Before night Alexander Wilmot was in London, from thence he hastened down to Portsmouth to embark.  The next day, the Surprise weighed anchor and ran through the Needles, and before the night closed in was well down the Channel, standing before the wind, with studding sails below and aloft.

CHAPTER III.

A melancholy feeling clouded the features of Alexander Wilmot as, on the following morning, the vessel, under a heavy press of sail, was fast leaving the shores of his native country.  He remained on the poop of the vessel with his eyes fixed upon the land, which every moment became more indistinct.  His thoughts may easily be imagined.  Shall I ever see that land again?  Shall I ever return, or shall my bones remain in Africa, perhaps not even buried, but bleaching in the desert?  And if I do return, shall I find my old relation still alive, or called away, loaded as he is with years, to the silent tomb?  We are in the hands of a gracious God.  His will be done.

Alexander turned away, as the land had at last become no longer visible, and found a young man of about his own age standing close to him, and apparently as much lost in reverie as he had been.  As in turning round Alexander brushed against him, he thought it right to apologize for the unintentional act, and this occasioned a conversation.

“I believe, sir,” said the other party, who was a tall, spare, slight-built man, with a dark complexion, “that we were both indulging in similar thoughts as we took leave of our native shores.  Every Englishman does the same, and indeed every true lover of his country, let the country be what it will.  We find the feeling as strong in the savage as in the enlightened; it is universal.  Indeed, we may fairly say that it extends lower—­down to the brute species, from their love of localities.”

“Very true, sir,” replied Alexander; “but with brutes, as you say, it is merely the love of locality; with men, I trust, the feeling is more generous and noble.”

“So it ought to be, or else why are we so much more nobly endowed?  This is not your first voyage, I presume?” continued the stranger.

“Indeed, it is,” said Alexander; “I never was out of England, or on board of a vessel, before yesterday.”

“I should have imagined otherwise,” remarked his companion:  “the other passengers are all suffering from sea-sickness, while you and I only are on the deck.  I presumed, therefore, that you had been afloat before.”

“I did feel very giddy yesterday evening,” observed Alexander, “but this morning I have no unpleasant sensation whatever.  I believe that some people do not suffer at sea.”

“A very few; but it appears that you are one of those most fortunate, for by experience I know how painful and distressing the sickness is for some time.  Breakfast will soon be ready; do you think that you can eat any?”