I shall, for the present, leave my father to his fortunes, and follow those of my mother.  Convinced by his refusal to sign the deed, which she had brought ready prepared with her, that she had little in future to expect from my father, and aware probably of the risk incurred by a seaman from “battle, fire, and wreck,” she determined this time to husband her resources, and try if she could not do something for herself.  At first she thought of going again into service and putting me out to nurse; but she discovered that my father’s return was not without its consequences, and that she was again to be a mother.  She therefore hired rooms in Fisher’s Alley, a small street still existing in Greenwich, and indeed still a general thoroughfare.  Here, in due time, she was brought to bed of a daughter, whom she christened by the name of Virginia; not so much out of respect to her last mistress, who bore that name, as because she considered it peculiarly ladylike and genteel.

CHAPTER FOUR

     In which I tell the Reader all I can recollect about myself, and
     moreover prove the Truth of the old Adage, “That it is a wise Child
     who knows its own Father”.

My readers must not expect me to tell them much of what passed during the first four years of my existence.  I have a recollection of a deal board put at the door of our house, which opened into Fisher’s Alley, to prevent me, and afterward my sister, from crawling out.  Fisher’s Alley is a very narrow street, and what was said in a room on one side of it can be heard on the other, and I used to hang over the board and listen.  There were drunken men and drunken women, and occasionally scolding and fighting.  My mother, having made up her mind to be saving, had taken a lease of the house and furnished it; and every day I heard her saying at the door, “Walk in, gentlemen; I’ve a nice clean room and boiling hot water”—­for the seamen used to come in to take tea, drink, and smoke; and so did the old pensioners occasionally, for my mother had made acquaintance with several of them.  I was always very ragged and dirty, for my mother neglected and ill-treated me.  As soon as my sister was born she turned all her affections over to Virginia, who was always very much petted, well dressed, and a very beautiful child.

All this I recollect, but little more, except that my mother gave me several beatings for calling my sister “Jenny,” which I had learned to do from others who knew her; but when my mother heard them, she was always very angry, and told them that her child had not such a vulgar name; at which many would laugh, and make a point of calling out “Jenny” to Virginia whenever they passed and saw her at the door.  When I was a little more than four years old I would climb over the board, for I had no pleasure at home.  As I grew older I used to hasten down to the landing-steps on the beach, where the new inn