Johnson was in the waist, in a
red shirt and dungaree trousers, his eye kindled with
activity. With him I exchanged a word or two; thence
stepped aft along the narrow alleyway between the house
and the rail, and down the companion to the main cabin,
where the captain sat with the commissioner at wine.
I gazed with disaffection at the little box which for
many a day I was to call home. On the starboard was a
stateroom for the captain; on the port a pair of frowsy
berths, one over the other, and abutting astern upon
the side of an unsavoury cupboard. The walls were
yellow and damp, the floor black and greasy; there was
a prodigious litter of straw, old newspapers, and
broken packing-cases; and by way of ornament, only a
glass-rack, a thermometer presented "with compliments"
of some advertising whisky-dealer, and a swinging lamp.
It was hard to foresee that, before a week was up, I
should regard that cabin as cheerful, lightsome, airy,
and even spacious.
I was presented to the commissioner, and to a young
friend of his whom he had brought with him for the
purpose (apparently) of smoking cigars; and after we
had pledged one another in a glass of California port,
a trifle sweet and sticky for a morning beverage, the
functionary spread his papers on the table, and the
hands were summoned.
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