"
"Mr. Powell," says I timidly (there was by then only the thin-necked man
left in the office with us and he was already by the door, standing on
one leg to turn the bottom of his trousers up before going away). "Mr.
Powell," says I, "I believe the Captain of the _Ferndale_ was thinking
all the time that I was a relation of yours."
"I was rather concerned about the propriety of it, you know, but Mr.
Powell didn't seem to be in the least.
"Did he?" says he. "That's funny, because it seems to me too that I've
been a sort of good uncle to several of you young fellows lately. Don't
you think so yourself? However, if you don't like it you may put him
right--when you get out to sea." At this I felt a bit queer. Mr. Powell
had rendered me a very good service:- because it's a fact that with us
merchant sailors the first voyage as officer is the real start in life.
He had given me no less than that. I told him warmly that he had done
for me more that day than all my relations put together ever did.
"Oh, no, no," says he. "I guess it's that shipment of explosives waiting
down the river which has done most for you.
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