My First Voyage to Southern Seas

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The London, as well as the East and West India and several other docks, are well worthy of a visit. There are immense warehouses both under and above ground, those below being called vaults, by-the-by; and there are broad quays with huge basins, or I might describe them as vast tanks, which are full of fine ships, each of many hundred tons. The names of the ships were painted in large letters on black boards and hung up on the rigging, so that we had no necessity to make inquiries for the ship Mr Ward wished to find.

“We had not much to do with vessels,” he observed. “We took freight, and shipped our cargoes, and received them in return without any communication with the master or his officers, so that I do not know many sea-going people. However, I have, fortunately, a cousin, who is second mate of a ship—the Orion—just sailing for the Cape of Good Hope and the Mauritius. My friends, Minnories, the brokers, have given me a letter to the master, and if we can arrange matters with him, you will, I hope, from what I hear, find him a pleasant man to sail with. At all events, I know that my cousin, William Henley, is a very fine young fellow, and will prove a good friend to you. If I am not too presumptuous, Mr Ralph, I might say, also, a worthy companion, though his birth was not much less humble than was mine.”

“My father would not have allowed such a consideration to weigh with us in the choice of our companions, I assure you, Mr Ward,” I answered, promptly; for well did I remember hearing him remark, that he would far rather his sons chose their friends from among right-principled, steady, industrious lads, than from among the most wealthy or high-born in the land.

“That was like him, Mr Ralph—that was like him,” said the old man, warmly. “Now, here we are at the Orion. She is a fine-looking ship for her size—some four or five hundred tons, I should guess. Ah, there is William Henley himself!”

As he spoke, a dark man with a large black beard and whiskers looked over the bulwarks, and seeing Mr Ward, came along the plank which connected the ship with the quay towards us. He shook hands warmly with Mr Ward, who took him aside, while I stood patting Solon’s head and admiring the appearance of the ship—the neat way in which she was rigged and painted, and the massive masts and yards to which the white sails had just been bent. I seldom had had an opportunity of examining so large a ship ready for sea so near, and I thought her, as she truly was, a very handsome production of human art.

“And so you wish to go to sea with us,” said the mate, when he and Mr Ward rejoined me. I liked his tone of voice, and I saw that he was a much younger man than his dark appearance at first led me to suppose.

“Yes, indeed I do,” I answered; “I always have wished to go to sea, and now I have a stronger motive than ever. Perhaps Mr Ward has told you.”

“Yes; I know all about it—very right,” said Mr Henley. “And you want to secure a berth for your four-footed companion there. He’s a fine fellow. I’ll try and arrange that for you. Captain Seaford is a very reasonable man, and you will like him, I know. We shall go out of dock to-morrow, or the next day at furthest. You may join us at Gravesend, if you like, but I would advise you to come on board here. It will save you expense and trouble, and you will find much to interest you in seeing the ship go out of dock.”

All this seemed very easily and agreeably arranged. Mr Henley was, I found, a connection of Captain Seaford’s, and much trusted by him, so that he did not speak without authority in what he said. He then took us round the ship. She had her cargo on board, but she was taking in stores and provisions, and appeared to be in a state of great confusion. She was, I found, to carry a certain number of first and second class emigrants to the Cape. Mr Ward insisted on accompanying me to London Bridge, declaring that the walking about in the service of my father’s son did him more good than all the doctor’s physic he could take. On our way there he told me that the first mate of the Orion, Mr Paul Grimes, was a very different sort of person to William Henley, and that he was certainly a bad-tempered and not a well-disposed man, at all events.

“Never mind, though,” said my old friend. “Keep on doing your duty. Do not retort. Return good for evil, and so you will in the end ‘heap coals of fire on his head.’ There are few men’s hearts which cannot be softened in that way.”