I cannot remember the time when I did not love the sea, nor is that strange. I was born in sight of the ocean. My father, and, as for that matter, his father before him, was a sailor. My first recollections are of boats and oars, of vessels and ropes and sails. At fourteen I had made a trip to the Great Banks on a fishing smack and at sixteen my knowledge of the Atlantic coast reached from Newfoundland to Charleston. Tall for my age, strong and hardy from constant toil and exposure, and familiar with all sorts of sailing craft from a shallop to a ship, I counted myself an able-bodied seaman. I now had one ambition—to voyage to foreign ports.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the single cable which bound me to the homeland was severed. My mother—the only parent I can remember, for my father was lost at sea while I was still a babe—died. I left her in usual health for a voyage to Norfolk. On my return I found her dead and buried. In caring for a neighbor, who was sick with typhus fever, she fell a victim to the disease. A small cottage with its scanty furniture, a few dollars in the care of Squire Sabins, the village lawyer, and her dying message—these were my legacy. It was the message which changed the course of my life, and sent me away from my native town for years. It read:

Squire Sabins, who had been appointed my guardian, though himself averse to the sea, offered no opposition to my plans, and a week later, with a new sailor’s kit and as fine an outfit as a lad of my age ever had, I left for Marblehead to look up Captain Tucker—a man whom I had never seen, but about whom I had heard from childhood, for, as the sole survivor of my father’s wreck on the coast of France, he had been the one to bring the tidings of that unfortunate event to my mother. I arrived at the village in the evening, and was left by the stage at Mason’s Inn, where I passed the night. Early the next morning, while I waited for the breakfast hour, I went out on the street for a stroll. Of almost the first person I met, an old fisherman on the way to his nets, I inquired for the residence of the man I was seeking.

“Capt’n Samuel, I ’spose you mean, seein’ how thar ain’t but one Capt’n Tucker here,” he responded. “That big, gabled house, standin’ thar all by itself on Rowland Hill, not far from the bay shore, is whar he lives when to home. But he hain’t thar now. He sailed yisterday from Salem for Lisbon.”

“You are sure of that, sir?” I asked with much chagrin at the thought that I had lost by a single day the man I was anxious to see.

“I orter be,” he answered good-naturedly, “seein’ how my Bill went with him, rated as an able seaman for the fust time, an’ I was over thar to see them off. Bill will make a capt’n yit, ye see if he don’t, for he’s with the smartest skipper that sails from these parts, who’s promised to do the square thing by the lad.”

I was in no state of mind to dispute his assertion, or to listen further to a recital of his family affairs, which he seemed disposed to make. Thanking him for his information, though it had not been to my liking, I turned abruptly and went back to the tavern, where the disagreeable news I had received was confirmed by the inn-keeper while I was at breakfast.

I arose from the table out of sorts with myself and uncertain what course I had better follow. I knew I could go back to my native town and reclaim the place I had given up on the coasting schooner. But I did not want to do that, now that I had bidden farewell to all my friends there with the expectation that I should not see them again for months, perhaps not for years. I could not afford to wait, without employment, until Captain Tucker returned. Could I find some other ship in the harbor, or over at Salem, on which I might secure a berth?

Debating this question with myself, I tramped about the town for several hours, visiting the cliffs, the beach, the wharves, the old powder house and Sewall fort. Occasionally I made inquiries about the seventy vessels of various kinds which I could count in the harbor, but while I found several opportunities to ship on a fisher or coaster, I did not find a single vacancy on a vessel bound across the ocean. Towards noon I reached Red Stone Cove, where there lay, stranded and broken in two, a long boat, perhaps once belonging to an East India-man. On the stern part of this disabled craft I at length sat down and soliloquized:

“Evidently there’s no chance for me here, and after dinner I’ll hire a boat and row across to Salem, and try my luck there. Perhaps I shall be more fortunate. If not, I can come back here, and take a berth on a fisher until Captain Tucker comes home.”

Little thinking the latter was the wiser course for me to follow by all odds, I arose to retrace my steps to the inn. As I did so I noticed that a yawl had rounded the opposite point, and was coming into the cove, apparently crossing over from Salem. It occurred to me that here might be a chance for me to secure a passage over to that town in the afternoon, so I waited the arrival of the boat. Soon it was near enough for me to see that it was pulled by two men in sailor garb, while a third, whose dress and appearance suggested he might be a ship’s officer, sat in the stern. In another moment the light craft touched the beach, and the last-named gentleman stepped ashore. As I went forward to accost him, I heard him say to his companions:

“Remain here, lads, until I return. I shall not keep you waiting long if I have good luck in finding the man I am after.”

