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As I approached this vessel I called the particular attention of my officers to the question of distance, and they all agreed that the capture was made from two to three miles outside the marine league. U.S. Consul to Sir P. Wodehouse. August 4, 1863.
Brighton was their destination. They meant to lose themselves in a marine crowd. They stayed there for a fortnight, and then returned to town, Eustace more in love than ever. But Winifred? One afternoon she sat in the drawing-room of the pretty little house they had taken in Deanery Street, Park Lane. She was thinking, very definitely.
A marine officer of the ship was called for and his valet was a man who had almost served his time; had seen much service and was not at all anxious for any more. I went after him, bank-book in hand: "I will give you all I possess if you will let me go in your place." "It's a go," said this man as a gleam of joy overspread his face.
You will perceive by my public despatch addressed to the Minister of Marine, that although we passed through the enemy's line, and, I may add, actually brushed the nearest vessel, which we cut off yet nothing really useful was effected, notwithstanding that the vessel we touched ought to have been sunk, and those separated to have been dismantled or destroyed.
Sunday, at seven o'clock in the morning, after having visited the Marine Arsenal and all the docks, the weather being very fine, the First Consul embarked in a little barge, and remained in the roadstead for several hours, escorted by a large number of barges filled with men and elegantly dressed women, and musicians playing the favorite airs of the First Consul.
And the soldiers of the marine, placed in the topsails, replied to this by, "All's well," pronounced in a drawling, mournful tone. Nothing could be more monotonous or depressing than this continual murmur, this lugubrious mingling of voices all in the same tone, especially as those making these cries endeavored to make them as inspiring as possible.
It may be noted, however, that in 'The Georgian Era' occurs the following passage: 'Some have gone the length of saying that in marine views Turner has wrested the palm from all competitors; but with this, few, surely, will agree who have seen the sea pieces of Powell, an artist who, though but recently deceased, has had no biographer to commemorate his poverty or his genius. The works of Powell, however admirable, are not likely now to be preferred to Turner's.
"It is difficult always to know whether a man who has been much in both countries is a native of Boston in Lincolnshire, or Boston in Massachusetts; and perhaps they don't always know themselves. We never ask questions when a seaman ships for us." "You have an abundance of our seamen both in your marine and merchant service," said our captain.
Our marine shot him dead, which gave him time to turn to the side window, which they had now broken in with the butts of their rifles. He got one there. There was another close up whom he hit but did not kill; and he dropped another one on the edge of the shadows outside. The cook, catching the spirit of the thing, killed one at the rear door on his own account. The bandits had enough, and left.
They were to be marine volcanos, which, drifting down the river with tide, were to deal destruction where the Spaniards themselves most secure. In the hold of each vessel, along the whole length, was laid down a solid flooring of brick and mortar, one foot thick and five feet wide. This was the crater.
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