"Ho! my little marlin-spike! What might _you_ be wantin' aboard?--goin' to ship, eh?" "No," rejoined a second; "don't yer see he's a captain hisself?--got his own craft there!" This remark was made in allusion to my schooner, which I had brought along with me, and was holding in my hands. "Schooner ahoy!" shouted a third of the men. "Whither bound?" This was followed by a burst of laughter from all hands, who were now aware of my presence, and stood regarding me as though I was something extremely ludicrous in their eyes. I was rather abashed by this reception on the part of the rough tars, and remained for some moments without knowing what to say or do. But I was relieved from my uncertainty by the mate in the blue jacket, who, approaching me, asked, in a more serious tone, what was my business aboard. I replied that I wanted to see the captain. Of course I believed that there was a captain, and that he was the proper person to whom I should address myself in regard to the business I had in view. "Want to see the captain!" echoed my interrogator. "And what might be your business with him, youngster? I'm the mate: won't I do?" I hesitated a moment; but seeing that it was the captain's representative who put the question, I thought there could be no harm in frankly declaring my intentions. I replied--"I wish to be a sailor!" If the men had laughed loud before, they now laughed louder. In fact there was a regular yell, in which the mate himself joined as heartily as any of them. Amidst the peals of laughter, my ears were greeted with a variety of expressions that quite humiliated me. "Look yonder, Bill!" cried one, addressing a comrade who was at some distance. "Look at the wee chap as wants to be a sailor. My eyes! You little tuppence worth o' ha'pence, you ain't big enough for a belayin' pin! A see-a-lor! My eyes!" "Does your mother know yer out?" inquired a second. "No, that she don't," said a third, making reply for me; "nor his father, neyther. I'll warrant, now, the chap has run away from home. Have you gi'n 'em the slip, little sticklebat?" "Look here, youngster!" said the mate. "Take my advice: go back to your mother, give my compliments to the old lady, and tell her to take a turn or two of her petticoat strings round you, belay them to the leg of a chair, and keep you safe moored there for half a dozen years to come!" This advice elicited a fresh peal of laughter. I felt humiliated at this rough bantering, and knew not what reply to make. In my confusion I stammered out the words-- "I have no mother to go home to!" This reply appeared to produce a sudden effect upon the mirth of these rude-looking men, and I could hear some of them give utterance to certain expressions of sympathy. Not so, however, the mate, who, without changing his tone of banter, instantly rejoined-- "Well, then, go to your father, and tell _him_ to give you a good flogging!" "I have no father!"