Thomas Speers is Promoted. Page [18].

ISLES OF THE SEA;
OR,
YOUNG AMERICA HOMEWARD BOUND.

A Story of Travel and Adventure.

BY
WILLIAM T. ADAMS
(Oliver Optic),
AUTHOR OF “OUTWARD BOUND,” “SHAMROCK AND THISTLE,” “RED CROSS,”
“DIKES AND DITCHES,” “PALACE AND COTTAGE,” “DOWN THE
RHINE,” “UP THE BALTIC,” “NORTHERN LANDS,”
“CROSS AND CRESCENT,” “SUNNY SHORES,”
“VINE AND OLIVE,” ETC.

BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Copyright, 1877, by
WILLIAM T. ADAMS

Copyright, 1905, by
ALICE ADAMS RUSSELL
All Rights Reserved

ISLES OF THE SEA

To My Friend,
P. WOODBURY DODGE, Esq.,
OF AMHERST, N.H.,
BENEATH WHOSE HOSPITABLE ROOF IT WAS WRITTEN,
This Volume
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.

PREFACE.

“Isles of the Sea” is the sixth and last volume of the second series of “Young America Abroad,” and contains the history of the academy squadron during its voyage, “homeward bound,” across the Atlantic. The title of the book, “Isles of the Sea,” indicates the character of the foreign travel in which the students of the institution were engaged; and in the pursuit of knowledge they visit the Madeira Islands, the Canaries, the Azores, the Bermudas, and one vessel of the fleet extends its cruise to the Cape Verd Islands. As in its predecessors, the professor of geography and history has something to say about each of the islands visited, and the surgeon and sanitary officer continues to enlighten the young gentlemen who seek his companionship in their rambles on shore. The field of geography and history is not so extensive as in the preceding volumes of the series; and for this reason the story occupies a larger place in the book.

Of the story, Mr. Tom Speers is the central figure, or at least one of the most prominent characters. Possibly he may be deemed a rather eccentric character for one under age; but, as the author has so often expressed himself before, it does not so much matter what else a young man may be, if he only has high aims, and a resolute purpose to carry out his ideal of what is noble, good, and true. Tom is a high-toned young man, as are all the other characters with whom the young reader is at all likely to sympathize, and in whose fortunes he is most certain to be interested.

As to the innate probability of a few of the leading incidents, they are suggested by actual occurrences in maritime history, which may be recalled by those who have kept themselves familiar with the subject. In regard to the long search of the Ville d’Angers for the academy squadron, which extended nearly across the Atlantic, the recorded experience of those who have traversed the ocean on similar ventures shows how difficult it is, away from the telegraph and the ship-news, for one vessel to find another.

The first volume of the first series of “Young America Abroad” was published in 1866, by the publishers whose imprint is on the present and last of the series. It is therefore eleven years that the author has been engaged in this pleasing work. These books have been received with a degree of favor which the writer is proud and happy to acknowledge, and for which he returns his sincere thanks. He is especially grateful that his life has been spared to complete the work begun; and every year has increased his interest in the host of young friends to whom these books have introduced him in all parts of the country. He regrets, that, in this particular field of travel and adventure, his task has reached its conclusion. He has crossed the Atlantic four times, and travelled in every country of Europe, in preparing himself for the work; and the pleasant memories of the “lonely ocean” and the far-distant lands he has visited will always be retained and cherished, in their association with the multitude of young people in whose delightful service he voyaged and travelled.

Towerhouse, Boston, Nov. 3, 1877.

CONTENTS.

ISLES OF THE SEA.

ISLES OF THE SEA;
OR,
YOUNG AMERICA HOMEWARD BOUND.

CHAPTER I.
THE TELEGRAPHIC DESPATCH.

“ALL hands, pipe to muster!” shouted the boatswain of the Tritonia.

At the same moment the shrill whistle and the sharp cry sounded through the American Prince and the Josephine. The squadron was at anchor in Gibraltar Bay; and since seven bells in the first watch, the signal, “Assign rank,” had been displayed on the American Prince, the flag-ship of the fleet.

It was the first day of April. The merit marks of the students had been added since the last recitations, and the offices were to be given out at eight bells. The squadron had visited all the ports of the Spanish Peninsula, and several trips to the interior had been made. The fleet was to sail to Seville to witness the scenes of Holy Week; and this excursion was to finish the cruise, not only in the waters of Spain and Portugal, but in those of Europe. The vessels would then be homeward bound, but by the way of the “Isles of the Sea.”

There was no little excitement in all the vessels of the squadron. Though the students could keep their own reckoning tolerably well, so far as the literary pursuits were concerned, they were wholly in the dark in relation to the marks for seamanship, navigation, and conduct. Some had strong hopes and expectations, based upon their own earnest efforts; and these were seldom greatly disappointed, though their rank was sometimes not so high as they anticipated. But, as a rule, the whole matter was a great mystery, which it was not possible to find out.

Sometimes there would be very little change in the rank of the officers for several months; and then came a general turn-over of every thing. The rise from the steerage to the cabin was almost uniformly slow and regular, though sometimes a student jumped over the heads of the half-dozen who had stood next above him. This sudden elevation of an officer or seaman had a tendency to produce bad feeling among his rivals in the race for honors, for the boys continued to be human in spite of the discipline of the service.

Possibly the interest on the present occasion was intensified by the fact that the squadron was so soon to sail for home; and doubtless many of the students were thinking of the uniform in which they should be presented to their friends on their return to the American shores. On board of the Tritonia it was known among the closer observers of events, that several of the students had been putting forth extraordinary exertions; and this circumstance fully accounted for the unusual excitement of the day. Among them was Bark Lingall, who had attempted to run away, but had voluntarily returned. He appeared to be thoroughly reformed, and, from one of the most indifferent and vicious boys in the vessel, had become a model of propriety in all things, as well as a very diligent and faithful scholar.

