Presently I got on board of a brig--which I well remembered, because it was one of the vessels having about it a vile stench that had made me cross it quickly--on the farther side of which two ships were lying, both rising a little above it and both jammed close against its side. For a moment I hesitated, in doubt as to which of the two I had come by; and I should have hesitated longer had not a whiff of the horrid smell struck upon me strongly and urged me to go on. And so away I went, taking to the ship that I thought was the right one; and still fancying that it was the right one when I got aboard of it--for both, as I have said, were ships, and the two had been about equally mauled by sea and storm. Indeed, except for the differences in their build and rig, there was a strong family resemblance among these storm-broken vessels; and the way that they were jammed together made their build less noticeable, while a good many of them were dismasted and so had no rig at all. Therefore I went on confidently for a dozen ships or more before I had any misgivings that I had missed my way--which was but a natural reaction against my momentary doubtfulness--and then I found myself suddenly pulled up short. Right above me was the side of a big iron steamer--called the _City of Boston_, as I made out from the weathered name-plate on her bows, and a packet-boat as I judged by her build--rising so high out of the water that getting up to her deck was impossible: as equally impossible was my having forgotten it had I made such a rattling jump down. Yet this big steamer was the only vessel in touch with the barque on which I was standing, save the schooner from which I had just come; and that gave me sharply the choice between two conclusions: either I had made that big jump without noticing it, or else--and I felt a queer lump rising in my throat as I faced this alternative--I had managed to go astray completely and had lost myself in what had the look of being a hopeless maze. XVIII I FIND THE KEY TO A SEA MYSTERY On shore, in a forest, I would not in the least have minded finding myself in a fix of this sort--though my getting into it would have been unlikely--because getting out of it would have been the easiest thing in the world. I know a good deal of wood-craft, and always can steer a course steadily by having the points of the compass fixed for me by the size and the trend of the branches, and by the bark growing thin or thick or by the moss or the lack of moss on the tree-trunks, and by the other such simple forest signs which are the outcome of the affection that there is on the part of things growing for the sun.