“The more necessity for keeping a bright look-out on them,” observed the captain, “and I have no doubt that the honest men in the ship will keep them down, whatever tricks they may play.”
With a certain amount of uncomfortable feeling Owen turned in, keeping, as he always did, his pistol and sword by the side of his bed. The next day he was too busy taking in cargo to think of the matter; and now, being ready for sea, the Ouzel Galley stood out of the harbour.
According to arrangement with Mr Twigg, the Ouzel Galley kept along the coast till she came off Bellevue. As she appeared, a flag from the flagstaff on shore flew out to the breeze. Owen hoisted his colours and fired his guns, and the merchantman, looking as trim as a ship of war, sailed on her course.
“No fear about that young fellow making the voyage if any man can do it,” observed Mr Twigg to Mr Ferris.
“He has been brought up under a good captain—a better we have not in our service,” replied Mr Ferris.
Ellen watched the departing ship which was carrying her epistle to Norah. The weather was beautiful, though the heat was somewhat more oppressive than usual; a light breeze filled the sails of the Ouzel Galley, wafting her over the calm waters. It was scarcely possible to believe that she would have any dangers to encounter on that tranquil ocean.
A considerable number of persons inhabited the house of Bellevue. Besides Mr Twigg and his wife and the manager, there were six young gentlemen, book-keepers, who were so called though they had no books to keep, but were employed in superintending the various operations of the estate. Most of them were young men of respectable families, who looked forward to becoming managers or to holding other responsible offices. There were also several assistant overseers, mostly mulattoes, though some were whites—literally, slave-drivers—whose business was to keep the negroes up to their work in the fields. The book-keepers dined at table, and were treated in every respect as gentlemen, though the manager kept them under pretty strict discipline. One of them, Archie Sandys, a lively young Scotchman, was a favourite with Ellen, as he reminded her of Gerald Tracy. He was clever, too, and very well informed. That he admired her, there could be little doubt, for no one was more ready to obey her behests, though he might not have foolishly lost his heart or ventured to lift his eyes to one so much above him in fortune.
The Ouzel Galley was still in sight in the offing, when Archie, having performed his duties for the day, came in and found Ellen seated in the shade, inhaling what little air was moving. The scene was a lovely one. The house stood on a height looking over the sea; there was a lawn green as one in spring, with a shrubbery on either side of tropical trees and shrubs of varied and picturesque forms, above which towered several specimens of the graceful palm. Birds of gay plumage and butterflies of gorgeous hues were flitting about, and many magnificent flowers, such as are to be seen in hot-houses alone at home, were blooming around. Words, however, can never give an adequate description of West Indian scenery. Young Sandys made his bow to Miss Ferris, who greeted him with a smile.
“I am not intruding on you, I hope?” he said.
“Certainly not,” she answered, laughing; and seeing that he was not expected to go away, he stood leaning against one of the pillars of the verandah.