There was a certain class of students in the steerage of the Tritonia, as there always is in any large company of boys, who affected to despise one who had turned away from his evil habits and associations, and reformed his life and character. Lingall had his trials with this class of students; but he was resolute in his purpose to continue in the good way. Under the influence of Raymond, who had inspired him with the desire to do his whole duty, he kept his temper under his persecutions; and in no instance was he provoked to subject himself to discipline by the jeers and taunts of the disaffected.

Another student in the Tritonia, who had not distinguished himself by any misconduct, though he had been an easy-going fellow, suddenly began to exert himself without any apparent stimulus for such action. He was a high-minded boy, but rather peculiar in his ways of thinking and doing. His name was Thomas Speers. He was twenty years old, though he did not show his years, and one might easily have mistaken him for sixteen.

For the reason that they were doing their best in seamanship and the studies, Bark Lingall and Tom Speers excited a great deal of remark, not to say feeling, among the students. Bark had one of the highest numbers in the vessel, which indicated that his rank was among the lowest. He had never done any work he could avoid doing since the first two or three months of his service in the vessel. He had been a conspirator against the discipline and even the safety of the schooner, and was considered a bad boy by the vice-principal in charge and the professors.

Tom Speers had no particular record. He was considered a good fellow by the students in general; and, though he was noted for his independence, he had never wilfully broken the rules of the vessel. He was a first-class seaman; and his ability as a student was discovered to be of the highest order as soon as he chose to exert himself.

While the boatswain of the Tritonia was still piping his call to muster through the vessel, a shore-boat approached the gangway. A man in the stern hailed the vessel; and Marline, the adult boatswain, went down on the accommodation steps to see what he wanted, for visitors were not admitted at this time.

“Is there a man by the name of Thomas Speers on board of this craft?” asked the man in the boat.

“We have a young man of that name on board,” replied Marline.

“Can I see him for a moment?”

“For a moment you can; but he will be wanted very soon.”

The boatswain returned to the deck, and, calling Speers, sent him to the gangway. As the student had no friends in Gibraltar, he wondered who could wish to see him. He hastened to the steps, and went down to the platform at the foot of them. Marline remained at the rail, to see that nothing improper passed between Speers and the man; but he was called away before the student had communicated with the boat.

“Telegraph despatch from San Roque,” said the messenger, handing the document to Speers.

“It can’t be for me,” protested the student, surprised that such a message should come to him. “I don’t know any one in San Roque.”

“It is directed to Thomas Speers, and there is the name of this vessel on it,” persisted the messenger, pointing to the address. “But it is not from San Roque the message comes: that is the nearest telegraph station.”

“Where did it come from?” asked Speers, turning the message over and over in his hand.

“I don’t know: you can tell by opening it.”

“I don’t want to open it, if it is not for me.”

“If your name is Thomas Speers, it is for you. I have done my errand, and I have nothing more to say about it,” added the man, as he shoved his boat off from the platform.

“All hands on deck!” shouted an officer at the gangway.

Speers put the message into his pocket. He seemed to have no curiosity in regard to its contents. He was more interested in the distribution of the offices on board of the Tritonia; but he did not believe the message was for him. He hastened back to the deck, and took his station in the waist.

He hoped his place would be on the quarter-deck for the new term. He had made a desperate struggle with all his studies, and he was not conscious that he had failed in any thing. Mr. Pelham, the vice-principal, took his position at the heel of the mainmast, with the list of officers and seamen in his hand. Most of the students looked very anxious, though a few of the “marines” affected to make fun of the occasion, and pretended that they did not care what positions fell to their lot.

The vice-principal made the usual introductory speech, pointing the moral the occasion suggested. The record for the last month indicated some very important changes; and he hoped they would cause no ill feeling either in the cabin or the steerage. The merit marks strictly represented the conduct and work of the students; and the result of the addition of the figures had caused as much surprise among the professors as it would among the young gentlemen.

Mr. Pelham then announced the name of Wainwright as captain. This officer had held the position for many months; and, as he was very popular on board, the announcement was received with hearty applause. Greenwood was first lieutenant again; and his name was well received by the ship’s company. Scott, who had been fourth lieutenant during the preceding month, came in as second; and, as the joker had always been a favorite, his promotion produced a very decided sensation.

“I congratulate you, Mr. Scott,” said the vice-principal, with a smile.

“Thank you, sir. For the good of the Tritonia, I am glad this thing has happened,” replied the joker.

“Modesty is a cardinal virtue,” added Mr. Pelham.

“I know it, sir; and that is the reason I am so heavily loaded with it,” returned Scott, making a face which caused a tremendous laugh on the quarter-deck.

If there was anybody that did not laugh, it was Alexander, who had formerly been first lieutenant; and his name was not yet called. But it came in next as third lieutenant; while O’Hara, the “Oyrish Oytalian,” was again the fourth lieutenant.

“No great change in that,” said Richards, the first master, who had been struggling for a lieutenant’s place for months.

“No; but that shows the changes are yet to be mentioned,” replied Blair, the fourth master, to whom the remark had been addressed. “It looks as though there was a chance for some of us to take a berth in the steerage. Perhaps you are the one to go down, Richards.”

“What makes you think so, Blair?” asked the first speaker anxiously.

“I don’t think so: I have no opinion at all about it. If there are to be great changes, some of us will have to go down,” added Blair.

So it proved; but not just as the fourth master had indicated. The vice-principal paused a long time before he read the next name; and the hearts of many beat violently as the moment came that might dash down all their hopes for the present.

“First master,” said the vice-principal at last, “Thomas Speers.”

The announcement was received in silence and in blank amazement. The students who had observed that Speers was making an effort thought it possible he might be coxswain of the captain’s gig, captain of the after-guard, or something of that sort; but they had not the slightest expectation that he would get into the cabin, to say nothing of his jumping over the heads of four masters who had been in the cabin for months. The experience of the past demonstrated that a fellow who once got into the cabin very seldom allowed himself to be shoved out of it. If he had the ability to get there, he had the ability to stay there. Besides, the constant presence of the professors had a tendency to stimulate him to do his best.

