“Captain Joseph Round, is it?” exclaimed the old fellow suspiciously. “I can remember Joe Round--Joey Round was the name he was known by--man and boy fifty-eight year. He’ll be drawing on to sixty-five, I allow. What might be yower name?” By this time I had recollected the old fellow, and his name had come to me with my memory of him. “Martin--Tom Martin,” said I, “you are going blind, old man, or you would know me. My name is William Fielding--Bill Fielding sometimes along the beach here, among such of you drunken, smuggling swabs as I chose to be familiar with. Now, see here, I must get aboard my ship at once, and there’ll be another job wants doing also, for the which I shall be willing to pay a guinea. Tell me instantly, Tom, of three men--two to row me aboard, and one to send on a guinea’s worth of errand.” “Gi’s your hand, Mr. Fielding. Bless me, how you’re changed! But aint that because my sight aint what it was? You want three men? Two to put ye aboard, and----” “And one to send on a guinea’s worth of errand--on a job I needn’t explain to you here. Now bear a hand, or I shall lose my ship.” On this, he blew out the rushlight by which he had been sitting, shut the door of the old cabin, and moved slowly and somewhat staggeringly over the shingle up into Beach Street, along which we walked for, I daresay, fifty yards. He then turned into a sort of alley, and pausing before the door of a little house, lifted his arm as though in search of the knocker, then bade me knock for myself, and knock loud. I knocked heartily, but all remained silent for some minutes. I continued to knock, and then a window just over the doorway was thrown up, and a woman put her head out. A crazy old lamp, burning a dull flame of oil, stood at the corner of the alley or side street and enabled me to obtain a view of the woman. “Who are ye?” said she, in a voice of alarm, “and what d’ye want?” “Is Dick in?” quavered old Martin, looking up at her. “Why, it’s old Tom!” exclaimed the woman. “Who’s that along with ye?” “Capt’n Round’s nevvy, Master Billy Fielding, as we used to call him. His ship’s in the Downs, there’s a slant o’ air out of the south, and he wants to be set aboard. Is Dick in, I ask ye?” “What’s that to do with you?” answered the woman, drawing her head in with a movement of misgiving, and putting her hands upon the window as though to bring it down. “No, he aint in, so there; neither him nor Tom, so there. You go on. I don’t like the looks of your friend Mr. Billy Fielding; a merchantman with hepaulets, is it? And what’s an old man like you a-doing out of his bed at this hour? Garn home, Tom, garn home;” and down went the window.