he thought folks couldn't make no kind of rules that held good,
that had to do with the moon. Well, he did use to depend on the moon
some; everybody knows we aren't so likely to have foul weather in a
growing moon as we be when she's waning. But some folks I could name,
they can't do nothing without having the moon's opinion on it. When I
went my second voyage afore the mast we was in port ten days at Cadiz,
and the ship she needed salting dreadful. The mate kept telling the
captain how low the salt was in her, and we was going a long voyage from
there, but no, he wouldn't have her salted nohow, because it was the
wane of the moon. He was an amazing set kind of man, the cap'n was, and
would have his own way on sea or shore. The mate was his own brother,
and they used to fight like a cat and dog; they owned most of the ship
between 'em. I was slushing the mizzen-mast, and heard 'em a disputin'
about the salt. The cap'n was a first-rate seaman and died rich, but he
was dreadful notional. I know one time we were a lyin' out in the stream
all ready to weigh anchor, and everything was in trim, the men were up
in the rigging and a fresh breeze going out, just what we'd been waiting
for, and the word was passed to take in sail and make everything fast.
The men swore, and everybody said the cap'n had had some kind of a
warning. But that night it began to blow, and I tell you afore morning
we were glad enough we were in harbor. The old Victor she dragged her
anchor, and the fore-to'gallant sail and r'yal got loose somehow and was
blown out of the bolt-ropes. Most of the canvas and rigging was old, but
we had first-rate weather after that, and didn't bend near all the new
sail we had aboard, though the cap'n was most afraid we'd come short
when we left Boston. That was 'most sixty year ago," said the captain,
reflectively. "How time does slip away! You young folks haven't any
idea. She was a first-rate ship, the old Victor was, though I suppose
she wouldn't cut much of a dash now 'longside of some of the new
clippers.

"There used to be some strange-looking crafts in those days; there was
the old brig Hannah. They used to say she would sail backwards as fast
as forwards, and she was so square in the bows, they used to call her
the sugar-box. She was master old, the Hannah was, and there wasn't a
port from here to New Orleans where she wasn't known; she used to carry
a master cargo for her size, more than some ships that ranked two