She belonged to a man Wilmer, Wilcox--some name like that; but he has
been bankrupt and dead these twenty years or more, and his name don't
matter. She had been laid up in Shadwell basin for ever so long. You may
imagine her state. She was all rust, dust, grime--soot aloft, dirt on
deck. To me it was like coming out of a palace into a ruined cottage.
She was about 400 tons, had a primitive windlass, wooden latches to the
doors, not a bit of brass about her, and a big square stern. There was
on it, below her name in big letters, a lot of scroll work, with the
gilt off, and some sort of a coat of arms, with the motto 'Do or Die'
underneath. I remember it took my fancy immensely. There was a touch of
romance in it, something that made me love the old thing--something that
appealed to my youth!

"We left London in ballast--sand ballast--to load a cargo of coal in a
northern port for Bankok. Bankok! I thrilled. I had been six years at
sea, but had only seen Melbourne and Sydney, very good places, charming
places in their way--but Bankok!

"We worked out of the Thames under canvas, with a North Sea pilot on
board. His name was Jermyn, and he dodged all day long about the galley
drying his handkerchief before the stove. Apparently he never slept.
He was a dismal man, with a perpetual tear sparkling at the end of his
nose, who either had been in trouble, or was in trouble, or expected
to be in trouble--couldn't be happy unless something went wrong. He
mistrusted my youth, my common-sense, and my seamanship, and made a
point of showing it in a hundred little ways. I dare say he was right.
It seems to me I knew very little then, and I know not much more now;
but I cherish a hate for that Jermyn to this day.

"We were a week working up as far as Yarmouth Roads, and then we got