As an instance of the depths to which his neglect had dragged him, it was not until they had been out a fortnight from Levuka that the mate came forward one morning to the boys’ house and handed to each of them a letter which he said the captain had found among his papers, letters which had been waiting in Levuka for the ship’s arrival, and had thus been kept from their rightful owners.
This sounds almost incredible, but I know of a case in a ship upon which I served where the skipper actually destroyed in a drunken fit all the letters for the crew which he had received in Rangoon, and scoffingly said that his action “would save ’em a lot of trouble; what did they want with letters?”
Of course Frank could not help feeling indignant at this shameful treatment, but the joy of thus receiving unexpectedly in open sea a budget of news from his loved ones was so great that he speedily forgot the offence and lay upon the main hatch in the beautiful sunshine (it was Sunday afternoon and nothing was a-doing), soaking his soul in the outpourings of love from that far-away home circle.
How he regretted now the curt letter he had sent home from Levuka, for, smarting under a sense of neglect, he had merely told them that he was well and liked the sea, and that he hoped the voyage would be a long one, thinking that they had forgotten all about him. And now here was the proof of their never-ceasing thought of him. As he realised how great a sin that drunkard aft had committed against him and them, he felt beside himself with rage, the rage of the budding man, and he rushed to his bunk, got out his writing materials, and in his first fury wrote such a letter to his people as he had never dreamed himself capable of putting on paper.
And still the good ship glided on o’er sunny seas ’neath glowing skies, until the glorious panorama of Oahu burst into view at the break of a golden morning, and Frank wondered that the thrill he felt at the sight of Kandavu would not come again. Speedily and in seaman-like fashion the Sealark was brought to her moorings, the anchor rattled down, she was safe in port once more, and—the credit of it all went to the creature who had been a positive danger to her instead of any help whatever. This is one of the grim ironies of sea life, but fortunately did not touch Frank’s mind; although he knew it, he did not feel it, and it was well.
Now Honolulu is a far more advanced port than Levuka. But there are many opportunities for debauchery, and this doubtless Captain Swainson well knew as he rigged himself out in his best clothes and prepared to leave his ship again.
But Mr. Jenkins was waiting for him as he came on deck with the jovial agent by his side, to whom the skipper had been unreeling a lurid yarn about the difficulties he had overcome of worthless officers and mutinous crew.
“I want a word with you before you go ashore, Captain Swainson,” said the mate in grim, dry tones.
“Oh, I can’t stop now,” hastily replied the skipper. “Can’t you see I’m busy? And the agent’s waiting too. I’ll see you later on in the day. Get the——”
But he got no farther, for the mate, standing squarely in front of him, said—