“What, couldn’t the proud townsfolk find you a ship! Ay, they are a mighty people at talking, and it isn’t often that they put their candle under the bushel; and yet there are what I call good judges, who think Narraganset Bay is in a fair way, shortly, to count as many sail as Massachusetts. There, yonder, is a wholesome brig, that is going, within the week, to turn her horses into rum and sugar; and here is a ship that hauled into the stream no longer ago than yesterday sun-down. That is a noble vessel and has cabins fit for a prince! She’ll be off with the change of the wind; and I dare say a good hand wouldn’t go a-begging aboard her just now. Then yonder is a slaver, off the fort, if you like a cargo of wool-heads for your money.” “And is it thought the ship in the inner harbour will sail with the first wind?” demanded the stranger. “It is downright. My wife is a full cousin to the wife of the Collector’s clerk; and I have it straight that the papers are ready, and that nothing but the wind detains them. I keep some short scores, you know, friend, with the blue-jackets, and it behoves an honest man to look to his interests in these hard times. Yes, there she lies; a well-known ship, the ‘Royal Caroline.’ She makes a regular v’yage once a year between the Provinces and Bristol, touching here, out and home, to give us certain supplies, and to wood and water; and then she goes home, or to the Carolinas, as the case may be.” “Pray, sir, has she much of an armament?” continued the stranger, who began to lose his thoughtful air, in the more evident interest he was beginning to lake in the discourse. “Yes, yes; she is not without a few bull-dogs, to bark in defence of her own rights, and to say a word in support of his Majesty’s honour, too; God bless him! Judy! you Jude!” he shouted, at the top of his voice, to a negro girl, who was gathering kindling-wood among the chips of a ship-yard, “scamper over to neighbour Homespun’s, and rattle away at his bed-room windows: the man has overslept himself it is not common to hear seven o’clock strike, and the thirsty tailor not appear for his bitters.” A short cessation took place in the dialogue, while the wench was executing her master’s orders. The summons produced no other effect than to draw a shrill reply from Desire, whose voice penetrated, through the thin board coverings of the little dwelling as readily as sound would be conveyed through a sieve. In another moment a window was opened, and the worthy housewife thrust her disturbed visage into the fresh air of the morning.