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THE YARN OF OLD HARBOUR TOWN
* * * * * *
By the Same Author.
_Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s._
+The Romance of a Midshipman.+
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+Stars of Destiny.+ By L. PARRY TRUSCOTT.
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LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
* * * * * *
THE YARN OF OLD
HARBOUR TOWN
by
W. CLARK RUSSELL
Author of "The Romance of a Midshipman," etc., etc.
Second Impression
"Have you ne'er heard the yarn of Old Harbour Town?
She was sweeter than Hinda or Haidèe;
When the hatches were flush with goods, victuals and lush,
The Captain made sail with the lady."
--_Old Rhymes, 1835._
London
T. Fisher Unwin
Paternoster Square
1905
[All rights reserved].
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. LUCY ACTON 1
II. WALTER LAWRENCE 25
III. THE OFFER 48
IV. THE AURORA 75
V. PAUL 101
VI. THE LETTER 131
VII. WHERE IS THE MINORCA? 156
VIII. WHERE IS LUCY? 181
IX. MR GREYQUILL'S VISIT 206
X. MR LAWRENCE AND MR EAGLE 233
XI. PRINCESS TATTERS 259
XII. MR LAWRENCE REFLECTS 287
XIII. LUCY'S MADNESS 311
XIV. THE LOUISA ANN 339
XV. NELSON 367
XVI. THE CAPTURE 404
THE YARN OF OLD HARBOUR TOWN
CHAPTER I
LUCY ACTON
Old Harbour House stood about a mile from the Harbour. It confronted
the town which lay about one mile and a half off, right across a wide,
romantic, heavily-wooded ravine. The banks of this gap sloped softly
and pleasantly into a plain of meadows and two or three farms whose
dyes of roof and cattle enriched the verdure; and down there ran a
river singing in measures of music as it flowed into the Harbour and
mingled its bright water with the brine of the deep beyond.
Above, on the placid slope of down close against Old Harbour Town, hung
a straggler building or two, lonely in importance, or consequential in
some trifling pomp of land; at the point of cliff on Old Harbour House
side, a low, pursy lighthouse wheezed at night a yellow gleam that was
a home-greeting or God-speed to some five score fishermen who dredged
in these and further waters; and on the brow confronting the lighthouse
a venerable windmill revolved its vans against the sky.
It has been said that Old Harbour House stood. The house takes its
place as a beauty of the past. On Christmas Eve 1832, fire reduced
it to a few blackened walls. All through the long night the flames
made a wild, grand show; sea and land were illuminated for leagues
and leagues. Out of the ashes of the beautiful building sprang that
commonplace phoenix, the local poet, who celebrated the one tradition
of Old Harbour Town in a copy of rhymes, of which the first verse
should be found imprinted on the title-page of this book.
The house, or at least the front of it, was built after a design by
Inigo Jones. The pediment was perforated by a circular window glazed
with a casement whose frame resembled the spokes of a ship's wheel. A
variety of antique symbolism resembling the hideous sculptures which
sometimes close the chapters in books of the seventeenth century,
under-ran the eaves. The tall, narrow windows gleamed blackly amidst
the skeletons of the winter, or the coloured embroidery of the summer
creepers. The hall door was noble and hospitable in expanse. A carriage
drive swept from it on either hand the oval lawn to a handsome gate
whose supports were crowned by the arms of the Actons on the one hand
and the arms of a family into which one of the Actons had married on
the other hand.
One bright morning in April in that memorable year 1805, Captain
Charles Acton, R.N. (retired), stood on his lawn in front of the
house watching a gardener who was at work at a flower-bed. He was a
slightly-built but tall, very gentleman-like man, one of the last in a
crowd to be picked out as a seafarer. He was pale, his nose aquiline,
lips thin, and the expression of the mouth firm. He was dressed in a
frill shirt, loose cravat of white cambric, red-striped waistcoat,
long green coat with a high collar and small cuffs, tight breeches to
the ankle buttoned to the middle of the thigh, and top-boots; a rather
low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat sat somewhat cocked on his head. His
hair was long, without powder, and tied a little way down the back in a
sort of tail.
He was suddenly hailed from the gate by a loud, hearty voice.
"What cheer! How are ye, Captain, how are ye this fine morning? Have
you heard the news?"
