Guy was not at all pleased with this arrangement. He did not believe that Flint had sent him any such instructions, and neither did he want to go away without seeing him. But he could not help himself, for at six o’clock precisely Smith, the shipping agent, appeared and ordered him to shoulder his bundle and come on.
The boy was obliged to obey. He followed the agent to the dock and into a yawl manned by two sailors, who immediately shoved off toward a vessel lying at anchor in the harbor.
Guy did not like the looks of her. If she was a clipper, he had hitherto had very erroneous ideas of marine architecture, he told himself. She looked more like the pictures he had seen of Dutch galliots.
When they reached her Guy followed the agent over the side, and one of the sailors threw his bundle up after him.
“Here’s an A. B. I have brought you,” said the agent, addressing himself to a man who came up to meet them.
“All right,” was the reply. “What’s his name?”
Guy started and looked sharply at the speaker. He was certain that he had seen him before. He was dressed like the man who had introduced himself to Flint as the second mate of the Santa Maria, and his voice was wonderfully like the mate’s, too. Guy tried to get a glimpse of his face, but it was effectually concealed by a tarpaulin and a heavy woolen muffler.
“His name is John Thomas,” said the agent, seeing that Guy did not answer the question.
“Take your dunnage into the forecastle, Thomas, and be ready to turn to at any moment,” said the man.
“I declare, he’s an officer,” thought Guy, “and I really believe he’s the second mate of the Santa Maria. If he is, how came he here on board the Morning Light? Dear me, I wish Flint would come.”