To my sister and myself it was a real grief that our
vessel had not a more romantic name. We decided to call it the Sea
Slipper, from a favorite story, and the Sea Slipper it has always been
to us.
"On the deck there were so many unhappy partings that we became again
downhearted, a feeling which was intensified in the choppy seas of the
outer bay to the utter misery of mind and body. We got ourselves somehow
into our berths, where, with mother for company, we remained for many
hours. Finally the sea grew calmer and we were just beginning to enjoy
ourselves when off Cape Hatteras a severe storm broke upon us. The
vessel pitched and rolled; the baggage and boxes of freight tumbled
about, threatening the lives of those who were not kept to their berths
by illness.
"Although I was not seasick I dared not go about much. One night,
however, growing tired of the misery around me, I crawled over to the
end of the farther cabin, which seemed to be deserted. Presently the
captain and my father came down the stairs and I heard the officer say
in a hoarse whisper. 'I will not deceive you, Mr. Hunt; the mainmast is
down, the steering gear useless, the crew is not up to its business, and
I fear we cannot weather the night!' I almost screamed aloud in my
fright, but just then a long, lanky figure rose from the floor where it
had been lying.
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