"You are sure you know the spot?"
"Ay, ay? sir—the beach just below the Old Fields farmhouse."
"And south of the Pine Bluff."
"Ay, ay, sir. I know the port—that ain't the head wind!" said Jack Miles, pushing up the side of his hat, and scratching his head with a look of doubt and hesitation.
"What is, then, you blockhead?" asked Thurston, impatiently; "is your hire insufficient?"
"N-n-n—yes—I dunno! You see, cap'n, if I wer' cock sure, as that 'ere little craft you want carried of wer' yourn."
"Hush! don't talk so loud. You're not at sea in a gale, you fool. Well, go on. Speak quickly and speak lower."
"I wer' gwine to say, if so be I wer' sure you wer' the cap'n of her, why then it should be plain sailing, with no fog around, and no breakers ahead."
"Well! I am, you fool. She is mine—my wife."
"Well, but, cap'n," said the speaker, still hesitating, "if so be that's the case, why don't she strike her colors to her rightful owner? Why don't you take command in open daylight, with the drums a-beating, and the flags a-flying? What must you board her like a pirate in this way fur? I've been a-thinkin' on it, and I think it's dangerous steering along this coast. You see it's all in a fog; I can't make out the land nowhere, and I'm afraid I shall be on the rocks afore I knows it. You see, cap'n, I never wer' in such a thick mist since I first went to sea. No offense to you, cap'n!"