I am sure Captain Steele had already acknowledged in his heart that we were justified in equipping the Seagull with engines, since any old salt fully realizes the horror of being becalmed and knows the loss such a misfortune is sure to entail in time, wages, and grub. But he would not admit it. Instead, he persisted in playing the part of a much injured and greatly scandalized seaman. It would be time enough to “take water” when the value of the propeller was fully proved.
Ned Britton was Captain’s Mate, of course. Ned had sailed with my father for years; he had also sailed two exciting voyages with Uncle Naboth and me, and we all admired and respected this strong, gallant fellow as much as we had come to trust in his ability.
Two other curious characters were established fixtures of any craft that the firm of Steele, Perkins & Steele might own. These were two stalwart black men named Nux and Bryonia, South Sea Islanders whom Uncle Naboth had rescued from death years before and attached to his service. Since then they had become my own trusted friends, and more than once had I owed my life to their intelligence and faithfulness. Bryonia, or Bry, as we called him, was a famous cook, and always had charge of our ship’s galley. With Bry aboard we were never in want of a substantial, well cooked meal; for, as Uncle Naboth was wont to declare: “Thet Bry could take a rope’s end an’ a bit o’ tarpaulin an’ make a Paris tubble-de-hoot out’n ’em.”
Nux was cabin steward and looked after our comforts aft with a deftness and skill that were wholly admirable. These blacks were both of them shrewd, loyal, and brave, and we knew we might always depend upon their fidelity.
On the morning following my adoption of Joe Herring I left the runaway locked up in my stateroom and went on deck to watch the final preparations for our departure. A fair breeze swept down the bay, so at ten o’clock we hoisted anchor, spread our main and foresails and, slowly gathering way, the Seagull slipped through the water on her maiden trip amid the shouts of hundreds who stood on the shore to watch and bid us God speed.
We fired a shot from our small howitzer as a parting salute to our friends, dipped our pennants in gallant fashion, showed our heels, and sped away so swiftly that the harbor was soon left far behind.
We passed the old Gonzales soon after leaving our anchorage. It was still waiting to recapture its absconding cabin-boy, though why Captain Marrow should attach so much importance to the youth I could not then understand.
As soon as we were well at sea I liberated Joe and told him he was to be my special servant and assistant, but must also help Nux to look after the cabin during his spare time—which was likely to be plentiful enough. Knowing that the sooner I established the lad’s footing aboard the easier it would be for us both, I sent him on an errand that would take him past my father’s station on the deck. His sharp eye encountered the boy at once, as I had expected, and he promptly roared out an order for him to halt.
Joe stopped and saluted respectfully. He was looking cheery and bright this morning; indeed, a different boy from the one I had pulled from the sinking dinghy the night before. Life bore a new aspect for Joe and his heart was light as a feather. He looked honest and wholesome enough in the fresh blue suit I had given him, and he had been duly warned that his only remaining danger lay in not winning the countenance of the skipper.
“Who are you? ’N’ where ’n’ thunder’d you come from?” demanded Captain Steele.