Day after day went by and not a sail was seen.
“This is vexatious work,” exclaimed Harry, as he and Headland were walking the quarter-deck during the first watch, when the frigate lay becalmed about ten or a dozen miles off the coast.
“It’s more than vexatious to me who have no friends to help me, and who, unless I get the opportunity of fighting my way up the ratlines, have but little hope of promotion,” answered Headland. “You who have a father in Parliament are sure of yours as soon as you have served your time.”
“That may be the case, but I would rather gain my promotion in hard service, than as a matter of favour. I am sure that you will make opportunities for yourself, and I hope to find them too, though they may not come as willingly as we may desire,” said Harry. “But how is it, Headland, that you speak of having no friends? You know me well enough, to be sure, that I could not wish to pry into your affairs from idle curiosity; but the truth is, that being known to be your friend, I have several times been asked about you, and I have been compelled to confess that I know nothing of your history. That has made people fancy that there is something you would desire to conceal, though, as I know you, my dear fellow, to be the soul of honour, I am very sure there is nothing, as far as you are personally concerned, which you would desire to be kept secret.”
“You do me no more than justice, Harry,” answered Headland, in a tone which denoted honest pride—a very different feeling to vanity. “There is nothing in my history which I wish to conceal. On the contrary, I would rather have it as widely known as possible, though the fear of being considered egotistical has prevented me talking about myself. For this reason alone I have hitherto, even to you, never spoken about my early days, and now you put the question to me, I can scarcely otherwise account for my silence on the subject.”
“You have spoken at times of a kind-hearted seaman who took care of you as a child, and of having served as a ship’s boy before you were placed on the quarter-deck, and of other circumstances which have made me suspect that your early history was not a little romantic. From strangers being present, or from other causes, I have, however, always been prevented from questioning you more particularly on the subject, and even now, as I honour you for yourself, I would not ask you to tell me anything, but that I believe it would be for your advantage, and certainly, as I said before, not to satisfy my own curiosity.”
“I am sure of that, my dear Harry,” answered Headland, “and I will try to give you as much of my early history as I possess myself. To do so I must exert my memory, and help it out with the information I have obtained from my early protector and devoted friend, Jack Headland, whose name I bear, though I know from him that it is not my proper one. I have no reason, however, to be ashamed of the name, and therefore gladly retain it, hoping some day to make it known with honour. I confess, however, did I possess any means of being recognised, my earnest wish would have been to discover my parents and family, but as you will learn, from what I am going to tell you, all possible clue that would enable me to do so has been lost, and I have therefore made up my mind to be content with my position, and to gain a name for myself.”