Lord Charles Frobisher was never a very talkative companion, and as Cashel's present mood was not communicative, they drove along, scarcely interchanging a sentence, till the harbor of Kingstown came in sight, and with it the gay pennons that fluttered from the mast of Roland's schooner.

“I suppose that is your yacht,—the large craft yonder?”

“I hope so,” said Cashel, enthusiastically; “she sits the water like a duck, and has a fine rakish look about her.”

“So, then, you never saw her before?”

“Never. I purchased her from description, taking her crew, commander, and all, just as she sailed into Southampton from Zante, a month ago. They sent me a drawing of her, her measurement, tonnage, and draught of water, as also the log of her run in the Mediterranean;—yes, that's she, I can recognize the water-line from the sketch.”

“Is your visit on board going to be a long one?” drawled out Lord Charles, languidly; “for I own I am not the least aquatic, and were it not for lobsters and whitebait I vote the sea a humbug.”

“Then I 'll say good-bye,” said Cashel. “That blue water, that curling ripple, and the fluttering of that bunting, have set me a-thinking about a hundred things.”

“You 'll dine with us at seven, won't you?”

“No, I 'll dine on board, or not dine at all,” said he, as he sprang from the carriage, and, waving his hand in adieu, made his way to the harbor. Taking the first boat that offered, Cashel rowed out to the yacht, just in time to catch Lieutenant Sickleton, who, in full yacht costume, was about to wait on his principal. He was a bluff, good-natured, blunt fellow, who, having neither patronage nor interest in the service, had left the wardroom for the easier, but less ambitious, life of a yacht commander; a thoroughly good seaman, and brave as a lion, he saw himself reduced to a position almost menial from hard and galling necessity. He had twice been to Alexandria with touring lords, who, while treating him well in all essentials, yet mingled so much of condescension in their courtesy as to be all but unendurable. He had gone to America with a young Oxford man, the son of a great London brewer, whose overbearing insolence he had been obliged to repel by a threat of personal consequences. He had taken an invalid family to Madeira, and a ruined duke to Greece, and was now, with the yacht and its company, transferred to Cashel's hands, not knowing—scarce caring—with whom or where his future destinies were to be cast.

The Freemasonry of the sea has a stronger tie than the mere use of technicals. Cashel was not ten minutes on board ere Sickleton and he were like old acquaintances. The “Lucciola” was, in Skeleton's ideas, the best thing that ever ran on a keel; there was nothing she could n't do,—fair weather or foul. She could outsail a Yankee smack in a gale off the coast of Labrador, or beat a felucca in the light winds off the Gulf of Genoa. If these tidings were delightful to Cashel's ears,—the most exciting and heart-stirring he had listened to for many a day,—the gratification was no less to Sickleton that he was about to sail with one who really loved the sea, and thoroughly understood and could value the qualities of his noble craft.

From the vessel, they turned the conversation to all the possible places the world's map afforded for a cruise. Sickleton's experiences were chiefly Eastern,—he knew the Mediterranean as well as he did the Downs; while Cashel's could vie with him in both coasts of the great Spanish peninsula, and all the various channels of the West India islands. For hours they sat discussing soundings, the trade winds, and shore currents, with all the bearings of land points, bluffs, and lighthouses. In talk, they visited half the globe; now staggering under a half-reefed topsail in the Bay of Biscay, now swimming along, with winged and stretching sails, under the blue cliffs of Baia.

“I 'm sure I don't know how you ever could lead a shore life,” said Sickleton, as Cashel described with warm enthusiasm some passages of his rover's existence.

“Nor do I understand how I have borne it so long,” said Cashel; “its dissipations weary, its deceits provoke me. I have lost—if not all—great part of that buoyancy which mingled peril and pleasure create, and I suppose, in a month or two more, I should be about as apathetic, as indolent, and as selfish as any fine gentleman ought to be. Ah, if we had a war!”

“That's it,—that's what I say every day and every night: if we had a war, the world would be worth living, in or dying for. Fellows like myself, for instance, are never thought of in a peace; but they 'look us all out,'—just as they do a storm-jib, when it comes on to blow. No laughing a man out of position, then,—no, faith!”

“How do you mean?” said Cashel, who saw in the intense expression of the speaker how much the words covered.

