"Cuss me if I won't, Tony. Never mind, old girl, you have had a short and rough cruise, you are nigh port now."
"I would I were near that haven of rest—may the blessed Virgin keep my soul—oh! my child, my child, it is hard to leave it. If you ever see my lord give him my child—tell him I died blessing him!"
"Why shiver my timbers, Tony, if my glimmers haint sprung a leak," said the old man, brushing away his tears with his rough pilot jacket sleeve; "I calculated I had done with tears, but the tanks ain't pumped dry yet."
"I am dying,—I feel the tooth of death at my heart. Oh! Santissima Maria! this pain—it tortures me, it gnaws my very vitals. Oh! that I could die."
"Cheer up, old gal, many a bark's ridden through a worser storm; ye'll come it yet may be."
"No, no—the room grows dark—oh, it is come at last, God bless my child—and Wentworth. God bless * *," with these words she sank back and expired.
"I'm blessed if she haint—ay, ay, she's gone sure enough now—weighed anchor and cleared off, and left old Bill alone. Split my wig if I b'aint sorry—she did peach once—but never heed, she loved him more than he deserved! She is gone now, rest her soul, and her faults. Gad, if old Don Ramond seed her now—it were hard lines for her. I guess she mout have sailed over broad lands t'other side o' the Atlantic, heir to many a league, but all's up now. Consarn me if I don't care for your bit child,—God rest you, Tony, you are in port now."
With these words the old smuggler and pirate walked off to see about her interment. "It is strange," he said to himself, "ever since she seed the Captain she has drooped; she was a fine creature, I'm blessed if she warn't! If I thought—but no, bad as he is he couldn't hardly! If he had though, he'd better see hisself well away—he'd better give a wide berth to old Bill Stacy—the world warn't sea room enough, but I'd overhaul the devil, wi' his black heart."