"Well, Miles, I've been waiting for you here more than an hour," said
Thurston, impatiently.
"Ay, ay, sir--all right. I've been cruising round, reconnoitering the
enemy's coast," replied the man, removing the quid of tobacco from his
mouth, and reluctantly casting it into the fire.
"You are sure you know the spot?"
"Ay, ay? sir--the beach just below the Old Fields farmhouse."
"And south of the Pine Bluff."
"Ay, ay, sir. I know the port--that ain't the head wind!" said Jack
Miles, pushing up the side of his hat, and scratching his head with a
look of doubt and hesitation.
"What is, then, you blockhead?" asked Thurston, impatiently; "is your
hire insufficient?"
"N-n-n--yes--I dunno! You see, cap'n, if I wer' cock sure, as that 'ere
little craft you want carried of wer' yourn."
"Hush! don't talk so loud. You're not at sea in a gale, you fool. Well,
go on. Speak quickly and speak lower."
"I wer' gwine to say, if so be I wer' sure you wer' the cap'n of her,
why then it should be plain sailing, with no fog around, and no breakers
ahead."
"Well! I am, you fool. She is mine--my wife."
"Well, but, cap'n," said the speaker, still hesitating, "if so be that's
the case, why don't she strike her colors to her rightful owner? Why
don't you take command in open daylight, with the drums a-beating, and
the flags a-flying? What must you board her like a pirate in this way
fur? I've been a-thinkin' on it, and I think it's dangerous steering
along this coast.
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