“Not if you wish to get aboard your ship, sir, before night,” answered father. “I know my boat, and I know what she’ll do. Trust me, sir, and in less than half-an-hour you’ll be safe alongside the Intrepid.”
The mate seemed satisfied, and began talking to me, amused at the way I sat bobbing, as the spray came aboard, under an old pea-jacket which father had thrown over my shoulders, and grinning when I found that I had escaped the shower by which the others got well sprinkled.
“I’ll not forget you, my little fellow,” he said, laughing. “You’ll make a prime seaman one of these days. Will you remember my name?”
“Yes, sir, I think I shall, and your face too,” I answered.
“You are a sharp chap, I see,” he observed, in the same tone as before.
“Do you intend to make a sailor of him?” he asked, turning to father.
“Not if I can find a better calling for the boy, sir,” answered father. “I’ve heard say, and believe it, that man proposes and God disposes. It mayn’t be in my power to choose for him.”
“Ay, ay, you’re right there, my friend,” said the mate. “If he had been as old as his brother I would have given him a berth aboard the Intrepid.”
It may seem curious that, young as I was, I should have remembered these remarks, but so it was, and I had reason long afterwards to do so.
Even sooner than father had said we had hooked on to the whaler, a barque of about three hundred tons, her black hull rising high out of the water, and with three boats, sharp at both ends, hoisted up to davits in a line on each side. The good-natured mate having paid the fare and given me a bright shilling in addition, helped the doctor, who wasn’t very well able to help himself, up on deck, and we then, shoving off, stood for the man-of-war brig.