Each man, as his name was pronounced, saluted with a deep sea-bow. I regarded them earnestly; they were to be neighbours of mine soon. What was the colour of their wives, and how many children had they?
‘You’re in time for dinner,’ said Tom. ‘Step into the cabin, will you? Johnstone, my lad, give an eye to the brig whilst I entertain our friends here.’
We entered the deck-house in a body.
‘Bit short-handed, capt’n, ain’t ye?’ said old Cotton, gazing about him with slow motions of the head.
‘We’ll come to that soon,’ said Tom. ‘Friends, seat yourselves and fall to. Marian, there’s a chair for you next Peter Green. Bates, I’ll trouble you to uncork some of that wine on the swing trays.’
My presence seemed to embarrass the poor islanders; they did not speak whilst their plates were being heaped. They eyed me shyly and would not eat after they had been served.
‘This is good ham—this is middling beef, Mr. Green,’ said Tom. ‘It’s the best welcome our little ship will allow us to give you.’
Peter Green bowed his head with the courteous gesture of a fine old gentleman, and then, observing that everybody was served, he stood up and, with a countenance of great devotion, said grace. The others hung their heads in a posture of prayer. Mr. Bates was greatly impressed; Tom and I exchanged looks—I saw that he was well pleased that I should have witnessed so soon this little illustration of the islanders’ habits. Grace said, the three old fellows and the others ate heartily, and conversation then flowed.
‘How is Corporal Glass?’ asked Tom.
‘He vhas not very well to-day,’ answered Peter Green. ‘Dot cancer troubles him. But I tell him he vhas goodt for many years.’