things over. Down the valley we saw pieces of the town of Portate
lying along, and beyond we saw the Pacific. And Stevey Todd wiped his
face on his sleeves, and he says, "Maybe that's ridiculous, and maybe
it ain't" he says, "but I'd argue it."

We swabbed off the decks of the _Helen Mar_, and scuttled the
bottom of her to let the water out. Then the next day we went down to
Portate. There were a sad lot of people drowned, including Captain
Goodwin and most of the crew. Sadler and Irish we didn't find, and
some others, and there was a man named Pickett who wasn't drowned. He
went south to Lima by-and-by.

Afterwards we did up the ship's papers, and the cash and bills in
the Captain's chest, thinking them proper to go to the ship's owners.
And Stevey Todd says:

"A wreck's a wreck. That river ain't three foot deep. How'd they
float her out of this? You say, for I ain't made up my mind," he
says, which I didn't tell him, not knowing how they'd do it.

For a few days Stevey Todd and I lived high on ship's stores,
loafing and looking down the valley at the damaged city. All the
river front was wrecked. Halfway up the long sloping hill the streets
were sloppy, and any man that had a roof to sleep on, slept drier
there than inside, but the upper city was well enough.

We woke up from sleeping on the shady side of the _Helen Mar_
one afternoon, to hear the jingle of bells, and soon the mule train
pulled up alongside, and the drivers weren't used to seeing ships in
that neighbourhood. They were expecting trouble from the _Helen