The transition from the wild sea to the
comparative immobility of the lagoon had wrought
strange distress among my nerves: I could not hold
still whether in hand or foot; the slowness of the men,
tired as dogs after our rough experience outside,
irritated me like something personal; and the
irrational screaming of the sea-birds saddened me like
a dirge. It was a relief when, with Nares, and a
couple of hands, I might drop into the boat and move
off at last for the FLYING SCUD.
"She looks kind of pitiful, don't she?" observed the
captain, nodding towards the wreck, from which we were
separated by some half a mile. "Looks as if she didn't
like her berth, and Captain Trent had used her badly.--
Give her ginger, boys," he added to the hands, "and you
can all have shore liberty to-night to see the birds
and paint the town red."
We all laughed at the pleasantry, and the boat skimmed
the faster over the rippling face of the lagoon. The
FLYING SCUD would have seemed small enough beside
the wharves of San Francisco, but she was some thrice
the size of the NORAH CREINA, which had been so
long our continent; and as we craned up at her wall-
sides, she impressed us with a mountain magnitude.
Pages:
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341