Publisher's Synopsis
In the midst of the great wilderness-we might almost say the wilds-of thatcomparatively unknown region which lies on the Surrey side of the Thames, justabove London Bridge, there sauntered one fine day a big bronzed seaman of middleage. He turned into an alley, down which, nautically speaking, he rolled into ashabby little court. There he stood still for a few seconds and looked around him asif in quest of something.It was a miserable poverty-stricken court, with nothing to commend it to thevisitor save a certain air of partial-cleanliness and semi-respectability, which didnot form a feature of the courts in its neighbourhood."I say, Capting," remarked a juvenile voice close at hand, "you've bin an sailed intothe wrong port."The sailor glanced in all directions, but was unable to see the owner of the voiceuntil a slight cough-if not a suppressed laugh-caused him to look up, when heperceived the sharp, knowing, and dirty face of a small boy, who calmlycontemplated him from a window not more than a foot above his head. Fun, mischief, intelligence, precocity sat enthroned on the countenance of that smallboy, and suffering wrinkled his young brow
