f mate scores of times, maybe
master; but I hadn't no ambition. I seed many strange things in them
years--outlandish people an' cities, storms, shipwracks, an' battles. I
seed many a true mate go down, an' sometimes I envied them what went to
their rest. But these things is neither here nor there.

"About a year ago I shipped on board the Belphoebe yonder, an' of all
the strange winds as ever blowed, the strangest an' the best was the
wind as blowed me to this here blessed spot. I can't be too thankful.
That I'm as thankful as it is possible for an uneddicated man to be, He
knows as reads the heart of all."

Here ended Sailor Ben's yarn, which I have written down in his own
homely words as nearly as I can recall them. After he had finished, the
Captain shook hands with him and served out the ale.

As Kitty was about to drink, she paused, rested the cup on her knee, and
asked what day of the month it was.

"The twenty-seventh," said the Captain, wondering what she was driving
at.

"Then," cried Kitty, "it's ten years this night sence--"

"Since what?" asked my grandfather.

"Sence the little lass and I got spliced!" roared Sailor Ben. "There's
another coincydunce for you!"

On hearing this we all clapped hands, and the Captain, with a degree
of ceremony that was almost painful, drank a bumper to the health and
happiness of the bride and bridegroom.

It was a pleasant sight to see the two old lovers sitting side by side,
in spite of all, drinking from the same little cup--a battered zinc
dipper which Sailor Ben had unslung from a strap round his waist. I
think I never saw him without this dipper and a sheath-knife suspended
just back of his hip, ready for any convivial occasion.

We had a merry time of it. The Captain was in great force this evening,
and not only related his famous exploit in the War of 1812, but regaled
the company with a dashing sea-song from Mr. Shakespeare's play of The
Tempest. He had a mellow tenor voice (not Shakespeare, but the Captain),
and rolled out the verse with a will:

"The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,
Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery,
But none of us car'd for Kate."

"A very good song, and very well sung," says Sailor Ben; "but some of us
does care for Kate. Is this Mr. Shawkspear a seafarin' man, sir?"

"Not at present," replied the Captain, with a monstrous twinkle in his
eye.

The clock was striking ten when the party br