Although the man presented a distinctly quaint ensemble, there was a genial, kindly twinkle in his eyes that caused me to take to him on the spot as he extended his hand and said, with a slight drawl and a strong Yankee accent:
“Walcome, strangers, to the Marthy Brown. I guess you’ve been havin’ a rough time by the looks of you. How long, now, have ye been knockin’ about in that boat?”
“This is our fifth day in her, Mr—er—er—” I answered.
“I reckon you’re gropin’ around after my name, Mister,” he interrupted. “It’s Ephraim Brown—very ginerally razeed down to Eph by my friends—and I’m master and owner of this here schooner, named a’ter my old woman away back to Baltimore. I guess your name is—”
“Mark Temple,” I hastened to reply. “My companions are respectively Mr Edward Cunningham, late a cuddy passenger aboard the British barque Zenobia—of which vessel I was one of the apprentices; William Murdock, boatswain; Joseph Parsons, carpenter; and James Simpson, sailmaker, all of the same ship.”
“I’m downright glad to meet you all,” replied Mr Ephraim Brown, shaking hands all round again with much cordiality. Then he stepped to the taffrail and looked down at the gig, which had been passed astern.
“I guess that’s a very tidy-lookin’ boat of yourn, and there don’t seem to be nothin’ partic’lar the matter with her. I reckon she’s quite worth hoistin’ in, ain’t she, Mister?” he remarked.
“Yes, indeed she is,” I replied. “She has brought us safely through some pretty heavy weather, and I should be very sorry to see her cast adrift.”
“Cast adrift nothin’! That ain’t old Eph Brown’s way,” retorted the skipper briskly. “Is she very heavy?”
“On the contrary, she is an exceedingly light boat when empty,” I replied.