“It’s about time you did, you mad-brained young beggar, at the pace you are going at you’ll soon be played out.”
“No jolly fear,” I replied, “so good-bye, good-bye, and good luck.”
The next day I engaged as second officer on the ship, “Tonquin,” bound for England, via San Francisco. The “Tonquin” was a smart double topgallant yard ship, and a fast sailer. She carried a crew of thirty-three hands all told. Most of these had been picked up in the colonies, as the old crew had deserted, for the gold-field rush was still on. They were a fairly decent lot of men. Captain McLellan was a hardheaded Scotchman, who hailed from Leith, and had been many years in command, and was great on discipline, proud of his ship and his company, both of which he counted as second to none. The first mate, Mr. Brown, was a Glasgow man, who had for years been doing his best to drown his brains in whiskey, and since their arrival in the colonies he had rarely been sober. When I reported myself to him on the following morning he was half-witted with drink, and instead of giving me full particulars about the ship and the work in hand, also the work in prospect, he simply said “all right, go and look after the men, and get the ship ready for sea.” I hunted up the third officer, Mr. Smith, and found him working like a nigger, and as black as the ace of spades. He was young and inexperienced, but willing, and not afraid of work, he had also plenty of go in him, and I found he had in him the making of a thorough seaman when he had got a little more experience. He soon showed me where all the sails, stores, etc., were kept.
All hands were set to work bending sails, reaving the running gear, and getting the ship ready for sea. We saw very little of the first mate that day, he kept in his room and was drinking hard. The next morning the captain came to me before going on shore and told me not to bother about him, as he would be all right when we got to sea—that was all right as far as he was concerned—but his work had to be done by Smith and myself.
The crew, under Dan Kelly the boatswain, bent all the sails before dark, and the captain coming on board just as we had finished, expressed his pleasure and satisfaction at the good day’s work we had done, and ordered the steward to give each man a good glass of grog. This was done, and all hands seemed satisfied with themselves and their surroundings. I told them to go and get a good night’s rest, as we should haul out from the wharf at daylight, but somehow I felt in my mind that the captain had made a great mistake in giving them the grog while lying at the wharf.
The coal tips were working all night, and at six a.m., the last truck load of black diamonds was tipped into the hold.
“Now turn out you fellows,” I heard the boatswain calling, as the steward brought my coffee to my room. “Now where are you, here show yourselves, you’re mighty slack at turning out this morning.”
Just then there was a knock at my door, and a voice called out, “are you there Mr. Farrer?” it was the boatswain.
“Yes, boatswain, what’s the matter.”
“Matter, sir, why half the blooming crowd has cleared out.”