The Pacific is our air, and we are likely to breathe it, to
our heart's content."
"True, love--your comparison is not an unhappy one. But, Wallingford,
what has become of Captain Marble in these stirring times? You have
not left him, Sancho Panza like, to govern Barritaria, while you have
come to recover his ship?"
I told my passengers of the manner in which our old friend had
disappeared, and inquired if anything had been seen of the whale-boat,
or the schooner, on the night of the tropical tempest.
"Nothing"--answered the Major. "So far from expecting to lay eyes on
the 'Beautiful Emily,' again, we supposed you would be off for Canton
by the end of the fortnight that succeeded our own departure. At
least, that was poor Le Compte's version of the matter. I am certain
however, that no sail was seen from this ship, during the whole
passage; nor, had we any storm like that you have described. More
beautiful weather, I never met at sea."
Upon this, I sent for the log-book, and ascertained, by day and date,
that the Crisis was not within fifty leagues of the spot, where we
encountered the thunder-squall. Of course the ship we saw was a
stranger; most probably a whaler. This destroyed any little hope that
was left concerning Marble's fate.
But it is time I should mention a _galanterie_ of poor Le
Compte's.
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