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.