Bennie Ben Cree | Page 9

red and thin.
"Will we get there, do ye think, Jimmie Hames?" said Tobin.
"Where?"
"Aw, beyant. Will it be while we're still young?"
"It ain't that we won't git there," said Hames slowly. "It's why the ol'
man don't want to git there soon as he kin. He don't, an' that's straight.
Here's Gerry now, that comed with him from Baltimore. I asks him
now, why don't he?"
Gerry puffed deliberately.
"Why," he said at last, "I come f'om Baltimore. I don't deny it, do I?
But if you asks, why don't he? I says, I reckon he has sec'et orders. But,
I says, he never showed 'em to me. An'," he went on with ponderous
scorn, "the Sec'etary o' the Navy come f'om Connecticut, same as you.
Wha'd he tell you them sec'et orders was, when you took dinner with
him an' was int'oduced to three rear admirals?"
"Orders!" growled Simpson. "That's all right. He can hitch his hawser
to a porpoise, if he's ordered. What's my business? That ain't. But what
does the Government do next? Why they commissions the porpoise.
Course they do. It's politics. Makes volunteer naval officers as don't
know a shell from a round shot till it busts in their ear. An' that ain't my
business either. Oh, no!"
"Easy, gunner, easy," said Gerry, who was a slow, heavy man. "I don't

know sec'et orders natchully, but I hears talk. I hears like this. I hears
this boat's offered the Gove'nment by parties for a birthday present,
supposin' Cavalry's cap'n an' the Gove'nment fits her out. An' the
Gove'nment says, 'Hum,' says he, 'is he competent?' 'None better,' says
they, 'for coast sailin'. 'An' there's Dan Morgan,' says they, 'sailed the
Delaware an' southe'n tidewater these twenty years.' 'But,' says the
Gove'nment, 'there might be a disagreement with the enemy,' says he,
speakin' sa'castic. 'There you have us,' says the parties. 'Give him a
master-at-arms an' gunners.' 'Ah!' says the Gove'nment. 'Jus' so. Take
Simpson,' says he, an' cuts a caper, bein' that pleased. Now I asks,
what's t'oublin' you? Ain't you competent? Ain't the cap'n standin' off
an' givin' you free board? Ain't you as good as a commissioned officer,
barrin' fo'c'stle bunk? What's t'oublin' you? That's what I asks."
Simpson grumbled, but in a mollified way.
"I ain't sayin' he can't handle the ship."
"Cap'n Cavalry," said Hames, "is a good man I make no doubts, an'
comin' from Maryland his principles is a credit to him."
"I come from Maryland."
"Sartain, sartain," said Hames, soothingly, "an' your principles is a
credit to you."
"Glad o' that," said Gerry in his heavy manner.
"But," Hames went on, "who's this here Calhoun? Tell me that."
"I do' know."
"That's the point. A chap in gen'leman's shore clothes, occupies a cabin
an' no words. Goes snoopin' round like he owned the airth. Looks like a
summer boarder. That's what I don't like. The cap'n an' the mate, they's
pleasant chaps. I ain't down on 'em. But they're keerless, ain't they?
Playin' banjos an' smokin' seegars. They ain't suspicious. 'Taint their
natur'. Fellow comes along, seegars in both pockets, playin' the banjo

with his elbow. Maybe he says he wants to write a book for the glory of
his kentry. Maybe he lies. Acts friendly anyhow. Cap'n asks him to jine
'em, bein' keerless an' happy, thinkin' it might be a good thing for the
glory of his kentry. How do we know, you an' me?"
"Don't know," murmured Gerry. "Cap'n's business.
"Calhoun!" said Simpson angrily. "He'd better not come Calhounin'
round me."
All that day I could think of nothing but Calhoun, and how he must be
a slippery villain, such as novels and plays describe very plainly, and
always destroy in the end to everyone's satisfaction. So I went on to
imagining Ben Cree standing by to distinguish himself, as a fellow of
his age should, according to the story books, where there is apt to be
such a one, remarkably young, with his pockets full of virtue and talent,
and missing his destiny unless he can find a rascal to surprise with his
virtue and talent. The only trouble was that Ben Cree was a numskull. I
had gotten so far in the plot as to see without doubt that Calhoun was a
disguised Confederate.
The Octarara passed Cape Henlopen about noon, and drew in to the low,
sandy shore. By and by Gerry showed me where the Maryland dividing
line came down.
The great moon rose--out of the sea it seemed to rise--and it was as if a
path of bright metals were laid for it, supposing it wished to step down
to the Octarara with dignity.
The air on deck was cold, but not bitterly so, the wind lessening, and
the