"It is hard, indeed, to live as you say, without hope," returned the
captain; "but hope _ought_ to be the last thing to die. You should make
one more rally, Clinch, before you throw up in despair."
"It is not so much for myself, Captain Cuffe, that I mind it, as for
some that live ashore. My father was as reputable a tradesman as there
was in Plymouth, and when he got me on the quarter-deck he thought he
was about to make a gentleman of me, instead of leaving me to pass a
life in a situation that may be said to be even beneath what his
own was."
"Now you undervalue your station, Clinch. The berth of a master's-mate
in one of His Majesty's finest frigates is something to be proud of; I
was once a master's-mate--nay, Nelson has doubtless filled the same
station. For that matter, one of His Majesty's own sons may have gone
through the rank."
"Aye, gone _through_ it, as you say, sir," returned Clinch, with a husky
voice. "It does well enough for them that go _through_ it, but it's
death to them that _stick_. It's a feather in a midshipman's cap to be
rated a mate; but it's no honor to be a mate at my time of life,
Captain Cuffe."
"What's your age, Clinch? You are not much my senior?"
"Your senior, sir! The difference in our years is not as great as in our
rank, certainly, though I never shall see thirty-two again. But it's not
so much _that_, after all, as the thoughts of my poor mother, who set
her heart on seeing me with His Majesty's commission in my pocket; and
of another who set her heart on one that I'm afraid was never worthy
her affection.
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