iving on the journey as he
could. He would have enlisted, but he was too small for the army and too
old for the navy; and thought himself fortunate at last to find a berth
on board a trading dandy. Somewhere in the Bristol Channel the dandy
sprung a leak and went down; and though the crew were picked up and
brought ashore by fishermen, they found themselves with nothing but the
clothes upon their back. His next engagement was scarcely better
starred; for the ship proved so leaky, and frightened them all so
heartily during a short passage through the Irish Sea, that the entire
crew deserted and remained behind upon the quays of Belfast.

Evil days were now coming thick on the Devonian. He could find no berth
in Belfast, and had to work a passage to Glasgow on a steamer. She
reached the Broomielaw on a Wednesday: the Devonian had a bellyful that
morning, laying in breakfast manfully to provide against the future, and
set off along the quays to seek employment. But he was now not only
penniless, his clothes had begun to fall in tatters; he had begun to
have the look of a street Arab; and captains will have nothing to say to
a ragamuffin; for in that trade, as in all others, it is the coat that
depicts the man. You may hand, reef, and steer like an angel, but if you
have a hole in your trousers, it is like a millstone round your neck.
The Devonian lost heart at so many refusals. He had not the impudence to
beg; although, as he said, "when I had money of my own, I always gave
it." It was only on Saturday morning, after three whole days of
starvation, that he asked a scone from a milkwoman, who added of her own
accord a glass of milk. He had now made up his mind to stow away, not
from any desire to see America, but merely to obtain the comfort of a
place in the forecastle and a supply of familiar sea-fare. He lived by
begging, always from milkwomen, and always scones and milk, and was not
once refused. It was vile wet weather, and he could never have been
dry. By night he walked the streets, and by day slept upon Glasgow
Green, and heard, in the intervals of his dozing, the famous theologians
of the spot clear up intricate points of doctrine and appraise the
merits of the clergy. He had not much instruction; he could "read bills
on the street," but was "main bad at writing"; yet these theologians
seemed to have impressed him with a genuine sense of amusement. Why he
did not go to the Sailors' Home I know not; I presume there i