"With such a ship, and such a set of hearty able seamen, I think we could manage to weather out the stiffest gale that ever whistled through a yard."
"That may be; I hope it is, and I really believe and think so."
"Then what makes you so infernally mopish and melancholy?"
"I don't know, but can't help it. It seems to me as though there was something hanging over us, and I can't tell what."
"Yes, there are the colours, Jack, at the masthead; they are flying over us with a hearty breeze."
"Ah! ah!" said Jack, looking up at the colours, and then went away without saying anything more, for he had some piece of duty to perform.
I thought my messmate had something on his mind that caused him to feel sad and uncomfortable, and I took no more notice of it; indeed, in the course of a day or two he was as merry as any of the rest, and had no more melancholy that I could perceive, but was as comfortable as anybody.
We had a gale off the coast of Biscay, and rode it out without the loss of a spar or a yard; indeed, without the slightest accident or rent of any kind.
"Now, Jack, what do you think of our vessel?" said I.
"She's like a duck upon water, rises and falls with the waves, and doesn't tumble up and down like a hoop over stones."