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Updated: May 26, 2025
Seven I'll have, my dear, t' fish from the Straits t' Chidley. I'll have the twins t' be masters o' two; but I'll sail the big one the swift one the hundred-tonner ay, lass, I'll sail she, with me own hands. An', ecod! Bessie, I'll crack it on!" "You'll not be rash, dear?" said she, anxiously. "Rash!" laughed I. "I'll cut off the reef points! Rash? There won't be a skipper can carry sail with me!
Elizabeth's had square sails prophetic of the frigate's. Henry's had one or a very few small guns. Elizabeth's had as many as sixteen, some of medium size, in a hundred-tonner. The 'mosquito' fleet of Henry's time was represented by 'row-barges' of his own invention.
Lying between the sturdy little twins, that night where by right of caste I lay, for it was the warmest place in the bed I abandoned, once and for all, my old hope of sailing a schooner, with the decks awash. "Timmie!" I whispered. He was sound asleep. I gave him an impatient nudge in the ribs. "Ay, Davy?" he asked. "You may have my hundred-tonner," said I. "What hundred-tonner?"
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