I never saw the tall masts of the big ships that traded to furrin parts that I didn’t long to clamber up their sides, and see if I couldn’t get a berth—anything, from captain to cabin-boy, I wasn’t particular—on boord one of them.
One fine day, when the little sloop was high and dry, my cousin stepp’d into a shebeen to get a taste of the mountain dew, and give me what he called my share, which was a dale more pewter than whiskey—for it’s mighty little of the latter was left in the measure whin he handed it to me; when a tall, spare, good-looking sort of a chap enough, with lashings of bright brass buttons on his coat and waistcoat, and a smart goold band round his peaked cap, who happened to be taking his morning’s refreshment at the same time, said to my cousin as he emptied his naggin, “Fill that,” says he, “onct more,—fill that, and drink wid me.”
“Never say it again,” says my cousin. “Fill and drink’s the word this time with you, and the next with me, honest man!”
“All right!” replied the stranger.
And fill and drink it was more than onct round, you may be on your oath.
“That’s a smart youngster!” says he wid the band and buttons, pointing to me.
“The boy’s well enough, as a boy,” says my cousin. “He’s strong, handy, and willing, and not the sort of a lad to kape where there’s an empty larder; but if he ates well, he works well; so more power to his elbow, and double rations, wid all my heart!”
“That’s the lad for my money!” says the stranger. “Would you like to take a trip with me, youngster?”
“What ship do you belong to, sir?” I asked.
“That,” says he, going to the door of the public, and pointing to a splindid three-master, with the stars and stripes at the peak.