Murray remained at Ryde some days longer, taking trips in various directions, and then the captain and his family, bidding adieu to their old friends, sailed, intending to go homewards along the east coast and round the north of Scotland. Young Alick, who had not yet been appointed to a ship, accompanied his father and mother.
Next morning, as Jack and Adair were seated at breakfast, Adair remarked, as he was overlooking a new navy list, just sent in from the library—
“I had no idea that Murray was so near his flag. I see that Sir Benjamin Blowhard, old Grummet, poor Marlin, and Kelson, Lord Figgins, as we used to call him, Dick Dotheboys, and Oakum, have gone the way of all flesh. I saw by yesterday’s paper that Bulkhead had died in the West Indies, and two other captains senior to Murray are very ill.”
“I shall rejoice at Murray’s promotion,” said Jack; “there is no man better suited to command a fleet.”
“I cannot say that I wish for such a responsibility,” observed Adair, “nor am I in any special hurry to become an admiral, though Lucy may think it a very fine thing, especially if I am made a KCB, of which, however, there is not the slightest probability. I’m much more likely to be kicked off to sea and sent to the East Indies or West Coast of Africa to sun myself.”
While this conversation was going forward, two long official-looking letters were received. Julia and Lucy looked at them suspiciously.
“Those very affectionate gentlemen, the Lords of the Admiralty, request that I will do them the favour of taking command of the Bellona, Murray’s old ship,” said Jack; “but whether to serve on the home station or to go out to the Antipodes they do not explain.”
He handed the letter to his wife, who put her hand to her heart, as if she felt a sudden pain there.
“Oh, Jack, I did not think they would send you off again!” she said, with a deep sigh.
“And what is your despatch about?” asked Lucy, in a trembling voice.