“Just what happened to myself,—that's all,” said Sickleton; “but if you like to hear how,—the story is n't long, or any way remarkable,—we 'll have a bit of luncheon here, and I'll tell it to you.”

Cashel willingly assented, and very quickly a most appetizing meal made its appearance in the cabin, to which Sickleton did the honors most creditably.

“I 'm impatient for that anecdote you promised me,” said Cashel, as the dessert made its appearance, and they sat in all the pleasant enjoyment of social ease.

“You shall hear it,—though, as I said before, it's not much of a story either; nor should I tell it, if I did n't see that you feel a sort of interest about myself—unhappily, its hero.”

“I 'll not weary you by telling you the story that thousands can repeat, of a service without patronage, no sooner afloat than paid off again, and no chance of employment, save in a ten-gun brig off the coast of Guinea, and I suppose you know what that is?”

Cashel nodded, and Sickleton went on:—

“Well, I passed as lieutenant, and went through my yellow fever in the Niger very creditably. I was the only one of a ship's company in the gun-room on the way back to England, after a two years' cruise; I suppose because life was less an object to me than the other fellows, who had mothers, and sisters, and so on. So it was, I brought the old 'Amphion' safe into dock, and was passed off to wander about the world, with something under forty pounds in my pocket, and a 'good-service letter' from the Admiralty—a document that costs a man some trouble to gain, but that would not get you a third-class place in the rail to Croydon, when you have it. What was I to do?—I had no interest for the Coast-Guard. I tried to become keeper of a lighthouse, but failed. It was no use to try and be a clerk—there were plenty of fellows, better qualified than myself, walking the streets supperless. So I set myself a thinking if I could n't do something for 'the service' that might get me into notice, and make the 'Lords' take me up. There was one chap made his fortune by 'round sterns,' though they were known in the Dutch Navy for two centuries. There was another invented a life-boat; a third, a new floating buoy—and so on. Now I 'm sure I passed many a sleepless night thinking of something that might aid me; at one time it was a new mode of reefing topsails in a gale; at another it was a change in signalizing the distant ships of a squadron; now an anchor for rocky bottoms; now a contrivance for lowering quarter-boats in a heavy sea—till at last, by dint of downright thought and perseverance, I did fall upon a lucky notion. I invented a new hand-pump, applicable for launches and gun-boats,—a thing greatly wanted, very simple of contrivance, and easy to work. It was a blessed moment, to be sure, when my mind, instead of wandering over everything from the round top to the taffrail, at last settled down on this same pump!

“It was not mere labor and study this invention caused me. No! it swallowed up nearly every shilling of my little hoard. I was obliged to make a model, and what with lead and zinc, and solder and leather, and caoutchouc and copper, I was very soon left without 'tin;' but I had hope, and hope makes up for half rations! At last, my pump was perfect; the next thing was to make it known. There was no use in trying this through any unprofessional channels. Landsmen think that as they pay for the navy, they need not bother their heads about it further. 'My lords,' I knew well, would n't mind me, because my father was n't in Parliament, and so I thought of one of those magazines that devote themselves to the interests of the two services, and I wrote a paper accordingly, and accompanied it by a kind of diagram of my pump. I waited for a month—two—three months—but heard nothing, saw nothing of my invention. I wrote, but could get no answer; I called, but could see no editor; and at last was meditating some personal vengeance, when I received a note. It was then much after midsummer, few people in town, and the magazines were printing anything—as no one reads them in the dog-days—stating that if Lieutenant Sickleton would procure a woodcut of his pump, the paper descriptive of it should appear in the next number. That was a civil way of asking me for five pounds; but help there was none, and so I complied.

“At length I read in the list of the contents, 'Lieutenant Sickleton's New Hand Pump, with an Illustration'—and my heart bounded at the words. It was the nineteenth article—near the end of the number. I forget what the others were—something, of course, about Waterloo, and Albuera, and the Albert chako, and such-like stuff. My pump, I knew, put it where they would, was the paper of the month. This feeling was a little abated on finding that, as I walked down Fleet Street on the day of publication, I did n't perceive any sign of public notice or recognition; no one said as I passed, 'That's Sickleton, the fellow who invented the new pump.' I remembered, however, that if my pump was known, I was not as yet, and that though the portrait of my invention had become fame, my own was still in obscurity.

