fortunately got some romantic notions concerning the
profession, Clinch, and they are ever the hardest to be convinced of
what is for their own good."

"Jane Weston! Not she, sir. There is not as much romance about her as in
the fly-leaves of a prayer-book. She is all _heart_, poor Jane; and how
I came to get such a hold of it, Captain Cuffe, is a great mystery to
myself. I certainly do not _deserve_ half her affection, and I now begin
to despair of ever being able to repay her for it."

Clinch was still a handsome man, though exposure and his habits had
made some inroads on a countenance that by nature was frank, open, and
prepossessing. It now expressed the anguish that occasionally came over
his heart, as the helplessness of his situation presented itself fully
to his mind. Cuffe's feelings were touched, for he remembered the time
when they were messmates, with a future before them that promised no
more to the one than to the other, the difference in the chances which
birth afforded the captain alone excepted. Clinch was a prime seaman,
and as brave as a lion, too; qualities that secured to him a degree of
respect that his occasional self-forgetfulness had never entirely
forfeited. Some persons thought him the most skilful mariner the
Proserpine contained; and, perhaps, this was true, if the professional
skill were confined strictly to the handling of a ship, or to taking
care of her on critical occasions. All these circumstances induced Cuffe
to enter more closely into the master's-mate's present distress than he
might otherwise have done. Instead of shoving the bottle to him,
however, as if conscious how much disappointed hope had already driven
the other to its indiscreet use, he pushed it gently aside, and taking
his old messmate's hand with a momentary forgetfulness of the difference
in rank, he said in a tone of kindness and confidence that had long been
strangers to Clinch's ears:

"Jack, my honest fellow, there is good stuff in you yet, if you will
only give it fair play. Make a manly rally, respect yourself for a few
months, and something will turn up that will yet give you your Jane, and
gladden your old mother's heart."

There are periods in the lives of men, when a few kind words, backed by
a friendly act or two, might save thousands of human beings from
destruction. Such was the crisis in the fate of Clinch. He had almost
given up hope, though it did occasionally revive in him whenever he got
a cheer