In the meantime, the _Industry_ having come to an anchor in Portsmouth
Harbour, Captain Leicester, waiting only to see the sails properly
furled, jumped into the boat and hurried away to his owner's residence.
Here he was detained for more than an hour, the individual he was
desirous of seeing happening to be absent, "but expected back
immediately," according to the statement of the solitary clerk who
occupied the little front room which did duty as an office.
The owner of the _Industry_ having at length turned up, her captain was
instructed to haul alongside the wharf forthwith, in readiness to begin
discharging her cargo the first thing next morning. So George
Leicester, greatly to his disappointment, had to return on board once
more; and it was not until the clocks were striking seven that, the
schooner having been duly hauled alongside the wharf and securely moored
thereto, her commander felt himself at liberty to leave her and set out
upon a pilgrimage to Alverstoke. But for the delay thus occasioned, the
events herein recorded would probably never have occurred, those of them
at least which chiefly concern Captain Leicester.
Let us take a good look at our hero as he stands for a moment in the
golden evening light on the planks of the wooden structure which,
supported by ricketty, worm-eaten piles, does duty as a wharf. Like a
thorough seaman as he is, he is taking a last glance at the schooner
before he leaves her, to see that everything is thoroughly "ship-shape
and Bristol-fashion" on board her. She is a small and somewhat
insignificant craft; but as George has sailed in her for the last four
years of his life--two years as mate and two more as master--he has
become attached to her, looking at her faults with a lenient eye, and
striving to conceal them as much as possible from others. As he stands,
with his hands lightly crossed behind him, his legs a trifle apart, and
his eye wandering critically over the _Industry's_ hull and rigging, we
see him to be a man of about five feet eight inches in height, with a
well-knit figure, regular features, dark hair and eyes, the former
surmounted by a jaunty crimson worsted cap with a silk tassel on its
drooping end, and tied into a queue behind with a bow of very broad
black silk ribbon, short black whiskers on each side of his face, with a
clean-shaven upper lip and chin. He is clad in a wide-skirted coat of
fine blue cloth, trimmed with large gilt buttons, and worn open to show
the kerseymere waistcoat beneath, the long flaps of which are confined
by a broad belt. He wears a white silk kerchief round his throat, lace
ruffles at his wrists (in honour of his projected visit to his
lady-love), and his nether man is encased in knee-breeches, white
stockings, and shoes with large silver buckles. There is a frank,
pleasant look in the keen dark eyes, and an expression of firmness about
the closed lips which makes most people feel, when they look at him,
that they would much rather have him for a friend than for an enemy.
Altogether, as far as _physique_ is concerned, he certainly has the
advantage of Lieutenant Walford. As to the comparative moral qualities
of the two men, the reader will have abundant opportunity to judge for
him--or her--self.
Unfortunately, however, for his own and Lucy Walford's peace of mind,
George Leicester is not only unaware of this superiority on his own
part, but he strongly suspects it to be all on the other side. He has
made Walford's acquaintance, having met him, perhaps, some half a dozen
times in all, at "Sea View," and, despite his simplicity, he has had no
difficulty in recognising in the lieutenant a would-be rival. And this
is just where his own modesty and self-depreciation have played him a
scurvy trick. He has noted Walford's easy, nonchalant bearing, and his
two or three flashy accomplishments; he has noticed, too, that the
lieutenant is not altogether devoid of good looks, and has jumped--all
too hastily, as we are aware--at the conclusion that, where a woman is
concerned, a plain, straightforward, honest sailor can have no chance
against a dashing soldier like the lieutenant. At the same time, he has
by no means given up the chase, nor ever will, so he tells himself, as
long as Lucy is free. Over and over again has he been upon the point of
speaking out and learning his fate, and over and over again has he
hesitated and closed his lips, deeming the occasion unpropitious, or
fearing to learn that which will make the remainder of his life a blank
to him.
But now he has resolved to delay no longer. He has been screwing up his
courage to the sticking-place during the whole of the passage from
Waterford to Gosport, and when he stepped from the rail of the
_Industry_ on to the wharf, he was on his way to Alverstoke to learn his
fate.
