It was in less than two days that the last keg and case was received on board and the last carpenter packed his kit and left the schooner; in the meantime Anthony made calculations as to the hands needed to man her and set about procuring them. Almost the first person he met, at a tavern frequented by sailors in Front Street, was Corkery, who had been mate in Rufus Stevens' Sons' ship General Stark. And in an instant Anthony had him at the far end of the bar, a mug of beer before each of them, and was explaining his errand—or as much of it as the occasion seemed to need.
"A crew?" said Corkery; "four men, a cook, a mate? A short voyage and good pay? What ship?"
"The schooner Roebuck," said Anthony.
Corkery nodded.
"I know her," he said. "Owned by Crousillat, and lately engaged in the trade with Havana." He took a draft of the beer. "About the mate, now: I'm looking for a ship myself, and this voyage might fit me well if you'd be inclined to have me."
"The papers are waiting for your name," said Anthony, his eyes snapping, for he felt the value of the man. "And, now, the others."
"A quiet crew, you say," said Corkery thoughtfully; "one that goes about its affairs, gives its time to handling the ship, and leaves all other matters to its officers. Such should be found readily enough. When do you sail?"
"To-morrow," replied Anthony.
"Where bound?" asked the mate.
"That," said Anthony, "I do not yet know."