I make mention of these thoughts here, for I was soon to learn the lesson that there is a vast difference between an idle fancy and the stern reality. In fact, my complacency received a rude shock almost immediately. Walking along to Bill Howard, the oldest and most experienced sailor on board the brig, who was taking his trick at the wheel, I asked:
“How does she handle, Bill? Does she mind her helm readily?”
“I’ve seed them that does better,” he growled.
“I don’t know about that, Bill,” I retorted. “I call this a pretty fine craft.”
“She’s well ’nough, I ’spose,” he admitted with some show of reluctance. “At the same time Bill Howard wishes he wasn’t on board of her.”
“Why, what’s the trouble?” I persisted. “It can’t be they don’t give you enough to eat. I saw the supper sent down to you tonight. You don’t often get better on shipboard.”
“I wants no better, if it only continues,” he replied.
“What makes you think it won’t, Bill?” I questioned, thinking he might have been along with Captain Weston on a previous voyage and had some revelation to make. I had known of skippers who always fed their crews well until they got them out to sea. It might be this that would prove to be the weak point of the man with whom I had shipped so unceremoniously. But his reply was a question.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but have you sailed on the brig afore?”
“No, Bill, I haven’t. Have you?”