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.
Presently the Captain appeared at the basement doorway, just behind
where his friend was sitting. The door was seldom opened, but the
owner of the property professed himself forgetful about letting in as
much fresh air there as he did above, and announced that he should
leave it open for half an hour. The two men moved a little way along
the oak stick to be out of the cool draught which blew from the
cellar-like place, empty save for the storage of some old fragments of
vessels or warehouse gear. There was a musty odor of the innumerable
drops of molasses which must have leaked into the hard earth there for
half a century; there was still a fragrance of damp Liverpool salt, a
reminder of even the dyestuffs and pepper and rich spices that had
been stowed away. The two elderly men were carried back to the past by
these familiar, ancient odors; they turned and sniffed once or twice
with satisfaction, but neither spoke. Before them the great, empty
harbor spread its lovely, shining levels in the low afternoon light.
There were a few ephemeral pleasure-boats, but no merchantmen riding
at anchor, no lines of masts along the wharves, with great wrappings
of furled sails on the yards; there were no sounds of mallets on the
ships' sides, or of the voices of men, busy with unlading, or moving
the landed cargoes. The old warehouses were all shuttered and
padlocked, as far as the two men could see.
"Looks lonesomer than ever, don't it?" said Captain Crowe, pensively.
"I vow it's a shame to see such a harbor as this, an' think o' all the
back country, an' how things were goin' on here in our young days."
"'Tis sad, sir, sad," growled brave little Captain Witherspoon.
"They've taken the wrong course for the country's good--some o' those
folks in Washington. When the worst of 'em have stuffed their own
pockets as full as they can get, p'r'aps they'll see what else can be
done, and all catch hold together and shore up the shipping int'rists.
I see every night, when I go after my paper the whole sidewalk full o'
louts that ought to be pushed off to sea with a good smart master;
they're going to the devil ashore, sir. Every way you can look at it,
shippin' 's a loss to us."
At this moment the shrill whistle of a locomotive sounded back of the
town, but the captains took no notice of it. Two idle boys suddenly
came scrambling up the broken landing-steps from the water, one of
them clutching a distressed puppy. Then another, who had stopped to
fasten the invisible boat underneath, joined them in haste, and all
three fled round the corner. The elderly seamen had watched them
severely.
"It used to cost but a ninepence to get a bar'l from Boston by sea,"
said Captain Crowe, in a melancholy tone; "and now it costs
twenty-five cents by the railroad, sir."
In reply Captain Witherspoon shook his head gloomily.
"You an' I never expected to see Longport harbor look like this,"
resumed Captain Crowe, giving the barren waters a long gaze, and then
leaning forward and pushing the pebbles about with his cane. "I don't
know's I ever saw things look so poor along these wharves as they do
to-day. I've seen six or seven large vessels at a time waitin' out in
the stream there until they could get up to the wharves. You could
stand ashore an' hear their masters rippin' an' swearin' aboard, an'
fur's you could see from here, either way, the masts and riggin'
looked like the woods in winter-time. There used to be somethin' doin'
in this place when we was young men, Cap'n Witherspoon."
"I feel it as much as anybody," acknowledged the captain. "Looks to me
very much as if there was a vessel comin' up, down there over
Dimmett's P'int; she may only be runnin' in closer 'n usual on this
light sou'easterly breeze; yes, I s'pose that 's all. What do you make
her out to be, sir?"
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.