“I betook myself to the office of the journal, expecting there at least to find that enthusiastic reception the knowledge of my merits must secure, but hang me, if one of the clerks—as to the editor, there was no seeing him—took the slightest trouble about me. I told him, with, I trust, a pardonable swelling of the bosom, that I was 'Sickleton.' I did n't say the famous Sickleton, and I thought I was modest in the omission; but he was n't in the least struck by the announcement, and I quitted the place in disgust.

“Worse than all, when I came to read over my paper, I found, by the errors of the press, that the whole diagram was spoiled. The letters had been misplaced, and the fiend himself, if he wanted it, couldn't work my pump. You see that C D represented the angular crank, F was the stop-cock, and T the trigger that closed the piston. Hang me, if they did n't make F the trigger, and instead of B being the cistern, it was made the jet; so that when you began to work, all the water squirted through the sluices at OPQ over the operator. I went nearly mad. I wrote a furious letter to the editor; I wrote another to the 'Times;' I wrote to the 'Globe,' the 'Post,' and the 'Herald.' I explained, I elucidated, I asked for the Englishman's birthright, as they call it—'Justice'—but no use! In fact, my reclamations could only be inserted as advertisements, and would cost me about a hundred pounds to publish. So I sat down to grieve over my invention, and curse the hour I ever thought of serving my country.

“It was about six months after this—I had been living on some relations nearly as poor as myself—when I one day received an order to 'wait at the Admiralty the next morning.' I went, but without hope or interest. I could n't guess why I was sent for, but no touch of expectancy made me anxious for the result.

“I waited from eleven till four in the ante-room; and at last, after some fifty had had audiences, Lieutenant Sickleton was called. The time was I would have trembled at such an interview to the very marrow of my bones. Disappointment, however, had nerved me now, and I stood as much at ease and composed as I sit here.

“'You are Mr. Sickleton?' said the First Lord, who was a 'Tartar.'

“'Yes, my Lord.'

“'You invented a kind of pump—a hand-pump for launches and small craft, I think?'

“'Yes, my Lord.'

“'You have a model of the invention, too?'

“'Yes, my Lord.'

“'Can you describe the principle of your discovery? is there anything which, for its novelty, demands the peculiar attention of the Admiralty?'

“'Yes—at least I think so, my Lord,' said I, the last embers of hope beginning to flicker into a faint flame within. 'The whole is so simple, that I can, with your permission, make it perfectly intelligible even here. There is a small double-acting piston—'

“'Confound the fellow! don't let him bore us, now,' said Admiral M——— in a whisper quite loud enough for me to overhear it. 'If it amuse his Majesty, that's enough. Tell him what's wanted, and let him go.'

“'Oh, very well,' said the First Lord, who seemed terribly afraid of his colleague. 'It is the king's wish, Mr. Sickleton, that your invention should be tested under his Majesty's personal inspection, and you are therefore commanded to present yourself at Windsor on Monday next, with your model, at eleven o'clock. It is not very cumbrous, I suppose?'

“'No, my Lord. It only weighs four and a half hundredweight.'

“'Pretty well for a model; but here is an order for a wagon. You 'll present this at Woolwich.' He bowed and turned his back, and I retreated.

“Sharp to the hour of eleven I found myself at Windsor on the following Monday. It was past two, however, before his Majesty could see me. There were audiences and foreign ambassadors, papers to read, commissions to sign—in fact, when two o'clock came, the king had only got through a part of his day's work, and then it was luncheon-time. This was over about three; and at last his Majesty, with the First Lord, two admirals, and an old post-captain, who, by the way, had once put me in irons for not saluting his Majesty's guard when coming up to the watch at midnight, appeared on the terrace.

“The place selected for the trial was a neat little parterre outside one of the small drawing-rooms. There was a fountain supplied by two running streams, and this I was to experiment upon with my new pump. It was trying enough to stand there before such a presence; but the uppermost thought in my mind was about my invention, and I almost forgot the exalted rank of my audience.

“After due presentation to his Majesty, and a few common-place questions about where I had served, and how long, and so on, the king said, 'Come now, sir. Let us see the pump at work, for we haven't much time to lose.'

