Gibson. “It will give me great pleasure to see our brig again before bringing up our bags.”
“Oh!” replied Mr. Hawkins. “It’s surely going to stay a few days in Wellington?”
“Twenty-four hours at most,” replied the captain. “I have no breakdowns to fix, no cargo to take off or bring on … Some provisions to renew, for sure, and an afternoon will suffice for that. I’ll give orders to Balt to take care of this.”
“Are you still happy with your bosun?” asked Mr. Hawkins.
“Still am,” Captain Gibson replied. “He’s a zealous man who knows his job.”
“And the crew?”
“Veteran sailors, nothing to fault them for.”
“What about those you picked up in Dunedin?”
“They don’t inspire much confidence, but I couldn’t find any better.”
“So the James Cook is leaving?”
“As of tomorrow, if we don’t have any incidents like at Dunedin. Nowadays it’s not too good for captains of commerce to make port in New Zealand.”
“You’re talking about desertions that diminish the crews?” asked Mr. Hawkins.
Mr. Gibson replied, “More than diminish; out of eight sailors, I have lost four and haven’t heard a word from them.”
“Well, you’re right, Gibson, be careful that the situation doesn’t get to be in Wellington what it was in Dunedin.”
“So I have taken the precaution of not allowing anyone to disembark under any pretext, even Koa the cook.”
“That’s wise, father,” added Nat Gibson. “There are a half-dozen ships in port that cannot set sail for lack of sailors.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” replied Harry Gibson. “So I’m counting on raising sail as soon as we have brought on the provisions, and surely by dawn we’ll have weighed anchor and already be on our way.”
At the very moment when the captain pronounced the name of the bosun, Mr. Hawkins had been unable to keep from making a rather pointed observation.
“If I spoke to you about Flig Balt,” he continued, “it’s because he didn’t make a very favorable impression on me when we hired him on at Hobart Town.”
“Yes, I know,” replied the captain, “but your misgivings are not warranted. He carries out his duties with zeal, the men know they have to follow him, and, I’ll say it again, his service aboard ship has left nothing to be desired.”
“So much the better, Gibson. I prefer to have made a mistake about him, and so long as he inspires confidence in you …”
“Besides, Hawkins, when it’s a question of making command decisions aboard the ship, I depend on myself alone; for the rest, as you know, I willingly leave that to my bosun. Since our departure, I have had nothing to reproach him for if he wants to get back on the brig for his next trip …”
“That’s your business, after all, dear friend,” replied Mr. Hawkins. “You’re a better judge of what measures to take.”
It was clear that the confidence that Flig Balt inspired in Harry Gibson, an ill-placed confidence, was total, so well had this treacherous rogue played his role. That’s why, when Mr. Hawkins asked again if the captain was sure about the four seamen who had not deserted ship, the latter replied:
“Vin Mod, Hobbes, Wickley, and Burnes are good sailors,” he replied, “and what they didn’t do in Dunedin, they wouldn’t attempt to do here.”
“We’ll settle up with them when we get back,” declared the shipowner.
“So,” continued the captain, “they’re not the reason I forbade the crew to come ashore … it’s because of the four recruits.”
And Mr. Gibson explained under what conditions Len Cannon, Sexton, Kyle and Bryce had signed on, out of their haste to escape the Dunedin police, after a fight in the tavern of the Three Magpies.
“So this was the most practical thing to do?” asked the shipowner.
“Assuredly, my friend. You know how hard pressed I was by this delay of two weeks. I was at the point of wondering whether I might not have to wait months to fill out the crew! What do you expect? You take what you can find!”
“And we part company with them as soon as possible,” replied Mr. Hawkins.
“Just as you say, Hawkins. That’s even what I would have done here, in Wellington, if circumstances had allowed it, and that’s what I’ll do in Hobart Town.”
“We have time to think about it, Father!” Nat Gibson observed. “The brig will stay several months laid up, won’t it, Mr. Hawkins? And we will spend this time as a family until the day I return to Wellington.”
“That will all be arranged, Nat,” replied the shipowner.
Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Gibson, and his son left the office, went down to the dock, hailed one of the small boats employed by the port service, and were brought out to the brig.
It was the bosun who welcomed them on board, as obsequious as ever, always busy, and for whom Mr. Hawkins, reassured by the captain’s declarations, saved his good greetings.
“I see you’re in good health, Mr. Hawkins,” Flig Balt said to him.
“In good health, I thank you,” replied the shipowner.
The three sailors, Hobbes, Wickley and Burnes, who had sailed for some three years aboard the James Cook without having given any cause for complaint, received Mr. Hawkins’s compliments.
As for Jim, the shipowner kissed him on both cheeks, and the young man felt a great joy in seeing him again.
“I have excellent news from your mother,” Mr. Hawkins told him, “and she really hopes that the captain is satisfied with you.”
“Entirely,” declared Mr. Gibson.
“I thank you, Mr. Hawkins,” said Jim, “and you make me very happy!”
“And me?” said Nat Gibson. “There’s nothing for me?”
“Why, of course, Mr. Nat,” replied Jim, throwing his arms around his neck.
“And what a nice healthy appearance you have!” added Nat. “If your mother saw you, she’d be content, the fine woman! Also, Jim, I’ll take your photograph before leaving.”
“It’ll look like me?”
“Of course, if you don’t move.”
“I won’t move, Mr. Nat, I won’t move!”
It must be said that Mr. Hawkins, after having spoken to Hobbes, Wickley and Burnes about their families who lived in Hobart Town, addressed a few words to Vin