“Speers, I congratulate you on the great promotion you have won,” said Mr. Pelham, breaking in upon the silence into which the ship’s company had been surprised by the mention of the name of Speers in connection, with so high a position.

“I thank you, sir,” replied Tom Speers, bowing and blushing.

Then came the most tumultuous applause from the seamen in the waist. One of their own number had gone up; and, though they had no particular sympathy with Speers, his elevation indicated that one of the present officers would be reduced to the steerage. There were enough among them to rejoice at the fall of a superior; for it was quite impossible to repress entirely the spirit of envy and jealousy excited by the elevation of the few above the many.

This subject had early attracted the attention of Mr. Lowington, the principal of the academy squadron; and he had done all he could to moderate and expel the feeling among the students. But they were all human beings, subject to the infirmities of the flesh; and they could not be wholly different from the more mature actors on the stage of life. They were fully instructed and warned in regard to the effect of cherishing this vicious spirit; but that was all that could be done. The boys were to meet and encounter the same circumstances in the great world as on board of the vessels of the academy fleet; and they received all the preparation for the ordeal it was possible to give them.

“That proves that one of us will have to go down,” said Blair, while the seamen in the waist were applauding the promotion of Speers.

“I don’t believe in this thing,” added Richards, with no little excitement in his tones and manner. “Who ever heard of such a thing as a fellow in the steerage leaping over the heads of all the masters?”

“It is done; and it’s no use to talk about it,” continued Blair. “Speers’s marks give him that place, or he would not have it.”

“There is something wrong about it.”

“What can be wrong?”

“It looks as though the books of the professors had been doctored. Didn’t the vice-principal say it was as great a surprise to the faculty as to fellows?”

“That only shows that they have had their eyes open; and, if there was any thing wrong about the books, they would have discovered it.”

“It would have been easy enough for Speers to alter half a dozen figures on the book,” Richards insisted.

“I don’t believe Speers is a fellow of that sort,” Blair objected. “If he had done such a thing, the professors could see that the figures had been changed.”

“I don’t understand it; and I can’t explain it in any other way,” added Richards, shaking his head.

“Second master,” the vice-principal proceeded, “Henry Raymond. He is absent, but the principal instructs me to hold his position the same as last month.”

Raymond’s absence was explained, as it was in all the vessels of the fleet; and it was satisfactory to all except Ben Pardee and Lon Gibbs, of the “marines,” who had been engaged in an attempt to run away. The vice-principal glanced at his list again, and the students waited with intense interest for the name of the next officer.

“Third master,” said he; and there was another long pause. Blair and Richards were holding their breath in their anxiety to hear the next name, for there were only two chances more for the cabin.

“Third master,” repeated the vice-principal, “Barclay Lingall.”

If the name of Tom Speers had produced a sensation among the officers and crew, that of Bark Lingall made a greater one. Three months before, he had run away from the vessel with a fellow so bad that the latter was expelled; and on his return, though he came back of his own accord, having been reformed by the influence of Raymond while both were absent, his lost lessons could not be made up; and he was given the highest number in the vessel, which placed him below all the others. From that low position he had suddenly risen to be the third master of the Tritonia. The case seemed to be so singular, and so contrary to the past experience of the students, that the vice-principal deemed it necessary to explain it. He took the occasion to illustrate that almost any student who was thoroughly in earnest in his studies could obtain any position his ambition coveted. When he saw that Lingall was doing so well, he anticipated a high position for him, though not quite so high as he had attained.

“I am disgusted,” said Richards, when one more chance had slipped away from him. “I feel sure that the books have been doctored. Two fellows from the steerage have got into the cabin.”

“And we are about at the end of the rope. Either you or I must go down now, and perhaps both of us,” replied Blair, shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s so; but I don’t believe we are to be sent down by any sort of fair play,” growled Richards.

“There is no help for it. I don’t think I did as well last month as I should have done if I had supposed there was any danger of being shoved out of the cabin,” continued Blair frankly.

“I have no doubt I could have done better; but I believe now that I have done well enough to keep my place.”

“What are you going to do about it? get up a mutiny?”

“I feel like doing something about it.”

“Wait a minute before you do it,” laughed Blair. “You may be all right yet.”

“I can’t be any thing better than fourth master, and below Speers and Lingall.”

“Fourth master,” continued the vice-principal, when the excitement of the last announcement had in a measure subsided; and then he paused again, not to prolong the agony of the students, but to make sure that no mistake was made.

“We shall know all about it in another minute,” said Blair; “and you will learn whether or not you need go on with your mutiny.”

“I haven’t said any thing about a mutiny: you said that, Blair.”

“Mutinies don’t pay in this squadron: besides, we shall be homeward bound in a few days,” laughed Blair.

“Fourth master, Richards,” read the vice-principal from his list.

“There you are, Richards!” exclaimed Blair.

“And you are counted out,” added the new fourth master.

“I am; but I shall not cry about it. You are an officer, and I am a seaman now; and, if I conclude to get up a mutiny at your suggestion, I shall not say any thing to you about it.”

Blair shrugged his shoulders, and, making a merit of necessity, he stepped down from the quarter-deck into the waist. A few minutes later his name was read as one of the highest of the petty officers. There was not much consolation in this position, as he was turned out of the cabin.

The rest of the numbers were given out in the order of merit. As usual, there was considerable grumbling, while not a few were elated over the rank they had won. Before noon the officers put on their uniform, though two of them were absent.

Tom Speers in his frock-coat and cap was a good-looking officer. He was well received by the other occupants of the cabin,—possibly with the exception of Richards, who could not wholly forgive him for getting above him. Tom had quite forgotten the telegraphic despatch he had received, till he put on his uniform, and changed the contents of his pockets into those of the new dress.