“I immediately adjusted the apparatus, and when all was ready, I looked about in some dismay, for I saw no one to assist the working. There were present, besides the king and the three naval officers, only two fellows in full-dress liveries, a devilish sight more pompous-looking than the king or the First Lord. What was to be done? It was a dilemma I had never anticipated; and in my dire distress, I stepped back and whispered a word to old Admiral Beaufort, who was the kindest-looking of the party.

“'What is he saying?—what does he want?' said the king, who partly overheard the whisper.

“'Mr. Sickleton remarks, your Majesty, that he will need assistance to exhibit his invention—that he requires some one to work the pump.'

“'Then why did n't he bring hands with him?' said the king, testily. 'I suppose the machine is not self-acting, and that he knew that before he came here.'

“I thought I 'd have fainted at this rebuke from the lips of royalty itself, and so I stammered out some miserable excuse about not knowing if I were empowered to have brought aid—my ignorance of court etiquette—in fact, I blundered—and so far, that the king cut me short by saying, 'Take those people there, sir, and don't delay us;' pointing to the two gentlemen in cocked hats, bags, and swords, that looked as if they could have danced on my grave with delight.

“In a flurry—compared to which a fever was composure—I instructed my two new assistants in the duty, and stationing myself with the hose to direct the operation of the jet, I gave the word to begin. Well! instead of a great dash of water spurting out some fifty feet in height, and fizzing through the air like a rocket, there came a trickling, miserable dribble, that puddled at my very feet! I thought the sucker was clogged—the piston stopped—the valves impeded—twenty things did I fancy—but the sober truth was, these gilded rascals would n't do more than touch the crank with the tips of their fingers, and barely put sufficient force in the pressure to move the arm up and down. 'Work it harder—put more strength to it,' I whispered, in mortal fear to be overheard, but they never minded me in the least Indeed, I almost think one fellow winked his eye ironically when I addressed him.

“'Eh—what!' said the king, after ten minutes of an exhibition that were to me ten years at the galleys, 'these pumps do next to nothing. They make noise enough, but don't bring up any water at all.'

“The First Lord shook his head in assent. Old Beaufort made me a sign to give up the trial, and the post-captain blurted out, in a half-whisper, something about a 'blundering son of a dog's wife' that nearly drove me mad.

“'I say, Sickleton,' said the king, 'your invention's not worth the solder it cost you. You couldn't sprinkle the geraniums yonder in three weeks with it.'

“'It's all the fault of these d——d buffers, please your Majesty,' said I, driven clean out of my senses by failure and disgrace—and, to be sure, as hearty a roar of laughter followed as ever I listened to in my life—'if they 'd only bear a hand and work the crank as I showed them—' As I spoke, I leaned over and took hold of the crank myself, letting the hose rest on my shoulder.

“With two vigorous pulls I filled the pistons full, and, at the third, rush went the stream with the force of a CongrÈve—not, indeed, over the trees, as I expected, but full in the face of the First Lord; scarcely was his cry uttered, when a fourth dash laid him full upon his back, drenched from head to foot, and nearly senseless from the shock. The king screamed with laughing—the admiral shouted—the old post-captain swore—and I, not knowing one word of all that was happening behind my back, worked away for the bare life, till the two footmen, at a signal from the admiral, laid hold of me by main force, and dragged me away, the perspiration dripping from my forehead, and my uniform all in rags by the exertion.

“'Get away as fast as you can, sir,' whispered old B., 'and thank God if your day's work only puts you at the end of the list.' I followed the counsel—I don't know how—I never could recollect one event from that moment till I awoke the next morning at my aunt's cottage at Blackwall, and saw my coat in tatters, and the one epaulette hanging by a thread; then I remembered my blessed invention, and I think I showed good pluck by not going clean out of my mind.”

There was an earnestness in poor Sickleton's manner that effectually repressed any mirth on Cashel's part—indeed, his sense of the ludicrous gave way before his feeling of sorrow for the hard fortune of the man without a friend. In the partial civilization of the far west, personal prowess and energy were always enough to secure any man's success; but here, each day's experience taught him how much was to be laid to the score of family—of fortune—name—address—and the thousand other accessories of fortune. He had just begun to express his wonder that Sickleton had never tried life in the New World, when the mate appeared at the cabin-door to say that a shore boat was rowing out to the yacht.

