The Pilot: A Tale of the SeaCooper, James Fenimore
History
The Pilot: A Tale of the Sea
Cooper, James Fenimore
Historical fiction; Sea stories; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Naval operations -- Fiction; War stories
“Make it all seamen, and I will give you room for thirty. But these
soldiers never know how to stow away their arms and legs, unless at a
drill. One will take the room of two sailors; they swing their hammocks
athwart-ships, heads to leeward, and then turn out wrong end uppermost
at the call. Why, damn it, sir, the chalk and rottenstone of twenty
soldiers will choke my hatches!”
“Give me the launch, Captain Munson!” exclaimed the indignant marine,
“and we will follow Mr. Griffith in an open boat, rather than put
Captain Barnstable to so much inconvenience.”
“No, no, Manual,” cried the other, extending his muscular arm across the
table, with an open palm, to the soldier; “you would all become so
many Jonahs in uniform, and I doubt whether the fish could digest your
cartridge-boxes and bayonet-belts. You shall go with me, and learn, with
your own eyes, whether we keep the cat's watch aboard the Ariel that you
joke about.”
The laugh was general, at the expense of the soldier, if we except the
pilot and the commander of the frigate. The former was a silent, and
apparently an abstracted, but in reality a deeply interested listener
to the discourse; and there were moments when he bent his looks on the
speakers, as if he sought more in their characters than was exhibited by
the gay trifling of the moment. Captain Munson seldom allowed a muscle
of his wrinkled features to disturb their repose; and if he had not the
real dignity to repress the untimely mirth of his officers, he had
too much good nature to wish to disturb their harmless enjoyments. He
expressed himself satisfied with the proposed arrangements, and beckoned
to his steward to place before them the usual beverage, with which all
their consultations concluded.
The sailing-master appeared to think that the same order was to be
observed in their potations as in council, and helping himself to an
allowance which retained its hue even in its diluted state, he first
raised it to the light, and then observed:
“This ship's water is nearly the color of rum itself; if it only had its
flavor, what a set of hearty dogs we should be! Mr. Griffith, I find you
are willing to haul your land-tacks aboard. Well, it's natural for youth
to love the earth; but there is one man, and he is sailing-master of
this ship, who saw land enough last night, to last him a twelvemonth.
But if you will go, here's a good land-fall, and a better offing to you.
Captain Munson, my respects to you. I say, sir, if we should keep the
ship more to the south'ard, it's my opinion, and that's but one man's,
we should fall in with some of the enemy's homeward bound West-Indiamen,
and find wherewithal to keep the life in us when we see fit to go ashore
ourselves.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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