We had a perfect love of a sounding-boat--long, trim, graceful, and as fleet as a greyhound; her thwarts were cushioned; she carried twelve oarsmen; one of the mates was always sent in her to transmit orders to her crew, for ours was a steamer where no end of 'style' was put on.
We tied up at the shore above 21, and got ready.

It was a foul night, and the river was so wide, there, that a landsman's uneducated eyes could discern no opposite shore through such a gloom.

The passengers were alert and interested; everything was satisfactory.

As I hurried through the engine-room, picturesquely gotten up in storm toggery, I met Tom, and could not forbear delivering myself of a mean speech-- 'Ain't you glad YOU don't have to go out sounding ?' Tom was passing on, but he quickly turned, and said-- 'Now just for that, you can go and get the sounding-pole yourself.

I was going after it, but I'd see you in Halifax, now, before I'd do it.' 'Who wants you to get it?
I don't.