"He looks a likely sort," the mate said.
"Very well then, it's agreed; you can take off your coat and fall to work at once; I will send down word to the office that I have shipped you." Frank stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and stowed them, with his portmanteau, out of the way, and then set to work with a will, the whiteness of his shirt, and his general appearance, exciting some jeering comments among the other men at work; but the activity and strength which he showed soon astonished and silenced them.
By one o'clock the last bale of cargo was stowed, and the hatches put on. The landsmen who had been employed went on shore, and Frank went forward to the forecastle, with the men, to dinner.
"Not the sort of grub you have been accustomed to, lad," one of the men said.
"I have eaten worse," Frank said carelessly, "and don't care if I never eat better. How long do you suppose we shall be before we get to New Orleans?"
"It all depends upon the wind," the sailor answered, "may be a month, may be three. Are you going to leave us there?"
"Yes," Frank said, "I am only working my passage out."
"It's a roughish place is New Orleans," the sailor said; "the sort of place where you want to have a knife or pistol ready at hand. Lor', I have seen some rum doings there; it's a word and a blow, I can tell ye."
"Ah! well," Frank laughed, "I suppose I shall do as well as the rest."
The voice of the mate was now heard calling to all hands to prepare to cast off. The men had hurried through their dinner, for they knew that the time allowed them would be short, and began casting off hawsers, coiling down ropes, and preparing for a start. The bell was ringing, and the friends of the passengers were saying good-bye. The capstan was manned, and the vessel moved slowly away from the quay.