When I went in he was talking with a skipper whom he was evidently
well acquainted with. This was Captain Wemyss of The Duncans,
outward bound for Bombay. Wemyss had been lying in the harbour for
over a week, and now that fair weather had come, and the wind was
veering round to a favourable quarter, he was contemplating
weighing anchor. His vessel was a full-rigged ship, the largest in
the bay; and all the other skippers seemed to pay him a degree of
respect equal to the size of his ship. They looked upon him with
such deference, indeed, that not one of them would think of heaving
anchor until he led the way.
In the mornings, when they turned out, they never looked at the sky
or the direction of the wind; they instinctively turned to The
Duncans, and if the Blue Peter was not at her fore peak they made
arrangements for spending still another day among the Orkneys.
What in Wemyss tended to call forth a good deal of respect was that
he seldom mixed with the other captains, but condescended to take
only a single glass with a select few. I noticed that he preferred
the company of Bailie Duke, or of Lloyd's agent, and other magnates
of the town.
Flett received me with a friendly welcome when I went into the inn,
ordering a cup of coffee for me, and bidding me sit beside him
until Captain Gordon should join us.
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