 | CHAPTER V. The sea lions, or, The lost sealers |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
At Connocht Moran's tomb to fall;
I found the helmet of my chief,
His bow still hanging on our wall.”
Campbell.
“Amphibious!” exclaimed Roswell Gardiner, in an
aside to Mary, as the stranger entered the room, following
Baiting Joe's lead. The last only came for his glass of
rum-and-water, served with which by the aid of the negro,
he passed the back of his hand across his mouth, napkin-fashion,
nodded his “good-day,” and withdrew. As for
the stranger, Roswell Gardiner's term being particularly
significant, it may be well to make a brief explanation.
The word “amphibious” is, or rather was, well applied to
many of the seamen, whalers, and sealers, who dwelt on the
eastern end of Long Island, or the Vineyard, around Stonington,
and, perhaps we might add, in the vicinity of New
Bedford. The Nantucket men had not base enough, in
the way of terra firma, to come properly within the category.
The class to which the remark strictly applied were
sailors without being seamen, in the severe signification
of the term. While they could do all that was indispensably
necessary to take care of their vessels, were surpassed
by no other mariners in enterprise, and daring, and hardihood,
they knew little about “crowning cables,” “carrickbends,”
and all the mysteries of “knotting,” “graffing,”
and “splicing.” A regular Delaware-bay seaman would
have turned up his nose in contempt at many of their ways,
and at much of their real ignorance; but, when it came to
the drag, or to the oar, or to holding out in bad weather,
or to any of the more manly qualities of the business, he
would be certain to yield his respect to those at whom it
had originally been his disposition to laugh. It might best
describe these men to say that they bore some such relation
to the thorough-bred tar, as the volunteer bears to the
regular soldier.
As a matter of course, the stranger was invited to take
his seat at the table. This he did without using many
phrases; and Mary had reason to believe, by his appetite,
that he thought well of her culinary skill. There was very
little of the sheepshead left when this, its last assailant,
shoved his plate back, the signal that he could do no more.
He then finished a glass of rum-and-water, and seemed to
be in a good condition to transact the business that had
brought him there. Until this moment, he had made no
allusion to the motive of his visit, leaving the deacon full
of conjectures.
“The fish of Peconic and Gar'ner's is as good as any I
know,” coolly observed this worthy, after certainly having
established some claim to give an opinion on the subject.
“We think ourselves pretty well off, in this respect, on the
Vineyard—”
“On the Vineyard!” interrupted the deacon, without
waiting to hear what was to follow.
“Yes, sir, on Martha's Vineyard—for that's the place
I come from. Perhaps I ought to have introduced myself
a little more particularily—I come from Martha's Vineyard,
and my name is Daggett.”
The deacon fairly permitted the knife, with which he was
spreading some butter, to fall upon his plate. “Daggett”
and the “Vineyard” sounded ominously. Could it be that
Dr. Sage had managed to get a message so far, in so short
a time; and had this amphibious inhabitant of the neighbouring
island come already to rob him of his treasure?
The perceptions of the deacon, at first, were far from clear;
and he even imagined that all he had expended on the Sea
Lion was thrown away, and that he might be even called
on to give some sort of an account, in a court of chancery,
of the information obtained from the deceased. A little
reflection, however, sufficed to get the better of this weakness,
and he made a civil inclination of his head, as much
as to tell the stranger, notwithstanding his name and place
of residence, that he was welcome. Of course no one but
the deacon himself knew of the thoughts that troubled him,
and after a very brief delay, the guest proceeded with his
explanations of the object of his visit.
“The Daggetts are pretty numerous on the Vineyard,”
it is not always easy to tell just what family he belongs to.
One of our coasters came into the Hull (Holmes' Hole was
meant) a few weeks since, and reported that she spoke an
inward-bound brig, off New Haven, from which she heard
that the people of that craft had put ashore, at Oyster Pond,
a seafaring man, who belonged to the Vineyard, and who
was bound home, arter an absence of fifty years, and whose
name was Thomas Daggett. The word passed through
the island, and a great stir it made among all us Daggetts.
There's plenty of our Vineyard people wandering about
the 'arth, and sometimes one drops in upon the island, just
to die. As most of them that come back bring something
with them, it's gen'rally thought a good sign to hear of
their arrival. After casting about, and talking with all the
old folks, it has been concluded that this Thomas Daggett
must be a brother of my father's, who went to sea about
fifty years since, and has never been seen or heard of since.
