Pros.

Why, that's my spirit!
But was not this nigh shore?

Ariel.

Close by, my master.

Pros.

But are they, Ariel, safe?

Ariel.

Not a hair perished:

Tempest.




"D'ye here there, Mr. Mulford?" called out Capt. Stephen Spike, of
the half-rigged, brigantine Swash, or Molly Swash, as was her
registered name, to his mate--"we shall be dropping out as soon as
the tide makes, and I intend to get through the Gate, at least, on
the next flood. Waiting for a wind in port is lubberly seamanship,
for he that wants one should go outside and look for it."