“Bill’s my name, my hearty. And you!—are you brother Jack? Yes, I’m sure you are!” And grasping my hand he wrung it till I thought he would have wrung it off, while, half-laughing, half-crying for pleasure, he asked, “How’s father and mother, and Susan and Jane, and Mary and Dick, and the rest of them; and little Tommy?”
He was the youngest of us, and could just toddle when Bill went away. Thus he ran on, asking question after question, which I answered as well as I could, while we went towards home at a pretty round trot—he eager to get there and see them all again, and I almost as eager to have the satisfaction of rushing in and shouting out, “Here’s Bill come back again!”
I need not describe the way Bill was received. No one seemed to think that they could make enough of him. Mary, a small girl, sat on his knee at supper, with one arm round his neck, and ever and anon gave him a kiss and a hug, exclaiming, “Dear Bill, we are so glad you’re come back;” and Susan and Jane placed themselves one on each side that they might the better help him to what was on the table; and we bigger boys listened eagerly to all he said; and father watched him with pride, and the light shone brighter than ever from mother’s eyes as she gazed at him; and little Tommy came toddling into the room in his night-gown (having scrambled out of his crib) saying, “Tommy want see dat brodder Bill really come home—all right—dere he is—hurrah!” and off he ran again with Susan at his heels, but he had nimbly climbed into his nest before she caught him.
As to myself, I looked at Bill with unbounded admiration, and eagerly listened to every word which dropped from his lips. He had plenty to talk about, and wonders of all sorts to describe, for he had been in the Indian Sea, and visited China, and the west coast of America, and several islands in the Pacific, and gone round the world. How he rattled on! I thought Drake, Cavendish, and Dampier, Lord Anson and Captain Cook were nothing to him—at all events, that I would far rather hear the narrative of his adventures than read theirs.
I was almost vexed with Captain Bland for coming in one evening, even though Mary accompanied him, because Bill became suddenly far more reticent than usual in his presence, if not altogether dumb, and when he did speak, merely described in a modest tone some very commonplace occurrences. I could not make it out. After some time, when Bill was out of ear-shot, I heard Captain Bland remark to father that he liked lads who did not speak about themselves. It was a pretty sure sign that they were better doers than talkers. “He’ll succeed, will that lad of yours; he’s kept his eyes open wherever he’s been; he’ll make a smart officer one of these days,” he added.
I was much pleased when Captain Bland thus spoke of Bill, and I thought to myself, what would he have said if he had heard him describe some of the wonderful adventures he had narrated to us. When I afterwards told Bill what the old captain had said, and my ideas on the subject, he laughed heartily.
“Why, Jack, he would have shut me up pretty smartly,” he answered. “Old cocks don’t allow young ones to crow in their presence.”
Bill made ample amends for his previous silence when we were together, knowing that I was never tired of listening to him. I could think about nothing else but what he had told me, and I made up my mind that I would far rather become a sailor than follow any other calling. I told him so.
“Well, Jack, I think you’re right,” he said; “I wouldn’t change if I had the offer—no, not to become Prime Minister of England or the first merchant in the land. Remember, though, it isn’t all smooth sailing. You must expect rough weather as well as fine; but if you’re determined to go I’ll speak to father, and I don’t think that he’ll refuse you.”
Bill fulfilled his promise, and father, after consulting Captain Bland, agreed to let me go, provided I was of the same mind when I was old enough to be apprenticed. Neither our mother nor our sisters had a word to say against my wishes; nor had Mary Bland.