The Sea Lions; Or, The Lost Sealers

by James Fenimore Cooper

"I am sorry, Mr. Daggett, that you are so late," answered the deacon, slowly, as if unwilling to give pain. "Had you come last week, you might have seen and conversed with your relation; or had you come early this morning, only, you might have attended his funeral. He came among us a stranger, and we endeavoured to imitate the conduct of the good Samaritan. I believe he had all the comforts that Oyster Pond can give; and, certainly, he had the best advice. Dr. Sage, of Sag Harbour, attended him in his last illness--Dr. Sage, of the Harbour: doubtless you have heard him mentioned?"

"I know him by reputation, and make no doubt all was done that could be done. As the sloop I named lay by the brig some time, in a calm, the two captains had a long talk together; and ours had prepared us to hear of our kinsman's speedy dissolution. He was in a decline when he landed, and we suppose that no human skill could have saved him. As he had so skilful a physician, and one who came so far, I suppose my uncle must have left property?"

This was a home-thrust; but, fortunately for the deacon, he had already prepared himself with an answer.

"Sea-faring men, that are landed on points and capes, from inward-bound vessels, are not very apt to be overloaded with worldly goods," he said, smiling. "When a man prospers in that calling, he usually comes ashore at a wharf, in some large place, and gets into his coach, to ride up to some grand tavern! I have remarked, pastor, that sea-faring men love comforts and free-living, unaccountably, when they can fairly get a chance at 'em."

"That is natural, deacon--quite natural; and what is natural, is very likely to happen. The natural man loves all sorts of indulgences, and these among others."

As there was no gainsaying this commonplace commentary on the species, it was permitted to pass unanswered.

"I hope my kinsman has not been a burthen to any on Oyster Pond?" said the nephew, inquiringly.

"I cannot say that he has," returned the deacon. "He was at little cost, at first, and got along by selling a few odd things that he owned. As Providence had placed him in the dwelling of a poor widow, I thought it might be pleasing to the friends--and every man has some friends, I suppose--to settle with her. This I did, this very morning, taking her receipt in full, as you can see," passing the paper to the stranger. "As a sort of security for my advances, I had the chest of the deceased removed to this house; and it is now up-stairs, ready to be examined. It feels light, and I do not think much silver or gold will be found in it."

To own the truth, the Vineyard seaman looked a little disappointed. It was so natural that a man who has been absent fifty years should bring back the fruits of his labour, that he had expected some slight reward for the trouble he was now taking, to be bestowed in this particular form. This, however, was not the specific object of his visit, as will appear as we proceed. Keeping in view his real motive, the nephew continued his inquiries, always putting his questions a little indirectly, and receiving answers that were as evasive and cautious as his own interrogatories. All this was characteristic of the wary people from which both had sprung, who seldom speak, in a matter of business, without bearing in mind all the possible constructions of what they are saying. After a discourse of some fifteen minutes, in which the history of the chest, in its outlines, was fully given, and during which the stranger produced written evidence of his right to interfere, it was determined to make an inventory, on the spot, of the property left by Daggett, for the benefit of all who might have any interest in it. Accordingly, the whole party, including Mary, was soon assembled in the deacon's own room, with the sea-chest placed invitingly in the centre. All eyes were fastened on the lid, in curious anticipations of the contents; for, the deacon excepted, all supposed that those contents were a profound secret. The Widow White could have told them better, she having rummaged that chest a dozen times, at least, though without abstracting even a pin. Curiosity had been her ruling motive, far more than cupidity. It is true, the good woman had a prudent regard to her own interests, and felt some anxiety to learn the prospects of her receiving the stipulated price for board--only $1.50 per week--but the sales of the needles, and palms, and carved whale-bone, having kept her accounts reasonably square, solicitude on this particular interest was not at is height. No: curiosity, pure female curiosity, a little quickened by the passion which is engendered among the vulgar by the possession of a slight degree of instruction, was really at the bottom of her researches. Not only had she handled every article in the chest, but she had read, and re-read, every paper it contained, half-a-dozen letters included, and made her own surmises on their nature. Still, the good woman was very little the wiser for her inquiries. Of the great secret she knew absolutely nothing, unless the broken hints collected in her many listenings, could be so considered. But, here her ignorance ceased. Every hole in a shirt, every patch in a pair of trousers, and every darn in a stocking, had been examined, and its probable effect on the value of the garment duly estimated. The only thing that had escaped her scrutiny was a small till, that was locked. Into that she could not look, and there were moments when she would have parted with a finger in order to overhaul it.

"This jacket might sell for a dollar," had the Widow White calculated, "but for the hole in the elbow; and, that well patched, would bring seventy-five cents. Them trowsers must have cost two dollars, but they ar'n't worth half price now. That pee-jacket is the best article in the chest, and, sent across to the Harbour, about the time the ships are going out, it would bring enough to maintain Daggett a month!"