Captain Hull advanced to meet Mrs. Weldon and her party as they stepped on deck.
“It must be understood, Mrs. Weldon,” he said, courteously raising his hat, “that you take this passage entirely on your own responsibility.”
“Certainly, Captain Hull,” she answered; “but why do you ask?”
“Simply because I have received no orders from Mr. Weldon,” replied the captain.
“But my wish exonerates you,” said Mrs. Weldon.
“Besides,” added Captain Hull, “I am unable to provide you with the accommodation and the comfort that you would have upon a passenger steamer.”
“You know well enough, captain,” remonstrated the lady, “that my husband would not hesitate for a moment to trust his wife and child on board the Pilgrim.”
“Trust, madam! No! no more than I should myself. I repeat that the Pilgrim cannot afford you the comfort to which you are accustomed.”
Mrs. Weldon smiled.
“Oh, I am not one of your grumbling travellers. I shall have no complaints to make either of small cramped cabins, or of rough and meagre food.”
She took her son by the hand, and passing on, begged that they might start forthwith.
Orders accordingly were given; sails were trimmed; and after taking the shortest course across the gulf, the Pilgrim turned her head towards America.
Three days later strong easterly breezes compelled the schooner to tack to larboard in order to get to windward. The consequence was that by the 2nd of February the captain found himself in such a latitude that he might almost be suspected of intending to round Cape Horn rather than of having a design to coast the western shores of the New Continent.
Still, the sea did not become rough. There was a slight delay, but, on the whole, navigation was perfectly easy.
II
The Apprentice
There was no poop upon the Pilgrim’s deck, so that Mrs. Weldon had no alternative than to acquiesce in the captain’s proposal that she should occupy his own modest cabin.
Accordingly, here she was installed with Jack and old Nan; and here she took all her meals, in company with the captain and Cousin Benedict.
For Cousin Benedict tolerably comfortable sleeping accommodation had been contrived close at hand, while Captain Hull himself retired to the crew’s quarter, occupying the cabin which properly belonged to the chief mate, but as already indicated, the services of a second officer were quite dispensed with.
All the crew were civil and attentive to the wife of their employer, a master to whom they were faithfully attached. They were all natives of the coast of California, brave and experienced seamen, and united by tastes and habits in a common bond of sympathy. Few as they were in number, their work was never shirked, not simply from the sense of duty, but because they were directly interested in the profits of their undertaking; the success of their labours always told to their own advantage. The present expedition was the fourth that they had taken together; and, as it turned out to be the first in which they had failed to meet with success, it may be imagined that they were full of resentment against the mutinous whalemen who had been the cause of so serious a diminution of their ordinary gains.
The only one on board who was not an American was a man who had been temporarily engaged as cook. His name was Negoro; he was a Portuguese by birth, but spoke English with perfect fluency. The previous cook had deserted the ship at Auckland, and when Negoro, who was out of employment, applied for the place, Captain Hull, only too glad to avoid detention, engaged him at once without inquiry into his antecedents. There was not the slightest fault to be found with the way in which the cook performed his duties, but there was something in his manner, or perhaps, rather in the expression of his countenance, which excited the Captain’s misgivings, and made him regret that he had not taken more pains to investigate the character of one with whom he was now brought into such close contact.
Negoro looked about forty years of age. Although he had the appearance of being slightly built, he was muscular; he was of middle height, and seemed to have a robust constitution; his hair was dark, his complexion somewhat swarthy. His manner was taciturn, and although, from occasional remarks that he dropped, it was evident that he had received some education, he was very reserved on the subjects both of his family and of his past life. No one knew where he had come from, and he admitted no one to his confidence as to where he was going, except that he made no secret of his intention to land at Valparaiso. His freedom from seasickness demonstrated that this could hardly be his first voyage, but on the other hand his complete ignorance of seamen’s phraseology made it certain that he had never been accustomed to his present occupation. He kept himself aloof as much as possible from the rest of the crew, during the day rarely leaving the great cast-iron stove, which was out of proportion to the measurement of the cramped little kitchen; and at night, as soon as the fire was extinguished, took the earliest opportunity of retiring to his berth and going to sleep.
It has been already stated that the crew of the Pilgrim consisted of five seamen and an apprentice. This apprentice was Dick Sands.
Dick was fifteen years old; he was a foundling, his unknown parents having abandoned him at his birth, and he had been brought up in a public charitable institution. He had been called Dick, after the benevolent passerby who had discovered him when he was but an infant a few hours old, and he had received the surname of Sands as a memorial of the spot
