BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
Can you not see the boy of 1775 now—his sturdy legs encased in stout black stockings, german-silver buckles to his knee-breeches, his hair plaited and tied with a smart black ribbon, and all this magnificence topped by three real silver buttons with which his hat is rakishly cocked? But the boy himself is better worth looking at than all his finery—so thought Captain Moore, of his Majesty's ship Margaretta, lying at anchor in the harbor of Machias. Jack Leverett was the boy's name—a handsome stripling of sixteen, with a quiet manner but a fearless eye.
The two were sitting opposite each other at the cabin table, and through the open port they could see the village and the harbor, bathed in the bright white light of a day in May. The Captain was conscious that this young guest was decidedly in a hurry to leave. A whole hour had they sat at the dinner table, Captain Moore, with the utmost art, trying to find out Jack's errand to Machias—for those were the stirring days when every American had to take his stand for or against King George—and Captain Moore particularly desired to know how Squire Leverett, Jack's father, stood toward the King. But Jack, with native mother-wit, had managed to baffle the Captain. He had readily admitted that he was the bearer of a letter from his father to Jerry O'Brien, master of Squire Leverett's sloop Priscilla, in regard to heaving down the sloop. But the Captain, with a seaman's eye, had noted that the Priscilla was in perfect order and did not need to be hove down, and he more than suspected that Jack was the bearer of other and more important news. Through the cabin windows they could see the sloop, a beautiful craft, being warped into her dock, while across the blue water was wafted sweetly the voices of the men, led by the shanty man,[1] singing the old shanty song:
"Haul the bowline, our jolly ship's a-rolling,
Haul the bowline, the bowline haul!
Haul the bowline, our jolly mate's a-growling,
Haul the bowline, the bowline haul!"
As soon as Jack decently could, he started to rise from the table. Captain Moore had observed that the glass of wine at Jack's plate remained untasted, and it suggested a means of finding out whether the Leveretts meant to go with the King or not.
"Do not go," he said, "until you have joined me in drinking the health of his Majesty King George."
Jack had no notion whatever of drinking the King's health, but he was at his wits' end how to avoid it. Just then, though, the Captain turned to speak to his orderly, and Jack took the opportunity of gulping down his wine with more haste than elegance. Captain Moore, seeing it, was surprised and disgusted at the boy's apparent greediness for wine, but raising his glass, said, "To the King."
"Excuse me, sir," answered Jack, coolly, "but my father never allows me to drink but one glass of wine, and that I have already had."
"Then I will drink the toast alone," said Captain Moore, with a stern look at the boy. "Here is to his Majesty King George. Health and long life to him! God save the King!"
As Captain Moore uttered this sentiment Jack rose and promptly put on his hat. The Captain was quite sure that the boy's action, like his gulping down the wine, meant a distaste for the King, and not a want of breeding. But he thought it best not to notice the incident, and said, civilly, to his young guest: