THE SHIPPING OFFICE. 13 



engage them, it is no uncommon amusement 

 with sailors, to step into one of these whaling 

 shipping offices, and make all manner of inquiries 

 concerning the business, the pay, the prospects of 

 success, and finally perhaps, to offer to engage 

 themselves at which last stage the agent gener- 

 ally breaks off all communication by informing 

 his mischievous visitors that he has at present no 

 chances open. 



" Here's the office, Charley," said my shipmate, 

 who had been amusing himself at the expense of 

 one of the bright posters we had passed. " Let's 

 go in and talk a little to the old fellow. I'll ask 

 him if he don't remember shipping me as boat- 

 steerer in the Happy-go-lucky." 



" You don't look green enough for a whaleman, 

 Jack," said I. 



" No/' answered he, giving his trowsers an 

 extra hitch, and his rakish little nat a more know- 

 ing set, "there's no green here, lad; but come in." 



We stepped into a tolerably roomy office, divided 

 into two unequal parts by a railing, behind which 

 stood a desk, upon which leaned a tall, black- 

 bearded, shrewd looking man. This proved to be 

 the shipper, or shipping-master, as this dignitary 

 is styled by seamen. The front and largest divi- 

 sion of the office was furnished with several long 

 forms or benches, ranged along the wall, some 

 chairs, and an occasional spit-box. On the benches 

 reclined at full length three as verdant specimens 

 of humanity as could be easily conceived of. Dirty, 



