Chapter Five.
Down the Channel.
“Well, shipmate,” said Webster, coming out of the chart house, “have you been promoted from the saloon to the bridge, passing over the cook on the way, just after the old style when a lord-in-waiting, who did not know a brig from a bumboat, was appointed admiral? No apprenticeship, no navigation, no examination, but an order from the Commodore: ‘Mr Hume, sir, please take the third watch.’”
“No,” was the gloomy response; “I could not accept.”
“You swab! You mean to tell me you’ve declined to help the Commodore?”
“I presume you refer to the young lady?”
“Presume be damned. Have you no eyes, man, no gallantry; can you stand by and see a girl like that eat her heart out with sorrow and anxiety? Not that I care a brass button whether you help or not, for double work doesn’t hurt me; but just think what she’ll be like after a fortnight in this crazy roundabout.”
“You forget I know nothing about the lady, nor this ship, nor its mission.”
“And what’s that got to do with your keeping an eye on the binnacle, or a cheerful face that will do something to keep her spirits up? As for the matter of that, I know precious little about the object of this voyage, but it’s enough for me to know that she wants my help, and that Captain Pardoe is in command.”