A movement of impatience broke from Sickleton. “More of 'em, I suppose,” cried he; “we've had such a lot of sight-seers this morning, since we dropped anchor! most of them affecting to be intimate friends of yours, and all so well acquainted with your habits of life, that I should have become perfectly informed on every particular of your private history only by listening.”

“The chances are,” broke in Cashel, “I did not personally know a man amongst them.”

“I half suspect as much. They spoke far too confidently to be authentic. One would have it you were half ruined already, and had got the yacht over to clear away, and be off. Another, that you were going to be married to a lady with an immense fortune,—a rumor contradicted by a third saying it was an attorney's daughter without a shilling.”

“There's a lady, I see, sir, coming on board,” said the mate, putting in his head once more.

“I 'd swear there was,” growled Sickleton.

“You give them luncheon, I hope?” said Cashel, smiling at the other's impatience.

“Yes; we've had something like an ordinary here, today, and as I heard that to-morrow would be busier still, I have had my boat going backwards and forwards all the morning to prepare.”

“I am desired to show you this card, sir,” said the mate, handing one to Sickleton, who passed it to Cashel.

“Lord Kilgoff—indeed!” said he, surprised, and at once hastened to the deck.

“Mr. Cashel himself here!” exclaimed my Lady, from the stern of a small boat alongside; and after an exchange of friendly recognition, the party ascended the gangway. “This was a pleasure we scarcely looked for, to meet you here,” said his Lordship, blandly. “We had just taken our drive down to the harbor, when accidentally hearing your yacht had arrived, Lady Kilgoff grew desirous to see it.”

“A yacht in harbor is a horse in stable,” said Cashel. “Will you permit me to give you a cruise?”

“I should like nothing in the world so well.”

“It is late—almost six o'clock,” said Lord Kilgoff, looking at his watch.

“And if it be,” said my Lady, coaxingly, “you know Dr. Grover recommended you the sea air and sea excursions. I declare you look better already, don't you think so, Mr. Cashel?” “I protest I do,” said Cashel, thus appealed to; “and if you will only pardon the deficiencies of a floating cuisine, and dine here—”

“How delightful!” broke in my Lady, not suffering even time for an apology.

“It appeared to me there was a haunch of venison hanging over the stern when we came on board?” said my Lord, with his glass to his eye.

“Yes, my Lord,” said Sickleton, touching his hat in salutation; “I've had it there for two hours every day since Tuesday week.”

“And is the wind, and the tide, and everything else as it should be, Mr. Cashel?” said Lady Kilgoff.

“Everything—when you have only uttered your consent,” said he, gallantly.

“What is this, sir?” said my Lord, as, having requested something to drink, Sickleton poured him out a large glassful of scarcely frothing liquid.

“Dry champagne, my Lord. Moot's.”

“And very excellent too. Really, Laura, I am very sorry it should be so late, and we were to have dined with Meek at seven—”

“But only alone—no party, remember that,” said she, persuasively; “how easy to send the carriage back with an apology.”

Cashel looked his thanks, but without speaking.

“Take those red partridges out of ice,” said Sickleton, from the cook's galley, “and let us have those Ostend oysters to-day.”

“I yield,” said my Lord. “Mr. Cashel must take all the consequences of my breach of faith upon himself.”

“I promise to do so, my Lord.”

“A pen and ink, and some paper, Mr. Cashel,” said her Ladyship.

“Will you permit me to show you the way?” said he, handing her down into the little cabin, whose arrangement was all in the perfection of modern taste and elegance.

“How beautiful!” cried she. “Oh! Mr. Cashel, I really do envy you the possession of this fairy ship. You don't know how passionately I love the sea.”

“There are but few things I could hear you say with so much pleasure to me,” said Cashel, gazing with a strange feeling of emotion at the brilliant color and heightened expression of her handsome features.

“There! that is finished,” said she, closing the hastily-written note. “Now, Mr. Cashel, we are yours.” However much of course the words were in themselves, her eyes met Cashel's as she spoke them, and as suddenly fell; while he, taking the letter, left the cabin without speaking—a world of curious conjecture warring in his heart.