“It’s just what his father would have done. Well, Isaac, I’ll take them to Salem. I’m acquainted there; have an old shipmate that knew his father. I’ll see the captain he’s been mate with, and if they speak well of him, we’ll go ahead.”
“John,” said his father, on his return home, “clap the saddle on the horse, ride over to Charlie’s, and tell him he may get the schooner ready as soon as he likes; and tell Fred to get his fish and potash ready, for I’m going to Salem, and will take a freight to Boston, and bring back any goods he wants.”
Captain Folger was sitting in his store just before noon, frequently looking at his watch, for the demands of appetite were pressing,—he had set up a ship-chandler’s store, after having spent the greater part of life at sea,—when Captain Rhines entered, and most agreeably surprised him.
“Why, Captain Ben!” exclaimed the old seaman, grasping his friend by the hand, “what good wind has blown you hither?”
“I had business in Boston, and so called in here. It’s long since we’ve met. I hardly thought you’d know me so readily.”
“Know you! Old shipmates don’t forget each other.”
“So you’ve left off going to sea, and turned storekeeper!”
“Yes; it’s the most natural thing an old shipmaster can do to turn ship-chandler, and have vessels and rigging to look after. I couldn’t be contented ashore in any other business. I own some navigation, and have that to look after. My shop is a loafing place for the old captains, and we fight our battles over again, spin our yarns, plan voyages, and keep each other’s spirits up. We heard about your going to Cuba on a raft, and it was agreed on all hands it was the smartest thing ever done in these parts, or anywhere. You ran a confounded risk, but they say you made your Jack out of it.”
“Yes, I made something.”