Chapter 19. Walter goes away

Dombey and Son

by Charles Dickens

The wooden Midshipman at the Instrument-maker's door, like the
hard-hearted little Midshipman he was, remained supremely indifferent
to Walter's going away, even when the very last day of his sojourn in
the back parlour was on the decline. With his quadrant at his round
black knob of an eye, and his figure in its old attitude of
indomitable alacrity, the Midshipman displayed his elfin
small-clothes to the best advantage, and, absorbed in scientific
pursuits, had no sympathy with worldly concerns. He was so far the
creature of circumstances, that a dry day covered him with dust, and
a misty day peppered him with little bits of soot, and a wet day
brightened up his tarnished uniform for the moment, and a very hot
day blistered him; but otherwise he was a callous, obdurate,
conceited Midshipman, intent on his own discoveries, and caring as
little for what went on about him, terrestrially, as Archimedes at
the taking of Syracuse.

Such a Midshipman he seemed to be, at least, in the then
position of domestic affairs. Walter eyed him kindly many a time in
passing in and out; and poor old Sol, when Walter was not there,
would come and lean against the doorpost, resting his weary wig as
near the shoe-buckles of the guardian genius of his trade and shop as
he could. But no fierce idol with a mouth from ear to ear, and a
murderous visage made of parrot's feathers, was ever more indifferent
to the appeals of its savage votaries, than was the Midshipman to
these marks of attachment.

Walter's heart felt heavy as he looked round his old bedroom, up
among the parapets and chimney-pots, and thought that one more night
already darkening would close his acquaintance with it, perhaps for
ever. Dismantled of his little stock of books and pictures, it looked
coldly and reproachfully on him for his desertion, and had already a
foreshadowing upon it of its coming strangeness. 'A few hours more,'
thought Walter, 'and no dream I ever had here when I was a schoolboy
will be so little mine as this old room. The dream may come back in
my sleep, and I may return waking to this place, it may be: but the
dream at least will serve no other master, and the room may have a
score, and every one of them may change, neglect, misuse it.'

But his Uncle was not to be left alone in the little back
parlour, where he was then sitting by himself; for Captain Cuttle,
considerate in his roughness, stayed away against his will, purposely
that they should have some talk together unobserved: so Walter, newly
returned home from his last day's bustle, descended briskly, to bear
him company.

'Uncle,' he said gaily, laying his hand upon the old man's
shoulder, 'what shall I send you home from Barbados?'

'Hope, my dear Wally. Hope that we shall meet again, on this
side of the grave. Send me as much of that as you can.'

'So I will, Uncle: I have enough and to spare, and I'll not be
chary of it! And as to lively turtles, and limes for Captain Cuttle's
punch, and preserves for you on Sundays, and all that sort of thing,
why I'll send you ship-loads, Uncle: when I'm rich enough.'

Old Sol wiped his spectacles, and faintly smiled.

'That's right, Uncle!' cried Walter, merrily, and clapping him
half a dozen times more upon the shoulder. 'You cheer up me! I'll
cheer up you! We'll be as gay as larks to-morrow morning, Uncle, and
we'll fly as high! As to my anticipations, they are singing out of
sight now.

'Wally, my dear boy,' returned the old man, 'I'll do my best,
I'll do my best.'

'And your best, Uncle,' said Walter, with his pleasant laugh,
'is the best best that I know. You'll not forget what you're to send
me, Uncle?'

'No, Wally, no,' replied the old man; 'everything I hear about
Miss Dombey, now that she is left alone, poor lamb, I'll write. I
fear it won't be much though, Wally.'

'Why, I'll tell you what, Uncle,' said Walter, after a moment's
hesitation, 'I have just been up there.'

'Ay, ay, ay?' murmured the old man, raising his eyebrows, and
his spectacles with them.

'Not to see her,' said Walter, 'though I could have seen her, I
daresay, if I had asked, Mr Dombey being out of town: but to say a
parting word to Susan. I thought I might venture to do that, you
know, under the circumstances, and remembering when I saw Miss Dombey
last.'

'Yes, my boy, yes,' replied his Uncle, rousing himself from a
temporary abstraction.

'So I saw her,' pursued Walter, 'Susan, I mean: and I told her I
was off and away to-morrow. And I said, Uncle, that you had always
had an interest in Miss Dombey since that night when she was here,
and always wished her well and happy, and always would be proud and
glad to serve her in the least: I thought I might say that, you know,
under the circumstances. Don't you think so ?'

