He walked up and down the quay once or twice before he could make up his mind what to do. At last he determined to address a sailor-looking man who was leaning against a stout post round which two or three hawsers from the neighbouring vessels were secured.
“Is one of those ships there yours?” asked Peter, in a hesitating tone.
“Why do you want to know, my lad?” inquired the seaman.
“Because I want to go and be a sailor in one of them,” said Peter.
“Then take my advice, and give up wanting,” said the seaman. “Better by half remain on shore, and tend sheep and cattle, as I have a notion you have been doing. None of the vessels are mine; I am only mate in the John and Mary, yonder,” pointing to a schooner which lay alongside the quay. “We have got a boy, and I would not have a hand in taking any youngster away from home unless he knew more about what he would have to go through than I suspect you do. Now go back, lad, whence you came,” continued the mate, folding his arms and puffing away at the pipe he had in his mouth.
One or two other sailors laughed at him or roughly turned aside without deigning to answer.
At last he reached a two-masted vessel, in reality a brig, somewhat larger than the rest, but her deck was black with coal-dust, and everything about her had a dark, grimy look. A rough, black-bearded, strongly-built man, better dressed than some of those he had spoken to, was stepping on shore by the plank which formed a communication between the vessel and the quay. Peter guessed rightly that he was the captain. Beginning to feel that his hope of going to sea was less likely to be accomplished than he had expected, he determined, with a feeling somewhat akin to desperation, to address him, though the expression of his countenance was far from encouraging.
“Do you want a boy on board your ship, sir?” he said, touching his hat, as his mother had taught him to do when addressing his betters.
“What, run away from home?” asked the man, stopping, and looking down upon him.
“I have no home, sir,” answered Peter.