“No, that is very true,” returned Cunningham. “By profession I am a civil engineer. But I am also a keen yachtsman; and I know something more than the rudiments of navigation. But of course,” he added hastily, “I have not the qualifications which would fit me for the berth that you are offering to Temple.”
“N–o; I reckon not,” agreed the skipper meditatively. “Still—p’rhaps I might be able to find a use for ye—if ye cared to come along—upon such terms as I could see my way to offer ye.”
“Well,” remarked Cunningham, with a laugh, “we can discuss that later on—if Temple accepts your offer.”
Meanwhile I had been thinking rapidly. There was no very especial reason why I should return to England at once, for I had no relatives to be anxious over my disappearance, the only individuals who were in the least interested in me being my late father’s trustees, to whom I could write from Punta Arenas. Then the voyage of the Martha Brown, as sketched by her skipper, rather appealed to me; sandalwood collecting meant a call at several of the South Sea Islands, and the South Sea Islands and romance were synonymous terms with me at that time. Also, the pay was good, exceptionally good for such a berth as that of mate of a ninety-ton schooner; and although I should probably sacrifice my indentures, that was a matter that gave me very little concern. Altogether I felt very strongly disposed to close with Brown’s offer, the only really serious obstacle in the way being the fact that I felt I had a duty to perform to the three seamen who had formed part of our little company in the gig. First-rate fellows they were, all three of them, knowing their vocation to its smallest detail, and thoroughly at home aboard a ship in blue water, though ashore they were as guileless and helpless as babes, ready to fall an easy prey to the first land shark that got scent of them. If I could be sure of arranging at Punta Arenas for their conveyance to England, either as shipwrecked seamen or otherwise, and thus discharging my responsibility so far as they were concerned, I would not hesitate for a moment. I decided to put the matter to the skipper, and did so, there and then.
“Ah!” he said, “I was goin’ to speak to you about them there men of yourn. D’ye think they’d be inclined to sign on with me for this here v’yage?”
“Really, I do not know in the least,” I replied, regarding him with astonishment. “If you like I will—”
“It’s like this, you see,” he interrupted me, no doubt observing my look of surprise. “There’s six hands in this here schooner’s fo’c’sle—three to each watch; and when I shipped ’em I reckoned that with me, the mate, the cook, and the cabin boy there’d be plenty of us for all the work we’d have to do. But just when we was startin’—we was actually castin’ off the warps at the time—a letter was handed to me that, bein’ busy just then, I put into my pocket and forgot all about until a couple of days a’terwards, when we’d cleared Cape Henry and was fairly out to sea. Then, while I was goin’ through my pockets, huntin’ for something else, I comes across this here letter, and opened it. And I tell you, Mister, that there was news in it that made me sit up and feel mighty anxious all of a sudden to get away round to the Pacific as quick as possible. And it made me feel, too, that I wisht I had three or four more men along. So if your chaps are willin’ to sign on with me I’ll be glad to have ’em. Pay—well, they’re good men, you tell me—say, twenty a month.”
I glanced forward and saw that all three of the men were on deck, smoking, and chatting with the two hands who, with the man at the wheel, constituted the watch.
“They are on deck, I see,” said I. “If you like I will mention your proposal to them, and see how they take it.”
“I’ll take it very kindly if you will, Mister,” answered the skipper; and without more ado I beckoned them to join me in the waist, where I laid the skipper’s offer before them, while the Old Man himself and Cunningham remained chatting animatedly together close by the companion, where much of the foregoing conversation had taken place upon our adjournment from the breakfast table.