Newton Forster / The Merchant Service by Frederick Marryat

Author:Frederick Marryat [Marryat, Frederick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2007-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

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Volume Two--Chapter Thirteen.

Poor short-lived things! what plane we lay!

Ah! why forsake our native home,

To distant climates speed away.

For self sticks close, where’er we roam.

Care follows hard, and soon o’ertakes

The well-rigg’d ship; the warlike steed

Her destin’d quarry ne’er forsakes:

Nor the wind flees with half the speed.

Cowper.

Newton, who had made every preparation, as soon as he had taken leave of his uncle, hastened to join his ship, which still remained at Gravesend, waiting for the despatches to be closed by the twenty-four leaden heads, presiding at Leadenhall Street. The passengers, with the exception of two, a Scotch presbyterian divine and his wife, were still on shore, divided amongst the inns of the town, unwilling until the last moment to quit terra firma for so many months of sky and water, daily receiving a visit from the captain of the ship, who paid his respects to them all round, imparting any little intelligence he might have received as to the probable time of his departure.

When Newton arrived on board, he was received by the first-mate, a rough, good-humoured, and intelligent man, about forty years of age, to whom he had already been introduced by the captain, on his previous appearance with the letter from the director.

“Well, Mr Forster, you’re in very good time. As in all probability we shall be shipmates for a voyage or two, I trust that we shall be good friends. Now for your traps:” then turning round, he addressed, in the Hindostanee language, two or three Lascars (fine olive-coloured men, with black curling bushy hair), who immediately proceeded to hoist in the luggage.

The first-mate, with an “excuse me a moment” went forward to give some directions to the English seamen, leaving Forster to look about him. What he observed, we shall describe for the benefit of our readers.

The Indiaman was a twelve hundred ton ship, as large as one of the small class seventy-four in the king’s service, strongly built, with lofty bulwarks, and pierced on the upper deck for eighteen guns, which were mounted on the quarter-deck and forecastle. Abaft, a poop, higher than the bulwarks, extended forward, between thirty and forty feet, under which was the cuddy or dining-room, and state-cabins, appropriated to passengers. The poop, upon which you ascended by ladders on each side, was crowded with long ranges of coops, tenanted by every variety of domestic fowl, awaiting in happy unconsciousness the day when they should be required to supply the luxurious table provided by the captain. In some, turkeys stretched forth their long necks, and tapped the decks as they picked up some ant who crossed it, in his industry. In others, the crowing of cocks and calling of the hens were incessant: or the geese, ranged up rank and file, waited but the signal from one of the party to raise up a simultaneous clamour, which as suddenly was remitted. Coop answered coop, in variety of discord, while the poulterer walked round and round to supply the wants of so many hundreds committed to his charge.

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