He's the only person of the name for whom we can't account,
and the family have got me to come across to look
him up.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Daggett, that you are so late,” answered
the deacon, slowly, as if unwilling to give pain.
“Had you come last week, you might have seen and conversed
with your relation; or had you come early this
morning, only, you might have attended his funeral. He
came among us a stranger, and we endeavoured to imitate
the conduct of the good Samaritan. I believe he had all
the comforts that Oyster Pond can give; and, certainly,
he had the best advice. Dr. Sage, of Sag Harbour, attended
him in his last illness—Dr. Sage, of the Harbour:
doubtless you have heard him mentioned?”
“I know him by reputation, and make no doubt all was
done that could be done. As the sloop I named lay by the
brig some time, in a calm, the two captains had a long talk
together; and ours had prepared us to hear of our kinsman's
speedy dissolution. He was in a decline when he
landed, and we suppose that no human skill could have
saved him. As he had so skilful a physician, and one who
came so far, I suppose my uncle must have left property?”
This was a home-thrust; but, fortunately for the deacon,
he had already prepared himself with an answer.
“Sea-faring men, that are landed on points and capes,
from inward-bound vessels, are not very apt to be over-loaded
with worldly goods,” he said, smiling. “When a
man prospers in that calling, he usually comes ashore at a
wharf, in some large place, and gets into his coach, to ride
up to some grand tavern! I have remarked, pastor, that
sea-faring men love comforts and free-living, unaccountably,
when they can fairly get a chance at 'em.”
“That is natural, deacon—quite natural; and what is
natural, is very likely to happen. The natural man loves
all sorts of indulgences, and these among others.”
As there was no gainsaying this commonplace commentary
on the species, it was permitted to pass unanswered.
“I hope my kinsman has not been a burthen to any on
Oyster Pond?” said the nephew, inquiringly.
“I cannot say that he has,” returned the deacon. “He
was at little cost, at first, and got along by selling a few
odd things that he owned. As Providence had placed him
in the dwelling of a poor widow, I thought it might be
pleasing to the friends—and every man has some friends, I
suppose—to settle with her. This I did, this very morning,
taking her receipt in full, as you can see,” passing the
paper to the stranger. “As a sort of security for my advances,
I had the chest of the deceased removed to this
house; and it is now up-stairs, ready to be examined. It
feels light, and I do not think much silver or gold will be
found in it.”
To own the truth, the Vineyard seaman looked a little
disappointed. It was so natural that a man who has been
absent fifty years should bring back the fruits of his labour,
that he had expected some slight reward for the trouble he
was now taking, to be bestowed in this particular form.
This, however, was not the specific object of his visit, as
will appear as we proceed. Keeping in view his real motive,
the nephew continued his inquiries, always putting
his questions a little indirectly, and receiving answers that
were as evasive and cautious as his own interrogatories.
All this was characteristic of the wary people from which
both had sprung, who seldom speak, in a matter of business,
of what they are saying. After a discourse of some fifteen
minutes, in which the history of the chest, in its outlines,
was fully given, and during which the stranger produced
written evidence of his right to interfere, it was determined
to make an inventory, on the spot, of the property
left by Daggett, for the benefit of all who might have any
interest in it. Accordingly, the whole party, including
Mary, was soon assembled in the deacon's own room, with
the sea-chest placed invitingly in the centre. All eyes
were fastened on the lid, in curious anticipations of the
contents; for, the deacon excepted, all supposed that those
contents were a profound secret. The Widow White could
have told them better, she having rummaged that chest a
dozen times, at least, though without abstracting even a
pin. Curiosity had been her ruling motive, far more than
cupidity. It is true, the good woman had a prudent regard
to her own interests, and felt some anxiety to learn the
prospects of her receiving the stipulated price for board—
only $1 50 per week—but the sales of the needles, and
palms, and carved whale-bone, having kept her accounts
reasonably square, solicitude on this particular interest was
not at is height. No: curiosity, pure female curiosity, a
little quickened by the passion which is engendered among
the vulgar by the possession of a slight degree of instruction,
was really at the bottom of her researches. Not only
had she handled every article in the chest, but she had
read, and re-read, every paper it contained, half-a-dozen
letters included, and made her own surmises on their nature.
