“Only thirteen yet, Mr. Ackley,” I responded, looking at my list by the light of the lantern hanging in the main rigging. “But here comes the shipping-master, sir.”
“Where in thunder is that other man, Thompson?” said the mate. “The old man is as savage as a meat-axe down in the cabin, and you had better not see him till we have got our full complement on board.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Ackley,” replied the shipping-master. “Here’s Dago Joe, now, coming with his man. Well, Joe, you almost missed your chance. They are just ready to cast off the breast lines. What have you got in your handcart?”
“Oh, Mis’ Thompson, he reglar ole’ shellback, he is. He boad wid me six week. Came here bossun of de Susan Drew. You’ll ’member dis feller soon’s you see him. He say he won’t ship less’n sixteen dollar mont’. Dat’s de advance I giv’ him, ’cos I know Mis’ Ackley like good sailor man.”
“Why, he looks as though he were dead,” said I, peering at the prone body in the cart.
“Who, he? Oh no, sir; he been takin’ lil’ drop too much dis evenin’, but he be ol’ right ’fore mawnin’. Oh, he sober fust-class sailor man. ’Sure you of dat, Mis’ Ackley!”
At this moment our towboat gave an impatient whistle, and Captain Gay came up from the cabin, two steps at a time.
“Mr. Ackley, what are we waiting for? The tow has been made up for an hour, and we ought to have been a dozen miles down the river by this time!”
“The last man has just come on board, sir,” replied the mate, “and I shall cast off at once.”
“Be sharp about it then, sir!”