"No," said he to himself, "let him remain; he will, in the discipline of a man-of-war, be cured perhaps of his audacity, and learn submission to proper authority." This was the result of Lord Robert's debate with himself. At first, he had been a little touched by Philip's pale and altered countenance; but, on a second glance, he found his enemy had recognised him, and returned his glance with a look so full of reproach and contempt, that Lord Robert vowed within himself that his haughty spirit should be broken.
Alas, for Philip! he needed no worse enemy than himself. Instead of a manly resignation to what he knew was unavoidable, and a determination to perform his duties so well as to gain respect from the crew--instead of pursuing this course, which would have partly defeated the hatred of his enemy,--he continued so sullen and contrary, that no means, whether good or bad, could bring him out of his fits of obstinacy. There needed no interference of Lord Robert's to bring on him the most severe and cruel punishments. But no bodily pain could subdue Philip; disgrace and suffering only rendered him furious and desperate; and he was considered mutinous and ungovernable to such a degree, that he passed the first three months of a seafaring life in a succession of confinement and punishment.
Had young Harley, instead of such headstrong conduct, exerted his real abilities as a seaman, applied himself to his profession, and shown his officers and commanders, that, though a mere youth, he could hand, reef, and steer, as well as the most experienced seaman,--and this, added to the sober and moral conduct natural to him, with an education and manners far above his station in life, joined to a stout and active body, and undaunted courage;--these qualifications would have created respect in every one, and in no one more than his just and upright commander; and his persecutor must have exposed his motives before he could have injured him: _now_ he was fully in his power, and Lord Robert vowed that he should most submissively implore his pardon for all his transgressions, before he should find any mercy.
"I can't tell what to make of that lad," said Lieutenant Cary to Lord Robert, as the boatswain was untying Harley from a gun, where he had borne, with Spartan firmness, the infliction of a cruel punishment, which his wilful disobedience had brought on him: "he neither drinks nor swears, nor associates with the more dissolute part of the crew: but we have more trouble with him than with the most abandoned reprobate. Yet he seems to me to be meant for better things."