So I had to run the whole
way. When I reached the pier, there were so many masts, and so much
confusion, that I felt quite humble-bumbled in my faculties. 'Now,'
said I to myself, 'Peterkin, you're in a fix.' Then I fancied I saw a
gilt figure-head and three masts, belonging to a ship just about to
start; so I darted on board, but speedily jumped on shore again when I
found that two of the masts belonged to another vessel, and the
figure-head to a third! At last I caught sight of what I made sure was
it--a fine large vessel just casting off her moorings. The tafferel was
green. Three masts--yes, that must be it--and the gilt figure-head of
Hercules. To be sure, it had a three-pronged pitchfork in its hand
instead of a club; but that might be my uncle's mistake, or perhaps
Hercules sometimes varied his weapons. 'Cast off!' roared a voice from
the quarter-deck. 'Hold on!' cried I, rushing frantically through the
crowd. 'Hold on! hold on!' repeated some of the bystanders, while the
men at the ropes delayed for a minute. This threw the captain into a
frightful rage; for some of his friends had come down to see him off,
and having his orders contradicted so flatly was too much for him.
However, the delay was sufficient. I took a race and a good leap; the
ropes were cast off; the steam-tug gave a puff, and we started.
Suddenly the captain walks up to me: 'Where did you come from, you
scamp, and what do you want here?'
"'Please, sir,' said I, touching my cap, 'I'm your new 'prentice come
aboard.
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