Still, the good woman was very little the wiser for
her inquiries. Of the great secret she knew absolutely
nothing, unless the broken hints collected in her many
listenings, could be so considered. But, here her ignorance
ceased. Every hole in a shirt, every patch in a pair
of trousers, and every darn in a stocking, had been examined,
and its probable effect on the value of the garment
duly estimated. The only thing that had escaped her scrutiny
was a small till, that was locked. Into that she could
not look, and there were moments when she would have
parted with a finger in order to overhaul it.
“This jacket might sell for a dollar,” had the Widow
that well patched, would bring seventy-five cents. Them
trowsers must have cost two dollars, but they ar'n't worth
half price now. That pee-jacket is the best article in the
chest, and, sent across to the Harbour, about the time the
ships are going out, it would bring enough to maintain
Daggett a month!”
Such had been the character of the widow's visitations
to the chest, though no one knew anything of her discoveries,
not even her sister-relict, neighbour Stone.
“Here is the key,” said the deacon, producing that instrument
from the drawer of a table, as if he had laid it
carefully aside for some such moment. “I dare say it will
be found to fit, for I remember to have seen Daggett use it
once or twice myself.”
Roswell Gardiner, as the youngest man, and the one on
whom the labouring oar ought to fall, now took the key,
applied it to the lock, turned it without difficulty, and then
lifted the lid. Disappointment appeared on every face but
that of the deacon, at the meagre prospect before the company.
Not only was the chest more than half empty, but
the articles it did contain were of the coarsest materials;
well worn sea-clothes that had seen their best days, and
which had never been more than the coarse common attire
of a foremast hand.
“There is little here to pay a man for crossing from the
Vineyard,” observed Roswell Gardiner, a little drily; for
he did not half like the appearance of cupidity that shone
through the nephew's tardy concern for the fate of the
uncle. “The last voyage has not been prosperous, I fear,
or the owners failed before the vessel got in! What is to
be done with all this dunnage, deacon?”
“It would be best to take out the contents, article by
article,” answered the other, “and examine each and all.
Now that we have made a beginning with the inventory, it
is best to go through with it.”
The young man obeyed, calling out the name of each
article of dress, as he raised it from its receptacle, and
passing it over to him who stood there in the character of
a sort of heir-at-law. The last gave each garment a sharp
look, and prudently put his hand into every pocket, in
article on the floor. Nothing was discovered for some
time, until a small key was found in the fob of a pair of old
`go-ashore' pantaloons. As there was the till to the chest
already mentioned, and a lock on that till, the heir-at-law
kept the key, saying nothing touching its existence.
“The deceased does not appear to have been much
afflicted with this world's wealth,” said the Rev. Mr.
Whittle, whose expectations, to own the truth, had been a
little disappointed. “This may have been all the better for
him, when the moment of departure drew near.”
“I dare say he would have borne the burthen cheerfully,”
put in Roswell Gardiner, “to have been a little more comfortable.
I never knew a person, seaman or landsman, who
was ever the worse for having things snug about him, and
for holding on to the better end of his cheer, as long as he
could.”
“Your notion of what is best for man as he draws near
to his end, captain Gar'ner, is not likely to be of the most
approved nature. The sea does not produce many very
orthodox divines.”
The young sailor coloured, bit his lip, cast a glance at
Mary, and began a nearly inaudible whistle. In a moment
he forgot the rebuke he had received, and laughingly went
on with the inventory.
“Well,” he cried, “this is rather a poorer outfit than
Jack is apt to carry! Infit, I suppose it should be called,
as the poor fellow who owned it was inward bound, when
he brought up on Oyster Pond. You'll hardly think it
worth while, captain Daggett, to take this dunnage across
to the Vineyard.”
“It is scarce worth the trouble, though friends and relations
may set a value on it that strangers do not. I see a
couple of charts there — will you hand them this way, if
you please? They may have a value with a sea-faring man,
as old mariners sometimes make notes that are worth as
much as the charts themselves.”