Satisfied at last that everything was right on board the schooner,
Leicester turned away and directed his steps up High Street, and thence
out on to the Stoke Road. Alverstoke church-clock struck eight just as
he came in sight of it; and the next moment he saw, far ahead of him, a
man dart round the corner and come swinging along the road towards him
at a tremendous pace. Distant as the man was, Captain Leicester had no
difficulty in recognising in him his dreaded rival, Lieutenant Walford.
He guessed at once that the lieutenant had been visiting at "Sea View;"
but what struck him as strange was that Walford's appearance and bearing
was that of a man in a towering passion. Almost immediately afterwards,
however, he decided that he must have been mistaken in supposing this,
for as Walford looked up and recognised him he stopped dead in the road
for a moment, and then hurried towards the skipper with outstretched
hand and a beaming face.
"My _dear_ Leicester, how are you?" Walford exclaimed with effusion, as
he grasped the seaman's hand and wrung it heartily. "How glad I am to
see you. When did you arrive?"
"This afternoon only," was the answer. "Have you been to `Sea View'
lately? There is nothing wrong there, I hope?"
"Wrong, my dear fellow! No. Why do you ask?"
"Well, when you rounded the corner just now you were walking at such a
terrific pace, and looked so much as though you were greatly upset about
something, that I feared there had been an accident at `Sea View,' and
that--"
"That I was hurrying off for the nearest doctor, eh? Well, you may set
your mind at rest, my dear boy; nothing _is_ the matter. I have just
left Mrs Walford's, and both she and Lucy are in excellent health, I am
glad to say. It is deuced kind of you, though, to take such a warm
interest in them, and I thank you for it with all my heart. You are a
prime favourite there, I can tell you, my lad; I have been frightfully
jealous of you for a long time, but now I shall never be so any more.
Lucy--darling girl that she is--has had pity upon me at last, and has
condescended to set all my fears at rest; so you may congratulate me if
you like."
"Upon her having--accepted you as--as--her future husband?" gasped
Leicester, white to the very lips.
"Exactly; I _knew_ you would be glad to hear it, being an old friend of
hers," was the reply. "But mum's the word for the present. Our
regiment is ordered away to the West Indies at once, so Lucy wishes the
engagement to be kept secret until I can return home to claim her.
Well, I must be off; you are going to `Sea View,' I suppose? Don't
mention our conversation there, please; I should not like Lucy to know
that I have already been prating of the engagement; if she feels
inclined to tell you of it herself, of course that is another thing."
"All right, I'll not say a word about it, you may rest assured,"
answered Leicester, as he suffered his hand to be clasped in farewell;
"in fact, I don't suppose I shall have an opportunity to mention it to
them; I am not going to call there to-night, and I may not have time to
call there at all, as I shall be very busy during the next few days.
I--I am--thinking of giving up the _Industry_ and going--somewhere--
abroad, myself."
"Are you?" ejaculated Walford with great heartiness. "Well done; I am
glad to hear you say so. A fellow with your pluck and sinews was never
intended to potter about in a trumpery little coaster. Well, good-bye."
The two men separated; Walford to chuckle and exult over the complete
success of his suddenly planned ruse, and Leicester, with all hope and
brightness gone out of his face, to saunter despondently along the road
and back to Gosport, by way of Haslar Common, avoiding "Sea View"
altogether.
So Lucy was lost to him! Well, after all, it was no more than he had
dreaded all along; he had been a fool, and worse than a fool, to suppose
that he, a plain, unpolished seaman, could possibly have a chance of
success when pitted against a fellow like Walford--curse him! No--no,
not that, he did not mean that; why should he curse the man to whom Lucy
had given her young, fresh love? Still it was very hard to bear--very
hard; he hoped the fellow would treat her well; if not, let him look to
himself. But why should not Walford treat her well? Who could do
otherwise? Who was there in the whole wide world who could find it in
his heart to be anything but kind and loving and tender to her? And
yet--Psha! Who was he--George Leicester--that he should judge another
man? True, he had heard some very queer stories about this same
Lieutenant Walford, but doubtless they were all fabrications; Lucy was
not the girl to love a man of whom such things could possibly be true.
