“Ay, ay, judge; that’s so, my bully. Them’s our sentiments. Right you are, as usual.”
In these and similar terse sentences, the men confirmed the remarks of their companion.
The question of wages was then raised, in respect of which I found their demands far more moderate than I had dared to hope; namely, five pounds ten per month for the seamen and the man who undertook to perform the duties of steward, and six pounds ten per month for the cook; each man to receive an Advance of two months’ wages upon signing articles. To this I agreed without demur, and then, anxious to strike while the iron appeared to be hot, I suggested that they should sign articles forthwith. A short consultation among themselves followed this proposal, at the end of which they declared themselves quite willing, but stipulated that they should have twenty-four hours clear after signing, in which to provide themselves with an outfit for the voyage. To this I also assented, and we then separated, they to make their way to the shipping-office, and I to hurry down to the barque for the necessary papers and cash prior to joining them there.
It was just noon when, the work of signing the articles and paying the advances having been completed, I jumped into a cab to drive to the hotel at which the Desmonds were staying, to acquaint those good people with my latest stroke of luck. They were out, however, as I felt morally certain they would be; so I left a note for Sir Edgar, and then set about the transaction of such small items of business as were necessary prior to going to sea. This, however, amounted to very little, as I had practically completed all my preparations long before; so by five o’ clock in the evening I had cleared everything off my hands, and was once more alongside the ship. Here I found a note from Sir Edgar Desmond awaiting me, in which he acknowledged the receipt of my own epistle, and enjoined me to dine with them without fail that evening. This I did; and the upshot of it all was that they decided to complete the trip with me, despite the poor account I felt constrained to give them of my crew, and announced their intention of joining the ship immediately after lunch on the following day.
As I stretched myself out in my bunk that night, and reflected with a sigh of satisfaction that, if all went well, we should be once more at sea in less than twenty-four hours, the disagreeable suspicion for the first time obtruded itself upon my mind that possibly it might prove after all that I had been the victim of a clever swindle, and that I should never see anything more of any of the men to whom I had handed over two months’ advance so confidingly. However, about eleven o’clock the next morning, the first of them—William Rogers, the man whom I had shipped as boatswain—put in an appearance alongside, neatly dressed in a new suit of blue cloth, with cap, shirt, and shoes to match; also a brand-new chest and bundle of bedding; and coming on board, quietly went below and proceeded to arrange his belongings for the voyage. I was agreeably surprised at this man’s appearance; for whereas when I had shipped him on the previous day, he was ragged, dirty, and unkempt, he was now well-dressed, clean, and palpably fresh from the hands of the barber. Close upon his heels came Jacob Simpson, the cook, who had likewise undergone a renovating process that materially improved his appearance, although as I looked at the man there was a something about him that I did not quite like. For one thing, he seemed to remind me vaguely of somebody else—though who, I could not for the life of me say—who had left an unpleasant impression upon my mind; and, added to this, he was afflicted with an affection of the voice—the result of bush-fever, he informed me—which permitted him to speak only in a hoarse whisper. Next came Peter Gale, the man who had undertaken to perform the functions of steward, though he frankly admitted that he knew little or nothing about the duties of the post. But, since a steward we must have, and this man impressed me as being the most quiet and likely man for the berth, I had chosen him, since he had professed his readiness to try his hand and do his best. From this man I learned the pleasing intelligence that the remainder of the men were following him, and would be on board in about a quarter of an hour; so I introduced him to the lazarette, and directed him to obtain the cook’s assistance to break out a fresh barrel of beef, and get a dinner under way for the crew forthwith. About the time named by the steward, the main body made their appearance and came quietly on board. There were eight of them, namely, Hiram Barr and James Mckinley, Americans; Michael O’Connor, an Irishman; François Bourdonnais, a Frenchman; Carl Strauss, a German; Christian Christianssen, a Swede; Pedro Villar, a Portuguese; and James Nicholson (nicknamed “San Domingo,” from the island in which he was born), a full-blooded negro. They constituted a distinctly scratch crew, I was compelled to admit, as I watched them coming on board; but they all understood and spoke English; and although, with all their sprucing up, a few of them still wore a somewhat sinister appearance, every man of them was, for a wonder, perfectly sober, and they all bore themselves in a remarkably decent and orderly manner. Moreover, the eight last enumerated had all shipped as able seamen. In short, while perhaps they were not a crew that I would have selected from choice, I considered myself marvellously lucky in getting even them, and was more than content.
As soon as they were all aboard and had gone below, I sent word for’ard by the steward that they were to employ the interval until dinner-time in “shaking down,” and that after dinner we should proceed to rig out the jib-boom and unmoor the ship preparatory to going to sea. Then, leaving Forbes in charge, I went ashore and cleared the ship for the Pacific, paid the harbour and other dues, wrote and posted a few letters, and took lunch. Then down on board again, overtaking the Desmond party on the way; when, having shipped them and their somewhat multitudinous belongings, the windlass was manned, the cable hove short, the topsails sheeted home and mast-headed, the anchor tripped, and we were off, reaching the open sea just in time to see the sun disappear behind the land as we squared away upon a north-easterly course for Dick Saint Leger’s treasure island.
For a time all went merry as a marriage bell; the weather was simply perfect, with blue skies, brilliant sunshine, and gentle breezes, with charming glimpses of lovely tropical islands, day after day, when we reached the Fiji and Friendly Archipelagos and threaded our way through them. To add to the enjoyment of this time, the men were doing their duty in a manner that ought to have satisfied the most exacting of officers, and behaving with a quietness and steadiness of demeanour that was absolutely unexceptionable. They seemed always willing, and always content—a phenomenon that I had never hitherto met with on shipboard for longer than the first week after leaving a port.
I was consequently very much astonished when, one dark night, in the middle watch, when we had been at sea rather over a fortnight, Joe Martin, who was at the wheel, took advantage of a momentary pause I made beside him, to address me in the following terms:—
“Beg pardon, cap’n, but could you make it convenient to pitch into me, and give me a most tremenjious blowin’ up, and call me a lot of hard names afore all hands, to-morrow, some time in the second dog-watch, if I was to give you an excuse for so doin’?”
“Blow you up? abuse you? before all hands?” I ejaculated, as soon as my astonishment would allow me to speak. “Why, what in the name of all that is extraordinary do you mean, Martin?”