“About half, I think.”
“And you’re right.”
“What water have we down here on the side?”
“You must give the point a wide berth,” replied I; “the shoals runs out.”
“Thanky, boy, so I thought, but wasn’t sure:” and then old Tom burst out in a beautiful air:
“Trust not too much your own opinion,
When your vessel’s under weigh,
Let good advice still bear dominion;
That’s a compass will not stray.”
“Old Tom, is that you?” hallooed a man from another barge.
“Yes; what’s left of me, my hearty.”
“You’ll not fetch the bridges this tide—there’s a strong breeze right up the reaches below.”
“Never mind, we’ll do all we can.