Sullivan was an adept at drugging liquor, and he always kept materials at hand for that purpose. Just a little tobacco ash dropped in the glass when pouring out the drinks, and the thing was done. When he required a few sailors for a ship ready to sail, he picked out the likeliest men in the room--usually strangers--and when the seamen, hot and thirsty with dancing, ordered drinks through the women who acted as waitresses, these Delilahs would bring the prepared stuff, and soon the men would feel muddled and sleepy and would go into the side room and sink down on the benches. Sullivan would then slip in among them. “Halloa, mates! What’s the matter? Feel queer, eh? Ah, it’s the dancing and the hot weather. I’ll send you a good tot that will put you all right.” He would then send one of the girls in with a good glass of hot whisky--drugged, and that would be all the men would know for some time. When they came to their senses they found themselves in a strange ship, out of sight of land, without a stitch of clothes beyond what they stood up in. Of course, there was generally a row, but it invariably ended in their turning to work and making the best of a bad bargain. [Illustration: “HALLOA, MATES! WHAT’S THE MATTER?”] One day in February, 1872, it happened that there were three British ships lying at the buoys, loaded and ready to sail, but each was in want of a few seamen to make up her complement. Not a man could be got at the shipping-office for love or money--the news of a fresh gold-field on the Barrington had reached Newcastle that morning, and all the disengaged men had made tracks for that district. So the only possible way to get hands for the vessels ready to sail was to obtain them from the ships that had lately arrived, and which would have some time to wait for a loading berth. The captains of the ships at the buoys sent for Sullivan, and arranged with him to supply them with four men each that night, as the trio would sail at the turn of the tide. When Sullivan got back on shore, he sent some of his runners to quietly let the crews of the ships in harbour know there was to be a free concert and dance at his place, with plenty of whisky into the bargain. When night came the saloon was packed with seamen, and among the lot were six fine young American sailors from the ship _Jeremiah Crawford_, of New Bedford. Now, New Bedford ships are very often “family ships”--that is to say, the captain, officers, and seamen are related to each other. Of the six young fellows who went to this dance, two were nephews of the captain, one was a relative of the mate, and the others were related to members of the crew.