A Passenger asked a Pilot how his family died. “At sea, and you?” “In bed.” But Pilot was not afraid of the sea or Passenger of bed because of that.
One never knows the time or place of death.
It had blown a violent storm at sea, and the whole crew of a vessel were in imminent danger of shipwreck. After the rolling of the waves was somewhat abated, a certain Passenger, who had never been at sea before, observing the Pilot to have appeared wholly unconcerned, even in their greatest danger, had the curiosity to ask him what death his father died. “What death?” said the Pilot; “why, he perished at sea, as my grandfather did before him.” “And are you not afraid of trusting yourself to an element that has proved thus fatal to your family?” “Afraid? by no means; why, we must all die: is not your father dead?” “Yes, but he died in his bed.” “And why, then, are you not afraid of trusting yourself to your bed?” “Because I am there perfectly secure.” “It may be so,” replied the Pilot; “but if the hand of Providence is equally extended over all places, there is no more reason for me to be afraid of going to sea than for you to be afraid of going to bed.”