d. The man who can't do most things
and won't do the rest. The pet of philanthropists and self-seeking
landlubbers. The sympathetic and deserving creature that knows all
about his rights, but knows nothing of courage, of endurance, and of the
unexpressed faith, of the unspoken loyalty that knits together a ship's
company. The independent offspring of the ignoble freedom of the slums
full of disdain and hate for the austere servitude of the sea.

Some one cried at him: "What's your name?"--"Donkin," he said,
looking round with cheerful effrontery.--"What are you?" asked another
voice.--"Why, a sailor like you, old man," he replied, in a tone that
meant to be hearty but was impudent.--"Blamme if you don't look a blamed
sight worse than a broken-down fireman," was the comment in a convinced
mutter. Charley lifted his head and piped in a cheeky voice: "He is a
man and a sailor"--then wiping his nose with the back of his hand bent
down industriously over his bit of rope. A few laughed. Others stared
doubtfully. The ragged newcomer was indignant--"That's a fine way to
welcome a chap into a fo'c'sle," he snarled. "Are you men or a lot of
'artless canny-bals?"--"Don't take your shirt off for a word, shipmate,"
called out Belfast, jumping up in front, fiery, menacing, and friendly
at the same time.--"Is that 'ere bloke blind?" asked the indomitable
scarecrow, looking right and left with affected surprise. "Can't 'ee see
I 'aven't got no shirt?"

He held both his arms out crosswise and shook the rags that hung over
his bones with dramatic effect.

"'Cos why?" he continued very loud. "The bloody Yankees been tryin' to
jump my guts out 'cos I stood up for my rights like a good 'un. I am an
Englishman, I am. They set upon me an' I 'ad to run. That's why. A'n't
yer never seed a man 'ard up? Yah! What kind of blamed ship is this?
I'm dead broke. I 'aven't got nothink. No bag, no bed, no blanket, no
shirt--not a bloomin' rag but what I stand in. But I 'ad the 'art to
stand up agin' them Yankees. 'As any of you 'art enough to spare a pair
of old pants for a chum?"

He knew how to conquer the naive instincts of that crowd. In a moment
they gave him their compassion, jocularly, contemptuously, or surlily;
and at first it took the shape of a blanket thrown at him as he stood
there with the white skin of his limbs showing his human kinship through
the black fantasy of his rags. Then a pair of old shoes fell at his
muddy feet. With a cry