“Aye, aye, sir,” I answered.

“Done.  Bear a hand, Mr. Trunnell.  Jenkinson will have a crew at five in the morning.  Good night.”  And he turned and left, followed by all except the “doctor,” who remained with me until they were ashore.  Mr. Trunnell came aboard again in a few minutes, and after thanking him for getting me the job I left the ship and went to attend to my affairs before clearing.

I had my “dunnage” sent aboard and then stopped at the office and signed on.  After that, the night being young, I strolled along the more frequented streets and said farewell to my few acquaintances.

I arrived at the ship before midnight and found the only man there to be the watchman.  Trunnell and the “doctor” had gone uptown, he said, for a last look around.  I turned in at the bottom of an empty berth in one of the staterooms and waited for the after guard to turn to.

The mate came aboard about three in the morning, and as there was much to do, he stuck his head into a bucket of water and tried to get clear of the effects of the bad liquor he had taken.  The “doctor” followed a little later, and fell asleep on the cabin floor.

“Has the old man turned up?” asked the mate, bawling into my resting place and rousing me.

“Haven’t seen any one come aboard,” I answered.

“Well, I reckon he’ll be alongside in a few minutes; so you better stand by for a call.”

While he spoke, the watchman on deck hailed some one, and a moment later a steady tramp sounded along the main deck, and a man came through the port door and into the alleyway.

He hesitated for an instant, while a young man with rosy cheeks and light curly hair followed through the door and halted alongside the first comer.

The stranger was tall and slender, with a long face, and high, sharp features, his nose curving like a parrot’s beak over a heavy dark mustache.  His face was pale and his skin had the clear look of a man who never is exposed to the sun.  But his eyes were the objects that attracted my gaze.  They were bright as steel points and looked out from under heavy, straight brows with a quick, restless motion I had observed to belong to men used to sudden and desperate resolves.  He advanced into the cabin and scrutinized the surroundings carefully before speaking.

“I suppose you are Mr. Trunnell,” he said to me, for I had now arisen and stood in the doorway of the stateroom.  His voice was low and distinct, and I noticed it was not unpleasant.

“I have that honor,” said the little mate, with drunken gravity, sobering quickly, however, under the stranger’s look.

“There are no passengers?” asked the man, as the younger companion opened the door leading into the captain’s cabin and gazed within.

“Not a bleeding one, and I’m not sorry for that,” said Trunnell; “the old man wasn’t built exactly on passenger lines.”

“You wouldn’t take a couple, then, say for a good snug sum?”