Mark did not know anything about history that was written in books.  He only knew that which had occurred in his own time, and the crude bits he had heard talked of amongst his own class.  He, and those who were his shipmates and contemporaries during the Russian War, believed that a great act of cowardice and bad treatment had been committed in not allowing Charlie Napier to blow the forts down and take possession of Cronstadt.[2] They knew nothing of the circumstances that led to the withdrawal of the fleet, but their inherent belief was that a dirty trick had been served on Charlie, and Russians, irrespective of class, were told whenever an opportunity occurred, that they should never neglect to thank Heaven that the British Government was so generous as to refrain from blowing them into space.

At Cronstadt, after the introduction of steam, it became a custom for stevedores’ runners, and representatives and vendors of other commodities, to have their boats outside the Mole at three and four o’clock in the morning during the summer.  The captain of each vessel, as soon as she was slowed down or anchored, was canvassed vigorously by each of the competitors.  One morning, the representative of Deal Yard No. 6, who was an ex-English captain, came into sharp conflict with a Russian competitor.  The latter rudely interrupted the ex-captain while he was complimenting a friend who had just arrived on having made a smart passage.  All captains like to be told they have made a smart passage, but the ardent advocate of Deal Yard No. 6 kept welcoming his friend at great length, obviously to prevent the other runners from getting a word at the new arrival.  There arose a revolt against him, headed by a person who was always supposed to be a Russian, but who spoke English more correctly than his English competitor.  The ex-captain was somewhat corpulent.  He was short, and had a plump, good-natured face which suggested that he was not a bigoted teetotaler; he had a suit of clothes on that did not convey the idea of a West-end tailor; his dialect was broad Yorkshire, and his conversational capacity interminable.  The representative of No. 10 Deal Yard undertook to stop his flow of rhetoric by calling out, “Stop it, old baggy breeches!  Give other people a chance!” But he paid no heed, and did not even break the thread of his talk until the captain of the steamer began to walk towards the companion-way, when he stopped short and said, “Well, I suppose I’m to book you for No. 6?” and then there was a clamour.  The whole of the runners wished to get their word in before the captain definitely promised, but they were too late.  No. 6 had got it; but instead of accepting his success modestly, he was so elated at having taken away an order from another yard, that he stood up in his boat and congratulated himself on being an Englishman.

“No use you fellows coming off here when I’m awake; and, you bet, I’m always awake when there’s any Muscovite backstairs gentlemen about.”