transshipped my cargo to a pair-oared boat and started away for the
anchorage. The boatmen comforted me a good deal at the outset by
saying that they thought they knew just where the _Golden Hind_ was
lying, as they were pretty sure they had seen her only that morning
while going down the harbor with another fare; and before we were much
more than past Bedloe's Island--having pulled well over to get out of
the channel and the danger of being run down by one of the swarm of
passing craft--they made my mind quite easy by actually pointing her
out to me. But almost in the same moment I was startled again by one
of them saying to me: "I don't believe you've much time to spare,
captain. There's a lighter just shoved off from her, and she's gettin'
her tops'ls loose. I guess she means to slide out on this tide. That
tug seems to be headin' for her now."

The men laid to their oars at this, and it was a good thing--or a bad
thing, some people might think--that they did; for had we lost five
minutes on our pull down from the Battery I never should have got
aboard of the _Golden Hind_ at all. As it was, the anchor was a-peak,
and the lines of the tug made fast, by the time that we rounded under
her counter; and the decks were so full of the bustle of starting that
it was only a chance that anybody heard our hail. But somebody did
hear it, and a man--it was the mate, as I found out afterwards--came
to the side.

"Hold on, captain," one of the boatmen sang out, "here's your
passenger!"

"Go to hell!" the mate answered, and turned inboard again.

But just then I caught sight of Captain Chilton, coming aft to stand