Jack Tier | Page 3

brig. Lady Washington herself, if she was alive and
disposed to a sea-v'y'ge, might be glad of the chance. We've a ladies'
cabin, you know, and it's suitable that it should have some one to
occupy it. Old Mrs. Budd is a sensible woman, and takes time by the
forelock. Rose is ailin'--pulmonary they call it, I believe, and her aunt
wishes to try the sea for her constitution--"
"Rose Budd has no more of a pulmonary constitution than I have
myself," interrupted the mate.
"Well, that's as people fancy. You must know, Mr. Mulford, they've got
all sorts of diseases now-a-days, and all sorts of cures for'em. One sort
of a cure for consumption is what they tarm the Hyder-Ally--"
"I think you must mean hydropathy, sir--"
"Well it's something of the sort, no matter what--but cold water is at the
bottom of it, and they do say it's a good remedy. Now Rose's aunt
thinks if cold water is what is wanted, there is no place where it can be
so plenty as out on the ocean. Sea-air is good, too, and by taking a
v'y'ge her niece will get both requisites together, and cheap."
"Does Rose Budd think herself consumptive, Capt. Spike?" asked
Mulford, with interest.
"Not she--you know it will never do to alarm a pulmonary, so Mrs.
Budd has held her tongue carefully on the subject before the young
woman. Rose fancies that her aunt is out of sorts, and that the v'y'ge is
tried on her account--but the aunt, the cunning thing, knows all about
it."
Mulford almost nauseated the expression of his commander's
countenance while Spike uttered the last words. At no time was that
countenance very inviting, the features being coarse and vulgar, while
the color of the entire face was of an ambiguous red, in which liquor
and the seasons would seem to be blended in very equal quantities.
Such a countenance, lighted up by a gleam of successful management,
not to say with hopes and wishes that it will hardly do to dwell on,
could not but be revolting to a youth of Harry Mulford's generous
feelings, and most of all to one who entertained the sentiments which
he was quite conscious of entertaining for Rose Budd. The young man
made no reply, but turned his face toward the water, in order to conceal

the expression of disgust that he was sensible must be strongly depicted
on it.
The river, as the well-known arm of the sea in which the Swash was
lying is erroneously termed, was just at that moment unusually clear of
craft, and not a sail, larger than that of a boat, was to be seen between
the end of Blackwell's Island and Corlaer's Hook, a distance of about a
league. This stagnation in the movement of the port, at that particular
point, was owing to the state of wind and tide. Of the first, there was
little more than a southerly air, while the last was about two-thirds ebb.
Nearly everything that was expected on that tide, coast-wise, and by the
way of the Sound, had already arrived, and nothing could go eastward,
with that light breeze and under canvas, until the flood made. Of course
it was different with the steamers, who were paddling about like so
many ducks, steering in all directions, though mostly crossing and
re-crossing at the ferries. Just as Mulford turned away from his
commander, however, a large vessel of that class shoved her bows into
the view, doubling the Hook, and going eastward. The first glance at
this vessel sufficed to drive even Rose Budd momentarily out of the
minds of both master and mate, and to give a new current to their
thoughts. Spike had been on the point of walking up the wharf, but he
now so far changed his purpose as actually to jump on board of the brig
and spring up alongside of his mate, on the taffrail, in order to get a
better look at the steamer. Mulford, who loathed so much in his
commander, was actually glad of this, Spike's rare merit as a seaman
forming a sort of attraction that held him, as it might be against his own
will, bound to his service.
"What will they do next, Harry?" exclaimed the master, his manner and
voice actually humanized, in air and sound at least, by this unexpected
view of something new in his calling--"What will they do next?"
"I see no wheels, sir, nor any movement in the water astern, as if she
were a propeller," returned the young man.
"She's an out-of-the-way sort of a hussy! She's a man-of-war, too--one
of Uncle Sam's new efforts."
"That can hardly be, sir. Uncle Sam has but three steamers, of any size
or force, now