One morning I had taken some specie that had been landed from one of our ships to the Bank of England, and having done so went to report the fact to the Company’s office in Leadenhall Street. When leaving I met Wait going in; I had a chat with him afterwards, going to spend an hour at the Aquarium before returning to Southampton. There were two things with which I was not acquainted. One was that there was a Board Meeting that day, the other that the command of the _American_ was vacant and that Wait had been sent for with a view to giving it to him. He was called before the Board, and there some comment was made as to his having lost a ship; this appeared to go against him, for the word came out to ask for me. I was not to be found, and Wait was appointed, for the ship was shortly to sail. This shows on what trifles things hang, for the few weeks seniority he got by this gave him a series of chances which might well have formed part of my life’s story. It kept him in command when the Company’s fleet was reduced, and afterwards permitted him to become marine superintendent, and subsequently the Company’s agent in New York. We always maintained a cordial if casual correspondence. There were a number of new ships being built for the Company’s service, and it was now the turn of the _Pretoria_ to make her appearance. Great things were expected of her, and when the _African_ came home George Larmer was taken from her and given command of the new vessel. This made another vacancy, and it was then my turn to be summoned to the directors. Sir Benjamin Phillips was chairman, and the chair on his right hand was always reserved for the master under _dissection_. On this occasion the experience was a pleasing one, for in his most courtly manner he observed, “Captain Crutchley, if you will always consider that the Company’s honour, so far as the _African_ is concerned, is entrusted to your keeping, you will please and satisfy us: now, will you give us the pleasure of your company to lunch?” It is strange, but though the remembrance of that day is very dim, I always recollect those words and the grave courtesy with which they were spoken. The directors were naturally men of varying temperaments. There had formerly been a director I never met, whom I will designate as H, whose business it was to rebuke a master whenever such a proceeding in the opinion of the Board became necessary. It was stated that he had a great talent for language, on which point I ought to tell a story. He was a merchant, and had in his business a nephew who was known as Mr. John (afterwards a cordial friend of mine) who, on some provocation, had told one of the clerks that he was a damn fool. The clerk complained to H, who looking him full in the face said, in his broad Scotch accent: “Whether Mr. John was right or wrong to _call_ you a fool, I’ll no tak’ upon mysel’ to determine, but ye _are_ a damn fool--ye are--ye are--ye are.” And the man fled.