scot country till I got a berth on
'The Brilliant' that was lyin' at Camden, goin' to sail to Boston.

"Ye see, 'The Brilliant' she was a tight little sloop in the government
service: 'twas in the war-times, ye see, and Commodore Tucker that is
now (he was Cap'n Tucker then), he had the command on her,--used to
run up and down all the coast takin' observations o' the British, and
keepin' his eye out on 'em, and givin' on 'em a nip here and a clip
there,' cordin' as he got a good chance. Why, your grand'ther knew old
Commodore Tucker. It was he that took Dr. Franklin over Minister, to
France, and dodged all the British vessels, right in the middle o'
the war. I tell you that 'are was like runnin' through the drops in a
thunder-shower. He got chased by the British ships pretty consid'able,
but he was too spry for 'em. Arter the war was over, Commodore Tucker
took over John Adams, our fust Minister to England. A drefful smart man
the Commodore was, but he most like to 'a' ben took in this 'ere time
I'm a tellin' ye about, and all 'cause he was sort o' softhearted to the
women. Tom Toothacre told me the story. Tom he was the one that got me
the berth on the ship. Ye see, I used to know Tom at Newport; and once
when he took sick there my mother nussed him up, and that was why Tom
was friends with me and got me the berth, and kep' me warm in it too.
Tom he was one of your rael Maine boys, that's hatched out, so to speak,
in water like ducks. He was born away down there on Harpswell P'int; and
they say, if ye throw one o' them Harpswell babies into the sea, he'll
take to it nateral, and swim like a cork: ef they hit their heads agin a
rock it only dents the rock, but don't hurt the baby. Tom he was a great
character on the ship. He could see farther, and knew more 'bout wind
and water, than most folks: the officers took Tom's judgment, and the
men all went by his say. My mother she chalked a streak o' good luck for
me when she nussed up Tom.

"Wal, we wus a lyin' at Camden there, one arternoon, goin' to sail for
Boston that night. It was a sort o' soft, pleasant arternoon, kind
o' still, and there wa'n't nothin' a goin' on but jest the hens a
craw-crawin', and a histin' up one foot, and holdin' it a spell 'cause
they didn't know when to set it down, and the geese a sissin' and a
pickin' at the grass. Ye see, Camden wasn't nothin' of a place,--'twas
jest as if somebody had emptied out a pocketful o' houses and forgot
'em. Ther