The second incident was more dramatic, and had,
besides, a bearing on my future. I was standing one
day near a boat-landing under Telegraph Hill. A large
barque, perhaps of eighteen hundred tons, was coming
more than usually close about the point to reach her
moorings; and I was observing her with languid
inattention, when I observed two men to stride across
the bulwarks, drop into a shore boat, and, violently
dispossessing the boatman of his oars, pull toward the
landing where I stood. In a surprisingly short time
they came tearing up the steps, and I could see that
both were too well dressed to be foremast hands--the
first even with research, and both, and specially the
first, appeared under the empire of some strong
emotion.
"Nearest police office!" cried the leader.
"This way," said I, immediately falling in with their
precipitate pace. "What's wrong? What ship is that?"
"That's the GLEANER," he replied. "I am chief
officer, this gentleman's third, and we've to get in
our depositions before the crew. You see, they might
corral us with the captain, and that's no kind of berth
for me.
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