“That isn’t our fashion, sir. Whatever we have to dispose of, be sure you shall have your share of it. I will guarantee that.”
The mate muttered something which sounded like “Sure enough white man, any way;” and, confronted with the skipper, introduced the visitor.
Captain Taber was a man whose aspect alone was sufficient to win confidence from any one not absolutely beyond the pale. He was one of the grand old Quaker type who dare do anything but lie or cheat, inflexibly just but tenderly merciful also where mercy was not a cruelty. You could not look into those deep grey eyes and mistrust him, the firm curves of the closely shut mouth and the huge benevolent nose spelt good man in characters that those who ran might read. He wore the old typical Yankee beard with clean shaven upper lip, and his garb was a long grey coat and broad-brimmed grey felt hat. Grasping his visitor firmly by the hand, he said, “Welcome, young man, aboard th’ Eliza Adams. I’m glad to see you, and indeed it isn’t every day one’s eyes light upon so fine a specimen o’ mankind as you be. Now what ha’ ye got to trade? We’re in want of fresh provisions of all kinds if you can make the price to suit us.”
“If you have ever been here before or to Pitcairn, captain,” replied C. B., “you’ll know that dollars mean nothing to us. Clothing, dress material, tools and books, are our chief need, and we are always prepared to deal liberally with everybody or not at all. We may not be able to supply you as amply as we would like to-day because of the arrival of the warship, but as I told your mate, we shall show the strictest impartiality in dividing what we have to sell.”
For a moment the captain gazed at C. B. in silence, and then turning to his mate, said—
“Say, Mr. Winsloe, it ain’t often you find the contents match the casket, is it? But here’s a feller ez handsom’ as a statoo, an’ talkin’ like an angel. Well, he’s a phenomenon.” Then, turning to C. B., the old man said—
“Excuse me, I forgot my manners; you see we don’t come across men like you every day.”
C. B. smiled shyly and answered, “It’s all right, sir, I was hardly noticing. In fact, I was just then thinking of asking you whether by any chance you might have a vacancy aboard for a boat-steerer?” The skipper’s face was a study as he stood transfixed with astonishment and then burst into a roar of happy laughter, while the big tears ran down his russet cheeks. When at last he recovered his breath he gasped—
“Well, now, if that don’t beat all. Ben short of a harponeer goin’ on three months since poor Diego got chawed up, and here’s one ready made for us, that is if he can handle an iron like he can a steer-oar. Can ye now by any happy chance?” he inquired almost wistfully of the young man.
“If you’ll let me try, sir, with one of the irons in the waist-boat I’ll show you,” replied C. B.