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"Then they gin 'im a shove, 'n' I hearn 'im a-comin'. I flopped over 'n' le' go. Shot away luk a streak o' lightnin'. Dum thing grew steeper 'n' steeper. Jes' hel' up my ban's 'n' let 'er go lickitty split. Jerushy Jane Pepper! jes' luk comin' down a greased pole. Come near tekin' my breath away did sart'n. Went out o' thet air thing luk a bullet eggzac'ly. Shot int' the air feet foremust.
At last he looked keenly at Captain Corbet. "He's not ben heard tell of for about twelve days?" "No." "An it's ben ony moderate weather?" "Ony moderate, but foggy." "O, of course. Wal, in my 'pinion, fust an foremust, he ain't likely to hev gone down." "That thar's jest what I say." "An he had them biscuit?" "Yes a hull box." "An the sail for shelter?" "Yes." "Wal; it's queer.
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