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.
“‘Have you any’”--replied Lingall, who was the signal-officer, and
who had carefully studied his duties since his unexpected promotion.
“Reply that the signal is understood, quartermaster.”
The proper flag was set, whereupon the Josephine began to display
single letters, indicating that the article for which she desired to
ask was not contained in the signal code. The process was slow, but it
was sure in the end.
“How far have you got?” asked O’Hara.
“C-h-l-o,” replied Lingall.
“By the powers, you have made a mistake, Mr. Lingall!” said the fourth
lieutenant, with a laugh.
“I think not, sir: I take down each letter as it comes,” replied
Lingall.
“You have misplaced the letters: it is c-h-o-l they mean; and they want
to ask if we have the c-h-o-l-i-c, colic.”
“I think not, sir; for I don’t believe that is the way they spell
‘colic’ on board of the Josephine,” added Lingall, with a smile,
and not quite sure that it was prudent to expose the blunder of his
superior.
“Faix, you have me there! I see you have learned your spelling-lesson
well, Mr. Lingall.”
“‘R,’” continued the signal-officer, adding another letter to the
unfinished word.
“Chlor,” said O’Hara. “That’s not a nautical word, to be sure.”
“No: it looks more like a medical term,” added Mr. Pelham, who had
joined the group gathered around the signal-officer.
“‘O,’” continued Lingall, as another letter was indicated.
“Chloro: that must be chloroform. The professors on board are going to
perform a surgical operation.”
“I think not: there is no doctor on board of the Josephine,” added Mr.
Pelham.
“It must be some doctor’s stuff,” persisted the fourth lieutenant.
“If you are patient for a few moments longer, you will not be under
the necessity of guessing what is wanted. I am satisfied the word is
chlorodyne,” said the vice-principal.
“Chlorodyne!” exclaimed O’Hara. “Is that a rope, or something to eat?”
“Neither: it is a medicine with which all the vessels of the squadron
are provided; and I have had occasion to administer it several times.”
“If it’s physic I’ve nothing to say; but if there is a rope in the ship
that I don’t know, I feel guilty,” said O’Hara, with a mock sigh of
relief.
“‘D,’” continued Lingall, taking down the next letter of the word.
“That’s enough,” interposed Mr. Pelham. “The article wanted is
chlorodyne; reply ‘understood,’--yes.”
This signal was transmitted, for the Tritonia had an abundant supply of
the medicine named; and Mr. Pelham wondered how the Josephine happened
to be out of the article, since it was Dr. Winstock’s favorite remedy
in all cases of colic or severe pain in the bowels.
“Heave to, and wait for a boat,” was the next message interpreted from
the signals.
The signal was duly reported to the captain, who was studying his
lessons in the cabin. He directed the officer of the deck to obey the
order, which was regarded as coming from the senior vice-principal.
Simultaneously the two vessels came up into the wind, backing their
fore-topsails.
Mr. Pelham went down into the cabin as soon as the Tritonia was brought
to; but he returned in a few moments, wearing his pea-jacket.
“This will afford me an opportunity to consult with the senior
vice-principal in regard to your matter, Speers,” said Mr. Pelham to
the first master in the waist.
“I hope we shall not be ordered back,” replied Tom, not a little
annoyed at the prospect.
“I think there is no danger of that, Speers; but I feel obliged
to make the case known to Mr. Fluxion: he will at least share the
responsibility with me,” replied Mr. Pelham.
Tom felt easier after this assurance. The vessel pitched very heavily
in the sea when she was hove to; and, if the junior vice-principal had
any doubt about the propriety of leaving the Tritonia at such a time,
he did not express it to any one on board. Certainly the indications of
the weather, as gathered from the barometer and the appearance of the
heavens, were any thing but favorable.
The second cutter of the Josephine was hoisted out with its crew on
board. The fact that the adult boatswain was sent in the boat, in
addition to the usual crew, seemed to indicate that Mr. Fluxion would
not send the boat unless he considered the occasion an emergency. It
was probable that one of the students in the vessel was very sick, and
that Mr. Fluxion believed the weather was better now than it was likely
to be for some hours to come.
The cutter from the Josephine cast off from the schooner. The young
oarsmen gave way with a will, and the boat began to rise and to plunge
into the heavy sea. The two vessels were not more than a couple of
cable-lengths apart; but the passage from one to the other occupied a
considerable time.
The officer of the cutter skilfully brought his boat under the lee of
the Tritonia. It was a perilous position, and it was in great danger
of being dashed to pieces against the counter of the vessel. A rope
was thrown to the bowman, who promptly secured it, and made it fast by
catching a turn over the fore-thwart.
The first master of the Josephine, who was in charge of the cutter, was
a lithe little fellow; and, taking to the rope as a cat runs up a tree,
he climbed to the deck of the Tritonia in the twinkling of an eye.
“That was well done, Mr. Pepper,” said Mr. Pelham when the little
officer stood before him, drenched to the skin by the seas that had
broken over him. “You want chlorodyne.”
“Yes, sir: we had a large bottle of it, but the steward dropped it on
the floor of the steerage, and spilled the whole of it,” replied Mr.
Pepper. “Boyle is very sick with colic, or something of that sort; and
Mr. Fluxion has no proper medicine for him.”
“I shall go on board of the Josephine with you; and I have the bottle
in my pocket,” added the junior vice-principal, as he slid down the
rope into the Josephine’s cutter.
Mr. Pepper followed him, and the boat pulled back. As it was evident
that she must return to the Tritonia, she was brought up under the
counter of the Josephine. Mr. Pelham was the first to board the vessel.
“I am surprised that you should leave your charge, Pelham,” said the
senior vice-principal anxiously, and in a low tone, as his junior
presented himself on the deck.
It took Mr. Pelham five minutes to tell the story of Tom Speers as
briefly as it could be told.
“Never mind Speers or his letters,” said Mr. Fluxion impatiently.
“Return to the Tritonia at once!”
It was too late. A fearful squall was driving down upon the two
vessels.