How I came
to be there, of all places in the world, does not concern this
story at all, so I am not going to trouble my readers with it;
enough to say that I WAS there, and mighty anxious to get away.
Sailor Jack is always hankering for shore when he is at sea, but
when he is "outward bound"--that is, when his money is all gone
--he is like a cat in the rain there.
So as MY money was all gone, I was hungry for a ship; and when a
long, keen-looking man with a goat-like beard, and mouth stained
with dry tobacco-juice, hailed me one afternoon at the street-
corner, I answered very promptly, scenting a berth. "Lookin'
fer a ship, stranger?" said he. "Yes; do you want a hand?" said
I, anxiously. He made a funny little sound something like a
pony's whinny, then answered, "Wall, I should surmise that I
want between fifty and sixty hands, ef yew kin lay me onto 'em;
but, kem along, every dreep's a drop, an' yew seem likely
enough." With that he turned and led the way until we reached a
building around which were gathered one of the most nondescript
crowds I had ever seen. There certainly did not appear to be a
sailor among them. Not so much by their rig, though that is not
a great deal to go by, but by their actions and speech.
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