“Sir, the ship’s crew have asked me to turn-to and say this here for them: that they werry well know that the gentleman who has lost his memory hasn’t any clothes, and, maybe, no money; and as shipwreck’s a thing that may happen to any of us, and as the poor gentleman’s suffered more nor he’s allowed to remember, though, as my mate Bill here says, it ain’t werry hard to guess what he’s gone through, as there are some of the men for’ard who have bin short of water in their time, and spin ’arrowing yarns such as I never heerd the like on; why, what I was a sayin’ was this: that the ship’s company, barrin’ one, which is an Isle o’ Dorg’s man—but he’ll come over—want’s to make up a purse o’ money for the poor gentleman, and though some o’ them ain’t got much to give, leastways to spare, they’ll all lend a hand, and only wait to hear if you and the mates’ll start the list, which ’ud be more ship-shape.”
The boatswain delivered this speech with great hesitation—not from nervousness, but from a perception of the puzzling nature of words, which had a trick of falling athwartships along the course of his meaning, and bringing him up with a round turn. Having concluded, he glanced at his mates to see if they approved, on which they nodded a good deal of hair over their eyes, and then wiped their mouths with their wrists.
“Right you are,” said the skipper, addressing them with his eyes fixed on the main-topsail, and his hand out to motion the man at the wheel to keep her steady. “You can put me down for five pounds, and Mr. Banks and Mr. Anderson for a sovereign apiece. If they don’t fork out, I’ll pay for them. Steady, I say, steady! Dom it, man, you’re a point off your course!”
That evening, the weather being mild and balmy, and a glorious breeze right astern of the barque, Holdsworth was seated aft when the skipper came up to him and said:
“The ship’s company have been making you up a purse, sir, as a token of their sympathy with the temporal losses you must have sustained by the wreck of the vessel, which there canna be a doubt you were on board of, and with the suffering you endured in the boat. The bo’sun waits to know when it’ll be agreeable to you to receive the gift.”
“No—no—really—the poor fellows must keep their money—I cannot accept it,” replied Holdsworth, greatly agitated and moved.
“Oh, you must tak’ it, sir, or they’ll think you paughty, as we say in Scotland. The bo’sun is waiting at the capstan yonder, and the men are on tiptoe for’ard—look at the heads louping in the fore-scuttle!”
Holdsworth left his chair and went slowly to the boatswain. When the hands saw him draw near the capstan, they wriggled out of the forecastle, out of the galley, out from behind the long boat, and came slipping aft, advancing and drawing back fitfully, and some on tiptoe, to catch the speeches. A seaman somewhere aloft came hand over fist down a backstay, finally landing himself on the bulwarks, where he stood looking on.
The skipper, and Mr. Sherman, and the second mate approached; and when the boatswain was going to speak, the captain called:
“Draw closer, my lads. The gentleman can’t talk to you out of earshot.”