Our captain, a rude, blunt north-country sailor, possessing certainly not more politeness than might be expected in a bear, received his sprucely dressed visitors on the deck, and, with very little courtesy, abruptly bade them follow him down into the cabin.
The officials were no sooner seated, than glancing hastily round the place, they commenced the following dialogue:—
“From what port, captain?”
Now, the captain had a peculiar language of his own, from which he commonly expunged all the connecting links. Small words, such as “and” and “the,” he contrived to dispense with altogether.
“Scotland—sailed from port o' Leith, bound for Quebec, Montreal— general cargo—seventy-two steerage, four cabin passengers—brig Anne, one hundred and ninety-two tons burden, crew eight hands.”
Here he produced his credentials, and handed them to the strangers. The Scotchman just glanced over the documents, and laid them on the table.
“Had you a good passage out?”
“Tedious, baffling winds, heavy fogs, detained three weeks on Banks—foul weather making Gulf—short of water, people out of provisions, steerage passengers starving.”
“Any case of sickness or death on board?”
“All sound as crickets.”