Captain Jarvis: Throw the log, Mr. Popkins.
Mr. Popkins: She is now going six knots, sir.
Captain Jarvis: Six knots! Very well very well indeed, Mr. Popkins. Always bear in mind that we are not paid by "the run," or the voyage; and six knots is very fair sailing between man and man. It is better to sail strong than to sail fast. Don't let me catch you running off at the rate of nine knots again. Stick to six and you will do, otherwise there will be no wages coming to us when we get home. Do you hear, Mr. Popkins?
Mr. Popkins, gruffly, (he had a sprinkling of Young America in his composition.) Ay, ay, sir!
Although Captain Mott was sometimes deficient in judgment, and on more than one occasion narrowly escaped losing overboard some of the crew, or wrecking the brig, he was, nevertheless, an excellent seaman, managed his vessel with skill, and navigated her with unusual correctness. Not being paid by the month but by primage on the freight, he was a veritable "driver," and lost no opportunity to urge his vessel ahead, even at the risk of starting a butt, springing a spar, or losing a man. Being always willing to work, on hand in any emergency, and never shrinking from danger, I was often a sufferer from his go-ahead instincts, as well as from his arbitrary mandates and unfeeling disposition. And were it not that there is,
"A sweet little cherub which sits up aloft,
And looks out for the life of poor Jack,"
I should have become food for fishes long before we reached the longitude of the Western Islands.
One afternoon, before we left the Gulf Stream, a thunder squall arose from the south-east. It came towards us rapidly, as if borne on the wings of the Genius of Storms. Its whole aspect was "wicked" in the extreme, and every man on board knew that prudence required sail to be taken in and preparations made for the reception of the tornado. The captain was on deck, but the boatswain unfortunately remarked, "That squall looks like an ugly customer, sir, and it will soon be necessary to shorten sail."
This remark, made in the most respectful manner, roused the captain's ire. He chose to consider it an unauthorized and impertinent interference on the part of the petty officer; the squall, as well as the boatswain, was denounced in language not often heard in a drawing room, and both were consigned to a hotter place than the craters of Mauna Loa.
The clouds spread over the zenith, the thunder rattled as if it would rend the welkin, the wind began to blow in short-lived puffs, as if making preparations for a regular "blowout;" the men were stationed at the halliards, fore and aft, waiting with intense anxiety the result, and the captain was pacing the quarter-deck, looking as savage as a hungry bull-dog, and determined to show that he was not to be frightened by squibs, but would carry sail in spite of the squall.