"Well," he said, holding out his hand, "and how are you after your
nap?"
He spoke our language with ease and yet with a foreign accent. Perhaps
it was this which betrayed him to me.
"Are you not Captain Vanderdecken?" I asked as I took his hand
heartily.
"So you know me?" he returned, with a mournful little laugh, as he
motioned to me to sit down again.
Thus the ice was broken, and he took his seat by my side, and we were
soon deep in talk.
When he learned that I was a loyal New-Yorker, his cordiality
increased.
"I have relatives in New Amsterdam," he cried; "at least I had once.
Diedrich Knickerbocker was my first cousin. And do you know Rip Van
Winkle?"
Although I could not claim any close friendship with this gentleman, I
boasted myself fully acquainted with his history.
"Yes, yes," said Captain Vanderdecken, "I suppose he was before your
time. Most people are so short-lived nowadays; it's only with that
Wandering Jew now that I ever have a chat over old times. Well, well,
but you have heard of Rip? Were you ever told that I was on a visit to
Hendrik Hudson the night Rip went up the mountain and took a drop too
much?"