Nothing but the dread
of drowning ought to make a man do it, although some men will pump to save
their property. As for myself, I am not certain I would take twenty-four
hours of hard pumping to save any sum I shall probably ever own, or
ever did own.
After a long passage, we made the Cordovan, but, the wind blowing heavy
off the land, we could not get in for near a fortnight. Not a pilot would
come out, and if they had, it would have done us no good. After a while,
the wind shifted, and we got into the river, and up to the town. We took
in a return cargo of brandy, and sailed for Philadelphia. Our
homeward-bound passage was long and stormy, but we made the capes, at
last. Here we were boarded by a pilot, who told us we were too late; the
Delaware had frozen up, and we had to keep away, with a South-east wind,
for New York. We had a bad time of it, as soon as night came on. The gale
increased, blowing directly into the bight, and we had to haul up under
close-reefed topsails and reefed foresail, to claw off the land. The
weather was very thick, and the night dark, and all we could do was to get
round, when the land gave us a hint it was time. This we generally did in
five fathoms water. We had to ware, for the brig would not tack under such
short canvass, and, of course, lost much ground in so doing. About three
in the morning we knew that it was nearly up with us.
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