"Then I and the girls will be down on the wharf, to see the last of you and wave our kerchiefs, and wish you a pleasant voyage and a safe return."
[Chapter 3]: The Voyage.
Great was the surprise of the original crew of the Swan, when boat load after boat load of fresh hands arrived. They themselves had been quietly told that the voyage was likely to be one of unusual length, and that none save those willing and ready to stay away, as long as might be required, were to sail in the Swan on her present venture. There was, therefore, a general idea current among them that Master Hawkshaw had some adventure quite out of the ordinary in his mind; and the news that some heavy guns had arrived from London for her, had confirmed their opinion as to the voyage.
"Let us have no loud talk, tonight," Reuben Hawkshaw ordered. "When we get our sails spread tomorrow, and are well out of port, you can talk to your hearts' content; but the night is still, and I want not that attention of any on shore should be called to the ship. There has been more foolish talk than enough about her already; so turn in to rest, lads, without ado. The boatswain will serve you each out a pottle of cider, such as you never drank on board ship before, I warrant me, and which is a sample of what you will have, all the voyage. When you have tossed that off, let each lie down as he can find space. We will divide into watches, and settle as to each man's place, tomorrow.
"Pengarvan, set four hands aside to go on shore, with the boat, an hour before daybreak. Tell them off to sleep where you can lay hands upon them, easily. Keep the boat alongside, and make off to the wharf as noiselessly as you can; but I shall be on deck, then, and will give you further orders."
The second mate only replied, "Ay, ay, Captain Hawkshaw," for he was a man of but few words.
Reuben Hawkshaw was not fond of Cornishmen, but he made an exception in the case of Pengarvan--indeed, although their borders joined, there was little liking among Cornish and Devon men for each other.
"They are black, ill-conditioned dogs," Reuben Hawkshaw would say; "good sailors, I own; none better; but glum and surly in their ways, and with nothing joyous in their natures. It seems to me that working in the darkness--in those holes of theirs, underground--has infected the spirits of the whole county; as it might well do, seeing that, as everyone knows, there are little people who guard the treasures of the mines; and who, if they cannot do bodily hurt to those who delve for metals, can yet infect their spirits with a black melancholy, and do them other grievous harm.
"So when Pengarvan came to me as a boy, on the quay here, and asked me to take him with me to sea, I did not much like doing so; for I saw at once, by his speech, that he was Cornish; but I did not like to turn him away, for he said that he was willing, and accustomed to the sea. So I gave him a trial, and he has turned out a first-rate sailor. He is chary of speech, and not given to jest or laughter; but he is always quick, and willing to obey orders; taking whatever comes in good part, and bearing himself just the same, in storm, as in sunshine.
"I know naught of his history. The Swan has been his home since he first came on board, twelve years ago. As long as she is afloat, he never leaves her. When she is laid down for repairs, he takes the nearest lodging on hand, and abides there till she is afloat again. I believe that he comes from Fowey, and guess that he got into some trouble or other, and had to run for it. But that's nothing to me. I want no better man; and know that, whatever comes, I can rely upon Pengarvan to stand by me, and the ship, to the last."