By this time, too, every man aboard
the frigate was gathered at the bulwarks, looking down in wonderment.
There beneath 'em stood a joke too terrible to be grasped in one
moment.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Rogers," says the Captain in a voice cold as
a knife, "but you appear to have made a mistake."
The little officer had turned white as a sheet: but he managed to get
in his say before the great laugh came. "I have, Sir, to my sorrow,"
says he, turning viciously on Hancock; "a mistake to be cast up
against me through my career. But I reckon," he adds, "I leave the
punishment for it in good hands." He glanced at Sally.
"You may lay to that, young man!" says she heartily. "You may lay to
that every night when you says your prayers."
FRENCHMAN'S CREEK.
A REPORTED TALE.
Frenchman's Creek runs up between overhanging woods from the
western shore of Helford River, which flows down through an earthly
paradise and meets the sea midway between Falmouth and the dreadful
Manacles--a river of gradual golden sunsets such as Wilson painted;
broad-bosomed, holding here and there a village as in an arm
maternally crook'd, but with a brooding face of solitude.
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