“Did you, really?” inquired Clinton, with evident pleasure. “I’m often taken for an Englishman, on my honor. I don’t know why it is, but positively, I’m often asked when I came from the other side.”
“Would you rather be taken for an Englishman than an American?”
“Well, you see, there are some Americans that are so vulgar, don’t you know—talk through their noses, and all that.”
“Where were you born, Mr. Clinton?”
“In Massachusetts, not far from Boston.”
“By the way, Mr. Vane, are you descended from Sir Henry Vane, one of the royal governors of Massachusetts? I have been meaning to ask you.”
“I can’t tell you, Mr. Clinton; but my name happens to be the same—Harry.”
“Really, that is very interesting. I should think you would look up the matter.”
“Perhaps I will when I return home!” said Harry, who cared very little about the matter. From this time, however, Clinton regarded him with increased respect, and manifested an increased liking for his society, from his supposed aristocratic lineage. Our hero treated him with good-natured toleration, but much preferred the company of Jack Pendleton, sailor as he was, though his fingers were not infrequently smeared with tar. Harry did not mind this; but was attracted by the frank, good-humored face of young Jack, and was always glad to have a chat with him. He had a chance, though at considerable personal risk, to do him a signal service before long.
The captain’s habits, it must be said, did not improve. His stock of liquor was ample, and he continued to indulge himself. Generally he kept within safe bounds, but at times he allowed his appetite to get the better of him. Whenever that happened, it was fortunate if he drank himself into a state of stupefaction, and remained in his cabin, leaving the management of the ship to the mate, Mr. Holdfast, who was thoroughly temperate. Unfortunately, he was not always content to remain in the cabin. He would stagger upstairs and give orders which might or might not, be judicious.