The gate was thrust open and there entered Rear-Admiral Sir William
Lawrence, a round-faced, bullet-headed seaman of the old type. He was
dressed in a bottle-green coat, metal buttons, red waistcoat, knee
breeches and stockings, shoes and large buckles; and being totally bald
he wore a wig, perched at the back of which was a little round hat.
Sir William again asked Captain Acton if he had heard the news.
"French landed?" enquired Captain Acton, as they strolled away from the
flower-bed and paced the grass, in which the daisies were springing,
in a quarterdeck walk, the Admiral taking about one and a half rolling
steps to Captain Acton's one.
"Yes, the French have landed, but not just in the way they like. One
of our frigates--I haven't got to hear her name--chased a French
privateersman ashore five miles up the coast yesterday afternoon; after
taking out of her ten thousand pounds in gold, which the beggars had
sneaked from a British West Indiaman off Dungeness two or three nights
before, they set her on fire. I had a mind this morning to ride over
and view the wreck or what remains of her."
"Lucy told me at breakfast this morning that on going to bed last night
she noticed a faint tinge in the air as of the rising moon away to the
eastward. 'Twas the burning wreck, I presume?"
"No doubt. She'd light up a wide area."
"I expect the frigate that chased her will be one of the Western
squadron," said Captain Acton. "How finely those ships are doing their
work! Since they've been sweeping these waters scarce a French picaroon
dare put his nose out; when before, the seas swarmed like a tropic calm
with bristling fins of sharks."
"You have to thank Pellew for the idea of those squadrons," said Sir
William. "What a gallant fellow he is! Whenever I hear his name I
recall the story told of him when he was a midshipman. He was aboard
the _Blonde_. You remember Pownoll?"
Captain Acton nodded.
"General Burgoyne arrived alongside to ship for America. The yards were
manned. The General climbed aboard, and looking aloft spied a youngster
standing on his head on the main topsail yard-arm. 'It's only young
Pellew, one of my midshipmen,' says Captain Pownoll. 'But suppose he
falls, sir?' said the General. 'Why, sir,' answers Pownoll, 'if he
falls he'll sink under the ship's bottom and come up t'other side.'"
"Yes. Very characteristic. I rank Pellew after Nelson."
"Why, no, sir."
"Who, then?"
"I consider Cochrane possesses all the potentialities of Nelson. Then
gallant old Jervis"--the Admiral interrupted himself and gazed with an
arch leer at his companion.
"As you know, I have had the honour," said Captain Acton with slight
sarcasm, "to serve under my Lord St Vincent when he was Sir John
Jervis, I may claim to know him."
"Oh yes, thoroughly--very thoroughly."
"I admit the gallantry of his action with the Pegase. It was as
brilliant as a hundred other actions between single ships, not one of
which nevertheless brought the victor an earldom. What made Jervis
a Lord? Was it his own, or the genius of Nelson? That manoeuvre of
the Commodore on the 14th won the battle. We took four ships from
the enemy, and two of them were captured by Nelson. But I dislike St
Vincent for opinions which he is at no pains to disguise. He objects to
the education of the poor."
"So do I, sir," said Sir William.
"We'll not argue the point. St Vincent objects to inoculation for
small-pox because he says that that disease is intended by God to keep
the population down."
Sir William laughed.
"He objects to service clubs. He said to a friend of mine, 'Take my
advice and have nothing to do with them; they are one of the signs
of the times of which I highly disapprove; these assemblies of Army
and Navy may in time become dangerous to the Government.' When he was
Commander-in-Chief he strongly discouraged matrimony. He hated to have
married officers in his fleet, for he said they were the first to run
into port, and the last to come out of it. I do not wonder that they
declined to drink his health at Bath."
"I never heard of that," said Sir William.
"It was in 1802; a Naval dinner was given at Bath--St Vincent was First
Lord, I need not tell you--his health was proposed and refused to be
drunk by many of the company. The party broke up in confusion; some
toasted him in a bumper and left the room; others turned down their
glasses and sat still. And you would rank this old gentleman next after
Nelson?"
"Talking of Nelson," said Sir William, "have you heard the yarn
that is told of Tom Cooke, the actor? He came on in the part of old
Barnwell, and when stabbed forgot the words, and would have died
speechless. His murderer whispered with agitation, 'For heaven's
sake, say something--anything,' on which Tom, throwing up his little
three-cornered hat, shouted in his thick lisp, 'Nelson for ever!'
and died amidst louder applause than was ever provoked by the finest
strokes of Garrick or Siddons."
