As was the skipper, so were the crew. All these different natures, men of various nations, dispositions, and characters, were equally childlike in their infatuation about ‘The Bashful Maid.’ The densest of them had imagination enough to invest her with a thousand romantic qualities; even the negro would have furiously resented a word in her disparagement—nay, the three newly-shipped Jacks themselves, men of weighty authority in such matters, caught the infection, and were ready to swear by the brigantine, while it was yet so dark they could scarcely see whether she was a three-masted merchantman or a King’s cutter.
But when the breeze freshened towards sunrise, and the tide was once more on the turn, the regard thus freely accorded to their ship was largely shared by their new shipmate. Beaudésir, passing forward in the grey light of morning, truth to tell moved only by the restlessness of a man not yet accustomed to perpetual motion, accompanied by the odours of bilge-water and tar, was greeted with admiring glances and kind words from all alike. Dutchman, Swede, Spaniard, vied with each other in expressions of good-will. Slap-Jack was still below, swaddled in blankets, but his two comrades had tumbled up with the first streaks of dawn, and were loud in their praises, Bottle-Jack vowing Captain Kidd would have made him first-lieutenant on the spot for such a feat, and Smoke-Jack, with more sincerity than politeness, declaring “he couldn’t have believed it of a Frenchman!” Nay, the very negro, showing all his teeth as if he longed to eat him, embarked on an elaborate oration in his honour, couched partly in his native language as spoken on the Gold Coast, partly in a dialect he believed to be English, obscured by metaphor, though sublime doubtless in conception, and prematurely cut short by the shrill whistle of the boatswain, warning all hands without delay to their quarters.
It was an enlivening sight, possessing considerable attractions for such a temperament as Beaudésir’s. The clear gap of morning low down on the horizon was widening and spreading every moment over the sky; the breeze, cold and bracing, not yet tempered by the coming sun, freshened sensibly off shore, driving out to sea a grand procession of dark rolling clouds, moving steadily and continuously westward before the day. The lighthouse off the harbour showed like a column of chalk against the dull background of this embankment, vanishing so imperceptibly into light; while to landward, far beyond the low level line of coast, a faint quiver of purple already mingled with the dim grey outline of the smooth and swelling downs.
In harbour, human life had not yet woke up, but the white sea-birds were soaring and dipping, and wheeling joyously on the wing. The breeze whistled through the tackle, the waves leaped and lashed merrily against her sides, and the crew of the brigantine took their places, clean, well dressed, brown-faced, and bare-footed, on her deck. While the boatswain, who from sheer habit cast an eye continually aloft, observed her truck catch the first gleams of the morning sun, Captain George, carefully attired, issued from his cabin with a telescope under his arm, and made his first and last oration to the crew.
“My lads!” said he, “I’ve beat to quarters, this fine morning, before I get my anchor up, because I want to say a few words to you, and the sooner we understand each other the better! You’ve heard I’m a soldier. So I am! That’s right enough; but, mark, you! I dipped my hand in the tar-bucket before I was old enough to carry a sword; so don’t you ever think to come over me with skulking, for I’ve seen that game played out before. Mind you, I don’t believe I’ve got a skulker on board; if I have, let him step forward and show himself. Over the side he goes, and I sail without him! Now, my lads, I know my duty and I know yours. I’ll take care both are done. I’ll have no grumbling and no quarrelling. If any man has a complaint to make, let him come to me, and out with it. A quarrelsome chap with his messmates is generally a shy cock when you put him down to fight. I’ll have man-of-war’s discipline aboard. You all know what that is, and those that don’t like it must lump it. Last night there were three of you tried to take French leave and to steal my boat; I stopped that game with a little friend I keep in my belt. Look ye, my sons, next bout I’ll cover the man instead of the tackle! I know who they are, well enough, but I mean to forget as soon as ever the anchor’s up. I’ll have a clean bill of health to take out into blue water. Now, my lads, attend to me! We’ve a long cruise before us, but we’ve a craft well-provisioned, well-found, and, I heartily believe, well-manned. Whatever prizes we take, whatever profit we make on the cargo, from skipper to ship’s boy, every one shall have his share according to the articles hung up in my cabin. We may have to fight, and we may not; it’s the last job you’re likely to shirk; but mind this—one skipper’s enough for one ship. I’ll have no lawyer sail with me, and no opinions ‘whether or no’ before the mast. If you think of disobeying orders, just remember it’s a short walk from my berth to the powder-room, and the clink of a flint will square all accounts between captain and crew. If I’m not to be skipper, nobody else shall, and what I say I mean. Lastly, no man is to get drunk except in port. And now, my lads, here’s a fair wind, and a following tide! Before we get the fiddle up for a ‘Stamp and go, cheerily ho!’ we’ll give three cheers for ‘The Bashful Maid,’ and then shake out every rag of canvas and make a good run while the breeze holds!”
The men cheered with a will. The Captain’s notions of sea-oratory were founded on a knowledge of his audience, and answered his purpose better than the most finished style of rhetoric. As the shouting died out, a strong voice was heard, demanding “one cheer more for the skipper.” It was given enthusiastically—Slap-Jack, who had sneaked on deck with his head bandaged, having taken this sailor-like method of showing he bore no malice for a ducking, and was indeed only desirous that his late prank should be overlooked. Nevertheless, in the hurry and confusion of getting the anchor up, he contrived to place himself at Beaudésir’s side and to grasp him cordially by the hand.
“You be a good chap,” said this honest seaman, with a touch of feeling that he hid under an affectation of exceeding roughness; “as good a chap as ever broke a biscuit! Look ye, mate; my name’s Slap-Jack; so long as I can show my number, when anything’s up, you sings out ‘Slap-Jack!’ and if I don’t answer ‘Slap-Jack it is!’ why—”
The imprecation with which this peculiar acknowledgment concluded did not render it one whit more intelligible to Beaudésir, who gathered enough, however, from the speaker’s vehemence to feel that he had made at least one stanch friend among the crew. By the time he had realised this consoling fact, the brigantine’s head, released from the restraint of her cable, swung round to leeward, her strong new sails filled steadily with the breeze, and while the ripple gurgled louder and louder round her bows, already tossing and plunging through the increasing swell, the quay, the lighthouse, the long low spit of land, the town, the downs themselves seemed to glide quietly away; and Beaudésir, despite the beauty of the scene and the excitement of his position, became uncomfortably conscious of a strange desire to retire into a corner, lay himself down at full length, and die, if need be, unobserved.
A waft of savoury odours from the cook’s galley, where the men’s breakfasts were prepared, did nothing towards allaying this untimely despondency, and after a short struggle he yielded, as people always do yield in such cases, and staggering into the cabin, pillowed his head on a couch, and gave himself over to despair.
Ere he raised it again ‘The Bashful Maid,’ making an excellent run down Channel in a south-westerly course, was already a dozen leagues out at sea.