“I know what sailors have to go through,” she observed, “but yet I fancy the enjoyments of a night like this must almost recompense them for the tempest and rough seas they have to endure.”
“We get so well accustomed to both one and the other. Though acknowledging the beauty of the ocean under all its various phases, whether sleeping as now under the beams of the pale moon, or glowing in the rays of the ruddy sun, we value them less, I fear, than those who only occasionally venture on the world of waters,” I remarked.
“Oh, but I am sure I could never look with indifference on such a scene as this,” said Sophie, “and should be content to make voyage after voyage to witness it.”
However, I do not feel disposed to say what else we talked about. I was young, and said what I certainly did not intend to say. I told Sophie that I loved her, and would never marry any one else. She did not withdraw her hand, and, whispering that I had made her very happy, promised that she would be faithful to me, and that she did not suppose her father and mother would object to me, especially as I was the friend of her cousin.
The time flew by faster than I supposed, as we thus stood talking; Dick, who had charge of the deck, keeping at a judicious distance.
Suddenly the light on the water disappeared, a cloud had obscured the moon; again the light shone forth, and again was shut out; still no wind filled our sails. I knew, however, that it might come ere long. Sophie still lingered by my side. Hitherto the ocean had slept in silence. Suddenly a rushing murmuring sound fell on my ear.
“Hands aloft, and shorten sail!” I shouted. There was not a moment to be lost.
“Go below, I entreat you,” I said, leading Sophie to the companion-hatch.
“Oh, what is going to happen?” she asked, in an anxious tone.
“A hurricane is, I fear, upon us,” I answered, “and you will be safer below.”