On Saturday morning “all hands” appeared upon deck, and the sloop was becalmed opposite Sawpits (now Port Chester)!
This tried the patience of the passengers sadly.
“I expected to start for home to-day,” said one.
“I supposed all my combs would have been sold at auction on Wednesday, and yet here they are on board,” said another.
“I intended to have sold my hats surely this week, for I have a note to pay in New-Haven on Monday,” added a third.
“I have an appointment to preach in New York this evening and to-morrow,” said the clergyman, whose huge sandy whiskers overshadowed a face now completely covered with a bright red beard a quarter of an inch long.
“Well, there is no use crying, gentlemen,” replied the captain; “it is lucky for us that we have chickens and eggs on freight, or we might have to be put upon allowance.”
After breakfast the passengers, who now began to look like barbarians, again solicited the loan of my grandfather’s razor.
“No, gentlemen,” he replied; “I insist that shaving is unhealthy and contrary to nature, and I am determined neither to shave myself nor loan my razor until we reach New York.”
Night came, and yet no wind. Sunday morning found them in the same position. Their patience was well nigh exhausted, but after breakfast a slight ripple appeared. It gradually increased, and the passengers were soon delighted in seeing the anchor weighed and the sails again set. The sloop glided finely through the water, and smiles of satisfaction forced themselves through the swamps of bristles which covered the faces of the passengers.