Blow the Man Down - A Romance of the Coast

O Ranzo was no sailor,

He shipped on board a whaler.

O pity Reuben Ran-zo, Ran-zo, boys!

O poor old Reuben Ranzo, Ranzo, boys!

--Reuben Ranzo.

Captain Mayo kept out of the region of the white lights for some time.

He had a pretty wide acquaintance in the Virginia port, and he knew the

beaten paths of the steamboating transients, ashore for a bit of a blow.

He lurked in alleys, feeling especially disreputable. He was not at

all sure that his make-up was effective. His own self-consciousness

convinced him that he was a glaring fraud, whose identity would be

revealed promptly to any person who knew him. But while he sneaked in

the purlieus of the city several of his 'longshore friends passed him

without a second look. One, a second engineer on a Union line freighter,

whirled after passing, and came back to him.

"Got a job, boy?"

"No, sir."

"We need coal-passers on the Drummond. She's in the stream. Come

aboard in the morning."

But it was not according to Mayo's calculation, messing with steamboat

men. "Ah doan' conclude ah wants no sech job," he drawled.

"No, of course you don't want to work, you blasted yaller mutt!" snapped

the engineer. He marched on, cursing, and Mayo was encouraged, for the

man had given him a thorough looking-over.

He went out onto the wider streets. He was looking for a roving schooner

captain, reckoning he would know one of that gentry by the cut of his

jib.

A ponderous man came stumping down the sidewalk, swinging his shoulders.

"He's one of 'em," decided Mayo. The round-crowned soft hat, undented,

the flapping trouser legs, the gait recognized readily by one who has

ever seen a master mariner patrol his quarter-deck--all these marked him

as a safe man to tackle. He stopped, dragged a match against the brick

side of a building, and relighted his cigar. But before Mayo could reach

him a colored man hurried up and accosted the big gentleman, whipping

off his hat and bowing with smug humility. Mayo hung up at a little

distance. He recognized the colored man; he was one of the numerous

Norfolk runners who furnish crews for vessels. He wore pearl-gray

trousers, a tailed coat, and had a pink in his buttonhole.

"Ah done have to say that ah doan' get that number seven man up to now,

Cap'n Downs, though I have squitulate for him all up and down. But ah

done expect--"

Captain Downs scowled over his scooped hands, puffing hard at his cigar.

He threw away the match.