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All My Sad Captains
by
Her eyes shone with pleasure at having this piece of news. She had been thinking a great deal about it just before the two captains came in, but their mutual dismay had been such an infliction that for once she had been in danger of forgetting her best resources. Now, with the interest of these parishioners in their new minister, the propriety, not to say the enjoyment, of the rest of the evening was secure. Captain Witherspoon went away earliest, as cheerfully as he had come; and Captain Shaw rose and followed him for the sake of having company along the street. Captain Crowe lingered a few moments, so obtrusively that he seemed to fill the whole sitting-room, while he talked about unimportant matters; and at last Mrs. Lunn knocked a large flat book off the end of the sofa for no other reason than to tell him that it was one of Captain Witherspoon’s old log-books which she had taken great pleasure in reading. She did not explain that it was asked for because of other records; her late husband had also been in command–one voyage–of the ship Mary Susan.
Captain Crowe went grumbling away down the street. “I’ve seen his plaguy logs; and what she can find, I don’t see. There ain’t nothin’ to a page but his figures, and what men were sick, and how the seas run, an’ ‘So ends the day.'” It was a terrible indication of rivalry that the captain felt at liberty to bring his confounded fish to any door he chose; and his very willingness to depart early and leave the field might prove him to possess a happy certainty, Captain Crowe was so jealous that he almost forgot to play his role of lover.
As for Mrs. Lunn herself, she blew out the best lamp at once, so that it would burn another night, and sat and pondered over her future. “‘T was real awkward to have ’em all call together; but I guess I passed it off pretty well,” she consoled herself, casting an absent-minded glance at her little blurred mirror with the gilded wheat-sheaf at the top.
“Everybody’s after her; I’ve got to look sharp,” said Captain Asa Shaw to himself that night. “I guess I’d better give her to understand what I’m worth.”
“Both o’ them old sea-dogs is steerin’ for the same port as I be. I’ll cut ’em out, if only for the name of it–see if I don’t!” Captain Crowe muttered, as he smoked his evening pipe, puffing away with a great draught that made the tobacco glow and almost flare.
“I care a world more about poor Maria than anybody else does,” said warm-hearted little Captain Witherspoon, making himself as tall as he could as he walked his bedroom deck to and fro.
III.
Down behind the old Witherspoon warehouse, built by the captain’s father when the shipping interests of Longport were at their height of prosperity, there was a pleasant spot where one might sometimes sit in the cool of the afternoon. There were some decaying sticks of huge oak timber, stout and short, which served well for benches; the gray, rain-gnawed wall of the old warehouse, with its overhanging second story, was at the back; and in front was the wharf, still well graveled except where tenacious, wiry weeds and thin grass had sprouted, and been sunburned into sparse hay. There were some places, alas! where the planking had rotted away, and one could look down through and see the clear, green water underneath, and the black, sea-worn piles with their fringes of barnacles and seaweed. Captain Crowe gave a deep sigh as he sat heavily down on a stick of timber; then he heard a noise above, and looked up, to see at first only the rusty windlass under the high gable, with its end of frayed rope flying loose; then one of the wooden shutters was suddenly flung open, and swung to again, and fastened. Captain Crowe was sure now that he should gain a companion. Captain Witherspoon was in the habit of airing the empty warehouse once a week–Wednesdays, if pleasant; it was nearly all the active business he had left; and this was Thursday, but Wednesday had been rainy.