When I struck the beach in Havre, the war with England had turned adrift upon that port’s dock heads a strange assortment of men. Many had served in either the American or English navy, and many more had manned French privateers and had fought under Napoleon’s eagles. The peace that had followed turned hordes of these fighting men into peaceable merchant sailors without ships, and they drifted about without definite means of support.

I had come over from the States in an old tub of a barque called the Washington, after having served as mate for two years on the schooner General Greene. The war had taught me something, for I had served in the navy in one of the South Pacific cruises, and had fought in the frigate Essex. I was only a boy in years, but the service--and other matters hardly worth mentioning here--had hardened my nature and developed the disagreeable side of my character. I was mate of the old hooker, and could have made out well enough if the captain hadn’t been somewhat down on me, for I never cared especially for women, and I believed my experience justified my opinion of them,--but no matter.

The old man seemed to think I couldn’t be happy without thrashing every day one or more of the miserable dagoes he had had the assurance to tell me were sailors, and, after a nasty voyage of fifty days, I was not sorry to step ashore. I joined the saturnine pier-enders with my pay and discharge as being a remarkably hard and quarrelsome mate with but small experience.

We tied up to one of the long docks, and I had seen that all the canvas was properly unbent and stowed below before being notified of my failings.

The dock-jumpers had made their leap, and we were short-handed enough, so I may have been a bit out of sorts with the extra work and the prospect of breaking out the cargo with only four Portuguese and a third mate, who was the captain’s son.

It wasn’t the work I dodged, however, nor was it that which caused the outfly. It was started by this third mate coming aboard with a very pretty girl whom he had met in town. To see him walking about the main deck with her, when he should have been hard at work, aggravated me. They said he was to marry her, and the dagoes kept looking after him instead of doing what I told them, and then--well, after it was over I didn’t care very much.

The only man aboard who seemed interested to any extent was old Richards, the second mate. Richards had served on the frigate Essex in her famous cruise, and after the war he had chosen to try his hand in merchant ships, for the change of the man-o’-war’s man’s life from action to slothful peace had been too much for him. Silent and thoughtful, he had listened to me and was pained at my speech. He was called old Richards because of his quiet manner, although he was not much over thirty-five, and I bore with his sour looks while I went to the quarter-deck to finish my little say with the skipper.

As an American man-o’-war’s man, it was my duty to invite the captain ashore to prove to him by the force of my hands that I was the best natured young fellow afloat. As I was a powerful lad, and had served two years under him, he had the good judgment to explain to me that my argument would prove most illogical, and that if I dared to lift a hand against him, he would blow a hole through me as big as a hawse-pipe. To lend emphasis to his statement, he produced a huge horse-pistol, and, sticking it under my nose so that I might look carefully down the bore and see what he had loaded it with, he bade me get hence.

I was not very much afraid of the weapon, so I gazed carefully into it, while I pronounced some flattering comments about his birth and the nationality of his mother. Then, lest I might really appear quarrelsome to the few knaves who were enjoying the spectacle, I spat into the muzzle as though it were the receptacle for that purpose, and, turning my back upon him, sauntered ashore, followed by my second mate, whom I thought came to expostulate with me and bring me to a better humour, and return.

I was in a somewhat grim humour, but not by any means quarrelsome. I had lost my ship, but I had a bit of American gold, and as long as a sailor has this commodity he is cheerful enough. I had no sooner landed on the pier than I was accosted by a little ferret-faced fellow, who seemed busy nosing around the dock after the manner of a nervous little dog that noses everything rapidly and seriously, as though its life depends upon its finding something it is not looking for.

“Bon jaw,” he said.

I turned upon him and looked into his ugly face.

“I’m a Yankee sailor,” said I, “and if you want any business with me you’ll have to speak something I understand. And besides,” I added, edging closer to him, “I don’t allow fellows to talk about me in a foreign language,--unless I’ve got a good reason to think they’re saying something truthful. You savvey? Or I’ll make a handsome monkey of you by changing that figurehead you’ve got there.”

A sudden scowl came over the fellow’s face and went again. “I kin give you all the langwidge you need, young man, but I was only about to do you a favour.”

“‘Virtue is its own reward,’” I said, reaching into my pocket as though for a piece of money. “Cast loose!”

“It’s on account of that reward I reckon you don’t practise it,” grinned the fellow. “Perhaps a more substantial acknowledgment might--”

“Shut up!” I snapped. “If you are an American or English, let’s have your lay.

“Is it a ship you want me to take? For, if that’s your game, you better slant away. Don’t you see I’ve enough ship for the rest of my life, hey?”

The creature sidled closer to me and attempted to slip his arm through mine, but I brushed him away. He flashed that fox-like scowl at me again, his little yellow eyes growing into two points. He gave me an unpleasant feeling, and I watched his hands to see if he made any movement. Then I was more astonished, as I noticed his fingers. They were enormous.

“Look a-here now, don’t you think we cud do a bit a bizness without all these here swabs a-looking on? You look like you had sense enough to go below when it rains right hard. What! you follow me? Now there’s a ship without a navigator a-fitting out not far from here, and, if you’ll come go along with me, an’ talk the matter over, there’ll be no harm done except to the spirruts,--an’ they’s free.”

I was very thirsty and could talk no French, so, more to be guided to a place to quench my thirst on good ale than by curiosity, I allowed him to lead me up the dock. I noticed several of the loungers upon the pier-head scowl at me as I went my way, and one tall, fierce-looking fellow, who had been glancing at me frequently, gradually fell away from the group of loafers and strolled up behind us. I paid no further attention to these fellows, but, as I reached the street with its babble of unfamiliar language, a sudden feeling came upon me. I don’t know what it was, but I was only a boy, and the future seemed dark and lonely. I turned and looked back at the Washington. She was the only thing American in sight, and the months I spent aboard her were not to be thrust aside lightly. They had all been too full of work and sorrow.

“Good-bye, old barkey,” I cried, holding my right hand high up,--“good-bye, and may the eternal God--no, bless you.”

I hastened on to where the ferret-faced fellow stood grinning at me. He was peculiarly aggressive, and his shabby unnautical rig only added to this disagreeable characteristic. Richards followed slowly behind, his eyes holding a peculiar look as he joined the little stranger. The man gave a sneer.

“Very sentimental and proper feeling,” said he. “A ship’s like a person, more or less, an’ when one gets used to her he don’t like to give her up.”

“What do you know about sentiment, you swine?” I asked, fiercely. “I’ve a good notion to whang you for your insolence.”

“A very fine spirit,” he commented, as though to himself, as he walked ahead, “a very fine spirit indeed, but guided by a fool. Here’s the ale-house I spoke of, and the sooner we have a mug or two, the better.”