getting to the end of my ſtory before I begin it.
During the war, I went once or twice to New York. The laſt was a good voyage, and we were all returning with joy to dear England, when the ſtorm roſe; the veſſel was like a bird, it flew up and down, and ſeveral of our beſt hands were waſhed clean overboard—My poor captain! a better never plowed the ocean, he fell overboard too, and it was ſome time before we miſſed him; for it was quite dark, except that flaſhes of lightning now and then gave us light. I was at the helm, laſhing it to the ſide of the ſhip—a dreadful flaſh came acroſs me, and I loſt one of my precious eyes.—But thank God I have one left.
The weather cleared up next day, and, though we had been finely mauled, I began to hope, for I hate to be faint-hearted, and certainly we ſhould have got into the channel very ſoon, if we had not fell in with a French man of war, which took us; for we could not make any reſiſtance.
