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Three days' companionship on board of a vessel, cooped up together, and having no one else to converse with, will produce intimacy; and Pickersgill was a young man of so much originality and information, that he was listened to with pleasure. He never attempted to advance beyond the line of strict decorum and politeness; and his companion was equally unpresuming.
Before you go below, Miss Ossulton, I give you my permission to add the married lady to the number of my confidants; and you must permit me to introduce my friend, Mr Ossulton;" and Pickersgill waved his hand in the direction of Corbett, who took off his hat and made a low obeisance. It was impossible for Cecilia Ossulton to help smiling.
"Well, he can do nothing in a light wind like this; and before the wind we can show him our heels: but are you sure the other is a yacht?" said Pickersgill, coming on deck. "Yes; the king is more careful of his canvas." "You're right," said Pickersgill, "that is a yacht; and you're right there again in your guess that is the stupid old Active which creeps about creeping for tubs.
The sailors and Captain Pickersgill all rose and went to the window, to ascertain Corbett's fortune by this new species of augury. The blue pigeon flapped his wings, and then he sidled up to the white one; at last, the white pigeon flew off the wall and settled on the roof of the adjacent house. "Bravo, white pigeon!" said Corbett; "I shall be here again in a week."
On the return of Cook from his second voyage, Pickersgill was appointed commander of the Lion, and sent to survey Baffin's Bay, but he was relieved of the command early in 1777, and then we lose sight of him. Wilkinson also had served under Wallis, but he died soon after the return of the Endeavour, and Bootie died on the way home. The best-known of these log-writers is Charles Clerke.
After a while, Pickersgill and Corbett went down forward, and returned dressed in the smuggler's clothes, when they resumed their walk on the deck. In the meantime it was dark; the cutter flew along the coast, and the Needles' lights were on the larboard bow. The conversation between Mrs. Lascelles, Cecilia, and her father was long.
Pickersgill is going to paint my portrait; it is a present Major Dawkins makes my father and mother, but I do wish they would leave off trying to take my picture. My face is too bad for anything but nature, and never was intended for still life. The intention, however, is very kind, and the offer one that can scarcely be refused. I wish you would come and keep me awake through my sittings.
Cecilia put her handkerchief to her mouth. "Tell the steward and the cook both to come aft immediately," cried Pickersgill. In a few seconds they both made their appearance. "Steward!" cried Pickersgill, with a loud voice. "Yes, my lord," replied Maddox, with his hat in his hand. "What wines have you put out for dinner?" "Champagne, my lord; and claret, my lord; and Madeira and sherry, my lord."
It appears to me, Corbett, that the gentleman's clothes which lie there will fit you, and those of the good-looking fellow who was spokesman will, I am sure, suit me well. Now let us dress ourselves, and then for breakfast." Pickersgill then exchanged his clothes for those of Mr Hautaine, and Corbett fitted on those of Mr Ossulton.
"Even so, my lord," replied Pickersgill. "You abandoned your yacht to capture me; you left these ladies in a vessel crippled for want of men; they might have been lost. I have returned good for evil by coming on board with my own people, and taking charge of them. This night I expected to have anchored your vessel in Cowes, and have left them in safety." "By the " cried Stewart.
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