CHAPTER XXIV.

WILFRED SMITH’S VOYAGE OUT.

ON his way back to the “Great Atlantic Hotel,” it came on to rain (it generally _does_ rain in Liverpool), and Wilfred, to escape a drenching, took his stand within the pretentious granite portal of the office of the “Flaming Star Line” Shipping Company. Presently, two ships’ Captains came out.

“When do you sail, Captain Barlow?” said one.

“In five minutes,” was the answer. “I ought to have been on board now, but I caught my steward in the act of helping himself to some loose money I had left on my cabin table, and I came ashore to see whether they knew of another at the office. But they don’t, which is awkward, considering the lot of passengers I have on board. What rascals men are now-a-days!”

Wilfred turned to the speaker: “Will you try me, Sir?” said he.

The Captain started, and looked at him fixedly. “Have you ever been afloat before?” he asked.

“Never,” said Wilfred; “but I’ll try to do my duty, and make myself useful.”

The Captain looked at him fixedly, and Wilfred returned his gaze.

“I like your looks,” said Captain Barlow, “and I think I’ll engage you.”

“More fool you!” interposed his friend. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Smith,” answered Wilfred.

“I’d ha’ gone bail his name was Smith,” said the Captain’s friend.

“When can you come on board?” said Captain Barlow, without paying any attention to the interruption.

“In ten minutes, Sir,” answered Wilfred; “my things are in the next street.”

“Well, then, I’ll wait here ten minutes, and if you don’t turn up then, I’ll sail without you.”

Wilfred was off like a shot, reached “the Great Atlantic,” discharged his small reckoning, and within the stipulated time was again at the Shipping Office, before the door of which--for it had now ceased raining--Captain Barlow was marching up and down like a bear in a cage.

“This looks well,” said Captain Barlow, approvingly, as Wilfred presented himself with his small bag. “You must prove I’m not such a confounded fool as my friend Twagham thinks.”

So Wilfred followed the Captain on board the good steamer “Flaming Comet,” and in an hour’s time the noble ship was out in the wide Mersey, and before evening was ploughing her stately way down channel on her way to the New World.

It was a harsh, and in some respects a bitter discipline that to which the delicately-nurtured young man was subjected on his voyage out, but it probably served to strengthen and mature his already noble character, while the constant hard work incident to his position prevented his mind from repining and dwelling too much upon his sorrows. The first spare moment he had after he went on board, he opened the little package which was his sister’s parting gift. It contained a little Prayer Book, with a metal cross upon either side of the binding. As he opened the clasp, two papers fell out--the first was a £5 note, and his eyes filled with tears as he read upon the second, written in that beautiful handwriting he knew so well, Charles Kingsley’s beautiful “Farewell.”

“Farewell, sweet _lad_, and let who will be clever, Do noble things, not dream them all day long, And so make Life, Death, and the Great Forever One grand sweet song.”

Sweet was it, after a long day of sickness and harassing toil, when Wilfred lay down in his close berth and heard the waves of the Atlantic swishing by close to his head, to think that he still enjoyed the trustful love of a darling sister and of a friend. He thought, too, of the quaint frontispiece of his copy of the _Icon Basilike_, now far away amongst his books at dear old Holmcastle, and of the weighted palms springing to fresh and verdurous glory, and of the appropriate motto,

“Crescit sub pondere virtus;”

and he prayed that such might be the case with him.

Four days and a-half out, an adventure occurred. The vast ocean had been calm all day, and there was no sail in sight, when, in consequence of something being amiss with the machinery, the steamer suddenly stopped. Most of the passengers, astonished, if not alarmed, by the unwonted quiet, had come up on deck, and witnessed the Atlantic heaving around them in what seemed to be huge platforms of greenish water, which rose and fell without the slightest disturbance of the glassy surface by even a breath of wind. Then, almost suddenly, after an hour’s interval, the East wind began to blow, the mighty screw turned, and the ship re-commenced its course with what seemed to be renewed life and activity. At that moment a cry was heard above the pulsations of the engines and the whirl of the screw--“A child overboard!” Wilfred chanced to be amidships, and looked over the side. Then, throwing off his coat, he ran astern, waited a few moments, and then cast himself into the ocean. His form disappeared for a few seconds, and then he reappeared, clutching the child in his right hand, while he supported himself in the water by swimming with his left. The order to stop ship had been given at once, and a boat was manned and let down, but by that time the child and its deliverer had drifted far astern. When at last the boat reached them, Wilfred was nearly exhausted, and could only clutch the gunwale with his one empty hand, when he was drawn up into the boat with the child alive and unhurt.

