His situation is
miserable; he is truly a fish out of water; he loves motion, but is
obliged to stand still; his glory is a social "bit of jaw," but he dares
not speak; he rolls his disconsolate quid over his silent tongue, and is
as wretched as a caged monkey. Poor fellow! how happy would a companion
make you, to whom you could relate your battles, bouts, and courtships;
but mum is the order, and Jack is used to an implicit obeyance of
head-quarter orders. The sight of an outward bound vessel drives him
mad.
On the appearance of a suspicious sail, the blockader, all vigilance,
(Jack excepted) awaits in silence the _running_ of the devoted cargo,
when suddenly discharging one of his pistols, the air in a moment rocks
with a hundred reports, answered successively by his companions. This
arouses those in the cottages off duty; the cliffs instantly teem with
life; all hurry to the beach, by slanting passages cut in the rocks for
that purpose, and a scene of blood and death ensues too horrible for
description.
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