If the captain had not been tipsy himself, I should have believed he intended to deceive me; but he had been very kind to me, and I charged his exaggerated remarks to the whiskey he had drank. If the crew were only sober, and ceased swearing, I was confident I could get along three weeks with them. I had read in my Sunday school library books of ships which were sailed without rum or profanity, and perhaps I had taken my ideal from too high a pitch. If these men were not fed upon liquor I did not believe they could be as they were now.
"I can't go into the forecastle with them while they are in their present state," I added.
"O, well, we will make that all right. I will give you a place in the cabin till to-morrow. By that time you will find the crew are like so many lambs. Bring your trunk this way."
I obeyed, though I was not quite satisfied. I carried my trunk below, and put it into the steerage, which was appropriated to the use of the cabin steward. The captain told me I might sleep that night anywhere I could find a place. I was so infatuated with the desire to go to sea as a sailor, that I flattered myself the crew would appear better when sober, and I tried to persuade myself that the adventure would come out right in the end.
"Here, Farringford, sign the papers," said the captain, pointing to a document on the cabin table.
"But I don't ship as a regular seaman," I replied.
"It's only a form," he added. "You shall leave when you please, but the law requires that every seaman shall sign the papers."
I did so as a matter of form, and went on deck. The new mate was coming alongside. He was in a boat with two other men; and, as he was practically to be my master during the voyage, I regarded him with deep interest. I did not see his face at first, but as he rose from his seat I recognized him.
The new mate was Mr. Ben Waterford, from the west!