And as to his (Leicester's) own feelings of distrust and dislike, why
they were after all only the natural outcome of his jealousy, and were
certainly not to be relied upon as indicating faultiness of character in
his successful rival. Still, argue as he would, he had his doubts, and
he could not dispel them, and--well, it was a hard blow, coming so
suddenly, too; it was difficult to bear it patiently even _now_, and he
had a shrewd suspicion that it would be still more difficult to bear
by-and-by, when he fully realised the extent of his loss.
But it was no use fretting over it; the question was, "What was now to
be done?" He could not possibly live on the old humdrum life any
longer. He must have excitement and activity, plenty of both, to keep
his mind occupied, and to prevent his fretting over his disappointment.
"Yes, that was a happy inspiration which had led him to tell Walford he
intended giving up the _Industry_; that must be his first act. And
after that? Well, after that he would look about him, and if he could
pick up a tidy little vessel cheap; he would invest his savings in the
purchase of her, sail in his own employ, and try to stifle all vain
regrets by plunging into a more adventurous mode of existence."
So ran George Leicester's thoughts as he made his way back to the
_Industry_.
Meanwhile, Lucy, having given one lover his _conge_ waited with loving
impatience but in vain, for the appearance of the other.
On the following day, the master of the _Industry_ waited upon his
owner, a Mr Winter, and requested his discharge. Mr Winter was both
surprised and chagrined at the news that he was to lose so well-tried
and faithful a servant as George; but, finding our hero inflexible in
his resolution, he could, of course, do nothing but accede to his
request, which he did at last with a very good grace.
"And now," said Mr Winter, when the accounts had all been gone through
and squared up, "since you are quite determined to go your own wilful
way, I suppose I must do what I can to help you. You will go to London,
of course, to look out for this ship that you propose to purchase; and I
will give you a letter to a Mr Roberts, a ship-broker and a friend of
mine, who has an office in Great Saint Helen's. He is pretty sure to
have or to know of something which will suit you; he is a thoroughly
straightforward, honourable man, will do his best to suit you, and will
charge you nothing; the seller is the man who will have to pay him his
commission."
George duly thanked Mr Winter for his kindness, received the letter,
and on the following morning crossed over to Portsmouth, and booked
himself to London on the "Highflyer" coach.
The next day found our hero at an early hour in Leadenhall Street,
seeking for the whereabouts of Great Saint Helen's. A clerk, going in
that direction on his way to business, pointed out the place, and,
turning into the narrow court, George soon found the office of which he
was in search.
Mr Roberts was busy perusing a large pile of papers when his visitor
was shown in, and he begged to be excused for a moment whilst he
completed his task. This was soon done, whereupon Mr Roberts rang two
distinct strokes upon a small hand-bell, and a clerk entered in
response.
"Here, Wilson," said the ship-broker, handing over the pile of papers,
"take these. You will find from the notes I have jotted down upon this
sheet of paper what to do with them. Now, sir," turning to George,
"what can I have the pleasure of doing for you?"
George briefly explained his business, and handed over Mr Winter's
letter of introduction, which Mr Roberts rapidly glanced through. Then
the little bell was struck once, and another and much more
substantial-looking clerk made his appearance.
"Bring me List A, if you please," said Mr Roberts.
"List A," a large leather-bound volume, was brought in and laid upon the
table before the ship-broker, who at once opened it, and began to run
his fingers slowly down an index. Then he rapidly turned up an entry in
the book itself, and read out--
"`_Challenger_--brig; 450 tons; softwood built, iron-fastened, sheathed
with zinc; nine years old; well found in sails, ground-tackle, and all
necessary stores, ready for sea. Price 1800 pounds.' How will that do?
She is really a very decent vessel of her kind, and exceedingly cheap
at the price."
"We might take a look at her," remarked George, "but her description
does not sound very inviting."