"_You're_ sick enough," he said; "stand straight, sir! we don't nurse
invalids here, and if you stop you'll have to work for your food,
whether you can eat it or not."

"I will, sir," said I.

"Put out your hands."

I did, and he looked keenly, first at them, and then, from head to foot,
at me. And then to my horror, he asked the question I had been asked by
the man who robbed me of my shilling.

"Where did you steal your slops?"

I hastened to explain. "A working-man, sir, in Liverpool, who was kind
enough to advise me, said that I should have no chance of getting work
on board ship in the clothes I had on. So I exchanged them, and got
these, in a shop he took me to," and being anxious to prove the truth of
my tale, and also to speak with the utmost respect of everybody in this
critical state of my affairs, I added: "I don't remember the name of the
street, sir, but the shop was kept by a--by a Mr. Moses Cohen."

"By Mister--_who_?"

"Mr. Moses Cohen, sir."

When I first uttered the name, I fancied I heard some sniggering among
the sailors who still kept guard over me, and this time the captain's
face wrinkled, and he turned to another officer standing near him and