If the reader is now curious to know why a man like old Bill was not a
patrician and captain in the campaign of life, rather than the mere
private and plebeian he was, I can answer that there were several things
which impeded that consummation. His character, though of wonderful
height and force in some respects, was, after all, without true
discipline, and presented many glaring incongruities. Thus, whatever he
had of what could really be named ambition was satisfied when he had
surprised us 'soundsers;' and our praise--and we lavished it upon him in
full measure, as we knew he liked it--was all the praise he seemed to
desire. Then, he was altogether one of us in his notions of pleasure and
recreation. Like the rest of us, he cordially appreciated the sparkling
product of the New England distilleries, and far more than any of us--to
such a pitch did his animal spirits rule--he relished our broad sea-side
jokes and songs, and as well our rattling jigs and hornpipes. As for
others attempting to elevate him to a more exalted station, the thing
was simply impossible. When led of his own accord to seek other society
than ours, he could by no means content himself with the companionship
of staid practical persons, who on account of his latent worth would
have readily countenanced, and with the least opportunity even served
him, but he invariably paid his court to adventurers; such creatures,
for instance, as seedy 'professors' of one kind or another, who, in the
inevitable shawl and threadbare suit of black, were constantly
dismounting at the village tavern, with proposals either to 'lecture' on
something, or 'teach' somewhat, as the case might happen to be, and who,
having no affinity whatever with the brawny, awkward Viking who fondly
hung on their shabby-genteel skirts, amused themselves at his greenness,
or pooh-pooh'd him altogether, as they saw fit. And when, as it not
unfrequently happened, official and influential individuals at a
distance were moved by the story of his renown to pay him their respects