“My eyes were wide open enough, my lad,” said the captain, with a laugh. “I don’t shut ’em much when I’m in strange waters, I can tell you. Too fond of David Banes, Esquire. Never was skipper of a ship, was you, squire?”
“Never,” said the young man, laughing.
“Then take my advice—never you do be. Ships are shes, as you well know, and they’re about the most obstinate, awkward creatures to deal with there are. Let ’em have their heads to themselves for a few minutes, and they give their bowsprits a toss, and if they don’t run on the first rock they can find they rush into some outrageous current, or else go straight ashore, to get knocked to pieces by the breakers. That’s the sort o’ character I give a ship. I’d a deal rather sit behind a wild horse without any reins than trust myself in a ship without a good man and true at the wheel.”
“Yes, yes, that’s all very right, Captain Banes,” said Sir Humphrey drily, “but you’ll excuse me: we are not talking business.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but we are,” said the captain stoutly. “I suppose you’ll own that you propose rather an outrageous thing?”
“I do not look upon it as outrageous, captain; but certainly it is wild and adventurous.”
“Same thing, sir. Wants thinking about, and I’m thinking as hard as ever I can. It means risk of life to my men and me.”
“I will pay well to balance the risks,” said Sir Humphrey.
The captain smiled grimly.
“I don’t want to drive a hard bargain, sir,” said the captain, rather sternly now. “I only want to say that I don’t know what pay you could offer me and my crew that would balance the loss of our lives. I s’pose you’re a man of property?”