The story was to Captain Acton's taste, and he laughed with enjoyment.
"I should like," said the Admiral, "to have met Nelson. In all my going
a-fishing I never fell in his way."
"Well," said Captain Acton, "I may say of Nelson as Pope said of
Dryden: _Virgilium tantum vidi_. I was on the Hard when two Naval
officers came ashore. I was thinking of other matters, and scarcely
observed them until they were abreast or a little past me. Then my
glance going to one I instantly perceived he was Nelson. His companion,
I believe, was Troubridge. In the glimpse I got of Nelson's face I was
struck by its paleness and careworn appearance. He looked at least
fifteen years older than his age. They passed rapidly out of sight. I
cannot express the emotions which that one-armed little figure excited
in me--St Valentine's Day, the Nile, Copenhagen!"
"And how much more?" cried the Admiral, with a flush in his cheek, and
with that expression of triumph and pride which lighted up the eyes
of men in those days when they pronounced the magic name of Nelson.
"I should like, I should much like to meet him, to see him, to grasp
his hand, for a minute only before my windlass is manned for the next
world."
"Who knows what lies before us?" said Captain Acton.
"Little enough before me, sir," exclaimed Sir William. "Sailors dream
of a cottage ashore, but when they come to it--I like my little
perch: 'tis not Old Harbour House," says he, casting his eye over the
building, "but I could wish the sea were within range of its windows. I
was down in the Harbour yesterday admiring the lines of your _Minorca_.
She lay upright on the mud, awash to her garboard strake about, and
I liked her lines in the run, and believed I could see a hint to our
shipwrights in the cleanness and beauty of her entry."
"She is a pretty example of the French form," said Captain Acton.
"I think I told you she was built at Bordeaux, from which port some
elegant structures are sent afloat. But the French cannot approach the
Americans as shipbuilders. Take that schooner of mine, the _Aurora_--by
the way, she is due here shortly. I wish she may not have been taken by
the enemy."
"I admire your venture," said the Admiral. "I believe if I could muster
two or three thousand pounds I should be disposed to purchase a prize
or two from the French, Spanish, or Yankees and follow your lead. Good
interest on money is hard to get. Your ships do well for you, sir."
"I am quite satisfied," exclaimed Captain Acton complacently; "but,
as you know, I was mainly actuated by the desire to promote the trade
of this decaying place. The inheritance of this property," said he,
sending his gaze over the wide grounds agreeably wooded afar by
orchards whose boughs in a season's yield supplied cider enough to keep
a parish merry through several generations, "brought with it urgent
obligations. I could not view Old Harbour going to pieces without a
resolution to do something that might serve to keep it together."
"You will add to your ships?" said Sir William.
"I think not. The prospect must brighten before I increase my fleet.
The war risks are stupendous. I never see one of my vessels quit her
berth, but that I say to myself, 'When I next hear of you, you'll be at
Cadiz or Dunkirk, or at the bottom of the sea.'"
Sir William Lawrence halted in the quarterdeck walk the two were taking
upon that bright green oval lawn, and looked at the ocean which ran in
a white line, pale and faint as ice at the horizon, betwixt the two
points of the ravine crowned on the right by the lighthouse and on the
left by a windmill; but the waters of the Channel broadened down from
their pearl-like margin into a delicate blue, which changed into dark
green and brown as the sea shoaled into the land. The Admiral seemed
to find something to delight him in the prospect, and Captain Acton
standing at his side viewed a scene, very familiar indeed to him, with
pleasure, which increased with the attention he gave it.
Indeed no piece of English landscape could have looked fairer on this
fine April morning than Old Harbour Town and its Harbour, and little
forefinger of pier; the windmill and the lighthouse resembled carvings,
so delicately were their outlines traced against the silver blueness
of the spring sky. In the Harbour against the wharves were visible the
mounting masts and yards of several craft with sails hanging loose to
dry, and the water of the Harbour was dotted with a few squab shapes of
smacks and the figure of a moored brig-of-war.
The picture was tender and mellow with colour: the springing lights
of the early growths of the young year, the venerable face of the
cliff as it swept from the slope of down where the windmill was to the
beach, the slow motion of violet shadows over green distances; and the
impression of placid provincial life was heightened by the calm in the
air which was scarcely vexed by the remote silver ringing of a chapel
bell in High Street, Old Harbour Town.
