“Nay, that is womanish!—I have been on the royal-yard in the squalls, and it never seemed to me that there was danger.”
“Thou hast the unconsciousness and reliance of a ship-boy! But those who are older, know that the life of a sailor is one of constant and imminent hazard.—Thou hast been among the islands in the hurricane, and hast seen the power of the elements!”
“I was in the hurricane, and so was the brigantine; and there you see how taut and neat she is aloft, as if nothing had happened!”
“And you saw us yesterday floating on the open sea, while a few ill-fastened spars kept us from going into its depths!”
“The spars floated, and you were not drowned; else, I should have wept bitterly, Eudora.”
“But thou wilt go deeper into the country, and see more of its beauties—its rivers, and its mountains—its caverns, and its woods. Here all is change, while the water is ever the same.”
“Surely, Eudora, you forget strangely!—Here it is all America. This mountain is America; yonder land across the bay is America, and the anchorage of yesterday was America. When we shall run off the coast, the next land-fall will be England, or Holland, or Africa; and with a good wind, we may run down the shores of two or three countries in a day.”
“And on them, too, thoughtless boy! If you lose this occasion, thy life will be wedded to hazard!”
“Farewell, Eudora!” said the urchin, raising his mouth to give and receive the parting kiss.
“Eudora, adieu!” added a deep and melancholy voice, at her elbow. “I can delay no longer, for my people show symptoms of impatience. Should this be the last of my voyages to the coast, thou wilt not forget those with whom thou hast so long shared good and evil!”