The stout trading brig Amity, Samuel Mudge master and part owner, was gliding up Plymouth Sound on a summerÕs evening towards her accustomed berth in Catwater, a few years before the termination of the last war between England and France. She had no pilot on board; indeed, her crew averred that the old craft could find the way in and out of the harbour by herself; at all events, her master knew it better than most men trading from the port, as did his young mate, Ralph Michelmore.
The last rays of the setting sun were glancing on the topgallant mast-heads of the brig when her anchor was dropped, and by the time her sails were furled and all was made snug the gloom of night had settled down on the Pool, and twinkling lights began to appear from the houses on shore.
ÒYouÕll be wishing to go on shore, my boy,Ó said the old master, as Ralph, the duties for the day over, came into the cabin to join him at tea, which the boy had just placed on the table. ÒThereÕll be some one whoÕll be right glad to see thee, lad;Ó and the speaker looked up at the mate, whose handsome countenance beamed with pleasure, a slight blush rising on it as he answeredÑ
ÒThank you, sir; thank you heartily. I should very much like to pay Mistress TrevissÑandÑand her granddaughter a visit. I had few opportunities of seeing them when we were last in port, and as we have been long on this trip they may be anxious about us. But would not you prefer going on shore yourself, captain? ItÕs my duty to remain on board.Ó
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