see them in a storm, or on a
boarding party. There's not a man of 'em but might take the Captain's
place. And, for that matter, the Captain might take any of ours: for
he's as good a seaman as ever stept the deck. And once he was the
handiest among us all, and would take his turn at any thing. But now I
know not what's come to him. Ever since we were made 'regular,' (you
understand), and crossed out of the king's black books,--and since the
captain got his commission,--it's partly my belief that he's not right
here" (touching his forehead). "And no good will come of it. For one
hour we must behave pretty, and be upon honour, and, says he, 'Lads, I
must have you chained up, by reason we're now a king's ship:' and the
next hour he'll be laying his plots and his plans for doing some
business in the old line. The Captain must have a spree now and then.
He couldn't be well without it. Whereby it comes that, what between the
old way and the new way, a queer rum-looking life we lead."

Of the business on board, however, though interesting for a short
period, Bertram soon grew weary: and, stretching himself at his length
upon the deck, he gradually withdrew his attention from every thing
that was going on about him to the contemplation of the sea and the
distant shores which he was approaching. The day, for a winter's day,
was bright and sunny: the sky without a cloud; the atmosphere of a
frosty clearness; and the sea so calm, that it appeared scarcely to
swell into a ripple, except immediately in the ship's wake. The distant
promontory, which he suspected to be the point whither he had been
washed by the waves, after the explosion of the Halcyon, and which
seemed the extremity of a small island, had now receded into an azure
speck: the ship's course lay to the southward or south-east: and on the
larboard quarter a long line of coast trended away to the south-west. A
remarkable pile of rock on this coast attracted his attention, and
rivetted his gaze as by some power of fascination. Who will refuse to
sympathize with the feeling which at this moment possessed him? What
person of much sensibility or reflection but has, in travelling, or on
other occasions, sometimes felt a dim and perplexing sense of
_recognition_ awakened by certain objects or scenes which yet he had no
reason to believe that he could ever have seen before? So it was with
Bertram: a feeling of painful perplexity disturbed and saddened him as
he gazed upon the