“Well, then, you’ll see a larger when he gets up, for it’s swelled bigger than the brandy bottle. Heave and haul! Now bring to the fall, and up with the mast, boys, while I goes aft and takes the helm.”
Old Tom went aft. During the night the wind had veered to the north, and the frost had set in sharp, the rime covered the deck of the barge, and here and there floating ice was to be seen coming down with the tide. The banks of the river and fields adjacent were white with hoar frost, and would have presented but a cheerless aspect, had not the sun shone out clear and bright. Tom went aft to light the fire, while I coiled away and made all snug forward. Old Tom as usual carolled forth—
“Oh! for a soft and gentle wind,
I heard a fair one cry
But give to me the roaring breeze,
And white waves beating high,
And white waves beating high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free,
The world of waters is our own,
And merry men are we.”
“A nice morning this for cooling a hot head, that’s sartain. Tommy, you rascal, you’re like a court lady, with her velvet gownd, covered all over with diamonds,” continued old Tom, looking at the Newfoundland dog, whose glossy black hair was besprinkled with little icicles, which glittered in the sun.
“You and Jacob were the only sensible ones of the party last night, for you both were sober.”
“So was I, father. I was as sober as a judge,” observed Tom, who was blowing up the fire.
“May be, Tom, as a judge a’ter dinner; but a judge on the bench be one thing, and a judge over a bottle be another, and not bad judges in that way either. At all events, if you warn’t sewed up, it wasn’t your fault.”
“And I suppose,” replied Tom, “it was only your misfortune that you were.”
“No, I don’t say that; but still, when I look at the dog, who’s but a beast by nature, and thinks of myself, who wasn’t meant to be a beast, why, I blushes, that’s all.”
“Jacob, look at father—now, does he blush?” cried Tom.