'Yes, my boy, yes,' replied his Uncle, in the tone as before.

'And I added,' pursued Walter, 'that if she - Susan, I mean -
could ever let you know, either through herself, or Mrs Richards, or
anybody else who might be coming this way, that Miss Dombey was well
and happy, you would take it very kindly, and would write so much to
me, and I should take it very kindly too. There! Upon my word,
Uncle,' said Walter, 'I scarcely slept all last night through
thinking of doing this; and could not make up my mind when I was out,
whether to do it or not; and yet I am sure it is the true feeling of
my heart, and I should have been quite miserable afterwards if I had
not relieved it.'

His honest voice and manner corroborated what he said, and quite
established its ingenuousness.

'So, if you ever see her, Uncle,' said Walter, 'I mean Miss
Dombey now - and perhaps you may, who knows! - tell her how much I
felt for her; how much I used to think of her when I was here; how I
spoke of her, with the tears in my eyes, Uncle, on this last night
before I went away. Tell her that I said I never could forget her
gentle manner, or her beautiful face, or her sweet kind disposition
that was better than all. And as I didn't take them from a woman's
feet, or a young lady's: only a little innocent child's,' said
Walter: 'tell her, if you don't mind, Uncle, that I kept those shoes
- she'll remember how often they fell off, that night - and took them
away with me as a remembrance!'

They were at that very moment going out at the door in one of
Walter's trunks. A porter carrying off his baggage on a truck for
shipment at the docks on board the Son and Heir, had got possession
of them; and wheeled them away under the very eye of the insensible
Midshipman before their owner had well finished speaking.

But that ancient mariner might have been excused his
insensibility to the treasure as it rolled away. For, under his eye
at the same moment, accurately within his range of observation,
coming full into the sphere of his startled and intensely wide-awake
look-out, were Florence and Susan Nipper: Florence looking up into
his face half timidly, and receiving the whole shock of his wooden
ogling!

More than this, they passed into the shop, and passed in at the
parlour door before they were observed by anybody but the Midshipman.
And Walter, having his back to the door, would have known nothing of
their apparition even then, but for seeing his Uncle spring out of
his own chair, and nearly tumble over another.

'Why, Uncle!' exclaimed Walter. 'What's the matter?'

Old Solomon replied, 'Miss Dombey!'

'Is it possible?' cried Walter, looking round and starting up in
his turn. 'Here!'

Why, It was so possible and so actual, that, while the words
were on his lips, Florence hurried past him; took Uncle Sol's
snuff-coloured lapels, one in each hand; kissed him on the cheek; and
turning, gave her hand to Walter with a simple truth and earnestness
that was her own, and no one else's in the world!

'Going away, Walter!' said Florence.

'Yes, Miss Dombey,' he replied, but not so hopefully as he
endeavoured: 'I have a voyage before me.'

'And your Uncle,' said Florence, looking back at Solomon. 'He is
sorry you are going, I am sure. Ah! I see he is! Dear Walter, I am
very sorry too.'

'Goodness knows,' exclaimed Miss Nipper, 'there's a many we
could spare instead, if numbers is a object, Mrs Pipchin as a
overseer would come cheap at her weight in gold, and if a knowledge
of black slavery should be required, them Blimbers is the very people
for the sitiwation.'

With that Miss Nipper untied her bonnet strings, and alter
looking vacantly for some moments into a little black teapot that was
set forth with the usual homely service on the table, shook her head
and a tin canister, and began unasked to make the tea.

In the meantime Florence had turned again to the
Instrument-maker, who was as full of admiration as surprise. 'So
grown!' said old Sol. 'So improved! And yet not altered! Just the
same!'

'Indeed!' said Florence.

'Ye - yes,' returned old Sol, rubbing his hands slowly, and
considering the matter half aloud, as something pensive in the bright
eyes looking at him arrested his attention. 'Yes, that expression was
in the younger face, too!'

'You remember me,' said Florence with a smile, 'and what a
little creature I was then?'

'My dear young lady,' returned the Instrument-maker, 'how could
I forget you, often as I have thought of you and heard of you since!
At the very moment, indeed, when you came in, Wally was talking about
you to me, and leaving messages for you, and - '

'Was he?' said Florence. 'Thank you, Walter! Oh thank you,
Walter! I was afraid you might be going away and hardly thinking of
me;' and again she gave him her little hand so freely and so
faithfully that Walter held it for some moments in his own, and could
not bear to let it go.

