With Clive in India; Or, The Beginnings of an EmpireHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
With Clive in India; Or, The Beginnings of an Empire
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
On Monday morning, after a sad farewell to his family, Charlie
embarked on board the Yarmouth Belle, a packet which performed the
journey to and from London once a fortnight. She was a roomy lugger,
built for stowage rather than speed, and her hold was crammed and her
deck piled with packages of salted fish. There were five or six other
persons also bound for London, the journey to which was, in those
days, regarded as an arduous undertaking.
As soon as the Yarmouth Belle issued from the mouth of the river, she
began to pitch heavily; and Charlie, who from frequently going out
with his father in the revenue cutter, was a good sailor, busied
himself in doing his best for his afflicted fellow passengers. Towards
evening the wind got up, and shifting ahead, the captain dropped
anchor off Lowestoft. The next morning was finer, and the Yarmouth
Belle continued her way. It was not, however, till Thursday afternoon
that she dropped anchor in the Pool.
Charlie was soon on shore, and giving his trunk to a porter, desired
him to lead the way to Bread Street, in which his uncle resided; for
in the last century, such things as country villas were almost
unknown, and the merchants of London for the most part resided in the
houses where they carried on their business. Keeping close to the
porter, to see that he did not make off with his trunk, for Charlie
had received many warnings as to the extreme wickedness of London, he
followed him through the busy streets, and arrived safely at his
uncle's door.
It was now dusk, and Charlie, on giving his name, was shown upstairs
to a large room, which was lighted by a fire blazing in the hearth.
Standing with his back to this was a gentleman whom he at once
recognized, from his mother's description, as her uncle, although he
was a good deal more portly than when she had seen him last.
"So you are my grandnephew," he said, holding out what Charlie
considered to be a very limp and flabby hand towards him.
"Yes, Uncle," Charlie said cheerfully; "and we are very much obliged
to you, Mamma and I, for your kindness."
"Humph!" the old gentleman grunted.
"And how is it," he asked severely, "that you were not here yesterday?
My niece's letter led me to expect that you would arrive yesterday."
"We came as fast as we could, Uncle," Charlie laughed; "but of course
the time depends upon the wind. The captain tells me that he has been
as much as three weeks coming round."
Mr. Tufton grunted again as if to signify that such unpunctuality was
altogether displeasing to him.
"You are tall," he said, looking up at Charlie, who stood half a head
above him, "and thin, very thin. You have a loose way of standing,
which I don't approve of."
"I'm sorry I'm loose, sir," Charlie said gravely, "if you do not
approve of it; but you see, running about and playing games make one
lissome. I suppose, now that's all over and I am going to spend my
time in writing, I shall get stiffer."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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