I was close beside the doctor now, and held the chair as he rose, otherwise he would have lifted it with him. Then we took our leave, and I walked down Hull Street with my two old shipmates.
“Where did you pick up the skipper?” growled Scudds.
“Well,” I said, “he’s been dodging me about for a week, and been mighty civil, so much so, that I thought he wanted to try the confidence dodge on me, of trusting one another with money; but it’s all right, my lads, we’ve found a good ship and owner, and the pay’s good, so we’ll sign the articles to-morrow, and get to work.”
I needn’t tell you all that took place during the next mouth; how we got coal on board, and stores, and casks for oil, or whatever we might get; had her cabins lined to keep them warm; fitted up stoves; had plenty of extra canvas and spars, ice-anchors, a couple of sledges; plenty of ammunition, and provisions enough for two years. Last of all came on board a whole lot of strange-looking mahogany cases, which the doctor had brought very carefully under his own superintendence, and then, one fine morning in June, we steamed out of the Humber, and away we went to the North, with the doctor going about the deck like an active tub, rubbing his hands, and smiling at every body.
Everything was soon ship-shape; boats ready for work, fur coats and boots served out to the men against they were wanted, and I was very busy one morning getting some of the tackle a little better stowed, when the doctor waddled up to me, and tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned round, and he led the way into the cabin, sat down, and pointed to a seat.
“Now, Captain Cookson,” he said, “I think it’s time to tell you about my plans.”
“If you please, sir,” I said, “that is if it suits you.”
“Well,” he said, “you are now sailing to the North.”
“Yes, sir, according to your orders, right away for Spitzbergen.”