The little boy, thus saved, was the son of a couple of poor emigrants, and on reaching the ship his rescuer was almost overwhelmed with the thanks of the father and mother. The saloon passengers that evening made a collection for the brave steward, which amounted to a handsome sum, and he was called into the saloon to receive it from the hands of Captain Barlow, who made a short speech very pertinent to the occasion. To the surprise of most, the young man respectfully, but positively, refused to accept the proffered gift. When further pressed to do so, he replied--“I could not possibly take money for saving the life of a fellow-creature, but if you will allow me to hand it over to the mother of the poor little thing who fell overboard, I’m sure the money will be well bestowed.” This, when they found he was firm in his determination not to accept it himself, the passengers at length consented to do.

The next evening, when Wilfred had gone up on deck for a few quiet minutes, “for thought to do her part,” he was joined by a tall, lanky United States gentleman, who had a wife and family on board. “Lork here, boy,” said Mr. Caleb W. Lomax--for that was the passenger’s name--“I don’t wornt to know who you are, or what you are, but you are coming to my great country, and I wornt to know your plans, for if I can do anything to forward them I will. Shake hands, Sir; you are a credit to the old country.”

Wilfred, having shaken hands as desired, said his great wish was to get across the Continent to S. Francisco, and that he hoped to find some employment in New York to raise enough money to enable him to do so.

“Jest so,” said Mr. Lomax, “and it’s to ’Frisco I’m going myself. Now look here, young man, I wornt some one to help me through, and I tell you what I’ll do. If you’ll come along with me, and help to see after the baggage and children, I’ll take you with me. There, no thanks,” continued he, seeing Wilfred was about to speak; “it’s a fair bargain, and the obligation is mutual, so think over my offer and tell me to-morrow. Jest one word more. Remember you don’t come as a help, but as a friend. I know a gentleman when I see one, spite of his coat, and I’m proud to know you, Sir; shake hands again;” and with that the United States gentleman gave Wilfred’s hand a terrific squeeze, turned on his heel, and went below to play a quiet game of euchre with his wife and two eldest daughters.

It need hardly be stated that Wilfred considered the offer, so kindly and unexpectedly made, far too good a one to be refused, and next morning he accepted it with thanks. Four days afterwards, the “Flaming Comet” entered the noble harbour of New York, and after taking a cordial leave of Captain Barlow, and being cheered by the steerage passengers and crew as he went over the side, Wilfred found himself before nightfall ensconced in the comfortable Westmoreland Hotel, in Madison Square, as the friend and guest of Mr. Lomax. During their three days’ stay at New York, Wilfred managed to see most that was worth seeing in that not very interesting but cosmopolitan city, which is all length and no breadth, and which looks like a slice of the outskirts of Paris, stuck, sandwich-fashion, between two slices of the slums of Liverpool. On the fourth day, the party left New York by the cars, and in due time Wilfred found himself looking down on S. Francisco, with the blue waters of the Pacific gleaming and glinting behind it. Mr. Lomax had a charming country house near the sea upon the Gulf about twenty miles from the city, and he insisted on Wilfred’s paying him a visit of a fortnight to recruit from the fatigue of the journey. At the end of that time this excellent man tried hard to persuade his young guest to allow him to use his influence, which was considerable, to get him a situation in a mercantile house, but Wilfred’s mind had been made up from the first not to remain in the States, but to go on to China. When Mr. Lomax found that his resolution could not be shaken, he went one morning by rail to S. Francisco, and on his return told Wilfred that he had arranged with a friend who was a large shipowner to give him a free passage in a ship about to start for Hong Kong--a statement of whose veracity pious doubts may be entertained, from the circumstance that Mr. Lomax drew that day a far larger amount of dollars from his bankers than ever he brought home. The constant change of scene through which Wilfred had passed, and the genuine and disinterested kindness he had received from his hospitable hosts, had tended to raise his spirits; and so agreeable did he make himself, that the whole family, and especially the two eldest girls, were heartily grieved when the time came for his departure.

“I have never inquired into your family history, Mr. Smith,” said Mr. Lomax at parting, “and I don’t mean to begin now; but let me tell you that I am sure your absence from home arises from no cause of which you need be ashamed; and don’t forget that, should you be restored to it hereafter, no one will be more glad to hear of your welfare than your friends at Lomaxville.”

So Wilfred Smith, as we must now call him, was afloat on the great Pacific Ocean. When they were two days out, the Captain came into the saloon, and, addressing him, said, “I forgot to give you this little parcel, which was brought on board by the last boat at ’Frisco.” On opening the packet, Wilfred found a handsome purse, embroidered by Carolina, Mr. Lomax’s eldest daughter, and in it a packet of gold, inscribed, “For use on landing, from your sincere friend, Caleb W. Lomax.” So, at the end of the voyage, Wilfred went on shore at Hong Kong with a light heart and no present anxiety.