CHAPTER XIII.
DREAMS.
“For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,
Are stillest when they shine.”
—Old Song.
“
Rouse up, Richard! Rouse up, man! An you give way like this, you’ll soon be taking the ship-fever and dying. ’Tis no use to wilfully hasten the end,” said Peter Ruffin to the apathetic man beside him.
But Richard sat staring over the waters, saying only in a dogged way, “’Tis no use to retard it.”
“Ay, but it is; something may happen—Washington may drive Clinton from New York—”
“He cannot, for he hath not the force.”