Hannah Taylor and her numerous offspring were a fair example of these irresponsible people.  Like a ship adrift without skipper or rudder, they were at the mercy of every adverse wind of misfortune.  Each morning they went out with frantic energy to earn or in some way procure sustenance for one more day.  Young Dave hounded the sponge fishermen until they gave him an extra job.  He made the rounds of the fishing docks, continually on the lookout to be of help, anxious to do anything at any time in exchange for a few articles of food that he could carry proudly home to his mother.

“Dem was mighty tryin’ times,” mused the old man, “an’ I don’t blame my mammy fer warmin’ my pants when she had so much to worry ’bout.  She had a way o’ grabbin’ me by de years an’ shovin’ my haid twixt her knees whilst she wuk on me sumpin’ awful.  No wonder I was scairt o’ dese frammin’s.  I reckon dat was de cause o’ me goin’ t’ sea.  Ah mas’ tell you ’bout dat.

“One day my mammy gimme fifteen cents an’ say ’Go down to de market and fetch me some fish.  Ah’ lissen—­don’t you let no grass grew unda yo’ feet.  Go on de run an’ come back on de jump.  Does you fall down, jes’ keep on a-goin’ some-how.’

“Wid dat she turn an’ spit on de step.  ‘You see dat spit,’ she say.  ’Ef hit be dry w’en you git back, I gonna beat de meat offen yo’ bones.  Git goin’, now.’

“Well, I stahted, an I she’ wasn’t losin’ no time.  ’Bout hahf way to de mahket, I meets a couple o’ stewards f’m a U.S. navy cutter anchored off de navy yard.

“Hol’ on, dar, boy,’ ’dey sing out, ‘wha you gwine so fas’?  Grab dis here basket an’ tote hit down to de dock.’

“I knowed I couldn’t git back home ‘fore dat spit dried, an’ I be’n figgerin’ how I could peacify my mammy so’s to miss dat beatin’.  I figger of I mek a quarter or hahf a dollar an’ gin it to ’er, she mebbe forgit de paddlin’.  So I take de bahsket an’ foller ’em down to de water front.  W’en we git dere dey was a sailor waitin’ fer ’em wid a boat f’m de cutter.  I set de bahsket in de boat an’ stood waitin’ fo’ my money.

“You ain’t finished yo’ job yit,’ dey say.  ‘Git yo’se’f in dat boat an’ put dat stuff on be’d.’

“W’en I gits on deck a cullud boy ’bout my size say ’Wanna look about a bit?’ So I foller him below an’ fo’ I knowed it, I feel de boat kinda shakin.’  I run to a porthole an’ look out.  Dere was Key West too far away to swim back to.

“I ran up on deck, an’ dare was de steward w’at gin me de bahsket to tote.  ‘W’at th’ell you doin’ on bo’d dis ship,’ he ahsk me.

“I tells ‘im I ain’t wantin’ t’ stay no mo’n he wants me, an’ he takes me to de cap’m.  ‘I reckon he b’long to do navy now,’ says de cap’m, ’so dey fix some papers an’ I makes my mark on ’em.

“Ahftah a bit I find we bound fo’ N’Orleans.  ’Fore we got dere, a ship hove ‘longside an’ gin us a message to put about.  I ahsk a li’l Irishman, named Jack, wha we gwine, an’ he say, ‘Outa de worl’.’