"Are you a son of Captain Miles Wallingford?" he asked in a low
voice--"of Miles Wallingford, from up the river?"
"I am, sir; his only son. He left but two of us, a son and a daughter;
and, though under no necessity to work at all, I wish to make this
Miles Wallingford as good a seaman as the last, and, I hope, as honest
a man."
This was said manfully, and with a spirit that must have pleased; for
I was shaken cordially by the hand, welcomed on board, invited into
the cabin, and asked to take a seat at a table on which the dinner had
just been placed. Rupert, of course, shared in all these favours. Then
followed the explanations. Captain Robbins, of the John, had first
gone to sea with my father, for whom I believe he entertained a
profound respect. He had even served with him once as mate, and talked
as if he felt that he had been under obligations to him. He did not
question me very closely, seeming to think it natural enough that
Miles Wallingford's only son should wish to be a seaman.
As we sat at the table, even, it was agreed that Rupert and I should
join the ship, as green hands, the very next morning, signing the
articles as soon as we went on shore. This was done accordingly, and
I had the felicity of writing Miles Wallingford to the roll
d'equipage, to the tune of eighteen dollars per month--seamen then
actually receiving thirty and thirty-five dollars per month--wages.
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