We ran on blindly, dodging some who would have stopped us, and not knowing where to look for safety and shelter, when a great, burly fellow in a crimson waistcoat and fur cap seized us by the collars and stayed our progress.
“Whither bound, you rascals?” he said.
“Oh, please, sir, we’ve left the workhouse, and want to go to sea,” we panted out.
“Come along,” he said, and shoved us before him into a gloomy court, and then into a door, and after that through passages, some dark and some dimly lighted, and up and down broken and slippery stairs, until at last we came into a small room, which was lighted by a couple of tallow candles stuck into bottles. On one side was a bunk like a ship’s, and in the middle a deal table, on which were a bottle and glasses.
“There,” said our guide; “I don’t think the beadles’ll catch you now. ’Twould puzzle them to find their way here. Now, let’s have a look at you, and see whether you’re worth keeping, or ’twould pay best to get a reward for taking you back.”
“Oh, don’t take us back,” we cried, for though the appearance of our companion was not calculated to inspire confidence, we knew that we should be severely punished if we were taken back to the workhouse, and that the chance of getting to sea would be farther off from us than ever.
“Stow that,” he said. “First and foremost, how old are ye, and what can ye do?”
“Please, sir, our names are Bill Seaman and Sam Hawse, and we can do shoemaking and carpentering, and we’re fourteen.”
“A snab and a chips. Which is which? Now, one at a time. Seaman, what are you?”
“I’ve learned shoemaking, sir.”