“Well, Mr. Lyndsay,” said he, shaking hands in a friendly manner with him; “have you concluded to take passage in my vessel?”
“Not quite,” returned Lyndsay, laughing. “My wife has such an unconquerable aversion to going with your captain and his sons, on account of the reprobate language they used the other day in her hearing, that she has actually found up another vessel in which she wishes me to sail.”
“Oh, the Anne, Captain Williams,” said Peterson, with a contemptuous smile,—“the last and the most insignificant vessel which leaves our port. The owner, P. Gregg, is not a liberal person to deal with; the captain is a good seaman, but a stubborn brute,—quite as unfit for the society of ladies as Captain Ayre. To tell you the truth, we have little choice in these matters. It is not the manners of the men we employ we generally look to, but to their nautical skill. There is, however, one great objection to your taking passage in the Anne, which I think it right you should know. She has a most objectionable freight.”
“In what respect?”
“She is loaded with brandy and gunpowder.”
“By no means a pleasant cargo,” said Lyndsay. “What do you say to that, Flora?” turning to his wife.
“I will tell you to-morrow: do wait until then.”
In order to pacify her evident uneasiness, Lyndsay promised to postpone his decision.
When they reached their lodgings, they found a short, round-faced, rosy, good-natured looking individual, waiting to receive them, who introduced himself as Mr. Gregg, the owner of the Anne. He had learned from Captain Williams, that they had been inspecting the capabilities of his vessel.
“She is a small ship,” said he, “but safe; the captain, a steady, experienced seaman; and if Mr. Lyndsay engaged a passage for himself and family, he would grant the most liberal terms.”