James Braithwaite, the Supercargo: The Story of his Adventures Ashore and Afloat — John Shaqi
James Braithwaite, the Supercargo: The Story of his Adventures Ashore and AfloatKingston, William Henry Giles
History
James Braithwaite, the Supercargo: The Story of his Adventures Ashore and Afloat
Kingston, William Henry Giles
Great Britain -- History, Naval -- 19th century -- Fiction
Our dinner hour was at one o'clock, in a room over the office. Mr
Janrin himself presided, and all the clerks, from the highest to the
lowest, sat at the board. Here, however, on certain occasions, handsome
dinners were given at a more fashionable hour to any friends or
correspondents of the house who might be in London. Mr Thursby took
the foot of the table, and I was always expected to be present. At
length I completed two years of servitude in the house, and by that time
was thoroughly up to all the details of business. I had been very
diligent. I had never taken a holiday, and never had cause to absent
myself from business on account of ill-health. On the very day I speak
of we had one of the dinners mentioned. The guests were chiefly
merchants or planters from the West Indies, with a foreign consul or
two, and generally a few masters of merchantmen. The guests as they
arrived were announced by Mr Janrin's own servant, Peter Klopps, who
always waited on these occasions. Peter was himself a character. He
was a Dutchman. Mr Janrin had engaged his services many years before
during a visit to Holland. He had picked Peter out of a canal, or Peter
had picked him out, on a dark night--I never could understand which had
rendered the service to the other; at all events, it had united them
ever afterwards, and Peter had afterwards nursed his master through a
long illness, and saved his life. The most important secrets of State
might have been discussed freely in Peter's presence. First, he did not
understand a word that was said, and then he was far too honest and
discreet to have revealed it if he had.
Several people had been announced. Ten minutes generally brought the
whole together. I caught the name of one--Captain Hassall. He was a
stranger, a strongly-built man with a sunburnt countenance and bushy
whiskers; nothing remarkable about him, except, perhaps, the determined
expression of his eye and mouth. His brow was good, and altogether I
liked his looks, and was glad to find myself seated next to him. He had
been to all parts of the world, and had spent some time in the India and
China seas. He gave me graphic accounts of the strange people of those
regions; and fights with Chinese and Malay pirates, battles of a more
regular order with French and Spanish privateers, hurricanes or
typhoons. Shipwrecks and exciting adventures of all sorts seemed
matters of everyday occurrence. A scar on his cheek and another across
his hand, showed that he had been, at close quarters, too, on some
occasion, with the enemy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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