The Lilly was a fine, rakish-looking corvette, with a crew of one hundred and twenty, officers and seamen, as Joe Simmons informed Bill.

The old man went up the side with him.

“There’s the first lieutenant,” he said.  “You just go up and tell him you have come aboard.  It will be all right.  Although he looks very grand, he is all right at bottom; and I have heard more than one thing in his favour.  He won’t eat you; so don’t be afear’d, Bill.”

Bill did as he was advised, and presented the captain’s card.  Mr Barker glanced at it.

“Oh!  You are Bill Sunnyside.  We will enter you.  Master-at-arms, see to this boy.”

“It’s all right, boy, you can go forward!”

Bill, thus dismissed, gladly rejoined his old friend, thankful that the dreaded interview was over.  He would not have minded it if the captain had been aboard, for he had taken a great fancy to him, and felt ready to go through fire and water to serve him.

Old Joe introduced him, as he had promised, to a fine, active-looking seaman who had just come from aloft, with hands well tarred, and a big clasp knife hung by a rope round his neck.  Jack Windy was every inch a sailor.

“Oh, ay, Joe!  No fear; we’ll look after the lad,” he said, giving an approving glance at Bill.  “We will make a prime seaman of him, never you fear.  And here, Tommy Rebow, you just come here, boy.  You show Bill here what he will have to do, and what he must not do; and none of your jackanape tricks mind that.”

Thus Bill had not been many minutes on board before he found himself with several acquaintances.  Old Joe, satisfied that all was right, wished him good-bye.

“There, Bill,” he said, taking him by the hand, “just do you go on doing what you have been, and there’s One who will look after you, and knows better how to do so than I could, or your own father, if he was alive, or the captain himself; and when I say my prayers and I do say them, and so must you, Bill I will put in a word about you; and I am sure your mother will, and your brothers and sisters as is big enough; and you see, Bill, you have every reason to go away contented and happy.  Now good-bye, lad, God bless you!”

And again old Joe wrung Sunshine Bill’s hand, and went down the side of the ship into his wherry.

“Now, do you mind, Bill,” he shouted, as, taking his seat, he seized the sculls and sprung them briskly into the water.  Once more he stopped, and, resting his oars for a moment, waved another farewell with his right hand.

The men had just been piped to breakfast when Bill went on board, and the ship was comparatively quiet.  In a short time, however, all was bustle and seeming confusion.  The officers were shouting, the boatswain was piping, and the men hurrying here and there along the decks or up the rigging; some bending sails, others hoisting in stores, or coming off, or going away in boats.  Bill had often been on board ship, so it was not so strange to him as it would have been to many boys.  Yet he had never before formed one of a ship’s company, and he could not help feeling that he might at any moment be called upon to perform some duty or other with which he was totally unacquainted.

“Never you fear, Bill,” said Tommy Rebow, who observed his anxiety.  “I will put you up to anything you want to know.  Just you stick by me.”

Presently a quartermaster ordered Tommy to lay hold of a rope and haul away; and Bill ran and helped him, and quickly got the rope taut, when an officer sung out, “Belay,” and Tommy made the rope fast.  This was the first duty Bill ever performed in the service of his country.

After this, whenever there was any pulling or hauling, Bill ran and helped, unless ordered elsewhere.  Though he could not always remember the names of the ropes, still he felt that he was making himself useful.

Amidst the bustle, he at length heard the first lieutenant sing out, “Man the sides.”  The boatswain’s whistle sounded.  The sideboys stood with the white man-ropes in their hands, the officers collected on either side of the gangway.  The marines hurried from below with their muskets, and stood, drawn up in martial array; and presently Bill saw a boat come alongside, and an officer in full uniform, whom he at once recognised as Captain Trevelyan, stepped upon deck.  Saluting the officers by lifting his hat, he spoke a few kind, good-natured words to them, and then gave a scrutinising glance along the decks, turning his eyes aloft.

“You have made good progress, Mr Barker.  I hope we shall go out to Spithead to-morrow,” he observed.  “How many hands do you still want?” he asked.

“We have our complement complete, sir,” was the answer.

“Has that boy I spoke to you about come on board Sunnyside?”

“Yes, sir; he came on board this morning.  He is a sharp lad, and will make a good seaman.”

Bill would have been proud, had he known that he was the subject of conversation between the captain and first lieutenant.

The next morning the Lilly cast off from the buoy to which she was moored, and, making sail, ran out to Spithead, where she again anchored.  Bill thought he should now be fairly off to sea, but she had another week to remain there.  There was the powder to take on board, and more provisions; then there were despatches from the Admiralty.  At length Blue Peter was hoisted.  All boats were ordered away from the ship’s side.  Once more sail was made, and with the wind from the north-east the Lilly glided down the calm waters of the Solent.

Bill was soon perfectly at home among his new shipmates.  He had never been so well fed in his life plenty of good boiled beef and potatoes, and sweet biscuit.

