He was received on board by an affable Italian, who introduced himself as Captain Tazzuchi.  The man spoke perfect English, and was hospitality personified.  The little salvage steamer was barely 300 tons burden, and her accommodation was limited, but Tazzuchi put the best room in the ship at his guest’s disposal, and said that anything that could act for his comfort should be done forthwith.

“Y’know, Captain,” said Tazzuchi, “this is what you call a ‘Dago’ ship, and we serve out country wine as a regular ration.  But I thought perhaps you’d like your own home ways best, and so I’ve ordered the ship’s chandler ashore to send off a case of Scotch, and another of Chicago beef.  Oh yes, and I sent also for some London pickles.  I know how you English like your pickles.”

In fact, all that a man could do in the way of outward attention Tazzuchi did, but somehow or other Captain Kettle got a suspicion of him from the very first moment of their meeting.  Perhaps it was to some extent because the British mariner has always an instinctive and special distrust for the Latin nations; perhaps it was because the civility was a little unexpected and over-effusive.  Putting himself in the Italian’s place, Kettle certainly would not have gone out of his way to be pleasant to a foreigner who was sent practically to supersede him in a command.

But perhaps a second letter which he had received, giving him a more intimate list of the duties required, had something to do with this hostile feeling.  It was from the same hand which had written the firm’s formal letter, but it was couched in quite a different vein.  Isaac Bird was evidently scared for his very commercial existence, and he thrust out his arms to Kettle on paper as his only savior.  It seemed that Alexander Bird, the younger brother, had been running a little wild of late.

The wreck of the Grecian had been put up for auction; Alexander strolled into the room by accident, and bought at an exorbitant figure.  He came and announced his purchase to Isaac, declaring it as an instance of his fine business instincts.  Isaac set it down to whisky, and recriminations followed.  Alexander in a huff said he would go out and overlook the salvage operations in person.  Isaac opined that the firm might scrape to windward of bankruptcy by that means, and advised Alexander to take remarkable pains about keeping sober.  But forthwith Alexander, still in his cups, “and at a music hall, too, a place he knows ‘Isaac’s’ religious connection holds in profound horror,” gets to brawling, and is next discovered in hospital with a broken thigh.