“I should think not,” observed Owen. “As for the other three, if Tar and Noddin are ready to answer for them, I will keep them, for they, at all events, are alive and likely to come to in a short time.”
To Mr Jobson’s disgust the corpse was lowered into the boat, when, having received the sum agreed on, he pulled on shore to give the best account of the matter he could. Owen knew that he would probably state that the man had died on board the Ouzel Galley, and he was taking him on shore to be buried; for in the West Indies in those days coroners would not be very particular in inquiring into the way seamen went out of the world. The three men who had been so unceremoniously treated, having been stripped of their clothes, were stowed away in their hammocks to recover from their drunken fit, the other two new hands being allowed also to turn in. Still, Owen would have been glad to have his full complement. He had intended to sail that night with the land wind as soon as the moon was up, and was seated in his cabin waiting for the pilot, and writing a report of his proceedings to Mr Ferris, when Dan announced that two men were in a boat alongside, who wished to see him. He went on deck and told the men to come on board. They did so; both of them were sailor-like fellows. One of them, stepping forward and doffing his hat, said, “I understand, Captain Massey, that you want some more hands. My mate and I are ready to ship for the run home at the wages you are offering. We were left behind by the Polly privateer, and as she has been taken by the French, we want to join another ship; we’ve no fancy for a man-o’-war, and have had only ill luck in privateering. My name’s John Green, and his is Thomas Routh; I’ve been to sea for pretty nearly ten years, and he’s been fifteen or more afloat—so, without boasting, I may say we’re both of us able hands.”
“You give a very satisfactory account of yourself and your mate, John Green,” observed Owen. “Have you any certificates from the last vessels you served in?”
“Unfortunately we left them on board the Polly, sir, and are not likely ever to see them again,” answered the man—“and we might enter on board a man-o’-war, as you know, sir, without any questioning; though, if you don’t take us, there are plenty of other masters who won’t be so particular. But to say the truth, sir, knowing your character, we’ve a mind to sail with you.”
“That’s a fact,” said the other man, who had not yet spoken, and who seemed to be much older than his companion, and a rough fellow—his big whiskers and shaggy locks almost concealing his features, though he might not have been ill-looking had his hair been moderately trimmed. Owen, calling his first mate, asked his opinion of the men, and they both agreed that, as their story was probable and they had the cut of seamen, they were not likely to get better men. He accordingly entered them both. John Green was a fair-haired, ordinary-looking young man, rather more fluent of speech than might have been expected from his appearance, his countenance contrasting greatly with the hirsute, sunburnt visage of his mate.
Owen had finished his letters, and got them ready to send on shore by Dan. Among those for England were one for Captain Tracy and mother for Norah, for he could not tell when he might have another opportunity of writing. Soon afterwards the pilot came on board, the sails were loosed, the anchor hove short, and as soon as the boat returned the ship was got under way, and, the moon rising, she stood down the harbour with the wind abeam. As she got off Port Royal, the ship was hailed by a man-of-war’s boat, and ordered to shorten sail; and the boat coming alongside, who should appear on deck but Gerald Tracy.
“I was sent to ascertain what ship this is, where you are bound to, and all other particulars; but as I happen to know, I needn’t waste time in asking,” said Gerald. “We’ve lost two or three hands lately, but as I know you’ve not got them, I needn’t trouble you.”
Owen felt considerable doubt whether he ought not to enlighten his careless young friend, whose duty it certainly was not to take anything for granted. However, he thought it very probable that if he did, he should lose some of his hands; they had come on board of their own accord, and he wanted them even more than did the Champion, which could easily supply their places. He therefore only replied that he was very glad Gerald had come, and as he was anxious to get to sea before the land wind failed, he should feel obliged if his young friend would make his visit as short as possible, and allow the ship to proceed.
“Yes, of course,” answered Gerald; “but if you get home before I do, tell Norah that she may look out for a long letter, which I intend to write as soon as I have anything fresh to say. We hear that, while our ship is refitting, some of us are to be turned over to the Augusta, Captain Forrest; and as we are sure to have something to do, I shall have a long yarn to spin.”
The young midshipman, who had been accompanied by Owen to the gangway, tumbled into his boat and pulled back to his ship, fully satisfied that he had done his duty. The harbour-master’s boat having also paid the usual official visit and found all right, and the pilot having taken his departure, the Ouzel Galley stood out to sea under all sail. The soft moonbeams shed a bright light on the calm waters, just rippled over by the breeze, the wavelets sparkling like frosted silver. Having gained a sufficient offing, the Ouzel Galley hauled up to the westward and stood along the coast, lofty ridges rising on her starboard hand, while the broad expanse of the Caribbean Sea stretched away on the larboard side. The watch was set in charge of the first mate, but Owen had no intention of turning in; for, although few enemies were likely to approach the coast of Jamaica, where a large fleet was known to be collected, still one might possibly run in, on the chance of finding a richly laden merchantman off her guard. It was necessary, therefore, to be on the watch. None, however, could approach them seaward without being discovered in good time; but an enemy’s vessel might lie hidden behind one of the many headlands and points, or in some of the numerous creeks on the coast, and might sally forth when least expected, and endeavour to capture them if unprepared. The land wind lasted for an hour or more past midnight, when the Ouzel Galley lay becalmed, with little prospect of making progress till the sea breeze should set in in the morning. Owen at length, leaving the deck in charge of the second mate, lay down in his cabin, desiring to be called should any strange sail appear in sight. Daylight, however, returned, and when he left his cabin he found the crew following their usual occupations of the morning—washing decks, coiling down the ropes. On looking about for the new hands, to judge of them by the way they went about their work, he observed that the two last who had joined were flemishing the ropes down man-of-war fashion, as were two of the others; but the rest, those supplied by Mr Jobson, were evidently lubberly fellows, who scarcely know the stem from the stern of the ship.