“What, stay on deck after my watch is out! No, if I do, blow me! We midshipmen never do that—but I say, why can’t you come down with me, and turn in my hammock; it’s close to the hatchway, and you can easily do it.”
“Well, I will, upon one promise. You say that you love me, now I’m very jealous, for we winds are always supplanting one another. Promise me that you will never mention any other wind in the compass but me, for if you do, they may come to you, and if I hear of it I’ll blow the masts out of your ship, that I will.”
“You don’t say so?” replied Jack, surveying her fragile, trembling form.
“Yes, I will, and on a lee shore too; so that the ship shall go to pieces on the rocks, and the Admiral and every soul on board her be drowned.”
“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” said our hero, astonished.
“Not if you promise me. Then I’ll come to you and pour down your windsails, and dry your washed clothes as they hang on the rigging, and just ripple the waves as you glide along, and hang upon the lips of my dear love, and press him in my arms. Promise me, then, on no account ever to recollect or mention any other wind but me.”
“Well, I think I may promise that,” replied Jack, “I’m very clever at forgetting; and then you’ll come to my hammock, won’t you, and sleep with me? you’ll be a nice cool bedfellow these warm nights.”
“I can’t sleep on my watch as midshipmen do; but I’ll watch you while you sleep, and I’ll fan your cheeks, and keep you cool and comfortable, till I’m relieved.”
“And when you go, when will you come again?”
“That I cannot tell—when I’m summoned; and I shall wait with impatience, that you may be sure of.”