they were going. For the trade of London was comparatively small
in those days, and the skippers as they chatted together could form
a shrewd guess from the size and appearance of each ship as to the
country with which she traded, or whether she was a coaster working
the eastern or southern ports.

Most of the vessels, indeed, would be recognized and the captains
known, and hats would be waved and welcomes or adieus shouted as
the vessels passed. There was something that savoured of Holland
in the appearance of Rotherhithe; for it was with the Low Countries
that the chief trade of England was carried on; and the mariners
who spent their lives in journeying to and fro between London and
the ports of Zeeland, Friesland, and Flanders, who for the most part
picked up the language of the country, and sometimes even brought
home wives from across the sea, naturally learned something from
their neighbours. Nowhere, perhaps, in and about London were the
houses so clean and bright, and the gardens so trimly and neatly
kept, as in the village of Rotherhithe, and in all Rotherhithe not
one was brighter and more comfortable than the abode of Captain
William Martin.

It was low and solid in appearance; the wooden framework was
unusually massive, and there was much quaint carving on the beams.
The furniture was heavy and solid, and polished with beeswax until
it shone. The fireplaces were lined with Dutch tiles; the flooring
was of oak, polished as brightly as the furniture. The appointments
from roof to floor were Dutch; and no wonder that this was so, for
every inch of wood in its framework and beams, floor and furniture,
and had been brought across from Friesland by William Martin in
his ship, the Good Venture. It had been the dowry he received with