"Well,
then, my name's Skipper Jack Hardweather, known all along the coast;
but, seeing how the world and navigation's got shortened down, they
call me old Jack Splitwater. I suppose it's by the way of
convenience, and so neither wife nor me have a bit of objection."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the good wife's round,
cheery face shooting suddenly from out the companion-way, and
enjoining our friend Jack to come away aboard, her high peaked cap
shining like snow on a dark surface. The truth was, that Splitwater,
as he was styled, had become so much absorbed in excitement as to
forget the length of his yarn. "Come away, now!" says the good wife,
"everybody's left the Maggy to-night; and ther's na knowin' what 'd
a' become 'un her if a'h hadn't looked right sharp, for ther' wer' a
muckle ship a'mast run her dune; an' if she just had, the Maggy wad
na mar bene seen!" The good wife shakes her head; her rich Scotch
tongue sounding on the still air, as with apprehension her chubby
face shines in the light of the candle she holds before it with her
right hand. Skipper Splitwater will see his friend on board, he
says, as they follow her down the companion-ladder. "Wife thinks as
much of the Maggy-and would, I believe in my soul, cry her life out
if anything happened till her: wife's a good body aboard a ship, and
can take a trick at the wheel just as well as Harry Span the mate."
Skipper Splitwater leads the way into a little dingy cabin, a
partition running athwart ships dividing it into two apartments; the
former being where Skipper Hardweather "sleeps his crew" and cooks
his mess, the sternmost where he receives his friends.
Pages:
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814