He was not much interested in the document: his big promotion monopolized all his thoughts. He had no time to look at it; for, as soon as the rank was assigned in the squadron, the signal for sailing appeared on the American Prince. When the fleet was under way, the second part of the port-watch to which Tom Speers belonged was off duty, the first part being in charge of the vessel.

O’Hara, the fourth lieutenant, was his associate watch-officer. The Irish Italian had treated him very handsomely from the moment the rank of the new-comer into the cabin was announced. They were to spend days and nights together in charge of the deck, and it was pleasant to be on good terms with each other. They had a long talk together as soon as the Tritonia was clear of the Bay of Gibraltar.

While they were thus engaged, Speers took from his pocket the telegraph despatch, which got into his hand by accident rather than by design. He had been too much interested in the conversation with O’Hara to think of it before. He took it from his pocket that he might not forget it again, and not with the intention of opening it in the presence of his companion; but it attracted the attention of the fourth lieutenant.

“What have you there, Speers?” asked O’Hara. “A letter from home? We have had no mail in the ship for a fortnight.”

“No: it is not a letter,” replied Tom Speers very indifferently.

“Not a letter? isn’t it in an envelope?” demanded O’Hara, more interested in the matter than the owner of the document.

“It is a telegraph despatch, which was brought to me just as all hands were piped to muster this morning.”

“I hope none of your friends are sick or dead,” added the lieutenant, with a show of sympathy.

“I have no near friends to die or be sick.”

“Who sends you the despatch, then?”

“I don’t know: I haven’t opened it yet.”

“You haven’t? What is the telegraph for but to hurry up things? and you haven’t opened the envelope yet!” exclaimed the impulsive young Irishman.

“I will open it now,” said Tom, as he broke the seal.

“Faix, you are mighty cool about it,” laughed O’Hara. “Where is it from?”

“From London. I will read it to you, O’Hara, if you will keep it to yourself.”

“Oh, no! I don’t ask to hear what’s in it.”

“But I want you to hear it.”

“Then I will keep your secret.”

“‘Uncle dead; letters sent: come to London quick.

Rodwood.’”

This was the despatch.

CHAPTER II.
THE LETTER FROM LONDON.

“I  THOUGHT you said you had no friends to die or be sick,” said O’Hara, when Tom Speers had read the neglected despatch.

“I said I had no near friends,” explained Tom.

“Don’t you call your uncle a near friend, especially if you have no others?”

“I should say that would depend upon circumstances. I never lived with my uncle, and I never saw a great deal of him. He was a very rich man: I have heard it said that he was worth five or six millions.”

“Murder! what an uncle!” exclaimed O’Hara. “Five or six millions! that’s a power of money. How many children had he?”

“None at all; not a chick nor a child,” replied Tom, amused at the manner of his companion, who always indulged in the brogue when he was excited.

“Howly St. Patrick! five or six millions of money, and not a child in the world? What has he done with it all?”

“I don’t know,” replied Tom coolly.

“How many brothers and sisters had he?” asked O’Hara, opening his mouth with the interest he felt in the case.

“None at all.”

“How can he be your uncle, then? That’s what bothers me.”

“My father was his only brother, and they had no sisters. My father died when I was ten years old; and my mother died two years ago, just before I joined the academy ship.”

“Begorra, then you are the heir of the five or six millions!” shouted O’Hara, as excited as though all the money were coming to him. “Faix, I’m glad to be in the same watch with you! I shall make it the business of my loife to cultivate your frindship.”

“I don’t think it will pay for you to do so, for I never saw my uncle a dozen times in my life; and I am confident he has given his money to some other person,” answered Tom, laughing at the enthusiasm of his companion. “He never did a thing for me, and, what is worse, he never did a thing for my mother when she needed help; and so it isn’t likely that he has left any of his money for me.”

“Whose name is it signed to the despatch?”

“Rodwood; Judge Rodwood. He always was a great crony and adviser of my uncle; and now I suppose he is the executor or administrator.”

“Why should he telegraph to you if your uncle didn’t lave you the money?” demanded O’Hara warmly.

“I don’t know: I may get the letters he sent before we sail for home.”

“But he says you are to go to London quick; and I shall not have you in my watch, after all.”

“Yes, you will; for I shall not go to London,” added Tom decidedly.

“Howly Mother! not go, when there is five or six millions of money waiting for you to put your hand to it?” gasped O’Hara.

“I don’t know that there is even a single dollar waiting for me; and if I knew there were a million I wouldn’t go,” answered Tom, laughing at his friend’s zeal.

“You wouldn’t! what are you made of? You are cowlder than a frozen brickbat! What’s the rayson you won’t go?” inquired the lieutenant.

“I’ll tell you why. My father died worth only about five thousand dollars. My mother kept this money for me; and she took care of me with only an income of three hundred and fifty dollars a year. She asked my uncle for a little help, and he took no notice of her letter. This was a year before she died, and she wanted to send me to college. Then she went to see him, thinking he might not have got the letter. He put her off for a time; but he finally told her he would do nothing for her. I never went to see him after that, though he often sent for me. He did not like my mother, and he never invited her to his house.

“After my mother died, I made up my mind that I wanted to go to sea, and work my way up to be captain of a ship. My mother’s brother was my guardian, and he consented to use my little fortune in paying my expenses in this institution. Now I am here; and I have just got waked up as I never was before. At one bound, I have become first master of the Tritonia. I like the berth; and I am going to do a great deal better than I have yet. Now, do you think I will leave this high place in the vessel at the call of one I don’t care a straw about? I never even saw Judge Rodwood, though I have heard enough about him.”

“He may be your guardian under the will.”

“I don’t care if he is: I have only one guardian that I know any thing about, and that’s my uncle on my mother’s side. I like this situation too well to leave it,” continued Tom, independent as a basket of chips.

“But the money?” suggested O’Hara.

“I don’t know that my rich uncle has left me any money; and, in fact, I don’t care if he has. I have not quite forgiven him for refusing to help my mother.”

