And here comes a
gentleman to speak with you."
An officer in military uniform approached, and the boy touched his
cap. With the skipper as interpreter the major made George an offer of
service under him.
"We want fellows of your sort," he said. "And there will be brave
doings in Spain, and plenty of good pay, and glory to be won. Besides,
you will be fighting under one of your own countrymen, most likely Sir
George Rooke himself. Say the word, my good lad."
George's face flushed.
"I have always wanted to be a soldier, sir," he stammered.
"Of course you have, my lad. Then we may take it that the matter is
settled. Good luck go with you, my boy."
Here then was George Fairburn, who ought to have been driving a quill
in the office of Mr. Allan, shipping merchant, of London, sailing to
join the allied forces in Spain, and to fight against the French. His
head swam with the thought of it.
But what of George's friends at home all this long while? When
Fairburn learnt that his brig had not arrived in port, though she had
been spoken in Boston Deeps by another collier which was returning to
the Tyne, his heart misgave him. There had been a bad storm on the
coast; it seemed only too likely that the _Ouseburn Lassie_ had gone
down in it! When week after week passed without news it seemed more
and more likely that the vessel had foundered in the gale.
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