“Know him! to be sure we do,” replied Climberkin hastily. “Haven’t we all sailed in his ships,—all but Scrumpydike there, who’s asleep in the boat? and don’t we know as he’s the richest merchant in Columbia, and got ships laden with every sort o’ precious merchandise, more than one man ever had afore—sailing from port to port all over every sea that runs. Know him! Why, who do we know, if we don’t know a man as all the world knows?”
“Ay, ay,” remarked the other quietly, “that’s him; they do say he’s as rich as the emperor. But all I know is, that while he’s greatest among the rich he’s kindest among the poor. He seems never happy but when he’s founding some hospital,—setting afoot some charity, or doing some good, some how or other: his name is honoured in all parts o’ the world. There’s no merchant all over this here globe that hasn’t heard of the fame of master Porphyry: and in his own country he’s like a prince, scattering his bounties wherever he thinks they are likely to confer a benefit; and every one respects him, every one wishes to think as he does; and all are anxious to show their opinion of his integrity, cleverness, and all that sort o’ thing. Well, what’s uncommon strange, although he squanders his money about as if there was no end to it, it seems only to ’cumulate the faster; and although the emperor has signified his wish to honour him wi’ lots o’ distinctions many’s the great man would be proud enough to gain, he refuses them all, and says he won’t be nothing more nor plain master Porphyry. So master Porphyry he remains; but for all that he’s a greater man than all the princes, dukes, and nobles we’re likely to see in our time. Well, master Porphyry’s got a son, as smart a figure of a youth as ever you see’d aboard ship; and after ’ducating him in all sorts o’ learnin’, till he’s fit to be launched in the great ocean o’ life, he wishes him, nat’rul enough, to go and see foreign parts, that he may get plenty o’ notions o’ different kinds o’ people, and countries, and governments, that when he comes back he may be able to do credit to his father. So master Porphyry gets a ship built o’ purpose, and a lovelier vessel than the Albatross it arn’t possible to look on; and has her stored wi’ every kind o’ valuable merchandise likely to sell to a profit at the ports she may visit, and wi’ all sorts o’ necessaries and comforts for the crew; has her manned wi’ a prime set o’ picked hands from his other vessels,—engages a ’sperienced captain, and accompanied by the most celebrated teacher o’ learnin’ he could meet with, to show all the ’markable things as might be overhauled, and give the proper ’splanations about their breed, seed, and generation, I expects him here every minute to go aboard; and ’mediately arter that, up wi’ her cleaver, out wi’ her wings, and good bye to old Columbia.” [(2.)]
“Now let me twist the rope a little,” [(3.)] said Climberkin, while his messmates continued to listen with the same interest they had shown all the time Hearty had been speaking. “You see, mates,” continued the young sailor, apparently attempting to make the sleeves of his check shirt roll above his elbows with more convenience, but more probably trying to attract attention from the heightening colour of his cheek,—“you see, mates, I’ve been sailing in convoy with a mighty smartish craft, who’s a sort o’ cook’s mate,—(now what are you jiggering at?” cried the speaker sharply to a young fellow who had indulged himself with a grin,)—“who’s a sort of cook’s mate in the noble family of Philadelphia; and she being always among her messmates, hears a smartish lot o’ notions ’cerning her officers, which, when we’ve been yard-arm and yard-arm sailing in company through the parks, or at anchor in the jollity houses, she ’municates to me by way o’ divarsion: and she tells me as how master Porphyry has a snuggery up the country, ’bout a cable’s length from one belonging to the noble Philadelphia, and that the two families were as sociable as a shoal o’ herrins. Philadelphia has a daughter, by all accounts a reg’lar-built angelic; and master Porphyry having a son, an equally smartish sort o’ young chap, it was as sartain as a ship would sail afore the wind, that they two while consortin’ would pick up some notions about gettin’ afloat together; and as no signals o’ a diff’rent natur’ were hung out by their commodores, they linked their hearts pretty close, and never could see which way the wind blowed ’cept when they were alongside o’ each other. Well, somehow or other, there came on a squall,—the powerful noble Philadelphia and the rich merchant Porphyry parted company about politics: one took one side and t’other took t’other, and they went on different tacks in no time. Philadelphia, who’s as proud as a port admiral, when he found as master Porphyry wouldn’t follow in his wake, blowed great guns, cut his cable; and without letting his daughter the Lady Eureka have any ’munication with her consort, he makes her set sail along wi’ him, and the young ones arn’t been allowed to come in sight o’ each other ever since. Well, arter that, master Porphyry, who’s as proud as an honest man should be, wern’t a going to strike his flag to nothin’ o’ the sort; so seeing as his young’un looked cloudy weather, to ’leviate his disappointment he thinks o’ trying to make him forget the whole circumbendibus. So he plans this here voyage.”
The loud huzzas of an approaching multitude put an end to the conversation; and Scrumpydike, who appeared to have been asleep, but had listened attentively to every word that had been uttered, suddenly started from his recumbent position in the boat, presenting a muscular form, with a yellow, rough, and scowling face, sufficiently forbidding in its appearance, yet possessing an odd sort of twist about the corners of the mouth that much disguised its natural ferocity.
“Thunder and lightning!” [(4.)] shouted Scrumpydike, hastily regaining his legs, “here they come!”
Some of the sailors ran up the stone steps leading to the foot of the bridge, and there a noble and gratifying sight presented itself. The whole length of the magnificent street of stately mansions approaching the water seemed filled with a countless multitude of citizens, each huzzaing with extraordinary zeal some persons in a procession that was proceeding along the centre of the thoroughfare. Windows, housetops, bridges, and boats were thronged with spectators; and all the vessels in the river were dressed with flags, which, streaming from the masts in a variety of pleasing colours and devices, gave an animated and picturesque character to the scene.
“There’s master Porphyry!” exclaimed Hearty.
“Where?” inquired half a dozen voices at once.
“That stately-looking man on the tall grey horse who is bowing to his fellow-citizens. Every body seems to have got a notion that the merchant’s son was going on his first voyage; so, you see, they’re resolved to show how much they respect the father, and all the city turns out to a man (aye and to a woman too, as you may see at the windows), and here they are throwing up their caps, waving their handkerchiefs, and shouting like mad; the ladies scattering flowers upon his head, and bands o’ music playing all the way. And there’s young master Porphyry riding by his side, a fine handsome sort o’ chap, and as like his father as one whale’s like another. And in the open carriage behind them is the learned Professor Fortyfolios, who’s written more big books than any on us could carry; and opposite him’s our Captain Compass, and next him’s little Log, the captain’s clerk; and opposite him’s Doctor Tourniquet, our surgeon; and there’s a lot more on ’em followin’ in different carriages, who ha’ been promoted to a birth aboard the Albatross. These dignified bodies in long robes, and some on ’em wi’ gold chains round their necks, are great magistrates and merchants belonging to the city, and they look up to master Porphyry as head on ’em all. But we must get to our oars, my mates, or else we shall nap it pretty considerably.” So saying he returned to the boat, quickly followed by his companions, and they all began to be very busy preparing for the comers.