“But it is dangerous, Nat, my boy,” he said; “and we are going straight away into rougher water. Let us go back.”
“No,” I said, “you brought me out to try me, uncle, and I won’t be a coward, not if I die.”
He turned his head away for a few minutes, and seemed to be looking at the distant shore, and all the while the little boat rushed through the water at a tremendous rate, the sail bellying out and the gunwale down dangerously near the waves as we seemed to cut our way along.
The feeling of sickness that had troubled me before now seemed to go off, as if my determination had had something to do with it; and in spite of the sensation of dread I could not help liking my position, and the way in which we mastered the waves, as it were, going head on to one that seemed as if it would leap into the boat, but only for us to rise up its slope and then plunge down to meet another, while the danger I had feared minute after minute floated away astern.
When my uncle turned his head he said quietly:
“Nat, my boy, it was dangerous work to come out here with me; but, my boy, it is far more dangerous work to go out on that long voyage with me amongst savages, perhaps; to sail on unknown seas, and to meet perils that we can not prepare to encounter. Do you not think, my boy, you have chosen badly? Come, Nat, speak out. I will not call you a coward, for it would only be natural for you to refuse to go. Come, speak to me frankly. What do you say?”
“Was it dangerous to come out to-day, uncle, in this little boat?”
“Decidedly, my boy. You heard what that old boatman said.”
“Yes, uncle. Then why did you come?”
He stared at me for a moment or two, and then said quietly to me, leaning forward so that he could look straight into my eyes.