"There's nothing but boldness about the ship," continued Cornhill, well pleased with himself. "The Forward,—forward to what? Without saying that nobody knows who her captain is."
"O, yes, they do!" said a young sailor, evidently a green-hand.
"What! They do know?"
"Of course."
"My young friend," said Cornhill, "do you think Shandon is the captain of the Forward?"
"Why—" answered the boy.
"Shandon is only the mate, nothing else; he's a good and brave sailor, an old whaler, a good fellow, able to take command, but he's not the captain; he's no more captain than you or I. And who, under God, is going to have charge of the ship, he does not know in the least. At the proper time the captain will come aboard, I don't know how, and I don't know where; for Richard Shandon didn't tell me, nor has he leave to tell me in what direction he was first to sail."
"Still, Mr. Cornhill," said the young sailor, "I can tell you that there's some one on board, some one who was spoken of in the letter in which Mr. Shandon was offered the place of mate."
"What!" answered Cornhill, "do you mean to tell me that the Forward has a captain on board?"