“I have often wished to come to sea, and I am very glad I have come,” he said, as he was seated at mess.  “I did not think they fed us so well.”

“Just you wait till we have been a few months in blue water, youngster,” observed Sam Grimshaw “old Grim,” as his shipmates called him “when we get down to the salted cow and pickled horse, and pork which is all gristle and bone.  You will then sing a different tune, I have a notion.”

Old Grim was noted for grumbling.  He grumbled at everything; and as to pleasing him, that was out of the question.

“Well,” answered Bill, “all I can say is, I am thankful for the good things now I’ve got them; and when the bad come, it will be time enough to cry out.  I used to think, too, when once a ship got into the Channel clear away from the land, there would be nothing but tumbling and tossing about; and here we are running on as smoothly as we might up Portsmouth Harbour.  Now, I am thankful for that.”

“Well, so it’s as well to be, my lad, for before many days are over we may be tumbling about in a heavy gale under close-reefed topsails, and then you will sing another tune to what you are doing now.”

“I shall be singing that I know the bad weather won’t last for ever, and that I have no doubt the sun will shine out,” answered Bill.

“But maybe you will get washed overboard, or a loose block will give you a knock on the head and finish you, or some other mishap will befall you,” growled out old Grim.

“As to that,” answered Bill, “I am ready for the rough and smooth of life, and for the ups and downs.  As I hope to have some of the ups, I must make up my mind to be content with a few of the downs.”

“Well, well!  There’s no making you unhappy,” growled out old Grim.  “Now, you don’t mean to say this duff is fit food for Christians,” he exclaimed, sticking his fork into a somewhat hard piece of pudding.

“It’s fit for hungry boys at sea,” answered Bill; “and I only wish that my brothers and sisters had as good beef and pork for dinner, not to speak of peas-pudding and duff, as we have got every day.  I should like to send them some of mine, and yours too, if you do not eat it.”

“Well, as we cannot live on nothing, I am obliged to eat it, good or bad,” answered old Grim; “and as to giving you some of mine, why, I don’t see that there’s overmuch I get for myself.”

“I did not ask it for myself, and I am glad to see you do not find it too bad to eat after all,” said Bill, observing that old Grim cleared his plate of every particle of food it contained.

Tommy Rebow used to amuse himself by trying to tease Grimshaw, not that he would stand much from him, or from anybody else; and often Tommy had to make a quick jump of it to get out of his way.  Still he would return to the charge till Grim got fearfully vexed with him.  Bill himself never teased old Grim or anybody else.  It was not his nature.  He could laugh with them as much as they might please, but he never could laugh at them, or jeer them.  Old Grim really liked Bill, though he took an odd way of showing it sometimes.  Bill, indeed, soon became a favourite on board, just because he was so good-natured and happy, and was ready to oblige any one.

Captain Trevelyan did not forget his promise to Bill’s mother; and though of course he did not say much to the lad, it was very evident that he had his eye on him, as he had indeed, more or less, on everybody on board.  He took care that Bill should learn his duties.  There were several young gentlemen on board in the midshipman’s berth; and the captain had for their use a model built of the ship’s masts and rigging.  He used to have them up every morning in fine weather, and make them learn all the names and uses of the ropes.  Then he would make them put the ship about, or wear ship, or heave her to.  Then he would have the yards braced up, then squared, then braced up on the other tack, and so forth.  The ship’s boys were made to stand by, to watch these proceedings, and then they were called up to go through the manoeuvres themselves, the boatswain, or one of the masters, giving them lessons.  Bill was very quick in learning, and so, before they got half way across the Atlantic, he knew how to put the ship about almost as well as any body on board.  He soon, indeed, caught Tommy Rebow up, and as they were both well-grown lads, they were placed in the mizzen-top.  Both of them soon learned to lay out on the yards, and to reef and furl the mizzen-topsail as well as anybody.

“Come, Bill, I told Joe Simmons I would learn you all I know myself,” said Jack Windy, “and now you are getting seamanship, it’s time you should be learning the hornpipe.  You have a good ear, because you can sing well, as I have heard you; so you should learn to dance it, to astonish the natives wherever we go.”

Captain Trevelyan had secured a fiddler among his ship’s company a negro of jet black hue, with a face all crumpled up in a most curious fashion, with great white rolling eyeballs, and huge thick lips.  He was not a beauty, and he did not think so himself; but he prided himself on playing the fiddle, and well, too, he did play it.  His name was Diogenes Snow; but he was called Dio, or Di sometimes, for shortness.  With his music, and under Jack Windy’s instruction, Bill soon learned to dance a hornpipe, so that few could surpass him.

“Dare, Bill; well done, Bill!” shouted Dio, as he scraped away with might and main.  “Oh, golly!  Iolly!  Bill would beat Queen Charlotte, if she tried to do it, dat he would.  Berry well, Bill.  Keep moving, boy!  Dat’s it!  One more turn!  Hurrah!  Hurrah!”