At the breaking out of the war, an English frigate lay for several days off the coast near Rivermouth.  A strong fort defended the harbor, and a regiment of minute-men, scattered at various points along-shore, stood ready to repel the boats, should the enemy try to effect a landing.  Captain Nutter had charge of a slight earthwork just outside the mouth of the river.  Late one thick night the sound of oars was heard; the sentinel tried to fire off his gun at half-cock, and couldn’t, when Captain Nutter sprung upon the parapet in the pitch darkness, and shouted, “Boat ahoyl” A musket-shot immediately embedded itself in the calf of his leg.  The Captain tumbled into the fort and the boat, which had probably come in search of water, pulled back to the frigate.

This was my grandfather’s only exploit during the war.  That his prompt and bold conduct was instrumental in teaching the enemy the hopelessness of attempting to conquer such a people was among the firm beliefs of my boyhood.

At the time I came to Rivermouth my grandfather had retired from active pursuits, and was living at ease on his money, invested principally in shipping.  He had been a widower many years; a maiden sister, the aforesaid Miss Abigail, managing his household.  Miss Abigail also managed her brother, and her brother’s servant, and the visitor at her brother’s gate—­not in a tyrannical spirit, but from a philanthropic desire to be useful to everybody.  In person she was tall and angular; she had a gray complexion, gray eyes, gray eyebrows, and generally wore a gray dress.  Her strongest weak point was a belief in the efficacy of “hot-drops” as a cure for all known diseases.

If there were ever two people who seemed to dislike each other, Miss Abigail and Kitty Collins were those people.  If ever two people really loved each other, Miss Abigail and Kitty Collins were those people also.  They were always either skirmishing or having a cup of tea lovingly together.

Miss Abigail was very fond of me, and so was Kitty; and in the course of their disagreements each let me into the private history of the other.

According to Kitty, it was not originally my grandfather’s intention to have Miss Abigail at the head of his domestic establishment.  She had swooped down on him (Kitty’s own words), with a band-box in one hand and a faded blue cotton umbrella, still in existence, in the other.  Clad in this singular garb—­I do not remember that Kitty alluded to—­any additional peculiarity of dress—­Miss Abigail had made her appearance at the door of the Nutter House on the morning of my grandmother’s funeral.  The small amount of baggage which the lady brought with her would have led the superficial observer to infer that Miss Abigail’s visit was limited to a few days.  I run ahead of my story in saying she remained seventeen years!  How much longer she would have remained can never be definitely known now, as she died at the expiration of that period.