ly! Thankee.
Captain Cuttle's the man, Uncle. Wait till I run to Captain Cuttle.
Keep your eye upon my Uncle, will you, Mr Brogley, and make him as
comfortable as you can while I am gone? Don't despair, Uncle Sol. Try
and keep a good heart, there's a dear fellow!'

Saying this with great fervour, and disregarding the old man's broken
remonstrances, Walter dashed out of the shop again as hard as he could
go; and, having hurried round to the office to excuse himself on the
plea of his Uncle's sudden illness, set off, full speed, for Captain
Cuttle's residence.

Everything seemed altered as he ran along the streets. There were the
usual entanglement and noise of carts, drays, omnibuses, waggons,
and foot passengers, but the misfortune that had fallen on the wooden
Midshipman made it strange and new. Houses and shops were different from
what they used to be, and bore Mr Brogley's warrant on their fronts
in large characters. The broker seemed to have got hold of the very
churches; for their spires rose into the sky with an unwonted air. Even
the sky itself was changed, and had an execution in it plainly.

Captain Cuttle lived on the brink of a little canal near the India
Docks, where there was a swivel bridge which opened now and then to
let some wandering monster of a ship come roaming up the street like
a stranded leviathan. The gradual change from land to water, on the
approach to Captain Cuttle's lodgings, was curious. It began with the
erection of flagstaffs, as appurtenances to public-houses; then came
slop-sellers' shops, with Guernsey shirts, sou'wester hats, and canvas
pantaloons, at once the tightest and the loosest of their order, hanging
up outside. These were succeeded by anchor and chain-cable forges, where
sledgehammers were dinging upon iron all day long. Then came rows of
houses, with little vane-surmounted masts uprearing themselves from
among the scarlet beans. Then, ditches. Then, pollard willows. Then,
more ditches. Then, unaccountable patches of dirty water, hardly to be
descried, for the ships that covered them. Then, the air was perfumed
with chips; and all other trades were swallowed up in mast, oar,
and block-making, and boatbuilding. Then, the ground grew marshy and
unsettled. Then, there was nothing to be smelt but rum and sugar. Then,
Captain Cuttle's lodgings--at once a first floor and a top storey, in
Brig Place--were close before you.

The Captain was one of those timber-looking men, suits