Peter and I, with Chips, who remained on board, were told off as anchor watch during the night, each taking a three-hour shift; three hours that to me passed very quickly as I tramped the decks of memory on that haunted ship, and thought of that first night watch when Frenchy and I paired off to stump from the pin rail to the forward house, and spin our yarns, and lay the foundation for a friendship that I have never forgotten. In the morning the shore riggers came on board, taking complete charge. Mr. Zerk walked the deck but never gave an order, and those rough and ready men struck the topgallant masts in jig time, lowering the skysail masts so the tall trucks of the _Fuller_ would clear the span of the Brooklyn Bridge. How they went rough-shod over the decks with their spiked boots, while we had to submit all of our shoes to the mate for inspection before wearing them so he could satisfy himself that no nails remained in the soles. By two that afternoon, the topgallant masts were lowered and a tug came alongside, making fast to our quarter; we slowly headed up the East River, past the South Ferry, and our starting berth at the foot of Maiden Lane, then under the Brooklyn Bridge. The rattle of the trains, the near approach of the life and hum of the great city filled me with a strange wonder. As we came alongside at Williamsburgh, Mr. Zerk said we might pack up and go when we pleased. Captain Nichols called Peter and me aft and handed us each a letter; mine was to serve me two years later--when I was twenty-one--as part of the required service testimonials for admission to the examination for second mate in sail and steam vessels. The letter read: NEW YORK, Sept. 24th, 1898. This is to certify that Felix Riesenberg has made the voyage in the Ship _A. J. Fuller_ from New York to Honolulu and back to New York, and I have found him to be a smart, steady, and faithful young man. C. M. NICHOLS, Master, Ship _A. J. Fuller_. I am as proud of this letter now as I was on the day it was given me, and with this precious paper in pocket, our chests trundling along behind on an express wagon, Peter and I walked up the wharf, two sea-tanned, hard-fisted youngsters in a land of strange activity, noise, cobblestones, and freedom. We parted at the Brooklyn Bridge, he going to friends in Brooklyn, and I to the home of my uncle in Manhattan. Behind us lay one of life's great experiences--a voyage around Cape Horn in an American three skysail yarder, a last proud example of the fine sailing ships that once carried the starry ensign to the four quarters of the globe. CHAPTER XXXV THE LONG-LOOKED-FOR PAYDAY