“I’ve had a squeak for it, Johnny,” he laughed, as he shook my hand: “but I meant to go down with you if I could.”
Then came all the noise and stir of getting away: the croaking of the pilot alone distinguishable to my uninitiated ears. “Slack away the stern-line”—he called it starn. “Haul in head-rope.” “Here, carpenter, bear a hand, get the cork-fender over the quarter-gallery.” “What are you doing aft there?—why don’t you slack away that stern-line?” Every other moment it seemed to me that we were going to pitch into the craft in the pool, or they into us. However, we got on without mishap.
Captain Tanerton was crossing the ship, after holding a confab with the pilot, when a young man, whom he did not recognize, stepped aside out of his way, and touched his cap. The captain looked surprised, for the badge on the cap was the one worn by his own officers.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Mr. Saxby, if you please, sir.”
“Mr. Saxby! What do you do here?”
“Third mate, if you please, sir,” repeated the young man. “Your third mate, Mr. Jones, met with an accident yesterday; he broke his leg; and my friend, Pym, spoke of me to Mr. Gould.”
Captain Tanerton was not only surprised, but vexed. First, for the accident to Jones, who was a very decent young fellow; next, at his being superseded by a stranger, and a friend of Pym’s. He put a few questions, found the new man’s papers were in order, and so made the best of it.
“You will find me a good and considerate master, Mr. Saxby, if you do your duty with a will,” he said in a kind tone.
“I hope I shall, sir; I’ll try to,” answered the young man.