I quickly dressed and went on deck, when I found that we were already at sea, and under all sail doubling the North Foreland. But I remembered enough of my former voyage to be perfectly at home; and I felt as happy as a bird let out of a cage, as it spreads its wings and soars into the free air.
I told Uncle Denis what the doctor had said. He looked rather grave. “I must leave you to be guided by your father,” he said at length. “Perhaps by the time we reach home the Spaniards may have been driven out of the country, and the blessings of peace secured. We shall know more about the matter when we get there.” And he dropped the subject.
On the voyage, however, when it was calm, Uncle Denis gave me instruction in the use of firearms. We aimed at bottles thrown overboard as marks, and sometimes had a target rigged out at the end of a studdingsail-boom; so I soon became a good shot, both with rifle and pistol.
“Now, Barry,” said my uncle, “let us try what we can do with the sword.” And producing some sword-sticks, he made me take one. Somewhat to my surprise I found that he was an expert swordsman. He quickly initiated me into the mysteries of attack and defence, which gave us plenty of occupation, as it was seldom so rough that we could not practise with our weapons; and many of the other passengers followed our example. I did not, however, altogether forget my books, and employed myself in studying Spanish grammatically. Altogether, we had a pleasant voyage, and arrived safely at Port Royal.
Leaving the ship, we took up our abode at Kingston, which I thought a remarkably hot and unpleasant place.
My uncle laughed at my complaints of the heat. “You’ll find your native land much hotter, my boy,” he observed. “You’ve been so long getting cooled down in England that you forget what heat is.”
I suppose that I had done so; though my father’s house being on elevated ground, the atmosphere round it was much cooler than in the low plains.
We had to wait for some time till my uncle could secure a passage on board a schooner, the Flying Fish, Captain Longswill, bound for the coast of Venezuela. She was a fast, rakish craft, carrying four long guns, and a parti-coloured crew of determined-looking fellows. Soon after we got on board, she made sail out of the harbour and stood away for her destination.
“You should know how to load and work a gun,” said my Uncle Denis to me, after we had got clear of the land; “you may some day have to use one in earnest.”
I, of course, was perfectly ready to be instructed; and the captain directing three of the crew to assist us, we cast the gun loose, loaded it, and fired it off. This we did several times, Uncle Denis desiring me to watch carefully how each movement was made. I worked away with him till my arms and back ached. By that time I began to feel myself an accomplished gunner. We then ran in the gun and secured it.