“Hum! a generalizer; that is, no doubt, one of the new sects that afflict the country,” muttered Mr. Dunham, whose grandfather had been a New Jersey Quaker, his father a Presbyterian, and who had joined the Church of England himself after he entered the army.
“I take it, John—” resumed Cap. “Your name is Jack, I believe?”
“No, sir; I am called Robert.”
“Ay, Robert, it's very much the same thing, Jack or Bob; we use the two indifferently. I say, Bob, it's good holding ground, is it, down at this same station for which we are bound?”
“Bless you, sir! I know no more about it than one of the Mohawks, or a soldier of the 55th.”
“Did you never anchor there?”
“Never, sir. Master Eau-douce always makes fast to the shore.”
“But in running in for the town, you kept the lead going, out of question, and must have tallowed as usual.”
“Tallow!—and town, too! Bless your heart, Master Cap! there is no more town than there is on your chin, and not half as much tallow!”
The Sergeant smiled grimly, but his brother-in-law did not detect this proof of humor.