“Aye! Aye! Capt’n,” they replied. “You’ll find us here when you get back.”

Those words gave directions to the form of my salutation, as I reached his side. Touching my hat, I said:

“I beg your pardon, Captain, but are you just over from Salem?”

“Yes,” he answered, a little gruffly, I thought, “but what is that to you?”

“Do you know of any vessel over there that will soon sail for Portugal?”

I added that last word to my query, for it had suddenly occurred to me that, if I could reach that country, I might join Captain Tucker over there as well as on this side of the ocean.

“I do,” he admitted, “but why do you ask?” and for the first time he looked me carefully over.

“I’d like to ship on her,” I cried joyfully. “Will you kindly tell me her name, and where I can find her captain?”

“I happen to be her master,” he responded affably. “Ebenezer Weston, of the brig Young Phoenix, bound from Salem to Oporto within a few hours,” he added with growing politeness. “Now tell me who you are and why you wish to go to Portugal.”

I promptly did so, without a single interruption or word of comment from him until my story was finished. Then he remarked:

“Arthur Dunn, son of Captain Thomas Dunn, and seeking for a place with Captain Samuel Tucker. That’s all in your favor, young man. Now tell me what experience you have had as a sailor—what do you know of a brig and the handling of her?”

Modestly I told him, saying I hoped to be rated as an able seaman on the vessel which shipped me.

We had been walking up the beach as we talked, and were now out of the hearing of the sailors who remained by the yawl, a fact Captain Weston was careful to note before he spoke again.

“I can do better than that for you, Arthur Dunn,” he then said, “if you think you can fill the place. What I want is a second mate. I came over here to look for a young fellow whom I know slightly and whom I believed would answer for the berth. He may be here, and he may not. He might be willing to ship with me and he might not. What is more important, you are here, and are ready to go. Now why can’t we strike a bargain?”

“I would do my very best, sir,” I stammered, hardly believing it possible the man could be in earnest in his proposal.

“You are rather young for the position, I admit,” he said more to himself than to me, “but you have had more experience at sea than the man I was after, and the stock you came from, as I happen to know, is excellent. Your father and grandfather were born sailors, and I believe it will prove so in your case. Anyway, I’m willing to take the risk, and will tell you what I’ll do. If you will sign for the voyage over and back, and not join Captain Tucker until he’s home again, which will be about the same time we heave into port, I’ll rate you at forty-eight shillings as a starter. How will that do?”

“I certainly shall accept the offer, and thank you for it, too,” I answered heartily. “When and where shall I report to you?”

He thought a moment; then replied: “There’s hardly room in the yawl for you and your traps, and it would be something of a job to tote the latter down here. So you’d better go back to the tavern, get your dinner, and take the afternoon stage over to Salem. Let the driver leave you at Long Wharf. I’ll have a boat there for you. This completes my crew, and we’ll sail on the morning tide.”

“I’ll be on hand, sir,” I promised, and turned towards the village. Before I reached the bank above the beach, however, he called out:

“Hey there, Master Dunn, I’m usually pretty close mouthed about my affairs, especially here in this town, so you needn’t say anything to anyone about whom you have shipped with. Just get your luggage and come over to the brig.”

“Very well, sir,” I answered, thinking little then about the strangeness of this request.

A rapid walk of ten minutes took me back to the tavern, where I got dinner, settled my bill and clambered onto the top of the huge coach that soon rattled up to the door.

“When shall we see you again?” asked the courteous inn-keeper, following me out to the stage, with an evident desire to learn more of me and my visit to the town than he had yet been able to ascertain.

“When I come back with Captain Tucker,” I retorted, little knowing how true were my words. “I’ve decided to go over the ocean after him.”

“Your business with him must be important, then,” he muttered as the great vehicle drove away.

Something more than an hour later I was on Long Wharf where I found Captain Weston had been as good as his word. The two men who had been with him at Marblehead were waiting for me with the yawl, and, loading in my kit, they took me swiftly out to as trim a brig as I had ever seen. Mounting to her deck I was warmly greeted by the man whom I, at that moment, counted my best friend, but who was to prove my greatest enemy before that voyage was over.