with my request, when my father happened to own the gangway--a
circumstance that rather interfered with the decorative art.

I didn't have another opportunity of conferring alone with Sailor Ben,
for the next morning, bright and early, we came in sight of the cupola
of the Boston State House.




Chapter Four--Rivermouth


It was a beautiful May morning when the Typhoon hauled up at Long Wharf.
Whether the Indians were not early risers, or whether they were away
just then on a war-path, I couldn't determine; but they did not appear
in any great force--in fact, did not appear at all.

In the remarkable geography which I never hurt myself with studying
at New Orleans, was a picture representing the landing of the Pilgrim
Fathers at Plymouth. The Pilgrim Fathers, in rather odd hats and coats,
are seen approaching the savages; the savages, in no coats or hats
to speak of, are evidently undecided whether to shake hands with the
Pilgrim Fathers or to make one grand rush and scalp the entire party.
Now this scene had so stamped itself on my mind, that, in spite of
all my father had said, I was prepared for some such greeting from
the aborigines. Nevertheless, I was not sorry to have my expectations
unfulfilled. By the way, speaking of the Pilgrim Fathers, I often used
to wonder why there was no mention made of the Pilgrim Mothers.