Hudson Bay | Page 2

passed continually before me, and thinking
how soon I was to leave the scenes to which I had been so long
accustomed for a far-distant land. I was a boy, however; and this, I
think, is equivalent to saying that I did not sorrow long. My future
companion and fellow-clerk, Mr Wiseacre, was pacing the deck near
me. This turned my thoughts into another channel, and set me
speculating upon his probable temper, qualities, and age; whether or
not he was strong enough to thrash me, and if we were likely to be
good friends. The captain, too, was chatting and laughing with the
doctor as carelessly as if he had not the great responsibility of taking a
huge ship across a boundless waste of waters, and through fields and
islands of ice, to a distant country some three thousand miles to the
north-west of England. Thus encouraged, my spirits began to rise, and
when the cry arose on deck that the steamer containing the committee
of the Honourable Hudson Bay Company was in sight, I sprang up the
companion-ladder in a state of mind, if not happy, at least as nearly so
as under the circumstances could be expected.
Upon gaining the deck, I beheld a small steamboat passing close under
our stern, filled with a number of elderly-looking gentlemen, who eyed
us with a very critical expression of countenance. I had a pretty good
guess who these gentlemen were; but had I been entirely ignorant, I
should soon have been enlightened by the remark of a sailor, who
whispered to his comrade, "I say, Bill, them's the great guns!"
I suppose the fact of their being so had a sympathetic effect upon the
guns of the Company's three ships--the Prince Rupert, Prince Albert,
and Prince of Wales--for they all three fired a salute of blank cartridge
at the steamer as she passed them in succession. The steamer then
ranged alongside of us, and the elderly gentlemen came on board and
shook hands with the captain and officers, smiling blandly as they
observed the neat, trim appearance of the three fine vessels, which,
with everything in readiness for setting sail on the following morning,
strained at their cables, as if anxious to commence their struggle with
the waves.

It is a custom of the directors of the Hudson Bay Company to give a
public dinner annually to the officers of their ships upon the eve of
their departure from Gravesend. Accordingly, one of the gentlemen of
the committee, before leaving the vessel, invited the captain and
officers to attend; and, to my astonishment and delight, also begged me
to honour them with my company. I accepted the invitation with
extreme politeness; and, from inability to express my joy in any other
way, winked to my friend Wiseacre, with whom I had become, by this
time, pretty familiar. He, being also invited, winked in return to me;
and having disposed of this piece of juvenile freemasonry to our
satisfaction, we assisted the crew in giving three hearty cheers, as the
little steamer darted from the side and proceeded to the shore.
The dinner, like all other public dinners, was as good and substantial as
a lavish expenditure of cash could make it; but really my recollections
of it are very indistinct. The ceaseless din of plates, glasses, knives,
forks, and tongues was tremendous; and this, together with the novelty
of the scene, the heat of the room, and excellence of the viands, tended
to render me oblivious of much that took place. Almost all the faces
present were strange to me. Who were, and who were not, the
gentlemen of the committee, was to me matter of the most perfect
indifference; and as no one took the trouble to address me in particular,
I confined myself to the interesting occupation of trying to make sense
of a conversation held by upwards of fifty pairs of lungs at one and the
same time. Nothing intelligible, however, was to be heard, except when
a sudden lull in the noise gave a bald-headed old gentleman near the
head of the table an opportunity of drinking the health of a red-faced
old gentleman near the foot, upon whom he bestowed an amount of
flattery perfectly bewildering; and after making the unfortunate
red-faced gentleman writhe for half an hour in a fever of modesty, sat
down amid thunders of applause. Whether the applause, by the way,
was intended for the speaker or the speakee, I do not know; but being
quite indifferent, I clapped my hands with the rest. The red-faced
gentleman, now purple with excitement, then rose, and during a solemn
silence delivered himself of a speech, to the effect that the day then
passing was certainly the happiest in his mortal career, that he