"I wish you would," called back the captain of the Noank. "Would you like to come aboard? I'll give you a box of Cuba cigars."
"Thank you kindly," said the major. "I'll not trouble you to that extent. I'm Major Avery of the Donegal Dragoons. I didn't know there were any of the name in America. Sorry to find an Avery fighting against his king."
"Well," said the captain, "you're out a little, there. He is your king, not ours, and he is fighting us."
"All right!—or rather, it's all wrong," replied the brave major. "The king'll have his own again, before long. Your cruise'll be a short one, if you run around in these waters."
"Oh," said the captain, "they're safe enough. We can get away from the cavalry, and from the tubs, too."
"Tubs, eh? That's what you call 'em? You'll find that some of 'em are pretty large tubs."
"Good-by!" shouted back the captain. "I'm glad to find one more good-looking Avery. Come and visit at my house as soon as the war's over."
The sails of the Noank were taking the breeze. She swung away seaward, bowing to the cavalry and to the swarm of fisher folk, and these forgot their loyalty to England so far that they cheered her lustily.
"Do you know, Guert," remarked the captain, thoughtfully, "this is about the worst side of our war! It has set old neighbors against each other, and even kinfolk. Why! Old Ben Franklin himself has a son that's an out and out Tory. He is the British Tory governor of New Jersey. He and his father don't speak to each other. There's more like 'em."
"That's so, sir," said Guert. "Some first-rate fellows that I used to know in New York went off on the wrong side. Steve de Lancey was one of 'em. I used to take his boat whenever I wanted to, and they were all real good neighbors."