"I often wish I was at sea again!" exclaimed Sir William, as the two
started afresh on their quarterdeck walk. "What a noble, open, hearty,
soul-stirring life it is! What good fellows one meets, what brave
ships, what splendid crews! It is my hourly regret that my son should
be out of it. Though I am his father, I say that this young man had in
him--nay, he has in him--all the makings of a fine, dashing, even a
great officer. But that devil drink--not that the vice is immoderate
with him: but he takes too much; and when the fiend is in him, all that
is weak in his nature appears, and he falls: drink--but not so as to
justify the word drunkard--drink and gaming--these undid him. He was a
favourite with all he sailed with, and yet, through his own accursed
folly, he is forced to quit the Navy under circumstances which would
bring the moisture into my eyes if half a century of hard weather had
not dried all the dampness out of them."
Captain Acton looked at his companion in silence, but with an
expression of gentle concern.
"He must go to the dogs," continued the Admiral, "if he lingers on in
this neighbourhood. He can get nothing to do here, and idleness brings
with it the temptation of drink. I hear of him at 'The Swan.' There he
meets Lieutenant Tupman, and they grow merry together, God wot! over
recollections. I wish he had Tupman's berth: a cabbage garden and a
cottage and a pig-sty, and a gun-brig that is never ready. I wonder the
Admiralty keep up this farce of gun-brigs stationed on the coast to
guard against what they are never prepared for."
"I have heard Mr Lawrence highly spoken of. When I was last in London
I met Pettigrew of the _Circe_, and he was telling me of a cutting-out
affair in which your son was engaged in the West Indies--Antigua, I
think. Nothing could have been more gallant than his conduct."
"He could have done well," sighed the old Admiral. "A few evenings ago
I was waited upon by Mr Greyquill, a sleek and dingy little man whom
I do not love the sight of. Such a visit must be an intrusion. I was
sitting in the open window smoking my pipe, when he pushed the gate
and sneaked up the path in his land-stealing way, but before he could
fetch the door I hailed him: 'Hallo, Mr Greyquill,' says I, 'pray, what
business brings you on this visit?' But in my heart I knew devilish
well what he called about. He steps on to the grass over against my
window, and with a low congee says, 'I am sorry, Sir William, to
intrude upon you, sir, but I can obtain no satisfaction from your son,
and at the same time I have no desire to go to extremities.' 'You'll
not help your case by threatening me, Mr Greyquill,' said I. 'But look
how the case stands, sir,' he cries, 'your son has had three hundred
pounds from me.' 'No, sir,' I said. 'Well, sir, he owes me three
hundred pounds.' 'For how much advanced?' said I. 'For two hundred in
good cash,' he answered. I looked the old rogue full in the eye, and
said, 'You should be a rich man, sir.' 'I want my money, Sir William,'
says he. 'I trusted your son as an officer and a gentleman, and as
the son of an officer and a gentleman----' 'Hold, sir,' I shouted,
losing my temper. 'What right had you to trust me as an officer and a
gentleman when you never gave me your confidence? Did you drop a hint
to me that you were advancing money to my son? Do you suppose if I had
known the truth, that I would have suffered you to accept my credit as
a stake in these ignoble transactions?' 'Well, Sir William, I want my
money,' said the old rascal, 'and must get it, though I hope not to be
driven into extremities. Is Mr Lawrence in?' 'No, sir,' says I. 'Good
afternoon!' and I got up and left the window."
"This man Greyquill has managed to clap the thumb-screw of debt upon
the hands of a pretty good few in our district," said Captain Acton.
"But what's the use of locking up a man who owes you money? Leave him
at large and you stand to be repaid; but flinging a man into a debtor's
gaol, not because he won't pay, but because he can't pay, seems to
me folly as monstrous as locking up a man because being unable to
obtain work his wife and children come upon the parish. Look at the
cost you put the country to on this account! There is the expense of
the maintenance of the man in gaol, and there is the expense of the
maintenance of the wife and children on the parish. Now, by leaving the
man at large you give him the chance of obtaining a day's work."
"I hope old Greyquill will not go to extremes," exclaimed the Admiral,
with a flush in his face. "It is dishonour enough to be in his debt,
but to be imprisoned! There is no good in his looking to me for
repayment."
"I don't think he'll trouble your son in that way. He may be a Shylock,
but he is not one of those money scriveners who demand your money or
your flesh. At least, I should say not. I only know the man to nod to.
Of what use would a pound of your son's flesh be to him? I believe,
sir, that Mr Lawrence is not so immoderate in his love of the glass but
that he might be entrusted with the care of a ship?"