Yet Walter did not hold it as he might have held it once, nor
did its touch awaken those old day-dreams of his boyhood that had
floated past him sometimes even lately, and confused him with their
indistinct and broken shapes. The purity and innocence of her
endearing manner, and its perfect trustfulness, and the undisguised
regard for him that lay so deeply seated in her constant eyes, and
glowed upon her fair face through the smile that shaded - for alas!
it was a smile too sad to brighten - it, were not of their romantic
race. They brought back to his thoughts the early death-bed he had
seen her tending, and the love the child had borne her; and on the
wings of such remembrances she seemed to rise up, far above his idle
fancies, into clearer and serener air.

'I - I am afraid I must call you Walter's Uncle, Sir,' said
Florence to the old man, 'if you'll let me.'

'My dear young lady,' cried old Sol. 'Let you! Good
gracious!'

'We always knew you by that name, and talked of you,' said
Florence, glancing round, and sighing gently. 'The nice old parlour!
Just the same! How well I recollect it!'

Old Sol looked first at her, then at his nephew, and then rubbed
his hands, and rubbed his spectacles, and said below his breath, 'Ah!
time, time, time!'

There was a short silence; during which Susan Nipper skilfully
impounded two extra cups and saucers from the cupboard, and awaited
the drawing of the tea with a thoughtful air.

'I want to tell Walter's Uncle,' said Florence, laying her hand
timidly upon the old man's as it rested on the table, to bespeak his
attention, 'something that I am anxious about. He is going to be left
alone, and if he will allow me - not to take Walter's place, for that
I couldn't do, but to be his true friend and help him if I ever can
while Walter is away, I shall be very much obliged to him indeed.
Will you? May I, Walter's Uncle?'

The Instrument-maker, without speaking, put her hand to his
lips, and Susan Nipper, leaning back with her arms crossed, in the
chair of presidency into which she had voted herself, bit one end of
her bonnet strings, and heaved a gentle sigh as she looked up at the
skylight.

'You will let me come to see you,' said Florence, 'when I can;
and you will tell me everything about yourself and Walter; and you
will have no secrets from Susan when she comes and I do not, but will
confide in us, and trust us, and rely upon us. And you'll try to let
us be a comfort to you? Will you, Walter's Uncle?'

The sweet face looking into his, the gentle pleading eyes, the
soft voice, and the light touch on his arm made the more winning by a
child's respect and honour for his age, that gave to all an air of
graceful doubt and modest hesitation - these, and her natural
earnestness, so overcame the poor old Instrument-maker, that he only
answered:

'Wally! say a word for me, my dear. I'm very grateful.'

'No, Walter,' returned Florence with her quiet smile. 'Say
nothing for him, if you please. I understand him very well, and we
must learn to talk together without you, dear Walter.'

The regretful tone in which she said these latter words, touched
Walter more than all the rest.

'Miss Florence,' he replied, with an effort to recover the
cheerful manner he had preserved while talking with his Uncle, 'I
know no more than my Uncle, what to say in acknowledgment of such
kindness, I am sure. But what could I say, after all, if I had the
power of talking for an hour, except that it is like you?'

Susan Nipper began upon a new part of her bonnet string, and
nodded at the skylight, in approval of the sentiment expressed.

'Oh! but, Walter,' said Florence, 'there is something that I
wish to say to you before you go away, and you must call me Florence,
if you please, and not speak like a stranger.'

'Like a stranger!' returned Walter, 'No. I couldn't speak so. I
am sure, at least, I couldn't feel like one.'

'Ay, but that is not enough, and is not what I mean. For,
Walter,' added Florence, bursting into tears, 'he liked you very
much, and said before he died that he was fond of you, and said
"Remember Walter!" and if you'll be a brother to me, Walter, now that
he is gone and I have none on earth, I'll be your sister all my life,
and think of you like one wherever we may be! This is what I wished
to say, dear Walter, but I cannot say it as I would, because my heart
is full.'

And in its fulness and its sweet simplicity, she held out both
her hands to him. Walter taking them, stooped down and touched the
tearful face that neither shrunk nor turned away, nor reddened as he
did so, but looked up at him with confidence and truth. In that one
moment, every shadow of doubt or agitation passed away from Walter's
soul. It seemed to him that he responded to her innocent appeal,
beside the dead child's bed: and, in the solemn presence he had seen
there, pledged himself to cherish and protect her very image, in his
banishment, with brotherly regard; to garner up her simple faith,
inviolate; and hold himself degraded if he breathed upon it any
thought that was not in her own breast when she gave it to him.

