"When do you sail, Captain Blastblow?" I inquired.
"I don't know: but I have my orders to be ready to go at a moment's warning at any time after daylight to-morrow morning," replied the captain of the Islander.
These instructions seemed to be entirely consistent with what Colonel Shepard had said, that his departure and destination depended upon the letters he expected to receive by the afternoon mail. I looked over the steamer, and found her as neat as a new pin in every part. The officers and crew had put on a new uniform, and I found that they had steam up on board.
I found no one that I knew on her deck, and the captain introduced me to the mate, the engineers, and the steward. I thought there was a little irony in his words as he did so; but I took no notice of this circumstance. I could see that he believed he was a thoroughly competent captain, and that he had some doubts in regard to my ability to fill the position I occupied on board of the Sylvania. I was willing that the future should settle all such questions; but I had the vanity to believe, though I did not say so, that I could handle the Sylvania as well as he could the Islander.
We parted as the best of friends should part, and when I had seated myself in the boat, I could not help thinking I should like to see him handle his vessel in such a storm as I had seen on Lake Superior. In a few moments I was landed on Market Wharf, and walked up to the post-office to inquire if there were any letters for me. I learned that the northern mail had not arrived. It was often several hours behind time, for the railroads in Florida were in very bad condition.
Colonel Shepard was there, very impatient at the non-arrival of his letters. He told me, if he had to go to New York, he should sail in the Islander on the next tide. If his business did not call him north at once, he should sail with us the next morning.
The colonel went over to the Carlton, and I was about to go with him, when Nick Boomsby came up to me. He was dressed in his best clothes, and he was as good a representative of the idiotic swell as I had ever met.
"When do you sail, Captain Alick?" he asked, as though the question was one of vital importance to him personally.
"To-morrow morning, about seven o'clock, unless some change is made in the arrangements," I replied, wondering what possible interest he could have in the sailing of the steamer.
"Alick, you and I were always good friends," he continued.