Now it must be observed that all these consultations and investigations took place in a quiet way. To the public eye all was “fair and above board.” Few among the thousands who visited the docks knew much about deep loading; still less about adequate equipping. They saw nought but a “noble ship,” well painted, washed, gilded, and varnished, taking merchandise into her insatiable hold, while the “Yo-heave-ho” of the seamen rang out cheerily to the rattling accompaniment of chains and windlass. Many other ships were there, similarly treated, equally beautiful, and quite as worthy of the titles “good” and “noble” as the whited sepulchre is to be styled pure.
A few days before the Swordfish was ready for sea, a new captain was sent down to her. This captain was not a “bad man” in the worst sense of that term—neither was he a “good” one. Vigour, courage, resolution when acting in accordance with his inclinations—these were among his characteristics. But he was a reckless man, in want of money, out of employment, and without an appreciable conscience. In the circumstances, he was glad to get anything to do, and had been so long ashore and “in trouble,” that he would probably have agreed to take command of and go to sea in a washing-tub if part paid beforehand for doing so.
Nevertheless, even this man (Captain Phelps by name) felt some degree of nervous anxiety on getting on board and examining the state of the ship. On further acquaintance with her, he was so dissatisfied that he also resolved to throw up his appointment. But he had obtained the berth through the influence of a friend who happened to be acquainted with Mr Webster. This “friend” wrote him a stern letter, saying, if he ventured to do as he proposed, he should never have a ship out of Liverpool again, as long as he (the friend?) could prevent it!
Captain Phelps was one of those angry men of iron mould, who appear to take pleasure in daring Fate to do her worst. On receipt of the letter, he swore with an awful oath that he would now go to sea in the Swordfish, even if he knew she would go to the bottom in twenty-four hours after weighing anchor. Accordingly, having intrenched himself behind a wall of moral adamant, he went about with quiet indifference, and let things take their course. He made no objection whatever when, in addition to the loading already in the ship, the agents added a deck cargo of some massive pieces of machinery, weighing thirty tons, and a supply of coals, the proper receptacle for which below had been filled with iron goods. Neither did he utter a word when—after the vessel had been taken out into the stream by the riggers—he and the owner, agents, pilot, and crew (only six of which last were A.B.’s), were taken off to her in a tug and put on board with orders to sail immediately.
Only a few passengers were going. These were already on board, but some of their friends went off in the tug to bid them a last farewell.
This was a sad scene, but the captain regarded it with stoical indifference. There was a stout, hale old Indian officer going out on a pleasure trip to his beloved East, and a daughter of the same whom he hoped to get married “offhand, comfortably there.” There was a sick nephew of the old officer, going the voyage for the benefit of his health, on whose wan countenance consumption, if not death, had evidently set a deep mark. There were, also, a nurse and a lady’s-maid, and two girls of ten or thirteen years of age—sisters—who were going to join their father and mother, besides one or two others. Earnest loving words passed kindly between these and their relatives and friends as the moment of parting drew near.
“Don’t forget to remember me to Coleman and the rest of ‘ours,’” cried a stout elderly man, waving his hand as the tug moved off.
“That I won’t, and I shall expect to shake you by the hand again, old fellow, in a year or two.”
“You’ll never see him again,” thought Captain Phelps, as he stood with compressed lip and frowning eye on the quarter-deck.
“Good-bye, darling Nelly,” cried a lady to one of the sobbing girls from whom she was parting; “remember the message to mamma.”