Edward Barry | Page 3

certificate?"

"Yes; both."
"Last ship?"
"The Tawera, brig, of Tahiti."
"Ha! You're used to the Island trade, then?"
"Pretty well."
"Willing to ship as mate or second mate?"
"Yes, and no. Willing enough in one way, and not liking it in another.
I'm hard-up, have no clothes, and should cut a sorry figure on such a
smart-looking brig as yours when I haven't even a donkey's breakfast[1]
to bring aboard if I shipped before the mast. And I'm not the man to
stand guying, especially from beauties like those who were here just
now."
Again the captain's keen, dark eyes flashed--this time in a
semi-approving manner--as he looked at Barry's bronzed face and tall,
square-built figure. He stroked his carefully trimmed pointed beard and
thought for a few moments.
"I want a chief mate for the Mahina; the one I have now is seriously ill
and cannot live more than a day or two. When can you come
aboard--to-night?"
Barry shook his head impatiently. "I told you, sir, that I have no clothes
but those I stand up in----"
"Can you get what you want right off if I advance you ten sovereigns?"
"Five will do--or three if you have a slop chest aboard."
"The Mahina is a trading vessel (though I'm going to have a try at
pearling this trip) and carries a general store from a needle to an anchor
aboard; but at the same time, although you can get what you want in
the way of clothing, you may want money for other purposes. Are you

willing to come aboard to-night, and take first mate's duty?"
"Yes."
"Then take these"--he took two five pound notes from his pocket-book
and placed them in Barry's hand. "This is Saturday, and the shops keep
open till late. But I rely on you to be here on this wharf not later than
midnight. My mate, whose place you will take, is very ill, my crew are
a troublesome lot--six of them have deserted, and the rest of them
would clear out to-night if they could. I shall look out for you, and send
a boat when you hail."
"I shall be here sooner, if you wish it," replied Barry, "but I do not want
all this," and he gave back one of the bank notes. "I don't owe a cent to
any one, but I have some gear of mine in pawn."
The captain waved it back courteously. "Keep it, sir; keep it--we sail
early on Monday morning, and you will not be able to get on shore
again."
"Thank you," laughed Barry. "I've no doubt I can find use for it." Then
he added, "My name is Barry."
"And mine is Rawlings. I hope we shall pull together, Mr. Barry," this
with a pleasant smile as he buttoned up his overcoat. "Ha, there is my
boat, and I must take my gaol-birds on board. Good-afternoon. I shall
look for you about twelve o'clock."
Then with a polite inclination of his head he stepped out towards the
waiting boat, and left his new chief officer to pursue his way into the
city with a light heart.

[1] A now almost obsolete nautical expression for a mattress staffed
with straw.
CHAPTER II.

THE MAYNARDS.
A quarter of an hour's walk through the dimly lighted and squalid
streets which intersect Miller's Point and Church Hill brought Barry out
into the glare and noise of the lower part of the principal thoroughfares
of the city, which, boisterous as was the night, was fairly thronged with
the poorer class of people engaged in their Saturday night's shopping.
Pushing his way through the crowd in no very gentle manner, for he
was both wet and hungry, he at last reached a respectable-looking
second-class hotel at the corner of George and Bridge streets. The
house was much frequented by men of his own position in the merchant
service, and, as he walked into the comfortable parlour and stood by the
fire to warm himself, he was greeted by all the occupants of the
room--four decently dressed mates or second mates.
"You look pretty wet," said an old red-faced man, moving his chair
further away from the fire, so as to give the newcomer more room;
"why didn't you take your oilskins with you when you went out?"
Barry laughed with the utmost good-nature. "Because Uncle Levi
Harris down the street is taking care of them for me, Mr. Todd. And
he's got my watch and chain, and my sextant and some other things as
well."
The four men--mere casual acquaintances of a few weeks'
standing--gave a sympathetic murmur, and then one of them in a deep,
rumbling kind of voice, and without even looking at Barry, inquired if
he could "do with a change of togs?"
"Much obliged to