Chapter 3

We made the Land's End in fine weather, and with a fair wind. Instead of
keeping up channel, however, our ship hauled in for the land. Cooper was
at the helm, and the captain asked him if he knew of any one on board who
had ever been into Falmouth. He was told that Philadelphia Bill had been
pointing out the different head-lands on the forecastle, and that, by his
own account, he had sailed a long time out of the port. This Bill was a
man of fifty, steady, trust-worthy, quiet, and respected by every man in
the ship. He had taken a great liking to Cooper, whom he used to teach how
to knot and splice, and other niceties of the calling, and Cooper often
took him ashore with him, and amused him with historical anecdotes of the
different places we visited. In short, the intimacy between them was as
great as well could be, seeing the difference in their educations and
ages. But, even to Cooper, Bill always called himself a Philadelphian. In
appearance, indeed, he resembled one of those whom we call Yankees, in
America, more than anything else.

Bill was now sent for and questioned. He seemed uneasy, but admitted he
could take the ship into Falmouth. There was nothing in the way, but a
rock abreast Pendennis Castle, but it was easy to give that a berth. We
now learned that the captain had made up his mind to go into this port and
ride out the quarantine to which all Mediterranean vessels were subject.
Bill took us in very quietly, and the ship was ordered up a few miles
above the town, to a bay where vessels rode out their quarantine. The next
day a doctor's boat came alongside, and we were ordered to show ourselves,
and flourish our limbs, in order to make it evident we were alive and
kicking. There were four men in the boat, and, as it turned out, every one
of them recognised Bill, who was born within a few miles of the very spot
where the ship lay, and had a wife then living a great deal nearer to him
than he desired. It was this wife--there happening to be too much of
her--that had driven the poor fellow to America, twenty years before, and
which rendered him unwilling to live in his native country. By private
means, Bill managed to have some communication with the men in the boat,
and got their promises not to betray him. This was done by signs
altogether, speaking being quite out of the question.

We were near, or quite, a fortnight in quarantine; after which the ship
dropped down abreast of the town. This was of a Saturday, and Sunday, a
portion of the crew were permitted to go ashore. Bill was of the number,
and when he returned he admitted that he had been so much excited at
finding himself in the place, that he had been a little indiscreet. That
night he was very uncomfortable, but nothing occurred to molest