The Sea Lions; Or, The Lost Sealers. James Fenimore Cooper

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      Chapter V.

       Table of Contents

      "Stranger! I fled the home of grief,

       At Connoeht 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," "carrick-bends," 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 particularly--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," continued the stranger, "and when you name one of them 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 СКАЧАТЬ