“You might take his money, whether you forgive him or not.”

“Now he is dead, I am willing to forgive him; but I don’t ask any favors of him or his estate.”

“Faix, you are moighty indepindint.”

“I love the Tritonia with all my heart just now; and I wouldn’t leave her for filthy lucre any more than I would cast off the girl that loved me for it. Judge Rodwood is a great boatman, and has a steam-yacht, though I believe my uncle owned it; so that I might have a chance to go to sea in good shape if I went to him. But I like my place on board this vessel better; and I mean to stay here as long as I can. I have told you all about my affairs, O’Hara; and now you will not blow on me, will you?”

“Faix, I won’t, thin! Not a word shall pass my lips,” protested the warm-hearted Irishman.

“If the vice-principal should see this message, or hear of it, he would tell Mr. Lowington; and he might make me go to London, whether I am willing or not,” added Tom rather anxiously.

“I’m sure he would make you go to London for your own good. But not a word will I spake till I have your permission to do so.”

“Thank you, O’Hara: I am sure we shall be good friends.”

“You may bet your life on that! You are a broth of a boy, with five or six millions, more or less, in your trousers-pocket; and you may depind upon it, I’ll stick to you like a brother,” said O’Hara, with a wild laugh.

“Don’t consider me an heir till we have further information. But we were very good friends before I read this message to you.”

“Faix, we were!”

The conversation was continued till the two officers were called to attend to their duties, when the first part of the watch was relieved. The following week was spent at Seville, and then the squadron returned to Gibraltar. The vessels had hardly anchored before Mr. Lowington’s agent came off with a mail for the students and others on board. There was a letter for Tom Speers.

He put it into his pocket without stopping to read it, though not till he had seen that the post-mark was London. This was the letter alluded to in the telegraphic despatch; and doubtless it contained full particulars of the death of his uncle, and an explanation of the reason why he was summoned to London. Tom was not inclined to read it, for he did not wish to be told of any thing that would call him away from the Tritonia. His ambition was thoroughly aroused, and he was resolved to win the highest position in the vessel.

All who had received letters from home were busy reading them, and the discipline of the squadron was sufficiently relaxed to permit them to do so without interruption; but Tom Speers put his letter into his pocket. O’Hara had news from home, and he was busy digesting it, so that he could not speak to him about his affairs. He felt the need of counsel, while he dreaded to receive it lest it should oblige him to abandon the Tritonia and the brilliant hopes of the future.

Perhaps his uncle had left him a fortune, for there were a dozen fortunes in the vast pile of wealth the dead man had left behind him. It was even probable, in Tom’s estimation, that he had done so, for he had been named after his uncle; and, if he did not care for his nephew, he might desire to have his name live after he could no longer bear it except upon the costly monument that marked his last resting-place. The young man felt no deep affection for his uncle, and had no great respect for his memory. A few thousands given to his mother while she was pinching herself to bring up her boy would have been better than as many hundred thousands to him now that she was gone.

Tom felt that he was alone in the world, and he had only to look out for himself. While he cherished no spite or ill-will towards his departed uncle, he did not quite like the idea of being made a rich man by his bounty. He was very proud and independent; and to accept a fortune from his uncle, seemed almost like treachery to his mother. It was the sentimentalism of the young man, which a few years of contact with the world would obliterate.

The letter from Judge Rodwood was in his pocket, and it seemed to burn there. He was curious to know its contents, but he did not wish to be influenced by any thing it might contain. He did not like to be tempted by wealth to give up his present ambitious prospects. He thought every minute, as he looked at his shipmates reading their letters from home, that he would open the one from the judge; but he did not. He sat upon the quarter-deck, gazing listlessly at all the objects in sight, from the lofty rock bristling with guns and batteries, to the scenes which were transpiring on board of the schooner; but he could not decide to do any thing to settle the present problem of existence.

He had made up his mind to be a sailor. He had longed for a “life on the ocean wave” since he was a small boy, and read the tales of the sea; but his devotion to his mother did not permit him to mention the subject after he had observed her shudder when he alluded to it for the first and last time. But he had dreamed, all the time, of roaming the seas, and visiting the distant lands of the earth. He had put himself in the way to realize these visions as soon as he had in a measure recovered from the deep grief occasioned by the death of his mother. Now, when he had almost reached the pinnacle of his hopes, came this command of his uncle’s executor—as he supposed the judge was—to abandon his delightful mission.

But Judge Rodwood was not his guardian, so far as he knew; and he was not willing to recognize his right to order him to London. Perry Bowman, his mother’s brother, was all the guardian he could recognize. This gentleman had possession of his little fortune, or what was left of it; for his expenses in the academy squadron had already absorbed a considerable portion of the principal, besides the income.

While he was thinking of the subject, unable to come to a decision in regard to the letter, which he was confident was a repetition of the order for him to hasten to London, he saw a boat leave the American Prince, and pull first to the Josephine, and then to the Tritonia. The officer in charge of it delivered a note to each vice-principal, and then returned to the steamer, which was still taking in coal at the station.

All the preparation for the voyage among “The Isles of the Sea” had been completed on board of the two consorts. All the water-tanks and spare casks had been filled with water, and an abundance of fresh and salt provisions had been taken on board. The compasses had been adjusted, and the chronometers had been regulated; and every thing was in readiness for sailing at a moment’s notice, though the steamer would not have received all her coal till after dark.

The boat which brought the note had hardly returned to the flag-ship before the signal for sailing appeared at the mainmast of the Tritonia. Word was passed along among the officers, that the two schooners would sail at ten, leaving the American Prince to follow in the evening.

“We are off in ten minutes,” said O’Hara, disturbing the meditations of Tom Speers, as soon as the news had been circulated among the students.

“I am not sorry that we are not to wait all day in port for the steamer,” replied Tom. “You have had letters from home, O’Hara. I hope your friends are all well.”

