The Prime Minister

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Kingston William Henry Giles. The Prime Minister

Volume One – Chapter One

Volume One – Chapter Two

Volume One – Chapter Three

Volume One – Chapter Four

Volume One – Chapter Five

Volume One – Chapter Six

Volume One – Chapter Seven

Volume One – Chapter Eight

Volume One – Chapter Nine

Volume One – Chapter Ten

Volume One – Chapter Eleven

Volume One – Chapter Twelve

Volume Two – Chapter One

Volume Two – Chapter Two

Volume Two – Chapter Three

Volume Two – Chapter Four

Volume Two – Chapter Five

Volume Two – Chapter Six

Volume Two – Chapter Seven

Volume Two – Chapter Eight

Volume Two – Chapter Nine

Volume Two – Chapter Ten

Volume Two – Chapter Eleven

Volume Two – Chapter Twelve

Volume Two – Chapter Thirteen

Volume Two – Chapter Fourteen

Volume Two – Chapter Fifteen

Volume Two – Chapter Sixteen

Volume Two – Chapter Seventeen

Volume Two – Chapter Eighteen

Volume Two – Chapter Nineteen

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty One

Volume Three – Chapter One

Volume Three – Chapter Two

Volume Three – Chapter Three

Volume Three – Chapter Four

Volume Three – Chapter Five

Volume Three – Chapter Six

Volume Three – Chapter Seven

Volume Three – Chapter Eight

Volume Three – Chapter Nine

Volume Three – Chapter Ten

Volume Three – Chapter Eleven

Volume Three – Chapter Twelve

Volume Three – Chapter Thirteen

Volume Three – Chapter Fourteen

Volume Three – Chapter Fifteen

Volume Three – Chapter Sixteen

Volume Three – Chapter Seventeen

Volume Three – Chapter Eighteen

Volume Three – Chapter Nineteen

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty One

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Two

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Joyous and sparkling waves were leaping up from the deep blue expanse of the vast Atlantic, as if to welcome a gallant vessel, which glided rapidly onward in all the pride of beauty. Her broad spread of white canvass, extended alow and aloft, shining brightly in the sunbeams; she looked like a graceful swan, a being of life and instinct, floating on the waste of waters, her head turned towards the coast of fair Lusitania; her bourne, from which she was as yet far distant, being the majestic Tagus. A fresh summer breeze filled her swelling sails, now favouring her like friendship in prosperity, but which would, probably, when the sun sank beneath the ocean, fall away, as friends too often do from those whose sun has set in adversity. A broad white flag emblazoned with the arms of Portugal, floating from her peak, and the long pendants which fluttered from her mastheads, showed that she belonged to the royal navy of that country; and, by the number of guns she carried, she appeared to be a well-armed vessel of her class; but the abundance of gilding and bright paint with which she was in every part decorated, betokened her to be intended more for show or pleasure, than for the rough work of actual service. She was a ship very similar to what we now call a corvette, having a single battery of long heavy guns, and a high-raised deck at the aftermost part, on which was placed an armament of small brass pieces and swivel-guns, with a few pieces of the same calibre on her topgallant-forecastle; so that, although her purposes might in general have been peaceful, she was, if properly manoeuvred, fully able to make a stout resistance against any vessel under the class of a large frigate.

Several persons were walking the deck, one of whom, by the air of undisputed authority which sat well upon him, as he paced the starboard side, was evidently the commander; and near him appeared a young and handsome man in the costume of a civilian; while the rest of the party, who kept respectfully on the opposite side of the ship, were composed of the lieutenants and other officers belonging to her.

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The officer who had charge of the navigation of the ship, who in the English service is called the master, more correctly denominated by the Portuguese the pilot, at that moment came up to the captain, taking off his hat respectfully, as he pointed out the dark clouds in the horizon. “We shall have a gale before long, Senhor Captain,” said the veteran, who was a fine specimen of the sailor of times long, alas! passed by in the annals of Portugal, during her palmy days of naval supremacy. “’Twill be a breeze which will make us look sharp after our sticks. Shall we begin to get in some of our light canvass; for I like not the look of the weather. There is a storm out there, muttering ugly threats, from which ’twere wiser to take warning.”

“You are right, Senhor Nunez,” answered the Captain. “Those are signs of a gale, or we have been to sea for a century between us to very little purpose; but there is no immediate necessity to shorten sail, so we may as well not lose the advantage of the breeze, while it lasts, to make as much way good in our voyage as we can; for we shall probably, before long, be blown far enough from our course to weary us with beating up to our port once more.”

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