The Devonian lost heart at so
many refusals. He had not the impudence to beg; although, as he
said, 'when I had money of my own, I always gave it.' It was only on
Saturday morning, after three whole days of starvation, that he asked
a scone from a milkwoman, who added of her own accord a glass of
milk. He had now made up his mind to stow away, not from any desire
to see America, but merely to obtain the comfort of a place in the
forecastle and a supply of familiar sea-fare. He lived by begging,
always from milkwomen, and always scones and milk, and was not once
refused. It was vile wet weather, and he could never have been dry.
By night he walked the streets, and by day slept upon Glasgow Green,
and heard, in the intervals of his dozing, the famous theologians of
the spot clear up intricate points of doctrine and appraise the
merits of the clergy. He had not much instruction; he could 'read
bills on the street,' but was 'main bad at writing'; yet these
theologians seem to have impressed him with a genuine sense of
amusement. Why he did not go to the Sailors' House I know not; I
presume there is in Glasgow one of these institutions, which are by
far the happiest and the wisest effort of contemporaneous charity;
but I must stand to my author, as they say in old books, and relate
the story as I heard it.
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