“First class,” replied the fourth lieutenant. “And did you get the letters from London of which you were advised in the despatch?”

“I got one letter, but it is a very thick one, and very likely the envelope contains two or three of them.”

“Well, what is it all about? How much money has your uncle left you?” asked O’Hara glibly, but with deep interest manifested in his bright eyes.

“I don’t know: I haven’t opened the letter yet,” replied Tom, with a smile.

“Haven’t opened it!” exclaimed the lieutenant, holding up both hands in amazement. “Upon my sowl, you are a lunatic, Speers! you haven’t a head upon your shoulders at all, at all!”

“Now, I think I have,” added Tom, laughing heartily at the earnestness of his companion. “Did you open your letters?”

“To be sure I did.”

“Why did you open them?”

“Why did I open them? Howly Mother, what a question! Why did I open them? To see what was in them. What else would I open them for?”

“For nothing else. You wanted to know what was in them; and the right thing for you to do was to open them. I don’t want to know what is in mine; and for that reason I don’t open them. Isn’t my way of doing it just as sensible as yours?” demanded Tom, satisfied with his logic.

“You don’t want to know what is in them! By the powers, that’s the rayson why you are a lunatic! I don’t know but I ought to report you to the vice-principal before we sail, that you may have proper medical tratement before we get out of the raych of the docther.”

“Don’t do that, if you please, O’Hara,” said Tom earnestly. “I told you the reason why I did not wish to be sent to London.”

“Never you fear. Sure, it’s joking I was. I wouldn’t mutther the first taste of a sound to bother you; but, upon my sowl, you are the quayrest boy I ever met in the whole course of my life. You don’t care a straw how much money your rich uncle has left you!”

“I don’t think I do. If he had given my poor mother a hundredth part of his big fortune when she was alive, I would have blessed his memory, and heeded his slightest wish, alive or dead.”

“Then the executor of your uncle must go down on his knees, and beg you to take the fortune he has left you!” exclaimed the lieutenant. “If you don’t want it yourself, take the money, and hand it over to the poor, myself among the number.”

“I suppose I shall take whatever my uncle has left me; and I shall try to make a good use of it. But when I came into the academy squadron, I had made up my mind that I would be the architect of my own fortunes. I came here to learn the arts of seamanship and navigation as the means to earn my own living. I don’t feel like turning away from my plan yet. I love the sea.”

“But with all the money your uncle will leave you, can’t you sail all over the world in your own yacht; and that yacht a steamer like the American Prince, or a full-rigged ship like the Young America? What are you talking about?”

“But I want to finish my course in the Tritonia; and, if you won’t laugh at me, I mean to be the captain of her before she reaches the shores of the United States,” said Tom, with enthusiasm.

“Oh, murther! is that what’s the matter wid you?” ejaculated O’Hara, with a laugh. “I had that same fayver; and, when I first got into the Tritonia, I said to myself that I would be the captain of her in six months; and now it’s more than a year I’m in her, and I’m only fourth lieutenant.”

“If I fail, I fail; but I shall do all I can to win the position.”

“But don’t be a lunatic any longer! Open the letter, and see what’s the matter. Faix I’m dying with curiosity to know what’s in it,” continued the lieutenant.

“One reason why I did not open it before was that I wanted to talk with you about it; for I believe you are the best friend I have in the ship,” said Tom earnestly; for he had a great admiration for his fellow watch-officer.

“Thank you for that. Upon my sowl, I think you are a good fellow, if you are a lunatic on the letter. Take the advice of your best friend on board, and see what’s in that envelope immejitly.”

“I will, since you advise it,” replied Tom, taking the letter from his pocket.

While O’Hara was glancing at the superscription, the boatswain’s whistle sounded through the ship.

“All hands, up anchor!” shouted that officer, after he had piped the call.

Tom Speers grasped the letter, and returned it to his pocket. At the next instant he was at his station, for with his lofty ambition he could not afford to be the last in his place. The first lieutenant was in position on the quarter-deck, with the speaking-trumpet in his hand, though it was an emblem of authority, rather than a useful implement in a quiet time.

“Man the capstan!” said this high official, in moderate tones, considering the magnitude of the position he filled.

The order was repeated by the other officers till it came to the forecastle. Every seaman knew precisely what he was to do in the operation of weighing the anchor; and in a moment the bars were shipped and swiftered. All hands were then in position, and waiting for the next order.

“Heave around! Heave in the cable to a short stay!” added the first lieutenant; and the order went forward as before.

The first master had been directed to inform him when the cable had the proper scope, which had been indicated to him.

“Avast heaving!” said Tom Speers. “Cable at a short stay, sir,” he added to the first lieutenant.

“Pawl the capstan! Unship the bars!” continued the executive officer.

The cable was well stoppered, or secured where it was. About three-fourths of the whole of the cable which had been run out was hauled in by the operations described. The wind was moderate in the harbor, and only enough was now out to hold the vessel while the rest of the preparations were made for getting under way. The part out was “up and down,” and a few turns of the capstan would have lifted the anchor clear of the bottom.

The length of cable used in anchoring, or in holding the vessel at a short stay, requires the exercise of discretion and judgment; but the young officers were required to determine for themselves all these questions. The harder it blows, or the swifter the tide, the greater the scope of cable needed. It is true, the adult boatswain was always on hand to see that the work was properly done on the forecastle; and the vice-principal, who was the only adult seaman in the cabin, closely observed the manœuvres made; but they never interfered, unless the safety of the vessel required them to do so. If the young officers were at fault, they were criticised afterwards, when the crew were not present.

“Stations for loosing sail!” said the first lieutenant, when the cable was at a short stay.

The fore-topsail was shaken out, the foresail and mainsail were set; and the order was given to man the jib and flying-jib halyards, and to ship the capstan bars again.

“Anchor a-weigh, sir!” reported the first master on the forecastle.

Tom Speers saw that the anchor was clear of the bottom when the hands at the capstan had heaved a few turns.

