"It is singular!"
"Singular or not, it's a fool to what I can tell you. Why, I've seen things that, if I were to set about describing them to you, you would say I was making up a romance."
"Oh, no; it's quite impossible, uncle, any one could ever suspect you of such a thing."
"You'd believe me, would you?"
"Of course I would."
"Then here goes. I'll just tell you now of a circumstance that I haven't liked to mention to anybody yet."
"Indeed! why so?"
"Because I didn't want to be continually fighting people for not believing it; but here you have it:—"
We were outward bound; a good ship, a good captain, and good messmates, you know, go far towards making a prosperous voyage a pleasant and happy one, and on this occasion we had every reasonable prospect of all.
Our hands were all tried men—they had been sailors from infancy; none of your French craft, that serve an apprenticeship and then become land lubbers again. Oh, no, they were stanch and true, and loved the ocean as the sluggard loves his bed, or the lover his mistress.