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All My Sad Captains
by
The old shipmasters bent their keen, far-sighted gaze seaward for a moment. “She ain’t comin’ in; she’s only one o’ them great schooners runnin’ west’ard. I’d as soon put to sea under a Monday’s clothes-line, for my part,” said Captain Crowe.
“Yes; give me a brig, sir, a good able brig,” said Witherspoon eagerly. “I don’t care if she’s a little chunky, neither. I’d make more money out of her than out o’ any o’ these gre’t new-fangled things. I’d as soon try to sail a whole lumber-yard to good advantage. Gi’ me an old-fashioned house an’ an old-style vessel; there was some plan an’ reason to ’em. Now that new house of Asa Shaw’s he’s put so much money in–looks as if a nor’west wind took an’ hove it together. Shaw’s just the man to call for one o’ them schooners we just spoke of.”
The mention of this rival’s name caused deep feelings in their manly breasts. The captains felt an instant resentment of Asa Shaw’s wealth and pretensions. Neither noticed that the subject was abruptly changed without apparent reason, when Captain Crowe asked if there was any truth in the story that the new minister was going to take board with the Widow Lunn.
“No, sir,” exclaimed Captain Witherspoon, growing red in the face, and speaking angrily; “I don’t put any confidence in the story at all.”
“It might be of mutual advantage,” his companion urged a little maliciously. Captain Crowe had fancied that Mrs. Lunn had shown him special favor that afternoon, and ventured to think himself secure.
“The new minister’s a dozen years younger than she; must be all o’ that,” said the Captain, collecting himself. “I called him quite a young-lookin’ man when he preached for us as a candidate. Sing’lar he shouldn’t be a married man. Generally they be.”
“You ain’t the right one to make reflections,” joked Captain Crowe, mindful that Maria Lunn had gone so far that very day as to compliment him upon owning the handsomest old place in town. “I used to think you was a great beau among the ladies, Witherspoon.”
“I never expected to die a single man,” said his companion, with dignity.
“You’re gettin’ along in years,” urged Captain Crowe. “You’re gettin’ to where it’s dangerous; a good-hearted elderly man’s liable to be snapped up by somebody he don’t want. They say an old man ought to be married, but he shouldn’t get married. I don’t know but it’s so.”
“I’ve put away my thoughts o’ youth long since,” said the little captain nobly. “Though I ain’t so old, sir, but what I’ve got some years before me yet, unless I meet with accident; an’ I’m so situated that I never yet had to take anybody that I didn’t want. But I do often feel that there’s somethin’ to be said for the affections, an’ I get to feelin’ lonesome winter nights, thinkin’ that age is before me, an’ if I should get hove on to a sick an’ dyin’ bed”–
The captain’s hearty voice failed for once; then the pleasant face and sprightly figure of the lady of his choice seemed to interpose, and to comfort him. “Come, come!” he said, “ain’t we gettin’ into the doldrums, Crowe? I’ll just step in an’ close up the warehouse; it must be time to make for supper.”
Captain Crowe walked slowly round by the warehouse lane into the street, waiting at the door while his friend went through the old building, carefully putting up the bars and locking the street door upon its emptiness with a ponderous key; then the two captains walked away together, the tall one and the short one, clicking their canes on the flagstones. They turned up Barbadoes Street, where Mrs. Lunn lived, and bowed to her finely as they passed.
IV.
One Sunday morning in September the second bell was just beginning to toll, and Mrs. Lunn locked her front door, tried the great brass latch, put the heavy key into her best silk dress pocket, and stepped forth discreetly on her way to church. She had been away from Longport for several weeks, having been sent for to companion the last days of a cousin much older than herself; and her reappearance was now greeted with much friendliness. The siege of her heart had necessarily been in abeyance. She walked to her seat in the broad aisle with great dignity. It was a season of considerable interest in Longport, for the new minister had that week been installed, and that day he was to preach his first sermon. All the red East Indian scarfs and best raiment of every sort suitable for early autumn wear had been brought out of the camphor-chests, and there was an air of solemn festival.