[Footnote 2: Napier was a great favourite with his sailors, notwithstanding his apparent harshness to them at times. Whenever he wanted a dash made on a strong position, he inspired them with a fury of enthusiasm by giving the word of command incisively, and then adding as an addendum, "Now, off you go, you damned rascals, and exterminate them." This was a form of endearment, and they knew it.]
A handsome barque lay at the quay of a South Wales port, ready to sail, and waiting only for the flood tide. Her name was the _Pacific_, and she was commanded by a person of laborious dignity. His officers were selected to meet the tastes and ambitions of their captain, whose name was John Kickem. I have said before it was customary in those days for crowds of people to congregate on the quays or dock sides to watch the departure of vessels. Some came out of curiosity, but many were the relatives and friends of different members of the crew who wished to say their _adieux_, and to listen to the sombre singing of the chanties as the men mastheaded the topsail yards, or catted and fished the anchors. These vessels were known as copper-ore-men. They were usually manned with picked able seamen and three apprentices. In this instance they were all fine specimens of English manhood. It was no ordinary sight to witness the display of bunting as it stretched from royal truck to rail, and the grotesque love-making of the seafarers as they hugged and kissed their wives and sweethearts over and over again with amazing rapidity. One of the favourite songs which they delighted to sing on such auspicious occasions was rendered with touching pathos--
"Sing good-bye to Sal, and good-bye to Sue; Away Rio! And you that are list'ning, good-bye to you; For we're bound to Rio Grande! And away Rio, aye Rio! Sing fare ye well, my bonny young girl, We're bound to Rio Grande."
It didn't matter, of course, where they were bound to, this ditty was the farewell song; and it always had the desired effect of melting the bystanders, especially the females, though Jack himself showed no really soft emotion. Not that they were not sentimental, but theirs seemed always to be a frolicsome sentimentality.
The eldest apprentice of the _Pacific_ was in his eighteenth year. He was a fine, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, medium-sized youth. He had been dividing his attentions amongst a number of girl admirers, and was told to come aboard to unmoor and give the tug the tow-rope. While these orders were being carried out the lad caught sight of a young girl who had just arrived in a great state of excitement. She was dressed in dazzling finery, and carrying something in a basket. The boy sprang on to the dock wall, and created much merriment with his elephantine caresses. They shouted to him from the vessel to jump aboard or he would lose his passage. He made a running spring for the main rigging as she was being towed from her berth. A wild cheer went up from the crowd when they saw the smart thing that had been done, and that he was safe. The devoted female who had caused him to dare so much, in the luxuriance of grief, shouted to him--