After that it was vain for the pilot to coax, threaten, or bluster, all Frank would do was to insist upon getting a Channel pilot (a suggestion from Scotty), and the rest he and his crew were prepared to risk. After long consultation the pilot admitted that he was not qualified to take the ship up Channel to London, but promised to get a man out of the cutter. In about half-an-hour the other man was on board, a grizzled old sea-dog who looked at Frank with that cruel contempt that the old school always used to exhibit towards the rising generation. Frank, though nettled, preserved his courteous behaviour until the vessel was once more speeding up Channel with additional sail set.
Then when the little bustle was over, he approached the pilot, and said, “Do you take the ship right up to London or only to the Trinity pilot at Dungeness?”
To this the pilot replied with a deep note in his voice, “You needn’t trouble your head about that, I’m in charge now, and I shall do just what I think is best for the benefit of the owners and underwriters. And understand, I want no interference from you.”
Frank turned round immediately and hailed Scotty, who was smoking the pipe of peace in front of the cabin. “Scotty,” he said, “the pilot has informed me that I am not to interfere with anything connected with the ship, that he has all the control now. What do you think of that?”
Scotty spat comprehensively over the side, took a fresh pull at his pipe, and then drawled out, looking fixedly at the pilot meanwhile, “I think he’s building on salvage, but he won’t get it. You’ve brought the ship home, and engaged him as pilot. As long as he takes the ship up nothing will happen, but if he comes any of his nonsense over you or tries to rob us of any of what we have worked so hard for, we’ll talk to him. Mister Pilot, you keep a civil tongue in your head towards our young skipper, one of the best that ever lived, and you’ll be all right. If you don’t you’ll be in deep waters at once, now I tell you. We’re not goin’ to have any bossing of him by you, understand that.”
The pilot, who had quite naturally scented a splendid job for himself in this, was in a parlous state of surprise. He did not know what to do, especially as he noticed that the rest of the crew had gathered around with rather severe looks towards him. A moment’s hesitation and then, being wise enough to appreciate the situation, he turned to Frank and said, with a note of irony in his voice which he could not suppress, “All right, sir, I can take you up to the Trinity pilot at Dungeness, and we’ll leave the question of what I am to be paid to the authorities in London.”
To which Frank, feeling highly indignant of course, but wisely curbing his temper, replied, “Very well, pilot, I hope this breeze will hold, so that your job will be an easy one. And now I’ll leave you in charge. I’ve had an anxious time lately and want a good sleep.”
As Frank disappeared down the companion the baffled pilot muttered, “Silly young ass, thinks he’s a man, I suppose, because he’s brought the ship in from sea somehow. But I’d give a sovereign to know all about this business.”
Then he turned and devoted his attention to the steering of the ship, entirely unconscious of the utter injustice and shallowness of his remarks. The egotism of many youths is unpretty, but the arrogance of age and its refusal to recognise any merit in the young man is often quite as pitiful and annoying a spectacle.
Below, in spite of his weariness, Frank set himself deliberately to compose a long letter to his owners. He had sent them a long telegram from Falmouth informing them of what had happened in as few words as possible, but now he felt that he must give full detail, and he had found it the hardest task he had undertaken yet. So engrossed did he become, however, in his work that it was four bells before he had finished it, and then realised that he was dead beat. So he stretched himself out on the settee and slept like a log until he was awakened by Scotty at daylight.