an' whiteness o' them big waves in
the dawn! An' 'twas wonderful--the power o' them--the wolfish way
they'd clutch an' worry an' drag! 'Twas a mean, hard thing t' keep a
grip on that smoothed rock; but I got my fingers in a crack o' the
reef, an' managed t' hold on, bein' stout an' able, an' sort of savage
for life--in them old days. Afore long, your poor father crep' close,
lad, an' got his fingers in the same crack. 'Twas all done for you,
Dannie, an' ye'll be sure t' bear it in mind--will ye not?--when ye
thinks o' the man hereafter. I seed the big seas rub un on the reef,
an' cut his head, an' break his ribs, as he come crawlin' towards me.
'Twas a long, long time afore he reached the place. Ye'll not forget
it--will ye lad?--ye'll surely not forget it when ye thinks o' the man
that was your father."

I looked at the sward, soft and green with summer, and roundabout upon
the compassionate shadows of evening.

"'Nick,' says your father," my uncle continued, "'does ye hear them
men?'

"They was all gone down, poor souls! I knowed.

"'Nine men o' the crew,' says he, 'drownin' there t' le'ward.'

"'Twas o' Mary Luff's son I thought, that poor lad! for I'd fetched un
on the v'y'ge.

"'I hear un callin',' says he.

"'Twas but a fancy: they was no voices o' them drowned men t'
le'ward.

"'Nick,' says he, 'I didn't mean t' wreck her here. I was 'lowin' t'
strike the Long Cliff, where they's a chance for a man's life. Does ye
hear me, Nick?' says he. 'I didn't mean t' do it _here_!'

"'Skipper,' says I, 'was ye meanin' t' wreck that there ship?'

"'Not here,' says he.

"'Was ye meanin' t' _do_ it?' says I."

My uncle paused.

"Go on, sir," said I.

"Dannie," said he, "they come, then, three big seas, as seas will; an'
I 'low"--he touched the crescent scar--"I got this here about that
time."

'Twas quite enough for me.

"'Skipper,' says I," my uncle continued, "'what did ye go an' do it
for?'

"'I got a young one t' St. John's,' says he.

"''Tis no excuse,' says I.

"'Ay,' says he, 'but I was 'lowin' t' make a gentleman of un. He's the
on'y one I got,' says he, 'an' his mother's dead.'

"''Twas no way t' go about it,' says I.

"'Ye've no lad o' your own,' says he, 'an' ye don't know. They was a
pot o' money in this, Top,' says he. 'I was 'lowin' t' make a
gentleman o' my young one an I lived through; but I got t' go--I got
t' go t' hell an' leave un. They's ice in these big seas,' says he,
'an