"This is not a time for musing, Mr. Gray," continued Griffith; "remember
our compact, and look to your charge--is it not time to put the vessel
in stays? of what are you dreaming?"
The pilot laid his hand on the extended arm of the lieutenant, and
grasped it with a convulsive pressure, as he answered:
"'Tis a dream of reality. You are young, Mr. Griffith, nor am I past the
noon of life; but should you live fifty years longer, you never can see
and experience what I have encountered in my little period of three-and-
thirty years!"
A good deal astonished at this burst of feeling, so singular at such a
moment, the young sailor was at a loss for a reply; but as his duty was
uppermost in his thoughts, he still dwelt on the theme that most
interested him.
"I hope much of your experience has been on this coast, for the ship
travels lively," he said, "and the daylight showed us so much to dread,
that we do not feel over-valiant in the dark. How much longer shall we
stand on, upon this tack?"
The pilot turned slowly from the side of the vessel, and walked towards
the commander of the frigate, as he replied, in a tone that seemed
deeply agitated by his melancholy reflections:
"You have your wish, then; much, very much of my early life was passed
on this dreaded coast. What to you is all darkness and gloom, to me is
as light as if a noon-day sun shone upon it. But tack your ship, sir,
tack your ship; I would see how she works before we reach the point
where she _must_ behave well, or we perish.
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