Chapter 5

"Stranger! I fled the home of grief,
At Connoeht Moran's tomb to fall;
I found the helmet of my chief,
His bow still hanging on our wall."

Campbell.

"Amphibious!" exclaimed Roswell Gardiner, in an aside to Mary, as the
stranger entered the room, following Baiting Joe's lead. The last only
came for his glass of rum-and-water, served with which by the aid of the
negro, he passed the back of his hand across his mouth, napkin-fashion,
nodded his "good-day," and withdrew. As for the stranger, Roswell
Gardiner's term being particularly significant, it may be well to make a
brief explanation.

The word "amphibious" is, or rather _was_, well applied to many of the
seamen, whalers, and sealers, who dwelt on the eastern end of Long Island,
or the Vineyard, around Stonington, and, perhaps we might add, in the
vicinity of New Bedford. The Nantucket men had not base enough, in the way
of terra firma, to come properly within the category. The class to which
the remark strictly applied were sailors without being seamen, in the
severe signification of the term. While they could do all that was
indispensably necessary to take care of their vessels, were surpassed by
no other mariners in enterprise, and daring, and hardihood, they knew
little about "crowning cables," "carrick-bends," and all the mysteries of
"knotting," "graffing," and "splicing." A regular Delaware-bay seaman
would have turned up his nose in contempt at many of their ways, and at
much of their real ignorance; but, when it came to the drag, or to the
oar, or to holding out in bad weather, or to any of the more manly
qualities of the business, he would be certain to yield his respect to
those at whom it had originally been his disposition to laugh. It might
best describe these men to say that they bore some such relation to the
thorough-bred tar, as the volunteer bears to the regular soldier.

As a matter of course, the stranger was invited to take his seat at the
table. This he did without using many phrases; and Mary had reason to
believe, by his appetite, that he thought well of her culinary skill.
There was very little of the sheepshead left when this, its last
assailant, shoved his plate back, the signal that he could do no more. He
then finished a glass of rum-and-water, and seemed to be in a good
condition to transact the business that had brought him there. Until this
moment, he had made no allusion to the motive of his visit, leaving the
deacon full of conjectures.

"The fish of Peconic and Gar'ner's is as good as any I know," coolly
observed this worthy, after certainly having established some claim to
give an opinion on the