"No, sir; 'tis gambling not drinking that is his weakness. But he
has drunk and still drinks more than he should. Yet I have little
doubt if he could find himself in a situation of trust, knowing now
the hardships and difficulties of life, and the almost insuperable
obstacles to a man's advancement when by his own folly he has ruined
his professional career, that he would keep a stern watch over his
appetite for drink. He has considerable powers of mind, an uncommon
degree of spirit and resolution when he chooses to exert those
qualities; and I say, with the assurance of his profound sensibility
to his present melancholy condition, that he might be safely trusted
to discharge any duties he may have the good luck to be called upon to
execute."
"I think I told you, Sir William," said Captain Acton, after a short
interval passed in reflection, "that the _Minorca_ is in want of a
captain."
"Yes, I remember. The master died in the homeward passage, and the ship
was brought to port by the mate, to whom I suppose you intend to give
the command."
"Well, he is a respectable though a very illiterate man, and I had
half made up my mind to offer him the berth. But I am affected by your
trouble. I should be glad to be of service to your son. Whilst we
have talked I have been thinking, and if he is prepared to accept the
position I am quite willing that he should take the _Minorca_ out and
home from the West Indies this voyage on the terms I am in the habit of
giving--twelve pounds a month and a commission on the earnings of the
voyage."
The Admiral stopped short and looked at his companion with a face that
was warm, and with eyes that were dim with an emotion of gratitude
that was almost the conqueror of his manhood. He extended his arm in
silence, and the two officers clasped hands.
"Acton, you are good--this is indeed kind of you," said the Admiral
after a moment or two of silence. "It would be a great weight lifted
from my spirits to know that my son is shoved clear of the mischief
of the idleness of this place, and that he is once more honourably
employed. For, sir," said the old gentleman in a hearty, almost
rapturous way, "to be in charge of such a ship as the _Minorca_ is to
hold a command as honourable, if not as exalted, as any afloat. I do
thank you, sir. He will be most deeply obliged to you."
The two gentlemen released hands and continued their walk.
"Of course," said Captain Acton, "he is well up in navigation?"
"You will find him fully qualified in that, and in all else. A smarter
seaman never trod shipboard."
"I like the idea," said Captain Acton, "of a naval officer being in
charge of my vessel. The men of the Merchant Service are a very rough
lot. Many of the masters and mates can scarcely read or write. They
grope their way about by dead reckoning. They so little understand the
treatment of men that their crews consider themselves as good as they,
particularly when they bring the sailors aft, and hob-and-nob with the
rum cask lifted through the hatch and broached in the cabin, till half
the company lie motionless in drink, and the rest are fighting and
running about mad. Two things the Navy teaches us: discipline and the
art of it."
At this point the couple turned in their walk and confronted the house,
at the hall door of which, in the act of descending the broad flight
of steps, was a young lady putting on a glove, attended by a little
terrier, who at sight of the gentlemen bounded along the grass and
barked with fury up at the Admiral's face.
This young lady was Lucy, the only child of Captain Acton, one of
the most charming, indeed one of the most beautiful girls of her
time. The scene of garden and flower-beds quaintly shaped, and the
backing of the noble, mellow, gleaming building with its pediment
and symbolic carvings, was enchantingly in keeping with the figure
and appearance of the girl, who by the magic of her looks and attire
instantly transformed it into a picture charged with the colours of
youth and health and a sweet and delicate spirit of life. Her apparel
was prettily of the time: a straw hat, the brim projecting a little
over the forehead and seated somewhat on one side, a plain light blue
gown and long yellow silk gloves. The gown was without waist and bound
under the bosom by a girdle. Her hair this day was dressed in tresses
which hung around the face--not curls, but tender shadings of hair, as
though the effect had been contrived by the fingers of the wind; but
some curls reposed on her neck. Her eyes were unusually large, of a
dark brown and full of liquid light. The eyelids were somewhat heavy,
and looked the heavier because of their rich furniture of eyelash.
The eyelashes indeed suggested at first sight that she doctored her
eyes, as do actresses and others; but a brief inspection satisfied
the beholder that all was Nature transparent, artless, and lovely. A
conspicuous charm in Lucy Acton was her colour: her cheeks always wore
a natural bloom or glow; this, as in the case of her eyes, might have
been suspected as the effect of art, but she blushed so readily, even
sometimes on any effort of speech, the damask of her blood so wrought
in her cheek on any impulse of mood or humour, that it was quickly seen
the mantling glow was a charm of Nature's own gift. No girl could have
been more natural, and few more beautiful than Lucy Acton. Had she
lived half a century earlier she would have been one of the toasts of
the nation.
