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- 6014
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:14.842Z
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- 5946
- text
- walls; and having my guide-book in my pocket, I drew it forth to
compare notes, when I found, that precisely upon the spot where I and
my shipmates were standing, and a cherry-cheeked bar-maid was filling
their glasses, my infallible old Morocco, in that very place, located a
fort; adding, that it was well worth the intelligent stranger’s while
to visit it for the purpose of beholding the guard relieved in the
evening.
This was a staggerer; for how could a tavern be mistaken for a castle?
and this was about the hour mentioned for the guard to turn out; yet
not a red coat was to be seen. But for all this, I could not, for one
small discrepancy, condemn the old family servant who had so faithfully
served my own father before me; and when I learned that this tavern
went by the name of _“The Old Fort Tavern;”_ and when I was told that
many of the old stones were yet in the walls, I almost completely
exonerated my guide-book from the half-insinuated charge of misleading
me.
The next day was Sunday, and I had it all to myself; and now, thought
I, my guide-book and I shall have a famous ramble up street and down
lane, even unto the furthest limits of this Liverpool.
I rose bright and early; from head to foot performed my ablutions “with
Eastern scrupulosity,” and I arrayed myself in my red shirt and
shooting-jacket, and the sportsman’s pantaloons; and crowned my entire
man with the tarpaulin; so that from this curious combination of
clothing, and particularly from my red shirt, I must have looked like a
very strange compound indeed: three parts sportsman, and two soldier,
to one of the sailor.
My shipmates, of course, made merry at my appearance; but I heeded them
not; and after breakfast, jumped ashore, full of brilliant
anticipations.
My gait was erect, and I was rather tall for my age; and that may have
been the reason why, as I was rapidly walking along the dock, a drunken
sailor passing, exclaimed, _“Eyes right! quick step there!”_
Another fellow stopped me to know whether I was going fox-hunting; and
one of the dock-police, stationed at the gates, after peeping out upon
me from his sentry box, a snug little den, furnished with benches and
newspapers, and hung round with storm jackets and oiled capes, issued
forth in a great hurry, crossed my path as I was emerging into the
street, and commanded me to _halt!_ I obeyed; when scanning my
appearance pertinaciously, he desired to know where I got that
tarpaulin hat, not being able to account for the phenomenon of its
roofing the head of a broken-down fox-hunter. But I pointed to my ship,
which lay at no great distance; when remarking from my voice that I was
a Yankee, this faithful functionary permitted me to pass.
It must be known that the police stationed at the gates of the docks
are extremely observant of strangers going out; as many thefts are
perpetrated on board the ships; and if they chance to see any thing
suspicious, they probe into it without mercy. Thus, the old men who buy
_“shakings,”_ and rubbish from vessels, must turn their bags wrong side
out before the police, ere they are allowed to go outside the walls.
And often they will search a suspicious looking fellow’s clothes, even
if he be a very thin man, with attenuated and almost imperceptible
pockets.
But where was I going?
I will tell. My intention was in the first place, to visit Riddough’s
Hotel, where my father had stopped, more than thirty years before: and
then, with the map in my hand, follow him through all the town,
according to the dotted lines in the diagram. For thus would I be
performing a filial pilgrimage to spots which would be hallowed in my
eyes.
- title
- Chunk 2