The vessel never pleased me,
and yet I can now look back, and acknowledge that both her master and her
mate were respectable, considerate men, who had my own good in view more
than I had myself. There was an American ship, called the Plato, in port,
and I had half a mind to try my luck in her. The master of this vessel was
said to be a tartar, however, and a set of us had doubts about the
expediency of trusting ourselves with such a commander. When we came to
sound around him, we discovered he would have nothing to do with us, as he
intended to get a crew of regular Dutchmen. This ship had just arrived
from Batavia, and was bound to New York. How he did this legally, or
whether he did it at all, is more than I know, for I only tell what I was
told myself, on this subject.
There was a heavy Dutch Indiaman, then fitting out for Java, lying at
Rotterdam. The name of this vessel was the Stadtdeel--so pronounced; how
spelt, I have no idea--and I began to think I would try a voyage in her.
As is common with those who have great reason to find fault with
themselves, I was angry with the whole world. I began to think myself a
sort of outcast, forgetting that I had deserted my natural relatives, run
from my master, and thrown off many friends who were disposed to serve me
in everything in which I could be served. I have a cheerful temperament by
nature, and I make no doubt that the sombre view I now began to take of
things, was the effects of drink.
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