She was twenty-three years of age, and it will be readily supposed had
been sought in marriage by more than one ardent swain. But she had kept
her heart whole: nothing in breeches and stockings and long cut-away
coat and salutations adopted from the most approved Parisian styles
had touched the passions of Lucy Acton. She was like Emma as painted
by Miss Austen: she loved her home, she adored her father, she was
perfectly well satisfied with her present state of being, she could not
conceive anything in a man that was worth marrying for, and being well,
she meant to leave well alone.
Where did she get those wonderful eyes? From her mother, who in her day
had been a celebrated Irish actress; Kitty O'Hara, famed in such parts
as _Sir Harry Wildair_, the _Fair Penitent_, and _Ophelia_. Captain
Acton, when lieutenant and stationed at Kingston, had seen Mrs Kitty
O'Hara as "Ophelia" at the Dublin Theatre, and before she had been on
the stage five minutes he lost his heart to her. The beautiful and
accomplished actress was living with her mother, a noble-looking old
gentlewoman who claimed to possess the blood of Irish kings. Acton
made love and offered marriage, and was accepted. He had little more
than his pay to live upon; nevertheless he refused to allow his wife
to return to the stage. He was a sailor, and must by reason of his
vocation be often long absent from home, and he declined to subject
his beautiful young wife to the temptations of the stage. He might
also have been influenced by the case of Sheridan after his marriage
with Miss Linley, and sometimes quoted Dr Samuel Johnson's comment on
Sheridan's decision: "He resolved wisely and nobly to be sure. He is
a brave man. Would not a gentleman be disgraced by having his wife
singing publicly for hire? No, sir, there can be no doubt here."
"Down, ma'am! cease your clatter!" cried Captain Acton to the terrier,
whilst the Admiral saluted the young lady with a bow as full of homage
as he would have conceded to royalty. "Where are you bound to?"
"I am going to Old Harbour Town to do a little shopping," answered
Lucy, smiling at the Admiral and showing her milk-white teeth, the
whiter for the red of her lips and the bloom on her cheeks. "Can I do
anything for you, papa?"
"No, my dear."
"Can I be of service to you, Sir William?" said the girl, picking up
her dog to silence it.
"You do me service enough by suffering me to see you, madam," replied
the gallant old sailor. "Brighter lights and fresher colours seem to
attend you. Your grounds, sir, have grown gayer since your charming
daughter made her appearance."
"I know nobody who turns his compliments so prettily as you, Sir
William," exclaimed Lucy. "Do you know, sir," said she, addressing her
father, "that Bates (the butler) just now told me there was a fire at
sea last night."
"No, on the shore, Miss," said the Admiral. "A French corsair was
chased ashore about five miles up and burnt."
"I saw the light from my bedroom window," said Lucy. "Who chased the
Frenchman? Lieutenant Tupman?"
"He! More likely he was chasing one of his pigs, if indeed he was not
in bed, sound under the influence of flip. As those brigs are not
useful, and as they are not ornamental, why is the nation put to the
cost of maintaining them? Had my son received Tupman's berth--oh,
ma'am, I must tell you of a noble, generous deed of kindness your
excellent, large-hearted father has been good enough to do me and Mr
Lawrence. He has promised him the command of the _Minorca_."
Lucy looked at her father with an expression of surprise that vanished
from her fine dramatic eyes in an instant.
"I am very pleased to hear it," she said. "I am sure Mr Lawrence will
be glad to get away from Old Harbour Town. He has visited many parts
of the globe, and to be limited to two streets, and such streets as
High Street and Lower Street with their little shops and tame and
commonplace interests, must be such a trial to a man of spirit, as
every day can but make more and more a punishment."
"It gives me great pleasure to serve my old friend," said Captain
Acton. "Mr Lawrence is an officer with a career full of gallant things;
I have no doubt he is a capable navigator. Will you ask him to call
upon me this evening?"
"At what hour?"
"Eight o'clock will suit me very well."
"He shall wait upon you at the stroke, sir."
"Good-bye, Sir William," said Lucy, and in silence the two gentlemen
watched her walk to the gate and pass out.