“De fader weighed de purse, he took his half wid glee,
     De moder said her child might go to Ken-tuck-y. 
     So de hunter and de maid, arm-in-arm dey go,
     Across de Alleghany to de O-hi-o.”

“Bravo, Billy, that’s not so bad,” said some of the pensioners.

“I tell you, Dick, I take de shine out of you.  You nebber believe till I make you fall in my wake, and den you soon be where de little boat was—­long way astarn.”

“I’ll tell you what, Billy,” said Dick Harness, “you do improve, and we’ll allow you to sing that song once more before you die, just by way of encouragement.”

Dick then played several flourishes on his fiddle.  Opposition Bill tried to imitate him, but made sad work of it.  It was near dinner-time, and the pensioners rose and proceeded to the Painted Hall, for at that time they dined there, and not below in the crypts as they do now.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

     I get into very doubtful Company—­I am tempted, and, like a true
     Son of Adam, I fall.

The reader must have observed that, under the tuition of Anderson, I promised to follow the right path, and, provided his good offices were not interfered with, there appeared little doubt but that such would be the case.  But I was little aware, nor was he, that the humble profession which I had chosen for myself was beset with danger, and that the majority of those with whom I was associating were the most likely of all others to lead me into evil.  Why I had not hitherto been tempted can only be ascribed to my tender years.  In fact, I had not been considered strong enough, or of an age to be useful to them, but now that I was more than thirteen years old—­being, moreover, very tall and strong for my age—­the hour of temptation arrived; and fortunate was it for me that, previous to this epoch, I had been taken under the protection of Peter Anderson.

I have said in a former chapter that I was a regular mudlarker.  So I was, as far as the ostensible occupation of those who are so denominated went; to wit, “picking up pieces of old rope, wood, etc.”  But the mudlarkers, properly speaking, at that time composed a very extensive body on the river, and were a more humble portion of the numerous river depredators, of which I may hereafter speak.  A mudlarker was a man who had an old boat, generally sold by some merchant vessel, furnished with an iron bar full of hooks, which was lowered down by a rope to catch pieces of cordage, oakum, canvas or other articles, which might fall overboard from the numerous vessels in the river; these were sold to the marine stores, such as were kept by old Nanny.  But, as I observed, this was the ostensible mode of livelihood; they had other resources, to which I shall presently refer.  An old man of the name of Jones, who resided at Greenwich, was one of these mudlarkers by profession.