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"Why, then, what the devil have you been about?" "Why, I guess I sold all my cargo, and, what's more, I've sold my masts." "Sold your masts! who did you sell them to?" "To an almighty pretty French privateer lying in St Pierre's, which had lost her spars when she was chased by one of your brass-bottomed sarpents; and I've a notion they paid pretty handsomely too."
"First of all," said the captain, "suppose we try what is to be done with our heels. They used to be good, and I never saw the brass-bottomed sarpent that could come anear us yet.
"First of all," said the captain, "suppose we try what is to be done with our heels. They used to be good, and I never saw the brass-bottomed sarpent that could come a-near us yet.
Pierre's, which had lost her spars when she was chased by one of your brass-bottomed sarpents; and I've a notion they paid pretty handsomely too." "But how do you mean to get home again?" "I calculate to get into the stream, and then I'll do very well. If I meet a nor-wester, why then I'll make a signal of distress, and some one will tow me in, I guess."
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