Susan Nipper, who had bitten both her bonnet strings at once,
and imparted a great deal of private emotion to the skylight, during
this transaction, now changed the subject by inquiring who took milk
and who took sugar; and being enlightened on these points, poured out
the tea. They all four gathered socially about the little table, and
took tea under that young lady's active superintendence; and the
presence of Florence in the back parlour, brightened the Tartar
frigate on the wall.

Half an hour ago Walter, for his life, would have hardly called
her by her name. But he could do so now when she entreated him. He
could think of her being there, without a lurking misgiving that it
would have been better if she had not come. He could calmly think how
beautiful she was, how full of promise, what a home some happy man
would find in such a heart one day. He could reflect upon his own
place in that heart, with pride; and with a brave determination, if
not to deserve it - he still thought that far above him - never to
deserve it less

Some fairy influence must surely have hovered round the hands of
Susan Nipper when she made the tea, engendering the tranquil air that
reigned in the back parlour during its discussion. Some
counter-influence must surely have hovered round the hands of Uncle
Sol's chronometer, and moved them faster than the Tartar frigate ever
went before the wind. Be this as it may, the visitors had a coach in
waiting at a quiet corner not far off; and the chronometer, on being
incidentally referred to, gave such a positive opinion that it had
been waiting a long time, that it was impossible to doubt the fact,
especially when stated on such unimpeachable authority. If Uncle Sol
had been going to be hanged by his own time, he never would have
allowed that the chronometer was too fast, by the least fraction of a
second.

Florence at parting recapitulated to the old man all that she
had said before, and bound him to the compact. Uncle Sol attended her
lovingly to the legs of the wooden Midshipman, and there resigned her
to Walter, who was ready to escort her and Susan Nipper to the
coach.

'Walter,' said Florence by the way, 'I have been afraid to ask
before your Uncle. Do you think you will be absent very long?'

'Indeed,' said Walter, 'I don't know. I fear so. Mr Dombey
signified as much, I thought, when he appointed me.'

'Is it a favour, Walter?' inquired Florence, after a moment's
hesitation, and looking anxiously in his face.

'The appointment?' returned Walter.

'Yes.'

Walter would have given anything to have answered in the
affirmative, but his face answered before his lips could, and
Florence was too attentive to it not to understand its reply.

'I am afraid you have scarcely been a favourite with Papa,' she
said, timidly.

'There is no reason,' replied Walter, smiling, 'why I should
be.'

'No reason, Walter!'

'There was no reason,' said Walter, understanding what she
meant. 'There are many people employed in the House. Between Mr
Dombey and a young man like me, there's a wide space of separation.
If I do my duty, I do what I ought, and do no more than all the
rest.'

Had Florence any misgiving of which she was hardly conscious:
any misgiving that had sprung into an indistinct and undefined
existence since that recent night when she had gone down to her
father's room: that Walter's accidental interest in her, and early
knowledge of her, might have involved him in that powerful
displeasure and dislike? Had Walter any such idea, or any sudden
thought that it was in her mind at that moment? Neither of them
hinted at it. Neither of them spoke at all, for some short time.
Susan, walking on the other side of Walter, eyed them both sharply;
and certainly Miss Nipper's thoughts travelled in that direction, and
very confidently too.

'You may come back very soon,' said Florence, 'perhaps,
Walter.'

'I may come back,' said Walter, 'an old man, and find you an old
lady. But I hope for better things.'

'Papa,' said Florence, after a moment, 'will - will recover from
his grief, and - speak more freely to me one day, perhaps; and if he
should, I will tell him how much I wish to see you back again, and
ask him to recall you for my sake.'

There was a touching modulation in these words about her father,
that Walter understood too well.

The coach being close at hand, he would have left her without
speaking, for now he felt what parting was; but Florence held his
hand when she was seated, and then he found there was a little packet
in her own.

'Walter,' she said, looking full upon him with her affectionate
eyes, 'like you, I hope for better things. I will pray for them, and
believe that they will arrive. I made this little gift for Paul. Pray
take it with my love, and do not look at it until you are gone away.
And now, God bless you, Walter! never forget me. You are my brother,
dear!'

