His way now led towards the river-side regions, and a cleansing whiff of tar was to be detected in the stagnant autumn air. Men with the blue jersey and peaked cap of the boatman, or the white ducks of the dockers, began to replace the cordurys and fustian of the laborers. Shops with nautical instruments in the windows, rope and paint sellers, and slop shops with long rows of oilskins dangling from hooks, all proclaimed the neighborhood of the docks. The Admiral quickened his pace and straightened his figure as his surroundings became more nautical, until at last, peeping between two high, dingy wharfs, he caught a glimpse of the mud-colored waters of the Thames, and of the bristle of masts and funnels which rose from its broad bosom. To the right lay a quiet street, with many brass plates upon either side, and wire blinds in all of the windows. The Admiral walked slowly down it until “The Saint Lawrence Shipping Company” caught his eye. He crossed the road, pushed open the door, and found himself in a low-ceilinged office, with a long counter at one end and a great number of wooden sections of ships stuck upon boards and plastered all over the walls.
“Is Mr. Henry in?” asked the Admiral.
“No, sir,” answered an elderly man from a high seat in the corner. “He has not come into town to-day. I can manage any business you may wish seen to.”
“You don’t happen to have a first or second officer’s place vacant, do you?”
The manager looked with a dubious eye at his singular applicant.
“Do you hold certificates?” he asked.
“I hold every nautical certificate there is.”
“Then you won’t do for us.”
“Why not?”
“Your age, sir.
“I give you my word that I can see as well as ever, and am as good a man in every way.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Why should my age be a bar, then?”
“Well, I must put it plainly. If a man of your age, holding certificates, has not got past a second officer’s berth, there must be a black mark against him somewhere. I don’t know what it is, drink or temper, or want of judgment, but something there must be.”
“I assure you there is nothing, but I find myself stranded, and so have to turn to the old business again.”
“Oh, that’s it,” said the manager, with suspicion in his eye. “How long were you in your last billet?”
“Fifty-one years.”
“What!”
“Yes, sir, one-and-fifty years.”
“In the same employ?”
“Yes.”
“Why, you must have begun as a child.”
“I was twelve when I joined.”
“It must be a strangely managed business,” said the manager, “which allows men to leave it who have served for fifty years, and who are still as good as ever. Who did you serve?”
“The Queen. Heaven bless her!”
“Oh, you were in the Royal Navy. What rating did you hold?”
“I am Admiral of the Fleet.”
The manager started, and sprang down from his high stool.
“My name is Admiral Hay Denver. There is my card. And here are the records of my service. I don’t, you understand, want to push another man from his billet; but if you should chance to have a berth open, I should be very glad of it. I know the navigation from the Cod Banks right up to Montreal a great deal better than I know the streets of London.
The astonished manager glanced over the blue papers which his visitor had handed him. “Won’t you take a chair, Admiral?” said he.
“Thank you! But I should be obliged if you would drop my title now. I told you because you asked me, but I’ve left the quarter-deck, and I am plain Mr. Hay Denver now.”
“May I ask,” said the manager, “are you the same Denver who commanded at one time on the North American station?”
“I did.”
“Then it was you who got one of our boats, the Comus, off the rocks in the Bay of Fundy? The directors voted you three hundred guineas as salvage, and you refused them.”
“It was an offer which should not have been made,” said the Admiral sternly.