- 'There's few can beat me at a lie,'
was his engaging commentary to me as he recounted the affair.
'Have you been to sea?' again asked the captain.
'I've had a trip on a Clyde steamboat, sir, but no more,' replied
the unabashed Alick.
'Well, we must try and find some work for you,' concluded the
officer.
And hence we behold Alick, clear of the hot engine-room, lazily
scraping paint and now and then taking a pull upon a sheet. 'You
leave me alone,' was his deduction. 'When I get talking to a man,
I can get round him.'
The other stowaway, whom I will call the Devonian - it was
noticeable that neither of them told his name - had both been
brought up and seen the world in a much smaller way. His father, a
confectioner, died and was closely followed by his mother. His
sisters had taken, I think, to dressmaking. He himself had
returned from sea about a year ago and gone to live with his
brother, who kept the 'George Hotel' - 'it was not quite a real
hotel,' added the candid fellow - 'and had a hired man to mind the
horses.' At first the Devonian was very welcome; but as time went
on his brother not unnaturally grew cool towards him, and he began
to find himself one too many at the 'George Hotel.' 'I don't think
brothers care much for you,' he said, as a general reflection upon
life. Hurt at this change, nearly penniless, and too proud to ask
for more, he set off on foot and walked eighty miles to Weymouth,
living 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.
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