Because I could see that this was not a native man like me, I thought I had to try to speak to him in English. Although I’d seen men like him in various ports and cities and heard their singsong language, I still thought that if I spoke to him in English he would understand me. Ha, ha.

‘No ghose. Chus’ a liddle Chap.’

I pulled him into an alcove – like ice he was – and walked up and down for a while to make sure there was no one about before returning to the dorm for warm clothes and a blanket. My mate Mo was there sitting on his bunk with his foot on a piece of newspaper slicing a bunion with a razor blade. Mo had his own India language but we were learning to understand each other’s English. Mo had joined us in San Francisco. How he came to be in that city I don’t know, because as far as I understood he had no home or family there. What I did understand was that he needed my protection. We had our own corner.

Others were there, mainly Englishmen who talked a lot, played cards, slept, kept their own loud company.

‘Liddle Chap,’ I said, jerking my head sideways to indicate direction. ‘From Chapan.’ I felt I owed Mo an explanation as he had observed me earlier going out with the wrapped pie and the mug of water. Mo shifted his head. He giggled and kept on slicing.

Out in the shadows I stripped this wreckage of his damp clothing, dried him, put him in a jersey, trousers and socks of mine and wrapped him in a blanket, pushing him into the recess because someone was coming. It was Mo. He handed me a cup of hot cocoa.

‘Chap,’ he said.

The little Chap’s hands were shaking so much he couldn’t hold the cup so I did that for him. Immediately he’d finished he fell asleep.

Back in the dorm I rolled onto my bunk and worked out how I was going to help this Chap ashore. I had already decided that I would take him home with me, ‘where he can be our wayfarer,’ said Moonface.