But I could not leave the water.

It would kill me.

Out of this window you know I saw my Jeannot's brig go away--away--away--till the masts were lost in the mists.

Going with iron to Norway; the 'Fleur d'Epine' of this town, a good ship, and a sure, and her mate; and as proud as might be, and with a little blest Mary in lead round his throat.
She was to be back in port in eight months, bringing timber.

Eight months--that brought Easter time.