With exemplary punctuality young Maitland presented himself at the shipping office at ten o’clock in the morning, and duly “signed on” as ordinary seaman in the good ship Concordia, bound for Natal; Mr Sutcliffe, the chief mate, privately congratulating Captain Roberts, the skipper of the ship, immediately afterwards, upon his good fortune in securing so “likely” a hand for the small sum of one shilling per month, and expressing his fixed determination to “make a man of him” before they reached the Line. At the private suggestion of the said chief mate, Dick lost no time in conveying his belongings to the ship and depositing his bedding in the best-sheltered bunk in the forecastle; after which he returned to Number 19 Paradise Street, where he spent the few hours of freedom remaining to him in assisting his friend the Doctor, and absorbing further knowledge from him. Finally, as the clocks in the immediate neighbourhood were striking the hour of eight in the evening, Dick stepped over the rail of the Concordia and formally reported himself to the chief mate, thereafter repairing to the forecastle and making his preparations for the night. He was the first hand to join the ship, notwithstanding the fact that the entire crew had been ordered to be on board not later than eight o’clock that evening; and it was not until close upon midnight that the remainder found their way down from the neighbouring public houses, all of them as surly and quarrelsome as bears at the termination of their short period of liberty. Fortunately for Dick, all hands were too far gone in drink to admit of their quarrelsomeness going further than words, and eventually, by about one o’clock in the morning, he was able to compose himself to sleep, to the accompaniment of the snores and mutterings of his companions—thirteen in number.
Many lads in Dick Maitland’s position, and brought up amid refined surroundings, as he had been, would have regarded with horror and loathing such a situation as that in which he now found himself, and would have been overwhelmed with self-pity at the cruelly hard luck which forced them to herd with such uncongenial companions in such a pig sty of a place as the Concordia’s forecastle just then presented; but Dick was something of a philosopher, and was, moreover, full of “grit”. He held the doctrine that a man can make what he chooses of his surroundings, and always find in them something of amusement or interest, if he cares to look for it; and now he consoled himself with the reminder that life in that forecastle, and among those men, whose highest ideal of happiness seemed to be helpless intoxication, would after all be but a brief experience, out of which it would be hard indeed if he could not learn some useful lesson. With this philosophic reflection, he curled himself up in his blankets and dropped into a sound, dreamless sleep.
At six o’clock next morning the mate came thundering upon the fore scuttle with a handspike, following up the resounding blows with a yell of:
“All hands ahoy! tumble up there, you sleepers, and don’t wait to curl your hair. Hurry up, now, and give me a chance to see who are the ‘smarties’ among you!”
With low growls of disgust at such rude and untimely disturbance of their slumbers the fourteen occupants of the forecastle rolled unwillingly out of their bunks and proceeded to scramble into their garments, most of them anathematising the sea life generally, and their present ship in particular. For forecastle Jack is a curious creature, and, if you are to believe him, “last voyage” is invariably the supreme period of his life, wherein has been crowded the utmost comfort and pleasure and the most remarkable adventures, while the ship on board which he happens to be at the moment is, as invariably, the slowest, ugliest, most uncomfortable, and most rotten tub that he ever had the ill luck to ship in. And all this, mind you, as likely as not before the much-maligned craft has passed out through the dock gates, or Jack has done a hand’s turn of work on board her. Dick listened with a good-tempered grin to the chorus of grumbling that was proceeding around him, interjected a merry jest or two which caused the growlers to stop in mid-career in amazement at his audacity, and then, having slipped nimbly into his clothes, he sprang up through the hatchway and presented himself first on deck of the forecastle hands, to be greeted by the mate with a cheery:
“Well done, youngster! First to answer the call. That comes of joining your ship with an unmuddled brain. I think you and I are going to get on well together.”
“I sincerely hope so, sir,” answered Dick. “If we don’t it shall not be my fault. And although I am rather an ignoramus at present in respect of a sailor’s work generally, you will find me both willing and eager to learn.”
The mate stared at Dick for a moment with compressed eyebrows, rather taken aback at the lad’s refined tone and manner of speech; then he nodded, and remarked gruffly:
“That’s all right; if you are willing to learn I’ll take care that you have the chance. And, as a starter, you may get a broom and sweep up all this litter. But don’t heave it overboard, or you’ll have the dock people after you. Sweep it all together and put it into that empty barrel until we get out of dock and can heave it over the side.”
The rest of the forecastle hands now came stumbling up on deck, and were set by the mate to various tasks, pending the opening of the dock gates and the arrival of the tug which was to tow the Concordia down the river. At length the order was given to unmoor ship, the dock gates swung open, the vessel was warped through the opening to where the tug awaited her, the towrope was passed, and presently the Concordia was heading down the river toward Gravesend, from whence, having first shipped her passengers, she was to take her final departure for the southern hemisphere.