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Updated: May 10, 2025
'Bunsby! said Captain Cuttle, who would seem to have estimated the value of his distinguished friend's opinions in proportion to the immensity of the difficulty he experienced in making anything out of them; 'Bunsby, said the Captain, quite confounded by admiration, 'you carry a weight of mind easy, as would swamp one of my tonnage soon.
"This is horrible," said the captain. "Yes," said Bunsby, sadly. "It can't last much longer now." His words were truer than he thought. Unable to endure his suffering, the sailor named Jack suddenly staggered to his feet.
John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but this imprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the boat bouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant. Neither Mr. Fogg, Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the deck. The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o'clock.
The abject Bunsby looked neither to the right nor to the left, nor at his bride, nor at his friend, but straight before him at nothing. The Captain putting out his hand, Bunsby put out his; but, in answer to the Captain's greeting, spake no word.
Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward, where he ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day. Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was in high hope. He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would reach Shanghai in time; to which that gentleman responded that he counted upon it.
Yet Captain Cuttle, his friend Bunsby, Miss Nipper, and the inestimable Toots put in ample bail for this also. This was to some extent obviously autobiographic; but, setting some questions of taste aside, not unduly so.
Still, the Tankadere was so light, and her fine sails caught the fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the current, John Bunsby found himself at six o'clock not more than ten miles from the mouth of Shanghai River. Shanghai itself is situated at least twelve miles up the stream. At seven they were still three miles from Shanghai.
After sundry failures in this wise, the Commander, addressing himself to nobody, thus spake; or rather the voice within him said of its own accord, and quite independent of himself, as if he were possessed by a gruff spirit: 'My name's Jack Bunsby! 'He was christened John, cried the delighted Captain Cuttle. 'Hear him!
'Sheer off, said the Captain. 'Where's the good? retorted the forlorn sage. 'She'd capter me agen. 'Try! replied the Captain. 'Cheer up! Come! Now's your time. Sheer off, Jack Bunsby! Jack Bunsby, however, instead of profiting by the advice, said in a doleful whisper: 'It all began in that there chest o' yourn. Why did I ever conwoy her into port that night?
The captain rose as if to hinder him, but Bunsby placed his hand upon his arm. "It's just as well, captain. We must all come to that, and the sooner, the more suffering is saved." "That's so," said the other sailor, tormented like the other two by thirst, aggravated by his draughts of seawater. "Good-by, Bunsby! Good-by, captain! I'm going!"
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