When Salvé, some hours after, was set at liberty, they were already out in the open sea off the mouth of the channel. The captain, the three mates, and several of the inferiors in command, when on deck, wore gold-laced caps and a kind of uniform, as on a man-of-war, and the officer of the watch was armed. The crew, on the other hand, were almost to a man shabby, and they seemed to consist of men of every nationality—English, Irish, Germans, and Americans, not to mention half a dozen negroes and mulattoes. As no one took any notice of him, he went about as he pleased for a while; and presently saw, with a disagreeable sensation, no less than three corpses carelessly sewed up in sail-cloth dropped over the side of the ship that was turned from the land, without the slightest ceremony. The uncomfortable feeling which this incident had aroused was anything but allayed when he heard presently from a little pale cabin-boy with whom he had entered into conversation that it had been successfully concealed from the harbour authorities that there was yellow fever on board; that there were many more lying sick below; and that one of those who had just been heaved overboard, had died the day before in the very berth in which Salvé had slept that night.
In the evening he was called aft to the captain, who was standing with the boatswain at his elbow. He was a spare, energetic-looking man, of about forty years of age, with thick black whiskers, marked features, and rather hollow cheeks, and with carefully dressed, glossy hair. He was smoking a handsome pipe with a long stem inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and took a sip from time to time from a cup of black coffee that was standing on the skylight.
"What is your name?" he asked, nodding in reply to Salvé's salute.
"Salvé."
"Salvé," repeated the captain, with an English pronunciation of the name; "and Norwegian?"
"He looks too respectable for the pack he'll have to herd with," he muttered to the boatswain.
"Able seaman?"
"Yes."
"You have had three guineas on account?" he went on, after a couple of puffs to keep his pipe alight, as he looked into his ledger; "a month's wages."
"No, sir," said Salvé, firmly, "I have had nothing on account,"—and he proceeded then to relate the circumstances under which the supposed payment had been made. "I have not been regularly engaged till this moment, if I am so now; but up to this I have been treated like a dog, and worse."