We went on board the John, where we found the officers just topping off with the riggers and stevedores, having stowed all the provisions and water, and the mere trifle of cargo she carried. The mate, whose name was Marble, and a well-veined bit of marble he was, his face resembling a map that had more rivers drawn on it than the land could feed, winked at the captain and nodded his head towards us as soon as we met his eye. The latter smiled, but did not speak.
"Walk this way, gentlemen--walk this way, if you please," said Mr. Marble, encouragingly, passing a ball of spun-yarn, all the while, to help a rigger serve a rope. "When did you leave the country?"
This produced a general laugh, even the yellow rascal of a mulatto, who was passing into the cabin with some crockery, grinning in our faces at this salutation. I saw it was now or never, and determined not to be brow-beaten, while I was too truthful to attempt to pass for that I was not.
"We left home last night, thinking to be in time to find berths in one of the Indiamen that is to sail this week."
"Not _this_ week, my son--not till _next_," said Mr. Marble, jocularly. "Sunday is _the_ day. We run from Sunday to Sunday--the better day, the better deed, you know. How did you leave father and mother?"
"I have neither," I answered, almost choked. "My mother died a few months since, and my father, Captain Wallingford, has now been dead some years."
The master of the John was a man of about fifty, red-faced, hard-looking, pock-marked, square-rigged, and of an exterior that promised anything but sentiment. Feeling, however, he did manifest, the moment I mentioned my father's name. He ceased his employment, came close to me, gazed earnestly in my face, and even looked kind.
"Are you a son of Captain Miles Wallingford?" he asked in a low voice--"of Miles Wallingford, from up the river?"
"I am, sir; his only son. He left but two of us, a son and a daughter; and, though under no necessity to work at all, I wish to make this Miles Wallingford as good a seaman as the last, and, I hope, as honest a man."
This was said manfully, and with a spirit that must have pleased; for I was shaken cordially by the hand, welcomed on board, invited into the cabin, and asked to take a seat at a table on which the dinner had just been placed. Rupert, of course, shared in all these favours. Then followed the explanations. Captain Robbins, of the John, had first gone to sea with my father, for whom I believe he entertained a profound respect. He had even served with him once as mate, and talked as if he felt that he had been under obligations to him. He did not question me very closely, seeming to think it natural enough that Miles Wallingford's only son should wish to be a seaman.