There, too, was Doctor Critchel, and the good Dominie, and Titus Bright, the inn-keeper; the first wearing his old brown coat, and looking as snuffy as on the stormy night when he assisted in bringing Tite into the world. They had all come to see Tite off, to say God speed, and to give him some little token of their affection to carry with him on his voyage after whales.
And now that time which so tries a mother's heart had come. "Good bye, mother, good bye, and may God be with you and protect you," said Tite, throwing his arms around his mother's neck, and kissing her wet cheek. "I will come back safe, and never go to sea again." Then he took leave of his father, and each of his friends in turn. In another minute the boat in which he stood waving his handkerchief was pulling swiftly toward the ship. There was not a dry eye in that little group as each figure in it stood gazing out upon the calm waters, and watching the object so dear to the hearts of all in it. And now the boat has reached the ship, men are seen in the gangway, a line was thrown to the men in the boat, the ship luffed a little, and in another moment Tite mounted the ladder and was on deck. The first officer welcomed him, for there was something in his appearance that indicated respectability and true character; and his ship-mates gathered about him, each giving him a warm shake of the hand and a friendly word. Then the good ship moved gallantly down the stream, and Tite appeared on the forecastle, and waved adieus until she disappeared among the green hills of the Palisades.
There was a heart that fluttered, and a hand that waved signals, from a point on the shore recognized by Tite, and responded to, but not seen by the little sorrowing group waiting the return of the boat. It was Mattie's heart that fluttered, and it was her hand that waved the last adieu as the ship passed out of sight. There she stood, a touching picture of truth and love, shedding her tears and waving a last farewell to the object of her heart, and whom she might never see again.
Such are the transmutations of commerce that it would be a curious sight at this day to see a whaleship, under full sail, proceeding up or down the Hudson river. It was no uncommon sight then. The enterprising people of Hudson shared the whale-fishery business with New Bedford and Nantucket; their fleet of ships were fitted out in the very best manner, and some of the most famous whaling captains sailed from that port.
CHAPTER X.
MR. AND MRS. CHAPMAN DISAGREE FOR THE FIRST TIME.
A bright light burned in Chapman's parlor that night, and the ponderous Mrs. Chapman sat nursing her dignity in a great new rocking-chair. Her little pale-faced husband, with keen eyes, and his hair somewhat longer than usual, sat beside the lamp on the round table pouring over a book. There was an air of improvement about the parlor, an evidence, indeed, that the Chapmans had renounced their Dogtown habits, and were bent on getting up in the world. New carpets, new mirrors, new furniture, and window-curtains such as had not been seen in Nyack before, had been got from New York. You must make your style of living, Mrs. Chapman said, keep pace with the progress of the family. And it would not do to let those new, rich, and stylish people who were coming up from New York get ahead of you in the way of elegance.