hand and wrote the
name in the proper place upon the articles. "A. Newman," that is how
he wrote it. Not the first time he had clapped eyes upon ship's
articles, one could see with half an eye. I wrote my own "John Shreve"
below his name, with an outward flourish, but with a sinking sensation
inwardly.

As soon as the ceremony was completed, A. Newman got to his feet,
refused my pressing invitation to visit the bar, and went upstairs to
his room. Now, this seemed very peculiar to my sailor's way of
thinking; it seemed more peculiar than his choice of a name. Here we
were, shipmates, together committed to a high adventure, yet the man
would not tarry by my side long enough to up-end a schooner to a fair
passage. I was to have other surprises before the day was out--the
mean-faced beggar, and the way in which the Knitting Swede put us on
board the _Golden Bough_. Surprising incidents. But this refusal of
my new shipmate to drink with me was most surprising. Think of a
sailor, a hard case, too, moping alone in his room on the day he
shipped, when downstairs he could wassail away the day. I was
surprised and resentful. It is hard for a nineteen-year-old man to
stand alone, and I felt that Newman, my shipmate, should give me the
moral support of his companionship.

I strutted away the day in lonely glory. I had not the courage to
violate the hoary traditions of the foc'sle and join my ship sober, so
I imbibed as steadily as my youthful stomach permitted. Towards
evening I was, as sailors say, "half seas over."

I was mellow, but not befuddled. I saw things clearly, too clearly.
Of a sudden I felt an urgent necessity to get away from the Swede's
barroom. I wanted to breathe a bit of fresh air, I wanted to shut out
from my mind the sights and sounds and smells of the groggery, the reek
and the smut and the evil faces. Above all, I wished to escape the
importunities of the little Jewess. She had gotten upon my nerves.
Oh, I was her fancy boy to-day, you bet! I was spending my advance
money, you see, and this was her last chance at my pocketbook.

So, when opportunity offered, I slipped away from the crowd unobserved,
and went rolling along East street as though that thoroughfare belonged
to me. And in truth it did. Aye, I was the chesty lad, and my step
was high and proud, during that stroll. For men hailed me, and pointed
me out. I was the rough, tough king of the beach that hour; I was the
lad who h