NOVEMBER 3

This afternoon our officers came aboard to settle in and be introduced to one another, and, most important, to the captain’s wife and daughter.

Mr. Albert Richardson, our chief mate, arrived first, followed by a rough‑looking boy he’d enlisted to haul his sea chest to his quarters. Fortunately for him he is a man of small stature, as his berth is tight. He sailed with B. on the Sea Foam some years ago and proved a reliable officer, so B. was pleased to get him. I found him pleasant enough, respectful of B., very neat in his dress, even foppish. He was wearing a blue satin waistcoat embroidered with little green fish, which Sophy was mad to touch. Her enthusiasm clearly made Mr. R. anxious, though he tried mightily not to let on, as it wouldn’t do to slap away the sticky fingers of the captain’s daughter on first meeting. Poor Sophy has a head cold and is not at her most winning.

Mr. Richardson is recently married and very keen to mention “Fanny, my dear wife,” every other sentence. His father‑in‑law, the great Winchester, owns us all, and it’s doubtless through dear Fanny’s influence that her dapper bridegroom has got his post. Later, when I expressed my amusement at Mr. R.’s prudish manner and fancy attire, B. said, “He’ll loosen up, once we sail.”

He has an absurd, pencil‑thin mustache, like a theater villain, and his hair pomade, generously applied, smells of lard.

Mr. Edward Head, our steward, came aboard next, followed closely by Mr. Andrew Gilling, our second mate, neither of whom could be accused of personal vanity.

Mr. Head is not taller than Mr. R., but has three times his girth, a rotundity of a man with wispy light hair and sparkling light eyes in a fleshy, florid face. His manner is respectful but not obsequious, frank, and open. He blinks rather more than seems necessary to refresh the eyes. Mr. Gilling is sallow and chinless, with flat, lifeless eyes and a mass of springy, mouse‑colored hair that put me in mind of the Spanish moss we saw in the trees in New Orleans, which the citizens there use to stuff mattresses. Once this comparison came to me, I couldn’t look at him without conjuring silly names like Mate Mattress‑Head, or Mr. Bedding, or Mate Mossy Top. He might wonder why I smile when I look at him, or perhaps he won’t, as he appears perfectly vacant, without interests or humor. B. has heard of him that he lacks ambition and will never rise above his present rank, which suits him, as he is at ease neither with the common sailors nor with the officers, but the sea has been his life and he wants no other.

Mr. Richardson will share space with us here in the stern. Mr. Gilling has a decent little room in the forecastle and Mr. Head has a berth of his own in the galley, where the stove will keep him warm while we are not.

Tomorrow the crew arrives – four Germans!

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 588