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Updated: April 30, 2025
"I didn't ship for no hostler, Cap'n, an' I guess I'll make a poor fist at it, but I'll do my best," he said. "Guess we'll manage him between us, Lank," cheerfully responded the Captain. "I ain't got much use for horses myself; but as I said, Stashia, she's down on boats." "Kinder sot in her idees, ain't she, Cap'n?" insinuated Lank. "Well, kinder," the Captain admitted.
"Lank," he said, "the Widow Buckett an' me had some little argument over this horse business an' an' I give in. She told me flat she wouldn't come to the P'int if I tried to fetch her by water in the dory. Well, I want Stashia mighty bad; for she's a fine woman, Lank, a mighty fine woman, as you'll say when you know her. So I promised to bring her home by land and with a horse.
Bastabol Buckett Bean, her plump hand resting affectionately on the sleeve of the Captain's best blue broadcloth coat, said, cooingly: "Now, Cap'n, I'm ready to drive to Sculpin Point." "All right, Stashia, Lank's waitin' for us at the front door with the craft." At first sight of the boat on wheels Mrs.
H-h-h-elp!" spluttered the startled bride, and tried to get on her feet. "Sit down!" roared Captain Bean. Vehemently Stashia sat. "W-w-w-we'll all b-b-be d-d-drowned, drowned!" she wailed. "Not much we won't, Stashia. We're all right now, and we ain't goin' to have our necks broke by no fool horse, either. Trim in the sheet, Lank, an' then take that bailin' scoop."
You can have your dunnage sent over later by team. In the evenin' we'll have a shore chaplain come 'round an' make the splice." "Cap'n Bean," replied the rotund Stashia, "we won't do any of them things, not one." "Wha-a-at!" gasped the Captain. "Have you ever been married, Cap'n Bean?" "N-n-no, my dear." "Well, I have, and I guess I know how it ought to be done.
However, he stood by like a man, putting in soothing words of explanation and endearment whenever a lull gave opportunity. Toward evening the storm spent itself. The disturbed Stashia became somewhat calm. Eventually she laughed hysterically at the Captain's arguments, and in the end she compromised.
Another leap and he was hock deep in the surf. Still another, and he split a roller with his white nose. With a dull chug, a resonant thump, and an impetuous splash the dory entered its accustomed element, lifting some three gallons of salt water neatly over the bows. Lank ducked. The unsuspecting Stashia did not, and the flying brine struck fairly under her ample chin. "Ug-g-g-gh! Oh! Oh!
"Set right still, Stashia, an' trim ship. I've got the helm," responded the Captain, who had set his jaws and was tugging at the rope lines. "Breakers ahead, sir!" shouted Lank at this juncture. Sure enough, not fifty yards ahead, the Shell Road turned sharply away from the edge of the beach to make a detour by which Sculpin Point was cut off. "I see 'em, Lank."
Then he added: "Stashia, I give in about coming here to marry you; that seems no more than fair. But I'll come in a dory and you'll go back in a dory." "Then you needn't come at all, Cap'n Bastabol Bean." Argue and plead as he might, this was her ultimatum. "But, Stashia, I 'ain't got a horse, never owned one an' never handled one, and you know it," urged the Captain.
For Barnacles was a horse, a white horse of unguessed breed and uncertain age. Most likely it was not, but it may have been, Barnacles's first intimate connection with an affair of the heart. Said affair was between Captain Bastabol Bean, owner and occupant of Sculpin Point, and Mrs. Stashia Buckett, the unlamenting relict of the late Hosea Buckett. Mrs.
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