When the gangway was lowered, Mr. Stoddard walked ashore with as much dignity as he could muster, garbed in a wrinkled brown suit and a rusty, dented derby that struck a ludicrous note amid the straw-hatted natives on the wharf.
"I hope he never come back," growled Tony, no doubt thinking of the day off the River Plate. "If ever I get him ashore----" but the Italian did not finish, for we were hustled about lifting hatch covers and setting things to rights, the deck being littered with long bights of the wet hawsers.
Native boys offered to dive for pennies, but we had none to give, and enterprising Chinamen crowded on board with baskets of fruit and hampers full of bottled pop, the whole gang being driven ashore by Mr. Zerk with his best delivery of picturesque profanity. The Kanakas on the shore started to mock him, and that made matters worse, as none of us dared crack a smile. Later on Mr. Zerk was to learn that the happy, carefree natives were an independent lot, who would work under persuasion, but were stubborn as mules when driven.
Captain Nichols came aboard with the port warden, and the top layer of cargo was examined. We carried a hundred tons of blacksmith coal on top of a general cargo, the coal being separated from what was below by old canvas and tarpaulins. One of the inspectors jumped down and tasted the coal for salt. Indeed it would have been mighty hard to tell whether the cargo had been damaged or not and, in a way, it was a bit of strategy on the part of the South Street stevedores. After some discussion, the state of things seemed to pass muster, and a great many smart looking young men from the offices of the agent came down and looked over the ship. Most of them carried papers of some sort, and in their white duck trousers and their fancy silk shirts, brilliant neckties, and spotless shoes, we seemed to behold some favored species. No doubt they looked at us too, though without interest, we being merely a lot of lean and leathery deepwater sailors dressed in common dungaree.
The captain himself was no slouch when it came to dressing and on this occasion he upheld the dignity of the ship, and the great American Merchant Service, by sporting a wine colored cutaway suit. His shoes were shined like the galley stove on a Sunday afternoon, and his heavy watch chain and fob dangled across his vest, which was buttoned to the very top in spite of the heat. Of course he wore a boiled shirt, and his black derby was of a square topped model, conservative and dignified.