since I first told it, and that all sorts of things have crept in
which wasn't there first. That may be so. When a man tells a story
a great many times, naturally he can't always tell it just the same,
and he gets so mixed up atween what he told last and what he told
first that he don't rightly know which was which when he wants to
tell it just as it really happened. So if sometimes it appears to
you that I'm steering rather wild, just you put a stopper on and
bring me up all standing with a question."

There was a quiet humor about the boatman's face, and the boys
winked at each other as much as to say that after such an exordium
they must expect something rather staggering. The boatman took two
or three hard whiffs at his pipe and then began.

"It was towards the end of September in 1832, that's just forty
years ago now, that I went out with my father and three hands in
the smack, the Flying Dolphin. I'd been at sea with father off and
on ever since I was about nine years old, and a smarter boy wasn't
to be found on the beach. The Dolphin was a good sea boat, but she
wasn't, so to say, fast, and I dunno' as she was much to look at,
for the old man wasn't the sort of chap to chuck away his money in
paint or in new sails as long as the old ones could be pieced and
patched so as to hold the wind. We sailed out pretty nigh over to
the French coast, and good sport we had. We'd been out two days when
we turned her head homewards. The wind was blowing pretty strong,
and the old man remarked, he thought we was in for a gale. There
was some talk of our running in to Calais and waiting till it had
blown itself out, but the fish might have spoil before the Wind
dropped, so we made up our minds to run straight into Dover and
send the fish up from there. The night came on wild and squally,