However, not to leave you in suspense, I’ll tell you how I got back home again to old England, although it was by a terribly roundabout route.
When we arrived at the Iolanthe’s port, Captain Billings took passage home in the mail-steamer for Mr Macdougall and himself, as well as for three of the hands who wished to return to their native country; but the rest preferred to run the risk of picking up a ship and working their way back in that way, so as to have some little money on the landing, the wages due to them from the Esmeralda ceasing from the day of her loss.
The men of the mercantile marine have to put up with some hardship in this respect, for, when a vessel in which they may have shipped comes to an untimely end, like our unfortunate barque, they not only lose all their traps and personal belongings, but their wages as well—that is, beyond the period at which they actually assisted in working the ship, although they may have signed articles for a three years’ voyage.
The skipper offered to take me home, too, but I was of the same opinion as the majority of my late shipmates. I did not desire to go back on Sam Pengelly’s hands, like a bad penny, especially as I liked what I had seen of the sea in spite of its perils; so, when I mentioned this to Captain Billings, he said that although he would prefer my coming back to England with him and waiting till he got a fresh ship, he would not interfere with my wishes as to finding another berth at once. Indeed, he added, he already knew of one, as an old friend of his who commanded a ship just leaving Valparaiso for Australia had told him that he wanted a third mate.
“And if you like,” said the skipper, “I’ll recommend you to Captain Giles for the post.”
“I shall be only too glad,” I replied. The skipper did so; and the whole thing was settled off-hand, I signing articles with my new captain the same day, shortly before my late one left in the mail-steamer, which was just on the point of starting.
I took a cordial farewell of Captain Billings, promising that as soon as I got back to England, from the voyage I was just starting on, I would look him up. He promised, likewise, to give me a berth on board any ship he commanded—should the Board of Trade not withhold his certificate after the inquiry that would be held on the loss of the Esmeralda on his arrival home; and I may as well state here, that the officials entirely exonerated him from any blame in the destruction of the ship and cargo, putting the matter down to one of the ordinary risks of commercial life.
The skipper also promised to see Sam Pengelly for me, and to tell him how I was getting on. These mutual engagements being gone into, I and Jorrocks, having shaken hands with Captain Billings and Mr Macdougall, the latter of whom said he would “never forget me as long as he lived,” were both making our way along the front of the one long street that Valparaiso consists of, thinking of taking off a boat soon to our new ship, the Jackmal, lying out in the offing—for Jorrocks, learning that Captain Giles wanted a boatswain, and knowing that I was going with him, agreed to go to sea with him in a moment—when, all at once, who should we come full butt on but the very last person in the world I expected to see here. I thought he was still at Dr Hellyer’s, at Beachampton, cramming for an Oxford scholarship, as far as I knew to the contrary—who but—
Yes!—
Tom Larkyns, my old chum, who acted so wickedly in concert with me, when we blew up the schoolmaster and ran away to sea!