s he made his trips
from port to port safely enough. His chief danger came when he lay in
the London river or in the Tyne. As soon as a collier was moored in the
Pool or in the Blackwall Reach, the skipper made it a point of honour to
go ashore, and the boy had to scull the ship's boat to the landing. From
the top of Greenwich Pier to the bend of the river a fleet of tiny boats
might be seen bobbing at their painters every evening. The skippers were
ashore in the red-curtained public-houses. The roar of personal
experiences sounded through the cloud of tobacco-smoke and steam, and
the drinking was steady and determined. Out on the river the shadows
fell on the racing tide; the weird lights flickered in the brown depths
of the water; and the swirling eddies gurgled darkly and flung the boats
hither and thither. In the stern of each boat was a crouching figure;
for the little cabin-boy had to wait in the cold until the pleasures of
rum and conversation had palled upon his master. Sometimes the boy fell
asleep; there came a lurch, he fell into the swift tide, and was borne
away into the dark. Over and over again did little boys lose their lives
in this way when their thoughtless masters kept them waiting until
midnight or later.

Through hunger and cruelty and storm and stress, the luckier cabin-boy
grew in health and courage until his time was out. When he went home he
wore a thick blue coat, wide blue trousers, and a flat cap with mystic
braid; and on the quay he strolled with his peers in great majesty. Tiny
children admired his earrings and his cap and his complicated swagger.
Then in due time came the blessed day when he called himself ordinary
seaman, and when the most energetic of mates dared not thrash him
(unless, indeed, the mate happened to be much the stronger man, in which
case professional etiquette was apt to be disregarded); his pay rose to
L2 a month; he felt justified in walking regularly with a maiden of his
choice; and his brown face showed signs of moustache and beard. Then he
became A.B., then mate, and last of all he reached the glories of
mastership and L8 a month. By that time he had become a resolute,
skilful man, with coarse tastes and blunt feelings. Danger never cost
him a thought. He would swear fearfully about trifling annoyances; but
in utmost peril, when his ship was rolling yard-arm under, or straining
off the gnashing cliffs of a lee-shore, he was quiet and cool and
resigned. He took the