He taught me his business and
how he did it. I was the only one who knew. He was absolute owner as
well as captain, and his own buyer and seller as well. He carried no
cargoes but his own, which he made up for the most part in New York
or Philadelphia, and would bill the _Hebe Maitland_ maybe to Rio
Janeiro. Then the _Hawk_ would maybe deliver the biggest part
off the coast of Venezuela in the night, and the _Hebe Maitland_
would, like as not, sail into Rio by-and-by and pay her duty on the
rest, and take a cargo to New York as properly as a lady going to
church.
There were a good many countries in South America to choose from. It
wasn't wise to visit the same one right along, though there was apt
to be a new government when we came again. Clyde knew all about it.
I'm not saying but what an odd official of a government here and
there was acquainted with the merits of a percentage, being
instructed in it by the same. For all that there was excitement. It
was a great life. Sometimes I catch myself heaving a sigh for the old
man that's dead, and saying to myself, "That was a great life yonder."
My recollection is, it was a sub-agent in Cuba who turned evidence
on Clyde at last, for a gunboat missed us by only a few miles coming
down by St.
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