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.