He was glad that Susan Nipper came between them, or he might
have left her with a sorrowful remembrance of him. He was glad too
that she did not look out of the coach again, but waved the little
hand to him instead, as long as he could see it.

In spite of her request, he could not help opening the packet
that night when he went to bed. It was a little purse: and there was
was money in it.

Bright rose the sun next morning, from his absence in strange
countries and up rose Walter with it to receive the Captain, who was
already at the door: having turned out earlier than was necessary, in
order to get under weigh while Mrs MacStinger was still slumbering.
The Captain pretended to be in tip-top spirits, and brought a very
smoky tongue in one of the pockets of the of the broad blue coat for
breakfast.

'And, Wal'r,' said the Captain, when they took their seats at
table, if your Uncle's the man I think him, he'll bring out the last
bottle of the Madeira on the present occasion.'

'No, no, Ned,' returned the old man. 'No! That shall be opened
when Walter comes home again.'

'Well said!' cried the Captain. 'Hear him!'

'There it lies,' said Sol Gills, 'down in the little cellar,
covered with dirt and cobwebs. There may be dirt and cobwebs over you
and me perhaps, Ned, before it sees the light.'

'Hear him! 'cried the Captain. 'Good morality! Wal'r, my lad.
Train up a fig-tree in the way it should go, and when you are old sit
under the shade on it. Overhaul the - Well,' said the Captain on
second thoughts, 'I ain't quite certain where that's to be found, but
when found, make a note of. Sol Gills, heave ahead again!'

'But there or somewhere, it shall lie, Ned, until Wally comes
back to claim it,' said the old man. 'That's all I meant to say.'

'And well said too,' returned the Captain; 'and if we three
don't crack that bottle in company, I'll give you two leave to.'

Notwithstanding the Captain's excessive joviality, he made but a
poor hand at the smoky tongue, though he tried very hard, when
anybody looked at him, to appear as if he were eating with a vast
apetite. He was terribly afraid, likewise, of being left alone with
either Uncle or nephew; appearing to consider that his only chance of
safety as to keeping up appearances, was in there being always three
together. This terror on the part of the Captain, reduced him to such
ingenious evasions as running to the door, when Solomon went to put
his coat on, under pretence of having seen an extraordinary
hackney-coach pass: and darting out into the road when Walter went
upstairs to take leave of the lodgers, on a feint of smelling fire in
a neighbouring chimney. These artifices Captain Cuttle deemed
inscrutable by any uninspired observer.

Walter was coming down from his parting expedition upstairs, and
was crossing the shop to go back to the little parlour, when he saw a
faded face he knew, looking in at the door, and darted towards it.

'Mr Carker!' cried Walter, pressing the hand of John Carker the
Junior. 'Pray come in! This is kind of you, to be here so early to
say good-bye to me. You knew how glad it would make me to shake hands
with you, once, before going away. I cannot say how glad I am to have
this opportunity. Pray come in.'

'It is not likely that we may ever meet again, Walter,' returned
the other, gently resisting his invitation, 'and I am glad of this
opportunity too. I may venture to speak to you, and to take you by
the hand, on the eve of separation. I shall not have to resist your
frank approaches, Walter, any more.

There was a melancholy in his smile as he said it, that showed
he had found some company and friendship for his thoughts even in
that.

'Ah, Mr Carker!' returned Walter. 'Why did you resist them? You
could have done me nothing but good, I am very sure.

He shook his head. 'If there were any good,' he said, 'I could
do on this earth, I would do it, Walter, for you. The sight of you
from day to day, has been at once happiness and remorse to me. But
the pleasure has outweighed the pain. I know that, now, by knowing
what I lose.'

'Come in, Mr Carker, and make acquaintance with my good old
Uncle,' urged Walter. 'I have often talked to him about you, and he
will be glad to tell you all he hears from me. I have not,' said
Walter, noticing his hesitation, and speaking with embarrassment
himself: 'I have not told him anything about our last conversation,
Mr Carker; not even him, believe me.

The grey Junior pressed his hand, and tears rose in his eyes.

'If I ever make acquaintance with him, Walter,' he returned, 'it
will be that I may hear tidings of you. Rely on my not wronging your
forbearance and consideration. It would be to wrong it, not to tell
him all the truth, before I sought a word of confidence from him. But
I have no friend or acquaintance except you: and even for your sake,
am little likely to make any.'

