Forty-seven years
have elapsed, and the whole scene is as vivid to my mind at this
moment, as if it occurred last night. I wished myself one of the
long-snouted tribe, several times, in order to be in what is called
"keeping."
I had the honour of keeping an anchor-watch in company with a grum old
Swede, as we lay in the Hudson. The wind was light, and the ship had a
good berth, so my associate chose a soft plank, told me to give him a
call should anything happen, and lay down to sleep away his two hours
in comfort. Not so with me. I strutted the deck with as much
importance as if the weight of the State lay on my shoulders--paid a
visit every five minutes to the bows, to see that the cable had not
parted, and that the anchor did not "come home"--and then looked
aloft, to ascertain that everything was in its place. Those were a
happy two hours!
About ten next morning, being Sunday, and, as Mr. Marble expressed it,
"the better day, the better deed," the pilot came off, and all hands
were called to "up anchor." The cook, cabin-boy, Rupert and I, were
entrusted with the duty of "fleeting jig" and breaking down the coils
of the cable, the handspikes requiring heavier hands than ours. The
anchor was got in without any difficulty, however, when Rupert and I
were sent aloft to loose the fore-top-sail.
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