The horses and carriages in the street were quite as novel a sight to Jerry, as the strange faces he met on the side walk. A continuous line of vehicles, of all descriptions, was passing back and forth. There were long trucks, with two or three noble horses harnessed “tandem,” and short cabs, which looked as though they had been curtailed of their original proportions; ponderous carts, with broad wheels, and light, gaily-painted express wagons; omnibuses and coaches, chaises and buggies, wheel-barrows and hand carts, all passing in an endless procession. Jerry observed one little incident that highly amused him. A small boy, intent on having a free ride, got upon the steps at the end of a passing omnibus; but he had hardly settled himself into a comfortable position, when a passenger inside, who had watched his proceedings, reached his hand through the open window, and seizing his cap, threw it high into the air. The lad’s face was in an instant red with passion, and giving the man a look which said as plain as looks could speak, “I’d pay you for that—if I could,” away he ran to recover his cap, which had fallen into the street; and so the poor boy lost both his ride, and his temper.
Jerry continued his walk, and soon found himself in the neighborhood of the shipping. Most of the wharves, in this locality, are covered with coal, wood, lumber, lime, and other products of the coasting trade. Nearly all of the vessels lying at these wharves were small, and Jerry noticed that many of them came from ports in the State of Maine, the names of the towns where they belonged being painted upon their sterns. There was nothing very inviting to Jerry, about these wharves, and he passed on. Presently, the wharves began to grow longer, and the vessels larger. At one place he encountered quite a crowd of people, and several teams and carriages, which were coming up from one of these wharves. This was the slip of the Chelsea ferry-boats. Seeing a steamboat at the end of the wharf, Jerry turned in, to look at it; but just before reaching the boat, he was stopped by a man in a loll-house, who told him that he could not pass without paying the fare. Not wishing to go to Chelsea, at that time, Jerry turned back, and resumed his walk along Commercial street.
As Jerry kept on, the shipping began to grow more numerous, and almost everything he saw had something to do with the sea. The most common signs on the street were “Naval Stores,” “Ship Chandlery,” “Sail Loft,” “Commission Merchant,” etc.; and on most of the wharves were long blocks of warehouses and stores, some of which were built of granite, and made a very imposing and substantial appearance. Sailors were plenty, too. Some of them were “old salts” with great brown hands, and grizzled locks, and little gold rings in their ears, and leather belts around their waists, in which they carried their sheath-knives. Some were young men, whose sun-burnt faces were half buried in huge, dark whiskers, and whose pea-jackets and pantaloons bore witness that they were not unacquainted with grease and tar. Occasionally, Jerry would meet a lad about his own size, whose dark blue pants, fitting snugly around the waist and worn without suspenders,—and neat blue jacket, with a turned down shirt collar of the same color, edged with white,—and shining tarpaulin hat, stuck upon the back of his head,—at once excited his admiration and envy.
Jerry now thought it time to look around among the vessels, and see if he could accomplish the object of his journey. He accordingly turned down a wharf at which some twenty or thirty craft of various kinds were lying, with the determination of applying to each one of them for a situation, in regular order, until he should be successful. The first two or three vessels which he approached were apparently deserted. No person was to be seen about them, and of course they afforded no chance for Jerry. The next vessel he came to was a large ship, which towered so high out of the water that he could see nothing of the deck from where he stood. There were some steps leading from the wharf to the deck, which Jerry ascended. The only person on board he could see was a negro, who was in a little house built upon the deck, from the top of which smoke was issuing through a stove-pipe. This place was the caboose, or kitchen of the ship, and its inmate was the cook. To the inquiry whether a boy was wanted on board, a gruff “No” was the only response. Jerry descended to the wharf, and continued his walk, though with little success. On board some of the vessels, the men were so busy at their labors that he could get no answer to his inquiries; and those who did notice him so much as to reply, were sure to say “No.”
Jerry’s hopes began to fall very fast, and he felt his courage giving way, in consequence of these continued rebuffs. Still he thought he would not give up his purpose yet, and so he passed along. He received the usual reply, from the next vessel he approached, and had just turned away, when he heard somebody cry out:—
“Hallo, there, what youngster is that?”
On looking round, Jerry saw that the voice came from a brig which was slowly moving past the vessel on whose deck he stood.
“He’s a chap that wants to ship,” replied the sailor to whom Jerry had spoken.
“You aint the boy that shipped with us yesterday, are you?” continued the man on board the brig, as Jerry turned towards him.
“No, sir,” replied Jerry, “but I should like to ship with you.”