for steering. The perils of the vasty deep, however, were finally
surmounted, and the steamer made fast to its wharf at Holmes's Hole, one
of the two principal ports of Martha's Vineyard.

Our trio disembarked, and found themselves at once the subjects of
fierce contention to no less than three aspirants for the honor of
conveying them and their luggage to their point of destination. One of
these, called Dave, was a grave, saturnine Yankee, his hands in the
pockets of his black trousers, his costume further exhibiting the
national livery of black dress coat, black satin waistcoat and necktie,
cow-hide boots, and stiff, shiny hat, very much upon the back of his
head. The languid and independent offers of this individual were,
however, quite drowned by the flood of vociferous overtures from his two
rivals,--an original youth, about eighteen years old, and a man, or
rather mannikin, who, judging by his face, might be in his fiftieth,
and, by his back, in his tenth year.

Mannikin first succeeded in gaining the attention of Caleb,--the efforts
of Mysie, meanwhile, barely sufficing to restrain the Baron from
plunging over the side of the wharf, in his anxiety to witness the
departure of the steamboat. Mannikin, asserting earnestly that he had a
"good conveyance" close at hand, danced around the group with vehement
gesticulations, intended to strike despair into the souls of his two
adversaries, who, nevertheless, retained their ground,--Dave lounging in
the middle distance, a grim smile of derision upon his face, and Youth
dodging in with loud offers of service, wherever Mannikin left a point
undefended.

Caleb, at last, demanding to see the "good conveyance," was led away to
the head of the wharf, when Youth at once seized the opportunity to rush