This was said very naturally and simply; but it gave the
deacon a good deal of concern. Nor was this feeling at all
lessened by the earnest, not to say eager, manner in which
Daggett, as we shall now call this member of the family,
The particular chart first opened in this way, was the
one including the antarctic circle, and, of course, was that
from which the deacon had been at so much pains to erase
the sealing-islands, that the deceased mariner had laid
down with so great precision and care. It was evident
that the Martha's Vineyard-man was looking for something
that he could not find, and that he felt disappointment. Instead
of looking at the chart, indeed, he may be said to have
been peering at it, in all its holes and crannies, of which
there were not a few, in consequence of the torn condition
of the paper. Several minutes elapsed ere the investigation
terminated, the stranger seeming, all that time, to feel no
interest in the remainder of his relation's wardrobe.
“This is an old chart, and of the date of 1802,” observed
Daggett, raising himself erect, as a man who has
long been bent takes the creaks out of his back. “So old
a chart as to be of little use now-a-day. Our sealers have
gone over so much of the ground to the southward of the
two capes, as to be able to do much better than this now.”
“Your uncle had the appearance of an old-fashioned
sailor,” coldly observed the deacon; “and it may be that
he most liked old-fashioned charts.”
“If such was the case he must have pretty well forgotten
his Vineyard schooling. There is not a woman there who
doesn't know that the latest chart is commonly the best. I
own I'm disapp'inted somewhat; for the master of the
sloop gave me to understand he had heard from the master
of the brig, that some valuable information was to be found
on the old gentleman's charts.”
The deacon started, as here was an indication that the
deceased had talked of his knowledge to others, as well as
to himself! It was so natural for a man like Daggett to
boast of what his charts were worth, that he saw the extreme
probability that a difficulty might arise from this
source. It was his cue, however, to remain silent, and let
the truth develop itself in due course. His attention was
not likely to be drawn aside by the shirts and old clothes,
for the stranger began a second time to examine the chart,
and what was more, in the high latitudes at no great distance
from the very spot where the sealing-islands had
erased.
“It is unaccountable that a man should wear out a chart
like this, and leave so few notes on it!” said the Vineyard-man,
much as one complains of a delinquency. “Here is
white water noted in the middle of the ocean, where I dare
say no other white water was seen but that which is made
by a fish, and nothing is said of any islands. What do you
think of this, captain Gar'ner?” laying his finger on the
precise spot where the deacon had been at work so long
that very morning erasing the islands. “This looks well-fingered,
if nothing else, eh?”
“Its a shoal laid down in dirt,” answered Roswell Gardiner,
laughing — “Let's see; that's about lat. —° —”,
and long. —° —”. There can be no known land thereaway,
as even captain Cook did not succeed in getting as
far south. That's been a favourite spot with the skipper
for taking hold of his chart. I've known one of those old-fashioned
chaps put his hand on a chart, in that way, and
never miss his holding ground for three years on a stretch.
Mighty go-by-rule people are some of our whaling-masters,
in particular, who think they know the countenances of
some of the elderly fish, who are too cunning to let a har
poon get fast to 'em.”
“You've been often in them seas, I some think, captain
Gar'ner?” said the other, inquiringly.
“I was brought up in the business, and have a hankering
for it yet,” returned the young man, frankly. “Nor
do I care so much for charts. They are well enough when
a vessel is on her road; but, as for whales or seals, the
man who wishes to find either, in these times, has to look
for them, as I tell my owner. According to reports, the
time has been when a craft had only to get an offing to fall
in with something that was worth putting a harpoon into;
but those days are gone, captain Daggett; and whales are
to be looked after, out at sea, much as money is to be looked
for ashore here.”
“Is the craft I saw at the wharf fitting out for a whaler,
then?”
“She is going after luck, and will accept of it, in whatever
form it may turn up.”
“She is rather small for the whaling business, though
vessels of that size have done well, by keeping close in
upon our own coast.”
“We shall know better what she will do after she has
been tried,” returned Gardiner, evasively. “What do you
think of her for the Banks of Newfoundland?”
The Martha's Vineyard-man gave his brother tar a quick,
impatient glance, which pretty plainly said, “tell that to
the marines,” when he opened the second chart, which as
yet had been neglected.
“Sure enough,” he muttered, in a low tone, though
loud enough to be heard by the keenly attentive deacon;
“here it is — a chart of the West Indies, and of all the
keys!”
By this casual, spontaneous outbreaking, as it might be,
the deacon got another clue to the stranger's knowledge,
that gave him increased uneasiness. He was now convinced
that, by means of the masters of the brig and the
sloop, such information had been sent to the relatives of
Daggett as had prepared them to expect the very revelations
on which he hoped to establish his own fortunes. To
what extent these revelations had been made, of course he
could only conjecture; but there must have been a good
deal of particularity to induce the individual who had come
over to Oyster Pond to look into the two charts so closely.
