He was a man between
forty and forty-five years of age. His eyes were deep blue, his hair
light. His round, full face was smooth shaven. As he stood on the deck,
his brawny arms folded across his massive chest, he looked a perfect
model of a man and a tower of strength.
Captain Parson led him aside and said:
"You are no common sailor."
"I'm only a gunner now, captain."
"But in the past?"
"I once commanded a ship. I will tell you my story on the morrow. It is
a sad one, but, thank God, there's nothing in it at which I need blush.
For the present, however, let us get along as fast as your ship can make
it, for the _Sea-Wing_ is a swift vessel, and if we are not beyond reach
of her vision before the dawn of day, we shall be overhauled."
Captain Parson knew that some evil consequences might result from being
overhauled by the _Sea-Wing,_ and consequently every stitch of canvas
was spread and the brig sped away with a good stiff breeze. It was a
long and anxious night; master and crew were all on deck. No one slept.
The coming dawn would tell the story. If the frigate were in sight,
then they might expect the very worst; even the ship might be captured
and borne away as a prize and the entire crew enslaved.
Dawn came at last. Each anxious heart welcomed and yet dreaded to see
the new day. Sailors and officers swept the sea as it grew lighter, and,
to their dread, just as the sun rose over the glossy surface of the sea,
a snowy speck appeared far off to the westward.
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