never offered to repay me the five pounds I had lent him, I concluded that his wound had made him forget the matter.
Pearson lost no opportunity of strengthening me in my resolution not to yield to any temptations Owen might throw in my way. The latter, however, was not easily to be turned from his purpose. Again and again he tried to prevail on me to accompany him on shore, laughing at my scruples, and accusing me of parsimony and meanness. I did not give him credit for any other motive for his wish to have me as his companion beyond the very natural one of a desire to enjoy the use of my purse. When he found that he had lost his influence over me, and that the move he attempted to regain it the more I kept aloof from him, his whole manner towards me in private changed, though in public, especially in presence of the captain and lieutenant, it was as friendly as before.
I now found myself subject to a number of petty annoyances, of which I was nearly certain that he was the author, though I could not trace them completely. My hammock was over and over again cut down by the head, to the risk of breaking my neck; my chest was rifled, and articles of value in it destroyed, and even my uniforms were so injured, that at last I could scarcely appear respectably on the quarter-deck. When my watch was over, and I came down to meals, I found that the worst of everything had been kept for me, often food that was scarcely eatable. At the mess-table, though still pretending great regard, he lost no opportunity of making sarcastic remarks, and placing me on every occasion in a wrong position. I found, too, that stories greatly to my prejudice were put about, of a character difficult if not impossible to refute. Had it not been for Pearson, my existence on board would have been intolerable, but as he never in the remotest degree benefited by my purse, his interest in me was above suspicion, and he stoutly maintained that the stories were false, and invented by some one wishing to do me an injury. Had my friends wished to disgust me with the sea, they could scarcely have adopted a better plan than engaging Owen to treat me as I had every reason to believe he was now doing. I should, in truth, have been completely disgusted, but my pride came to my aid, and prevented me from making any complaint. In other respects, I liked a sea life, and as Pearson, who was much respected, sided with me, many of the better-disposed midshipmen remained my friends. Thus passed the first three years of my naval career.
Story 8—Chapter 3.
The frigate was ordered home to be paid off. I had found out one thing, that fortune will not secure uninterrupted happiness even to a midshipman. I had begun to suspect, also, that the romantic notions I had entertained of fame and glory were in a great degree illusory; at all events, that there was a great deal of hard, matter-of-fact, and somewhat dirty, disagreeable work to be gone through. I discussed with Pearson the advisability of my leaving the service. He asked me what I should do with myself if I did? I confessed that I did not know, and that I had no desire to go back to school, to a private tutor, or to college.
“Then stay in the service, and see the world,” he answered. “I have heard of a ship fitting for the Pacific, on board which my friends can procure me a berth, and I have no doubt that you can also get appointed to her if you apply in time.”