LITMIR.BIZ

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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 Mod. The latter showed he was quite sensitive about this attention. It is true, the shipowner knew him less than his comrades, and it was his first trip on board the James Cook.

      As for the recruits, Mr. Hawkins simply greeted them with a “Good day.”

      There is reason to admit that their demeanor did not make a better impression on him than on Mr. Gibson. They could have, however, with no trouble, been permitted to go ashore. They would not have had the idea of deserting after forty-eight hours of navigation, and they would certainly have returned before the departure of the brig. Vin Mod had worked them over well, and despite the presence of Mr. Hawkins and Nat Gibson, they were quite sure that some occasion would present itself to take over the ship. It would be a bit more difficult. But what is impossible to people who have no faith, no law, and are determined not to back down from any crime?

      After an hour, during which Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Gibson examined the books of the trip, the captain announced that the brig would put to sea the next day at dawn. The shipowner and Nat Gibson would return that evening to take possession of their cabin, to which they had already sent their baggage.

      However, before getting back to the dock, Mr. Gibson asked Flig Balt if he had no reason to return to land:

      “No, Captain,” replied the bosun. “I prefer to remain on board. It’s wiser to keep an eye on the crew.”

      “You’re right, Balt,” said Mr. Gibson. “Anyway, the cook will have to go pick up the provisions.”

      “I’ll send him, Captain, and if needed, two men with him.”

      All was agreed upon, and the dinghy that had brought the shipowner and his two companions brought them back to the dock. From there they returned to the office, where Mr. Balfour was waiting. He joined them for lunch.

      During the meal, they discussed business. Up to now, the voyages of the James Cook had been among the most lucrative, and it was showing good profits.

      The great coastline trade had, indeed, developed remarkably well in this part of the Pacific. Germany, having taken possession of the neighboring archipelagoes of New Guinea, had opened up new opportunities for trade.¹⁵ It was not without reason that Mr. Hawkins had established relations with Mr. Zieger, his correspondent from New Ireland, now Neu-Mecklenburg. The office that he had founded in Wellington was meant especially to build these relations through the attention of Mr. Balfour and Nat Gibson, who would be installed next to him in a few months.

      Lunch out of the way, Mr. Gibson wanted to take care of the provisions for the brig that the cook could pick up that afternoon: canned goods, fowl, pork, flour, dry beans, cheeses, beer, gin and sherry, coffee and spices of various sorts.

      “Father, you can’t leave until I’ve taken your picture!” declared Nat.

      “Not again,” called out the captain.

      “There, old friend,” Mr. Hawkins added, “we are both obsessed with the demon of photography, and we give people no rest until they pose in front of our lens. So you have to submit gracefully!”

      “But I already have two or three portraits at home, in Hobart Town!”

      “Fine, this’ll make one more,” replied Nat Gibson. “And since we leave tomorrow, Mr. Balfour will take charge of sending it to mother in the next mail.”

      “Agreed,” Mr. Balfour said.

      “See, Father,” resumed the young man, “a portrait is like a fish! It has no value unless it’s fresh! Just think, now you are ten months older than when you left Hobart Town, and I’m sure you don’t look like your last photograph, the one over the fireplace of your room.”

      “Nat is right,” confirmed Mr. Hawkins, laughing. “I barely recognized you this morning!”

      “For heaven’s sake!” Mr. Gibson exclaimed.

      “No, I assure you! There’s nothing that changes you more than ten months of navigation at sea!”

      “Go

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