“Let go the downhauls, and hoist away!” added the executive officer; and at the order up went the jib and flying-jib.

The wind was about north, and the sails were trimmed as they filled. As soon as the Tritonia was fairly under way, her fore-topmast-staysail, fore-top-gallant-sail, and main-gaff-topsail were set. At the same time the order was given to cat and fish the anchor, or hoist it up to the cat-head, and then put it in its usual position when the vessel was at sea.

As the beautiful craft swung around, and the breeze filled her sails, ringing cheers came from the shore and from the men-of-war in the harbor; all of which were returned with vigor by the young tars. With the wind on the beam, the two schooners stood out of the bay, and in a short time were passing through the Strait of Gibraltar. As they went out into the broad ocean, the wind freshened till they were making ten knots an hour. It was study time for the port-watch, and Tom had no chance yet to read his letter.

CHAPTER III.
AN APPROACHING SQUALL.

THE port-watch were on duty from twelve till four in the afternoon; but the second part had their off time for the first two hours. The Tritonia was jumping at a lively pace in the white-capped sea, headed west, a quarter south. O’Hara had been impatiently waiting for this time to come to dive into the mysteries of that London letter. He was more anxious to know the contents of the envelope than Tom was.

As soon as the starboard watch had piped to dinner, the fourth lieutenant led the way to a place on the lee side of the quarter-deck where they could be alone. Tom produced the important letter, and broke the seal. As he had surmised, it contained two other letters, one of them addressed to Mr. Lowington, the principal of the squadron, and the other in the handwriting of his maternal uncle.

“Sure, you can’t deliver that one to Mr. Lowington now,” said O’Hara, looking back to the distant land which would soon be out of sight.

“I am not anxious to deliver it; for I can guess the substance of what it contains,” replied Tom.

“Well, what’s in the letter from London?” asked the lieutenant impatiently.

Tom Speers unfolded the sheet. It was a brief business-like document, hardly covering a page of the paper, though written in a very open hand. It was dated on board steam-yacht Marian, at Southampton, though it had been mailed in London.

Thomas Speers, the millionnaire uncle of the first master, had died six weeks before. He had given about half of his immense fortune to charitable institutions, and the other half to his nephew. Judge Rodwood was appointed guardian and trustee, so far as this property was concerned. The judge had come to England in his steam-yacht in order that he might follow the academy squadron, if, as he feared, it had left Europe on its return voyage to America.

“Give me your hand, Speers!” said O’Hara with enthusiasm. “I was dead sure your uncle had made a millionnaire of you!”

“I was rather afraid he had,” replied Tom moodily, as he glanced at the letter again. “He gives me no particulars of the death of my uncle, or in relation to the fortune.”

“Upon my sowl, you are the quarist mortal that iver came into the world, or will iver go out of it after getting quare in it. You are afraid your uncle has made a millionnaire of you! Where is your gratitude?”

“I don’t carry it in my trousers-pocket. The whole of it is, O’Hara, I am too much interested in the voyage of the Tritonia to care much about the contents of this letter. I have just become an officer, and I don’t want to give up my position.”

“I understand that; but what’s the use of running away from the fortune that is waiting for you?”

“I don’t intend to run away from it. I think it will keep till the Tritonia returns to the United States.”

“Another of those letters is addressed to you. Will you leave that till to-morrow before you open it?”

“Not at all. This one is from my uncle, Perry Bowman; and I am always glad to hear from him,” replied Tom, as he opened the letter. “‘Wonderful news for you, my dear boy,’” continued the first master, reading from the letter: “‘your uncle is dead, and has left you at least three millions of dollars: so much for bearing his name, for he wanted to preserve it after he was gone. You are to have the income of your money till you are twenty-five, and then a million every five years till you get the whole of it into your own hands. I have resigned my guardianship of you in favor of Judge Rodwood. I offered to pay over to him about four thousand dollars in my hands; but he declined to take it till you had formally named him as your guardian, as you have the right to do, so far as personal care is concerned. He advised me to pay over the money to you at once; and I send you a letter of credit for the amount. You may want it more before you get home than afterwards.’”

“Howly St. Patrick!” exclaimed O’Hara, as Tom opened the valuable document alluded to. “You are measly with money.”

“That paper will be convenient, wherever I happen to be,” said Tom, with a smile, as he put the letter of credit into his pocket-book. “I could have made a better use of it six months ago than I can now. I was poor as a church-mouse then, when most of the fellows were made of money.”

“You can buy them all out now,” added O’Hara. “Now, what are you going to do about this business, my lad?”

“I can’t do any thing now: it is too late for me to go to London,” replied Tom with a smile.

“I see you are satisfied with the matter as it is.”

“I am.”

“But Judge Rodwood is over here in his steam-yacht for the purpose of following the squadron, if he don’t find it in European waters,” added the lieutenant.

“I am willing he should follow it.”

“When he begins to look into the matter, anybody in Gibraltar can tell him the fleet has gone to Madeira; and all he has to do is to follow you.”

“I don’t object.”

“Of course you don’t; but when he finds you, he will take you out of the vessel.”

“I don’t believe he will, if I am not ready to leave her. Don’t my uncle Perry say I have the right to name my own guardian? if the judge don’t do the right thing, I will not consent to name him as my guardian. But when I tell him I prefer to stay in the Tritonia, if he is a reasonable man, as I think he is, he will not object.”

“But you are not doing the right thing yourself, my boy,” protested O’Hara. “What kind of a way was it to put a telegraphic despatch in your pocket, and not open it? And what kind of a way was it to lave your letter unopened till it was too late to do what you were told by your guardian? Don’t your uncle Perry tell you to come home as soon as ever you can?”

“He has resigned as my guardian; and the other one has not been properly appointed,” said Tom, laughing at his own ingenuity in devising an excuse.

“How do you know what’s in the letter to Mr. Lowington?” demanded the lieutenant.

