"Yes, but I said nothin' of Callao, and they were all three sheets i'
the wind when they signed, so they didn't notice the articles. They
expected a schooner, too, big enough for sixteen men; but I've just
talked 'em out of that notion. They think, too, that they'll have a
week in port to see if they like the craft; and to make 'em think it
was easy to quit, I told 'em to sign nicknames--made 'em believe that a
wrong name on the articles voided the contract."

"But it don't. They're here, and they'll stay--that is, if they know
enough to man the windlass."

"Of course--of course. I'm just givin' you a pointer. You may have to
run them a little at the start, but that's easy. Now we'll tally 'em
off. Don't mind the names; they'll answer to 'em. You see, they're all
townies, and bring their names from home."

The shipping-master drew a large paper from his pocket, and they
approached the men at the capstan, where the short, broad second mate
had been taking their individual measures with scowling eye.

It was a strange crew for the forecastle of an outward-bound,
deep-water American ship. Mr. Jackson looked in vain for the heavy,
foreign faces, the greasy canvas jackets and blanket trousers he was
accustomed to see. Not that these men seemed to be landsmen--each
carried in his face and bearing the indefinable something by which
sailors of all races may distinguish each other at a glance from
fishermen, tugmen, and deck-hands. They were all young men, and their
intelligent faces--blemished more or less with marks of overnight
dissipation--were as sunburnt as were those of the two mates; and where
a hand could be seen, it showed as brown and tarry as that of the
ablest able seaman. There were no chests among them, but the canvas
clothes-bags were the genuine article, and they shouldered and handled
them as only sailors can. Yet, aside from these externals, they gave no
sign of being anything but well-paid, well-fed, self-respecting
citizens, who would read the papers, discuss politics, raise families,
and drink more than is good on pay-nights, to repent at church in the
morning. The hands among them that were hidden were covered with
well-fitting gloves--kid or dog-skin; all wore white shirts and
fashionable neckwear; their shoes were polished; their hats were in
style; and here and there, where an unbuttoned, silk-faced overcoat
exposed the garments beneath, could be seen a gold watch-chain with
tasteful charm.

"Now,