“Every man to his trade,” said Cammock. He felt that he had retrieved the honour lost over the cows.
At this moment four bells were made; the cabin steward rang them to the cabin supper.
They found the table heaped with dainties; for Perrin and Cammock had foraged ashore together, so that the last night in port might be merry. Punch, strawberries, and a pigeon-pie. Captain Margaret proposed the conundrum, why strawberries would be considered flippant among the bakemeats at a funeral dinner. Captain Cammock gorged the conundrum, hook and all.
III.
OUTWARDS
“And we are bound to New Barbary
With all our whole ship’s company.”
Captain Glen.
“I have a vessel riding forth, gentlemen,
And I can tell you she carries a letter of mart.
What say you now to make you all adventurers?
You shall have fair dealing, that I’ll promise you.”
A Cure for a Cuckold.
After supper, the party went on deck again, to see the last of their country. The two mates, who had their cabins in the after ’tween-decks, where they messed, had made all ready for getting under way. The hands walked to and fro about the fo’c’s’le, waiting for the order. The last bum-boat had shoved off for the shore, having sold her last onion and last box of red herrings. Snatches of song came aft to the poop. It was slack water; the sea seemed to be marking time. Already, further up the harbour, a schooner had swung athwart the stream. One or two boats were hoisting their foresails, ready to catch the first ebb. The sun was still strong in the heavens; there was more than an hour of day to come.
“We may as well up hook,” said Cammock, “if you’ll say the word, sir.”
“All ready, captain,” said Margaret. “We’ll go as soon as you like.”
“Right,” said Cammock, bustling forward to the poop-rail. “Hands up anchor, bosun.”
The boatswain’s pipe made the call. The fo’c’s’le was thronged with hurrying sailors. The trumpeter at the gangway blew a flourish, and sounded his “Loath to depart.” The men cheered as the bars were shipped. The waisters tended on the messenger with their nippers. Slowly the pawls began to click as the men strained round, heaving on tiptoe. The two capstans hove in, moving the cable. All down the ’tween-decks rang the snapping creak of a cable at a shaking strain. Some one at one of the bars, down in the half-darkness, began to sing. The crowd made chorus together, lifting the tune. Voice after voice joined in. Bar after bar sounded and shouted. The ship rang with song. The music of the tune floated out over the harbour. In the sixth-rate, the men joined in, till the whole crew were singing. Ashore they heard it. In the schooners at anchor, in the inns ashore, in the dance-house up the town, the music made echo, stirring the heart. As the light wind moved or failed, so died the tune or lifted. With a great sweep it rose up, towering on many voices, then drooped to the solo, to soar again when the men sang. They were singing that they would go no more a-roving. To Margaret and Perrin, standing there at the poop-rail, hearkening to them, much moved by the splendour of the song, the coarse old words seemed touching, infinitely sad, the whole of sea-life set to music.