James Braithwaite, the Supercargo | Page 8

suit, that scarecrow look which tall gaunt men, who have been
somewhat battered by wind and weather, are apt to get. Our second
mate, Ben, or rather "Benjie" Stubbs, as he was usually called, was
nearly as broad as he was long, with puffed-out brown cheeks wearing
an invincible smile. He was a man of one idea: he was satisfied with
being a thorough seaman, and was nothing else. As to history, or
science, or the interior of countries, he was profoundly ignorant. As to
the land, it was all very well in its way to grow trees and form harbours,
but the sea was undoubtedly the proper element for people to live on;
and he seemed to look with supreme contempt on all those who had the
misfortune to be occupied on shore. The third mate, Henry Irby, had
very little the appearance of a sailor, though he was a very good one.
He was slight in figure, and refined in his manners, and seemed, I
fancied, born to a higher position than that which he held. He had
served for two years before the mast, but his rough associates during
that time had not been able in any way to alter him. Our surgeon, David
Gwynne, was, I need scarcely say, a Welshman. He had not had much
professional experience, but he was an intelligent young man, and had
several of the peculiarities which are considered characteristic of his
people; but I hoped, from what I saw of him when he first came on
board, that he would prove an agreeable companion. Curious as it may
seem, there were two men among the crew who by birth were superior
to any of us. I may, perhaps, have to say more about them by-and-bye.
We mustered, officers and men, forty hands all told.
I will pass over the leave-takings with all the dear ones at home. I knew
and felt that true prayers, as well as kind wishes, would follow me
wherever I might go.

"James," said my kind employer as I parted from him, "I trust you
thoroughly as I would my own son if I had one. I shall not blame you if
the enterprise does not succeed; so do not take it to heart, for I know
that you will do your best, and no man can do more." Mr Thursby
considered that it was incumbent on him to take a dignified farewell of
me, and to impress on me all the duties and responsibilities of my
office; but he broke down, and a tear stood in his eye as he wrung my
hand, and said in a husky voice, "You know all about it, my dear boy;
you'll do well, and we shall have you back here, hearty and strong, with
information successfully to guide Garrard, Janrin and Company in
many an important speculation; and, moreover, I hope, to lay the
foundation of your own fortune. Good-bye, good-bye; heaven bless you,
my boy!"
I certainly could not have commenced my undertaking under better
auspices. Having obtained the necessary permission of the Honourable
East India Company to trade in their territories, the Barbara proceeded
to Spithead, and I ran down to pay a flying visit to my friends, which
was the cause of my joining the ship at Spithead in the way I have
described, and where I left my readers to give these necessary
explanations.
The convoy was standing on under easy sail to allow the scattered
vessels to come up, and as long as there was a ray of daylight they were
seen taking up their places. Now and then, after dark, I could see a
phantom form gliding by; some tall Indiaman, or heavy store-ship, or
perhaps some lighter craft, to part with us after crossing the line, bound
round Cape Horn. The heat was considerable, and as I felt no
inclination to turn in, I continued pacing the deck till it had struck six
bells in the first watch. [Note 1.] Mr Randolph, the senior mate, had
charge of the deck. He, I found, was not always inclined to agree with
some of the opinions held by our captain.
"He's a fine fellow, our skipper, but full of fancies, as you'll find; but
there isn't a better seaman out of the port of London," he observed, as
he took a few turns alongside me. "I have a notion that he believes in
the yarns of the Flying Dutchman, and of old Boody, the Portsmouth

chandler, and in many other such bits of nonsense, but as I was
saying--"
"What, don't you?" I asked, interrupting him; "I thought all sailors
believed in those tales."
The captain had been narrating some of them to us a few evenings
before.
"No, I do not," answered the first