“Because we can help you to something a little better. At least, it will be more to your advantage in a pecuniary sense. You wouldn’t mind shipping in a merchant-vessel, with wages three or four times as much as you can get in a man-of-war? How would you like that, Harry?”
“I’d like it amazin’ly, sir. And for the matter o’ being a merchanter, that’s neither here nor there, so long’s you recommend it. I’ll go as cook, if you tell me to.”
“No, no, Harry, not that,” laughingly replies the young officer. “That would never do. I should pity those who had to eat the dishes you’d dress for them. Besides, I should be sorry to see you stewing your strength away in front of a galley-fire. You must do better than that; and it chances I’m authorised to offer you something better. It’s a berth on board a trading-ship, and one with some special advantages. She’s a Chilian vessel, and her captain is, I believe, either Chilian or Spanish. That won’t make any difference to you?”
“Not a doit, sir. I don’t care what the ship’s colours be, nor what country her skipper, so long’s he allows good wages an’ plenty o’ grub.”
“And plenty of grog too, Harry?”
“Ay, ay, sir. I confess to a weakness for that—leastways the reg’lar three times a day.”
“No doubt you’ll get it, as often as you’ve a mind. But, Harry, I have a word to say about that. Besides my interest in your own welfare, I’ve another and more selfish one in this Chilian ship. So has Mr Cadwallader. We both want you to be on your best behaviour during the trip you’re to take in her. On board will be two lady passengers, as far as Panama; for the ship is bound thither, and for ports beyond—I believe as far as Valparaiso. But the ladies are to land at Panama; and, so long as they’re with you, you must do everything in your power to make things agreeable for them. If they should ever be in any danger—from storm, shipwreck, or otherwise—you’ll stand by them?”
“Yes, Harry,” adds Cadwallader, “you’ll do that, won’t you?”
“Lor’, your honours!” exclaims the sailor, showing surprise. “Sure ye needn’t put sich a questin to me—a British man-o’-war’s man? I’d do that much, anyhow, out o’ sheer starn sense o’ duty. But when it comes to takin’ care o’ two ladies—to say nothin’ about theer bein’ so young, and so beautiful—”
“Avast, Harry! How do you know they are either one or the other?” asks Crozier, surprised; Cadwallader repeating the question.