They sat close together because so many of them were deaf, and when we were lucky enough to overhear the conversation, it seemed to concern their adventures at sea, or the freight carried out by the Sea Duck, the Ocean Rover, or some other Deephaven ship,—­the particulars of the voyage and its disasters and successes being as familiar as the wanderings of the children of Israel to an old parson.  There were sometimes violent altercations when the captains differed as to the tonnage of some craft that had been a prey to the winds and waves, dry-rot, or barnacles fifty years before.  The old fellows puffed away at little black pipes with short stems, and otherwise consumed tobacco in fabulous quantities.  It is needless to say that they gave an immense deal of attention to the weather.  We used to wish we could join this agreeable company, but we found that the appearance of an outsider caused a disapproving silence, and that the meeting was evidently not to be interfered with.  Once we were impertinent enough to hide ourselves for a while just round the corner of the warehouse, but we were afraid or ashamed to try it again, though the conversation was inconceivably edifying.  Captain Isaac Horn, the eldest and wisest of all, was discoursing upon some cloth he had purchased once in Bristol, which the shopkeeper delayed sending until just as they were ready to weigh anchor.

“I happened to take a look at that cloth,” said the captain, in a loud droning voice, “and as quick as I got sight of it, I spoke onpleasant of that swindling English fellow, and the crew, they stood back.  I was dreadful high-tempered in them days, mind ye; and I had the gig manned.  We was out in the stream, just ready to sail.  ’T was no use waiting any longer for the wind to change, and we was going north-about.  I went ashore, and when I walks into his shop ye never see a creatur’ so wilted.  Ye see the miser’ble sculpin thought I’d never stop to open the goods, an’ it was a chance I did, mind ye!  ‘Lor,’ says he, grinning and turning the color of a biled lobster, ’I s’posed ye were a standing out to sea by this time.’  ‘No,’ says I, ’and I’ve got my men out here on the quay a landing that cloth o’ yourn, and if you don’t send just what I bought and paid for down there to go back in the gig within fifteen minutes, I’ll take ye by the collar and drop ye into the dock.’  I was twice the size of him, mind ye, and master strong.  ‘Don’t ye like it?’ says he, edging round; ‘I’ll change it for ye, then.’  Ter’ble perlite he was.  ‘Like it?’ says I, ’it looks as if it were built of dog’s hair and divil’s wool, kicked together by spiders; and it’s coarser than Irish frieze; three threads to an armful,’ says I.”

This was evidently one of the captain’s favorite stories, for we heard an approving grumble from the audience.