Suffice it to say, he took possession of a corner
room of the inn, to which his chest was removed with great
difficulty. Here he had remained ever since, keeping about the inn
and its vicinity. Sometimes, it is true, he disappeared for one,
two, or three days at a time, going and returning without giving
any notice or account of his movements. He always appeared to have
plenty of money, though often of very strange, outlandish coinage,
and he regularly paid his bill every evening before turning in.
He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having slung a hammock
from the ceiling instead of a bed, and decorated the walls with
rusty pistols and cutlasses of foreign workmanship. A greater part
of his time was passed in this room, seated by the window, which
commanded a wide view of the Sound, a short, old-fashioned pipe in
his mouth, a glass of rum toddy[1] at his elbow, and a pocket
telescope in his hand, with which he reconnoitered every boat that
moved upon the water. Large square-rigged vessels seemed to excite
but little attention; but the moment he descried anything with a
shoulder-of-mutton[2] sail, or that a barge or yawl or jolly-boat
hove in sight, up went the telescope, and he examined it with the
most scrupulous attention.
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