Under the circumstances, therefore, he felicitated himself on
the precaution he had so early taken to erase the important
notations from the paper.
“Captain Gar'ner, your eyes are younger than mine,”
said the Vineyard-man, holding the chart up to the light—
“will you be good enough to look here?—does it not seem
as if that key had been noted, and the words rubbed off the
chart?”
This caused the deacon to peer over Roswell Gardiner's
shoulder, and glad enough was he to ascertain that the
stranger had placed his finger on a key that must lie several
hundred miles from that which was supposed to hold
the buried treasure of the pirates. Something like an
erasure did appear at the indicated point; but the chart
was so old and dirty, that little satisfaction could be had by
examining it. Should the inquirer settle down on the key
far enough from the spot really noted.
“It is strange that so old a seafaring man should wear
out a chart, and make no observation on it!” repeated the
stranger, who was both vexed and at a loss what to conjecture.
“All my charts are written over and marked off, just
as if I meant to get out an edition for myself.”
“Men differ in their tastes and habits,” answered Roswell
Gardiner, carelessly. “Some navigators are for ever
finding rocks, and white water, and scribbling on their
charts, or in the newspapers, when they get back; but I
never knew any good come of it. The men who make the
charts are most to be trusted. For my part, I would not
give a sixpence for a note made by a man who passes a
shoal or a rock, in a squall or a gale.”
“What would you say to the note of a sealer who should
lay down an island where the seals lie about on the beach
like pigs in a pen, sunning themselves? Would you not
call a chart so noted a treasure?”
“That would alter the case, sure enough,” returned
Gardiner, laughing; “though I should not think of looking
into this chest for any such riches. Most of our masters
navigate too much at random to make their charts of any
great value. They can find the places they look for themselves,
but don't seem to know how to tell other people the
road. I have known my old man lay down a shoal that he
fancied he saw, quite a degree out of the way. Now such
a note as that would do more harm than good. It might
make a foul wind of a fair one, and cause a fellow to go
about, or ware ship, when there was not the least occasion
in the world for doing anything of the sort.”
“Ay, ay; this will do for nervous men, who are always
thinking they see danger ahead; but it is different with
islands that a craft has actually visited. I do not see much
use, Deacon Pratt, in your giving yourself any further trouble.
My uncle was not a very rich man, I perceive, and I
must go to work and make my own fortune if I wish more
than I've got already. If there is any demand against the
deceased, I am ready to discharge it.”
This was coming so much to the point that the deacon
hardly knew what to make of it. He recollected his own
got the better of his prudence as to induce him to mention
the circumstance.
“Dr. Sage may have a charge — no doubt has one, that
ought to be settled, but your uncle mainly paid his way as
he went on. I thought the widow who took care of him
was entitled to something extra, and I handed her ten dollars
this morning, which you may repay to me or not, just
as you please.”
Captain Daggett drew forth his wallet and discharged
the obligation on the spot. He then replaced the charts,
and, without opening the till of the chest, he shut down
the lid, locked it, and put the key in his pocket, saying
that he would cause the whole to be removed, much as if
he felt anxious to relieve the deacon of an incumbrance.
This done, he asked a direction to the dwelling of the
Widow White, with whom he wished to converse, ere he
left the Point.
“I shall have the questions of so many cousins to answer,
when I get home,” he said, smiling, “that it will
never do for me to go back without taking all the talk I
can get with me. If you will be kind enough to show me
the way, captain Gar'ner, I will promise to do as much for
you, when you come to hunt up the leavings of some old
relation on the Vineyard.”
Roswell Gardiner very cheerfully complied, not observing
the look of dissatisfaction with which his owner listened to
the request. Away the two went, then, and were soon at
the widow's door. Here the young man left his companion,
having duty to attend to on board the Sea Lion. The
Widow White received her guest with lively interest, it
forming one of the greatest pleasures of her existence to
be imparting and receiving intelligence.
“I dare say you found my uncle a companionable man,”
observed the captain, as soon as amicable relations were
established between the parties, by means of a few flattering
remarks on one side and on the other. “The Vineyard
folks are generally quite conversable.”
