The river always had a charm for Martin. In those days it might have been called the main highway of London City, and he loved to watch the wherries laden with passengers, and the tall ships lying at anchor or floating up or down on the tide.

He sauntered on and on, every now and then exchanging a nod or smile or cheery word with some waterman he knew. But most of the watermen were busy on the river, and as the evening went on Martin met fewer and fewer people.

Presently he sat down to rest near the head of a flight of stairs that led down to the water. A broad stone post gave support for his back, and leaning against it he watched the sun sinking into a fiery sky, and the lights that began to twinkle on the ships moored in the stream.

It was very peaceful. The only sounds that reached his ears were the plash of oars in passing boats and the voices of the watermen and their passengers.

Turning to look in the other direction, he noticed for the first time a ship’s boat straining at her painter, which was made fast to a ring at the foot of the stairs. In the boat sat, or rather crouched, a solitary seaman—a man with a very dark face and long, coal-black hair. His head was bent forward on his crossed arms; it seemed that the light rise and fall of the boat on the tide had rocked him to sleep. He wore a sailor’s long red cap and an orange-coloured jersey.

A waterman passing at the moment stopped and smiled as he glanced at the slumbering figure. Observing Martin, he said:

“They sleep like cats, these foreigners.”

“He’s a foreigner, then?”

“For sure: out of the Portugal ship repairing at Deptford. Her mizzen-mast, they say, was shot away by a French privateer nigh the Goodwins. Very bold these Frenchies are of late, though I did hear as the Duke of York have give ’em a good drubbing.”

He said Good-night and passed on.

All was still again. The glow faded from the sky. Martin’s eyes were attracted by a three-master that glided out of the dusk, dropping down with the tide. He watched her graceful shape threading her way among the smaller craft on the river, and wondered where she was bound for, what adventures she would meet with on her voyage.

She had almost disappeared when Martin was roused from his reverie by the sound of footsteps 

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