In my house at Poplar, along with this old lady, I lived quiet for best part of a year:  having had a long spell of it among the Islands, and having (which was very uncommon in me) taken the fever rather badly.  At last, being strong and hearty, and having read every book I could lay hold of, right out, I was walking down Leadenhall Street in the City of London, thinking of turning-to again, when I met what I call Smithick and Watersby of Liverpool.  I chanced to lift up my eyes from looking in at a ship’s chronometer in a window, and I saw him bearing down upon me, head on.

It is, personally, neither Smithick, nor Watersby, that I here mention, nor was I ever acquainted with any man of either of those names, nor do I think that there has been any one of either of those names in that Liverpool House for years back.  But, it is in reality the House itself that I refer to; and a wiser merchant or a truer gentleman never stepped.

“My dear Captain Ravender,” says he.  “Of all the men on earth, I wanted to see you most.  I was on my way to you.”

“Well!” says I.  “That looks as if you were to see me, don’t it?” With that I put my arm in his, and we walked on towards the Royal Exchange, and when we got there, walked up and down at the back of it where the Clock-Tower is.  We walked an hour and more, for he had much to say to me.  He had a scheme for chartering a new ship of their own to take out cargo to the diggers and emigrants in California, and to buy and bring back gold.  Into the particulars of that scheme I will not enter, and I have no right to enter.  All I say of it is, that it was a very original one, a very fine one, a very sound one, and a very lucrative one beyond doubt.

He imparted it to me as freely as if I had been a part of himself.  After doing so, he made me the handsomest sharing offer that ever was made to me, boy or man—­or I believe to any other captain in the Merchant Navy—­and he took this round turn to finish with: 

“Ravender, you are well aware that the lawlessness of that coast and country at present, is as special as the circumstances in which it is placed.  Crews of vessels outward-bound, desert as soon as they make the land; crews of vessels homeward-bound, ship at enormous wages, with the express intention of murdering the captain and seizing the gold freight; no man can trust another, and the devil seems let loose.  Now,” says he, “you know my opinion of you, and you know I am only expressing it, and with no singularity, when I tell you that you are almost the only man on whose integrity, discretion, and energy—­” &c., &c.  For, I don’t want to repeat what he said, though I was and am sensible of it.