“That he was, captain Daggett; and when the deacon
had not been over to perplex him, and wake up the worldly
spirit in him, he was as well inclined to preparation as any
arter the deacon had paid one of his visits.”
“Was Deacon Pratt in the habit of coming to read and
pray with the sick?”
“He pray! I don't believe he as much as went through
a single sentence of a prayer in all his visits. Their whull
talk was about islands and seals, when they was by themselves.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the nephew, manifesting a new
interest in the discourse. “And what could they find to
say on such subjects? Islands and seals were a strange
topic for a dying man!”
“I know it”—answered the widow, sharply. “I know'd
it at the time; but what could a lone woman do to set 'em
right; and he a deacon of the meetin' the whull time? If
they would talk of worldly things at such times, it wasn't
for one like me to put 'em right.”
“Then this discourse was held openly in your presence—
before your face, as it might be, ma'am?”
“I can't say that it was just that; nor was it altogether
when my back was turned. They talked, and I overheard
what was said, as will happen when a body is about, you
know.”
The stranger did not press the point, having been brought
up in what might almost be termed a land of listeners.
An island, that is cut off from much communication with
the rest of the earth, and from which two-thirds of the
males must be periodically absent, would be very likely to
reach perfection in the art of gossiping, which includes
that of the listener.
“Yes,” he answered, “one picks up a good deal, he
doesn't know how. So they talked of islands and seals?”
Thus questioned, the widow cheerfully opened her stores
of knowledge. As she proceeded in her account of the
secret conferences between Deacon Pratt and her late inmate,
her zeal became quickened, and she omitted nothing
that she had ever heard, besides including a great deal that
she had not heard. But her companion was accustomed
to such narratives, and knew reasonably well how to make
allowances. He listened with a determination not to believe
more than half of what she said, and by dint of long
of the woman's almost breathless accounts, from those
that ought to have been regarded as incredible, with a surprising
degree of success. The greatest difficulty in the
way of comprehending the Widow White's report, arose
from the fact that she had altogether missed the preliminary
and most explicit conference. This left so much to be
understood and inferred, that, in her own efforts to supply
the deficiencies, she made a great deal of confusion in the
statements. Captain Daggett was fully assured that the
deacon knew of the existence of the sealing-island, at least;
though he was in doubt whether the rumour that had been
brought to him, touching the buried treasure, had also been
imparted to this person. The purchase and equipment of
the Sea Lion, taken in connection with the widow's account,
were enough, of themselves, to convince one of his
experience and foresight, that an expedition after seal was
then fitting out, on the information derived from his deceased
relative. Of this much he had no doubt; but he
was not able to assure himself, quite so satisfactorily, that
the key was to be looked at by the way.
The interview between Captain Daggett and the Widow
White lasted more than an hour. In that time the former
had gleaned all the information the latter could give, and
they parted on the best terms in the world. It is true that
the captain gave the widow nothing—he had acquitted his
conscience on this score, by re-paying the deacon the
money the last had advanced—but he listened in the most
exemplary manner to all she had to say; and, with a certain
class of vehement talkers, the most favoured being in
the world is your good listener. Interest had given the
stranger an air of great attention, and the delighted woman
had poured out her torrent of words in a way that gratified,
in the highest degree, her intense desire to be imparting
information. When they separated, it was with an understanding
that letters, on the same interesting subject,
should pass between them.
That afternoon, Captain Daggett found means to remove
the chest of his late kinsman, across the bays, to Sag Harbour,
whither he proceeded himself by the same conveyance.
There, he passed an hour or two in making inquiries
of the departure of the Sea Lion. The fitting out of this
schooner was the cause of a good deal of discourse in all
that region, and the Martha's Vineyard-man heard numberless
conjectures, but very little accurate information.
On the whole, however, he arrived at the conclusion that
the Sea Lion would sail within the next ten days; that her
voyage was to be distant; that her absence was expected
to exceed a twelvemonth; and that it was thought she had
some other scheme in view, in addition to that of sealing.
That night, this hardy mariner—half agriculturist as he
was—got into his whale-boat, and sailed for the Vineyard,
all alone, taking the chest with him. This was nothing,
however; for quite often, before, had he been off at sea, in
his boat, alone, looking out for inward-bound vessels to
pilot.
| CHAPTER V. The sea lions, or, The lost sealers | |