Halfhyde Outward Bound

Admiralty had taken their time in sending for him, and in the interval Lady Willard had seen to it that Halfhyde was wed, and he had endured a short honeymoon in Scotland, during which he had spent a day propelling Mildred down Loch Lomond in a rowing boat and had been visited by strong desires to bundle her ashore on one of the small islands and leave her there for ever and a day. He it was who had insisted upon Scotland, and the highlands in particular, because, to his knowledge, there was no racecourse north of a line drawn from Glasgow to Edinburgh; the Scots, like himself, preferred whisky and the bagpipes. It was perhaps significant that there had never been more than one cavalry regiment of Scots in all Her Majesty’s Army. Mildred it was who, denied such pleasures as she might have found in the horsey vicinities of Ayr and Paisley, Lanark and Edinburgh, had nagged continually about his choice and had grown more and more morose, pining for the saddle and the hunting field, and had bought every picture postcard she could find that depicted a horse and had stationed these around their hotel bedroom as her father might when serving have disposed pictures of his fleet. And at the end of the honeymoon month, Mildred was still a virgin. She had proved as determined as any well-bred horse at a jump.

Soon after their return to occupy, temporarily, four rooms in Admiral Willard’s house, the Admiralty had demanded Halfhyde’s presence and thereafter the atmosphere had grown cold: the Admiral didn’t like a half-pay son-in-law and neither did his wife, who said so frequently.

It was this that had driven Halfhyde to his understanding mentor, Uncle Henry; and Uncle Henry, as generous as he was friendly, had provided a solution. Go back to sea, he had said, in the merchant ships. Buy yourself a small steamer, command it yourself, and range the world, leaving Mildred to her parents in the meantime.

Halfhyde had laughed at the idea. “And the money to buy a ship, sir? Where in heaven’s name does that come from? From my father-in-law, who might be glad enough to get rid of me at any price?”

“No. From me,” Henry Willard said. “I can raise thirty thousand with no difficulty at all, and glad to. It’ll be a loan, to be repaid when you’re able. I see you making your fortune, my boy—and mine too, though I don’t need it. I’ll be a sleeping partner if you prefer it that way—an investment.” Uncle Henry had put a hand on Halfhyde’s shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I see honesty, reliability and independence of mind in your face, and the capacity for the command you’ve already held. Go to it with my blessing.”

HALFHYDE HAD done so. His father-in-law had looked baffled when informed of his intentions, half glad, half peeved. He saw Halfhyde as a common seaman; but it was better than everlasting half-pay and a poverty-stricken presence around the High Street house. He had said it must be on Halfhyde’s own head; he would know nothing about his son-in-law’s movements if any enquiry should be made by the Admiralty—their Lordships would not approve of a half-pay officer being out of the country and employed other than in the naval service, and he would say nothing about it.

His arrangements made, Halfhyde went north by the train to Liverpool, with two purposes in mind: to bend an alert ear around the steamship market, and to make an attempt to get signed on aboard a merchantman so as to learn the handling of such at first hand as a preliminary step towards qualifying himself to take command of his own ship and to make her a commercial success from the start. Uncle Henry had insisted on his gaining that experience as a condition of the loan, and had not needed to insist far; Halfhyde was in full agreement. He needed to know the ways of the merchant ships even though, as a lieutenant of some years’ seniority in Her Majesty’s Fleet, he would be entitled, not to a certificate of competency as possessed by master mariners who had gone through the seven-year mill of sea-time and examinations, but to a certificate of service that would exempt him from the normal requirements of command. And he had determined to look for a berth aboard a windjammer, since it was the custom of steamship owners to demand sail experience of their masters, and Halfhyde would accept no less for himself insofar as he was able to do anything about it…

He stood up in the lodging-house bedroom. He swayed and felt sicker than ever; but he managed to stagger from the room to the landing, where he shouted for attention.

A stout woman clad in black emerged from a doorway in the narrow hall below. She called up, “So you’ve recovered, ’ave yer? Lawks a-mussy, never did I see the like —”

“Rubbish,” Halfhyde snapped. “Liverpool’s not Cheltenham and well you know it. I require water—hot, with soap and a towel. And a razor, a clean one and sharp. I’d be obliged if you’d jump to it.”

There was no particular response from below. The woman was flummoxed. The voice was that of a gentleman, and it held authority, the certainty of being obeyed without question. A short sound like “Hah!” floated up to Halfhyde, followed by the banging of a door. Within ten minutes his requirements had been met. He rejected the offer of breakfast, asking only for very strong coffee.

“SO YOU’VE come aboard,” Captain McRafferty said, sounding somewhat surprised. Halfhyde had been taken below to the saloon of the Aysgarth Falls. A young woman had been sitting at the long table, doing some crochet work—a pretty girl of Irish colouring, aged about twenty at a guess. Halfhyde had not been allowed to do more than wish her good morning before Captain McRafferty entered from his cabin and sent her packing. “Men’s business,”