“I’m goin’ to tog meself up in decent clothes,” said Bob. “No slops or sheeny hand-me-downs for me. You watch my smoke, boy, when I get ashore. I ain’t sure that I won’t go up to some swell hotel and stay for a week. I reckon my bunch of coin will stand for it.”
Never a word about salting some of the money away for some worthy object. Jack Tar of the merchant marine has only two states of existence—slavery aboard ship and license ashore. There seems to be no happy medium for him.
The Sea Horse towed us into our berth. The hawsers went ashore and we were warped in beside the dock amid a deal of clatter and confusion.
There was a crowd to receive us. Some of these people were newspaper men. The story of the wreck of the Seamew had appeared in the Baltimore morning papers and reporters for the afternoon sheets were here for the particulars at first hand. Nobody was allowed aboard, however, although the quarantine officers had given us a clean bill of health down the bay.
I saw standing upon the dock a tall, withered old man, with a very sharp face and white hair and mustache. He looked like a hawk, and was dressed all in shabby black. Without asking, I knew this to be old Jothan Barney, the head of the firm that owned the Gullwing.
I did not see either of his nephews greet him from the ship. Mr. Jim had plenty to do while the ship docked, and Mr. Alf was not far from his brother at any time. Indeed, I was not the only person who noticed that the Barney boys stuck together.
A section of the rail had been removed amidships. A narrow gangway was run out from the dock, the ropes were caught by two of the seamen, and the plank made fast.
“First ashore!” sang out the old man and looked from our Mr. Barney to his brother.
We all fell back for a moment. It was evident that the Barneys would go ashore even before Cap’n Joe. They approached the plank and both smiled.
“All right, Alf?” I heard Mr. Jim say.