'I wish,' said Walter, 'you had suffered me to be your friend
indeed. I always wished it, Mr Carker, as you know; but never half so
much as now, when we are going to part'

'It is enough replied the other, 'that you have been the friend
of my own breast, and that when I have avoided you most, my heart
inclined the most towards you, and was fullest of you. Walter,
good-bye!'

'Good-bye, Mr Carker. Heaven be with you, Sir!' cried Walter
with emotion.

'If,' said the other, retaining his hand while he spoke; 'if
when you come back, you miss me from my old corner, and should hear
from anyone where I am lying, come and look upon my grave. Think that
I might have been as honest and as happy as you! And let me think,
when I know time is coming on, that some one like my former self may
stand there, for a moment, and remember me with pity and forgiveness!
Walter, good-bye!'

His figure crept like a shadow down the bright, sun-lighted
street, so cheerful yet so solemn in the early summer morning; and
slowly passed away.

The relentless chronometer at last announced that Walter must
turn his back upon the wooden Midshipman: and away they went,
himself, his Uncle, and the Captain, in a hackney-coach to a wharf,
where they were to take steam-boat for some Reach down the river, the
name of which, as the Captain gave it out, was a hopeless mystery to
the ears of landsmen. Arrived at this Reach (whither the ship had
repaired by last night's tide), they were boarded by various excited
watermen, and among others by a dirty Cyclops of the Captain's
acquaintance, who, with his one eye, had made the Captain out some
mile and a half off, and had been exchanging unintelligible roars
with him ever since. Becoming the lawful prize of this personage, who
was frightfully hoarse and constitutionally in want of shaving, they
were all three put aboard the Son and Heir. And the Son and Heir was
in a pretty state of confusion, with sails lying all bedraggled on
the wet decks, loose ropes tripping people up, men in red shirts
running barefoot to and fro, casks blockading every foot of space,
and, in the thickest of the fray, a black cook in a black caboose up
to his eyes in vegetables and blinded with smoke.

The Captain immediately drew Walter into a corner, and with a
great effort, that made his face very red, pulled up the silver
watch, which was so big, and so tight in his pocket, that it came out
like a bung.

'Wal'r,' said the Captain, handing it over, and shaking him
heartily by the hand, 'a parting gift, my lad. Put it back half an
hour every morning, and about another quarter towards the arternoon,
and it's a watch that'll do you credit.'

'Captain Cuttle! I couldn't think of it!' cried Walter,
detaining him, for he was running away. 'Pray take it back. I have
one already.'

'Then, Wal'r,' said the Captain, suddenly diving into one of his
pockets and bringing up the two teaspoons and the sugar-tongs, with
which he had armed himself to meet such an objection, 'take this here
trifle of plate, instead.'

'No, no, I couldn't indeed!' cried Walter, 'a thousand thanks!
Don't throw them away, Captain Cuttle!' for the Captain was about to
jerk them overboard. 'They'll be of much more use to you than me.
Give me your stick. I have often thought I should like to have it.
There! Good-bye, Captain Cuttle! Take care of my Uncle! Uncle Sol,
God bless you!'

They were over the side in the confusion, before Walter caught
another glimpse of either; and when he ran up to the stern, and
looked after them, he saw his Uncle hanging down his head in the
boat, and Captain Cuttle rapping him on the back with the great
silver watch (it must have been very painful), and gesticulating
hopefully with the teaspoons and sugar-tongs. Catching sight of
Walter, Captain Cuttle dropped the property into the bottom of the
boat with perfect unconcern, being evidently oblivious of its
existence, and pulling off the glazed hat hailed him lustily. The
glazed hat made quite a show in the sun with its glistening, and the
Captain continued to wave it until he could be seen no longer. Then
the confusion on board, which had been rapidly increasing, reached
its height; two or three other boats went away with a cheer; the
sails shone bright and full above, as Walter watched them spread
their surface to the favourable breeze; the water flew in sparkles
from the prow; and off upon her voyage went the Son and Heir, as
hopefully and trippingly as many another son and heir, gone down, had
started on his way before her.

Day after day, old Sol and Captain Cuttle kept her reckoning in
the little hack parlour and worked out her course, with the chart
spread before them on the round table. At night, when old Sol climbed
upstairs, so lonely, to the attic where it sometimes blew great guns,
he looked up at the stars and listened to the wind, and kept a longer
watch than would have fallen to his lot on board the ship. The last
bottle of the old Madeira, which had had its cruising days, and known
its dangers of the deep, lay silently beneath its dust and cobwebs,
in the meanwhile, undisturbed.