Their cheeks, while masses of dark hair banded over their smoothīrows and tearful eyes told the story at a glance. Of womanhood, with the flush of health and matronly pride tinged
Were mothers––young mothers too, for the soft, full, rounded forms You saw they were sisters of nearly the same age,Īnd a little boy and girl tumbling about their knees showed they Two lovely women were sitting, hand clasped in hand, on the sofa Strength of the tide, so we must kiss and be off.” “It is time to part, my friends the pilot says we are losing the Opened the starboard door, and looking in, said, in a kindly tone, Going aft to the raised cabin on the quarter-deck, the captain softly Why not? Jean Marie would lose his pilotage rather than hurry Off his glazed hat with the air of a courtier, said, “ Pardieu! certainly The gallant little Frenchman smiled in acquiescence, and, taking The ladies, you know, must have time to say ‘good-by.’ “Ay, pilot!” replied the captain, pulling out his watch “in ten “ Fort bien! vite donc! mon Capitaine,” said the pilot “the tide Pilot, the other threw his stalwart arm aloft toward the folds of the The conversationīetween them was carried on partly by signs, for, in answer to the In coarse serge raiment and large, clumsy sabots. The cable rubbing with a taut strain against the vessel’s bluff bows.Īt the gangway stood a large, handsome seaman, bronzed by the sunĪnd winds of about half a century, dressed in a square-cut blue jacketĪnd loose trowsers, talking to the pilot––a brown little Frenchman, Hearty songs of English sailors, while the anchor was under foot and Were hauling home the sheets and hoisting the top-sails with the clear, The sails of the brig were loosed, the crew Rose from the river’s banks, and the din and bustle of the great martĬame faintly to the ear. With its great mass of yellow-tinted buildings, towers, and churches, The River Garonne, where a large, wholesome merchant brig lay It was in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and five, and in The rights o’ this, though wild and rough “Shout three times three, like Ocean’s surges, “His Right Arm Poised with Clenched Hand Aloft,” Etc. “Queer Old Stick, That!” Said the Commodore “See If You Can Not Slip That Pretty Silk Rope Over my Head” “He Touched the Bell Overhead as He Spoke” “When the Wind Comes from Good San Antonio” In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Southern District God is forgotten, and the sailor slighted.”Įntered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand The danger passed, both are alike requited: Together with some account of the singular mannerĪuthor of “los gringos,” “tales for the marines,” and Images of the original pages are available through
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