“I have no doubt it contains an order for my discharge from the academy squadron,” replied Tom. “I would deliver it, if the principal were only here; for I have no right to keep his letters back, whatever I do with my own.”

“I think you had better give the letter to the vice-principal.”

“I am willing to do that.”

“I am afraid the powers that be will blame you for not opening the letter before we sailed,” continued O’Hara.

“I am willing to bear the blame for what I have done,” replied Tom; and, seeing the vice-principal coming up from the cabin, he delivered the letter to him as he reached the deck.

“Where did you get this?” asked Mr. Pelham, surprised to see a sealed letter to the principal so soon after leaving port.

“It was in a letter to me, which I did not open till just now,” replied Tom.

“And why didn’t you open it before the ship sailed?” demanded Mr. Pelham, quite as much astonished as the fourth lieutenant had been.

“I didn’t care to open it, sir,” answered Tom, wondering how he could get out of the scrape without telling the whole truth.

“That is very strange.”

“I had some idea of what the letter contained,” added Tom, with a smile.

“And that was the reason you didn’t open it?”

“I was not interested in it.”

“There seems to be something under all this, Speers,” continued the vice-principal, looking into the honest face of the young man. “What is it?”

“A telegraph despatch, sir,” replied Tom, handing the document to Mr. Pelham.

Tom found, after due consideration, that there was no way out of the scrape; and he explained the whole matter in full.

“I don’t care to have my shipmates know about this, sir,” said Tom, when he had told the whole story.

“It is your private affair, and you have a right to keep it to yourself if you choose,” replied Mr. Pelham; “and I shall respect your wishes.”

“I have told O’Hara about it, but no one else.”

“But it cannot be long concealed that we have a millionnaire on board,” added the vice-principal, laughing. “Judge Rodwood will follow the squadron to Madeira.”

“When I see him I hope he will permit me to remain in the Tritonia; and till that time I don’t care to have any thing said.”

“Very well. But I think you ought to have opened your letter before the vessel sailed. It was hardly treating Judge Rodwood with proper respect, to take no notice of his telegraphic despatch.”

“Perhaps it was not, sir; but I did not know what to do. I suppose the whole of it is, that I didn’t want to leave the vessel; and I was afraid if I answered the despatch, or opened the letters, I might have to go,” pleaded Tom honestly. “I have no doubt that letter to Mr. Lowington contains a request for my discharge.”

“Probably it does; but I don’t see that any thing can be done about it now. The vessel is almost out of sight of land,” said Mr. Pelham, smiling; and he looked as though he rather sympathized with the first master in the trials and tribulations cast upon him by his coming fortune. “I will consult with Mr. Fluxion, who is my senior in rank, as soon as possible; though the sea is rather too heavy just now to communicate with the Josephine, except in a case of emergency.”

“I am in no hurry to have any thing done,” replied Tom, laughing and shrugging his shoulders.

“The last log gave us ten knots, and the wind is increasing. At this rate we may get to Madeira before the American Prince overhauls us,” added the vice-principal.

“I am willing,” chuckled Tom.

Mr. Pelham descended to the steerage to resume his duties as instructor in navigation. Tom was very well satisfied with the result of his interview, and joined O’Hara on the lee side of the vessel. His position was safe, for the present at least; and he hoped Judge Rodwood would be reasonable enough to allow him to complete his course in the academy squadron.

“Well, my boy, did you get a black eye from the vice?” asked O’Hara, who had been watching the conference with the most intense interest.

“Not a bit of it: Mr. Pelham knows how it is himself, and he behaved very handsomely,” replied Tom cheerfully.

“I suppose the news will be all over the ship now before the dog-watches are out,” added O’Hara.

“Three of us have the secret now; and I think we are strong enough to keep it.”

“Then it can’t be kept.”

“If you keep a stopper on your jaw-tackle, O’Hara, it will be safe till Judge Rodwood arrives at Madeira, though I am not without a hope that we shall be gone when he comes.”

“That is your little game, is it?”

“There is no game about it. It is only a hope I have; and I shall do nothing wrong about it.”

“Of course you won’t do any thing wrong: you are not the fellow for that,” added O’Hara, with a little taste of Irish blarney.

“I am not so high-toned as Raymond; but, if I intend to be captain of this vessel, of course I can’t afford to be on the wrong side of any question; for it is a matter of marks as well as of morality,” replied Tom, with a laugh.

The matter was settled, for the present at least, so far as the student was concerned. But the vice-principal was not quite satisfied with the situation. The letter to Mr. Lowington ought to have been delivered before the vessel left Gibraltar. It might contain something more than an application for the discharge of the first master. He was very anxious to consult with the senior vice-principal; and, as soon as the recitation he had in hand was finished, he went on deck to take a look at the weather.

The quarter-watch had been changed, and O’Hara and Tom Speers were in charge of the deck. They had no opportunity to converse together now, for it was contrary to the rule for officers on duty to do any unnecessary talking. But they noticed the nervous manner of the vice-principal as he looked up to windward. The wind had been increasing since the Tritonia sailed in the forenoon. Though it still looked squally and threatening, as it had for the last three hours, there seemed to be a brief lull in the force of the wind, though the barometer was falling.

The Josephine was abreast of the Tritonia; for the two vessels were very equally matched, though each had its peculiar advantage in different points. The former could hug the wind a little closer, and the latter could gain a trifle on the other going free. Each ship’s company bragged of its own craft, because each had got a little ahead of the other on its best course.

“Signal on the Josephine, sir,” reported the lookout on the weather cat-head.

“Signal on the Josephine, Mr. O’Hara,” repeated the first master in the waist.

“Call the signal-officer,” added the fourth lieutenant.

The box containing the signals was opened; glasses were in demand; and the signal which the Josephine displayed was promptly examined.

“Do you make it out, Mr. Lingall?” asked O’Hara, rather impatiently, for it was an unusual thing for one vessel of the squadron to communicate with another under like circumstances.