sort of a v'ice, 'Friend, thou'rt a waterman, I b'lieve?' 'Yes,' says Bill, with an oath, 'that's what we hails for. D'ye want a boat, master?' 'Swear not, friend,' says the broad-brim; 'but what I want is this, you see. We have a large vessel, belonging to our house, for to send to Havannah, and willin' to give double wages, but we can't find any marineers at this present time for to navigate. Now,' says he, 'I s'pose this onfortunate state o' things is on account of the sinful war as is a-goin' on—they're afraid of the riskses. Hows'ever, my friends,' says he, 'perhaps, as you knows the river, thee could put us upon a way of engagin' twenty or more bold marineers, as is not afeared of venturing for good pay?' and with this he looks into his papers; and says Bill, 'Well, sir, I don't know any myself—do you, Bob?' and he gives me a shove, and says under the rose, 'No fear, mate,' says Bill, 'he's all over green—don't slip the chance for all hands of us at Jobson's.' 'Why, master,' I says, 'what 'ud ye give them marineers you speaks on, now?' 'Four pound a month, friend,' says he, looking up; 'but we gives tea in place of spirits, and we must have steady men. We can't wait, neither,' says he, 'more nor three days, or the vessel won't sail at all.' 'My eye!' says Bill, ''twon't do to miss, Bob!—stick to him, that's all.' 'Well, sir,' I says, 'I thinks I does have a notion of some'at of the sort. If you sends your papers to Jobson's Tavern to-night, second lane 'twixt Barnaby Street and the Blue Anchor Road, over the water, why, I might get ye as many hands for to sign as you wants.' 'Thanks, friend,' says the young broad-brim, 'I will attend to thine advice.' So he bids us good-day, and stepped into his door again. 'Bill,' says I, as we went off, 'now I think on it, I can't help a notion I've seen that chap's face afore.' 'Very like,' says Bill; 'for the matter o' that, 'tis the same with me—them broad-brims is so much of a piece. But that 'ere fellow don't know nothin' of ships, sure enough, or he wouldn't offer what he did, and the crimps' houses all of a swarm with hands!'

"'Take my word, mate,' says I, 'it's a paying trip, or he wouldn't do it—leave a Quaker alone for that. Why, the chap's a parfit youngster, but I am blessed if he don't look as starched as if he'd sat over a dask for twenty year!'

"Well, strike me lucky, mates all, if the whole affair warn't a complete trap! Down comes a clerk with the papers, sure enough; but in ten minutes more the whole blessed lot of us was puckalowed, and hard an' fast, by a strong press-gang. They put us into a cutter off Redriff Stairs, and the next noon all hands was aboard of the Pandora frigate at Sheerness. The first time of being mustered on deck, says Bill to me, 'Cuss my eyes, Bob, if there isn't the 'farnal Quaker!' I looked, and sees a midshipman in uniform like the rest, and so it was. 'The sly, soft-sawderin' beggar!' says I. 'All fair in war, and a press, mate!' says one o' the frigate's men. All the while I kept looking and looking at the midshipman; and at last I says to Bill when we got below, giving a slap to my thigh, 'Blessed if it ain't! It's the Green Hand himself!' 'Green Hand!' says Bill, sulky enough, 'who's the Green Hand? Blow me, Bob, if I don't think we're the green hands ourselves, if that's what you're upon!' So I told him the story about Ned Collins. 'Well,' says he, 'if a fellow was green as Chinee rice, cuss me if the reefers' mess wouldn't take it all out on him in a dozen watches. The softest thing I know, as you say, Bob, just now, it's to come the smart hand when you're a lubber; but to sham green after that style, ye know, why, it is a mark or two above either you or I, messmate. So, for my part, I forgives the young scamp, 'cause I ought to ha' known better.'

"By the time the frigate got to sea the story was blowed over the whole main-deck; many a good laugh it gived the different messes; and Bill, the midshipman, and me, got the name of the 'Three Green Hands.'

"One middle-watch Mister Ned comes for'ard by the booms to me, and says he, 'Well, Bob Jacobs, you don't bear a grudge, I hope?' 'Why,' says I, 'Mister Collins, 'twould be mutiny now, I fancy, you being my officer.' So I gave a laugh; but I couldn't help feelin' hurt a little, 'twas so like a son turnin' against his father, as 'twere. 'Why, Bob,' says he, 'did ye think me so green as not to know a seaman when I saw him? I was afeared you'd know me that time.' 'Not I, sir,' I answers; 'why, if we hadn't sailed so long in company, I wouldn't know ye now!' So Master Ned gived me to understand it was all for old times he wanted to ship me in the same craft; but he knew my misliking to the sarvice, though he said he'd rather ha' lost the whole haul of 'em nor myself. So many a yarn we had together of a dark night, and for a couple of years we saw no small sarvice in the Pandora. But if ye'd seen Ned, the smartest reefer aboard, and the best liked by the men, in the fore-tops'l bunt in a gale, or over the main-deck hatch, with an enemy's frigate to leeward, or on a spree ashore at Lisbon or Naples, you wouldn't ha' said there was anything green in his eye, I warrant ye! He was made acting-leftenant of a prize he cut out near Chairboorg, before he passed examination; so he took me for his prize-bo'sun, and carried her into Plymouth. Soon after that the war was ended, and all hands of the Pandora paid off. Master Ned got passed with flying colours, and confirmed leftenant besides, but he had to wait for a ship. He made me say where I'd be found, and we parted company for about a year.

"Well, I was come home from a short trip, and one day Leftenant Collins hunts me up at Wapping Docks, where I'd had myself spliced, six years before, to Betsy Brown, an' was laid up for a spell, having seen a good deal of the sea. Ye must know the young leftenant was fell deep in love with a rich Indy naboob's daughter, which had come over to take her back to the East Ingees. The old fellow was hard close-hauled again the match, notwithstanding of the young folks makin' it all up; so he'd taken out berths aboard of a large company's ship, and bought over the captain on no account to let any king's navy man within the gangways, nor not a shoulder with a swab upon it, red or blue, beyond the ship's company. But, above all, the old tyrant wouldn't have a blue-jacket, from stem to starn, if so be he'd got nothing ado but talk sweet; I s'pose he fancied his girl was mad after the whole blessed cloth. The leftenant turns over this here log to me, and, says he, 'I'll follow her to the world's end, if need be, Bob, and cheat the old villain!' 'Quite right, too, sir,' says I. 'Bob,' says he,' I'll tell you what I wants you for to do. Go you and enter for the Seringapatam at Blackwall, if you're for sea just now; I'm goin' for to s'cure my passage myself, an' no doubt doorin' the voy'ge something'll turn up to set all square; at any rate, I'll stand by for a rope to pull!' 'Why, here's a rum go!' thinks I to myself. 'Is Ned Collins got so green again, spite of all that's come and gone, for to think the waves is a-goin' to work wonders, or ould Neptune under the line's to play the parson and splice all!' 'Well, sir,' I says, 'but don't you think the skipper will smoke your weather-roll, sir, at sea, as you did Bill Pikes an' me, you know, sir?' says I. 'Oh, Bob, my lad,' says the leftenant, 'leave you that to me. The fellow most onlikest to a sailor on the Indyman's poop will be me, and that's the way you'll know me.'

"Well, ship I does with the Seringapatam for Bombay—plenty of passengers she had; but only clerks, naboobs, old half-pay fellows, and ladies, not to speak o' children and nurses, black and white. She sailed without my seein' Leftenant Collins, so I thought I was to hear no more on it. When the passengers began to muster on the poop, by the time we got out o'