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Updated: June 26, 2025
"Yes," Fred explained, "he was with some other men, canal-men we thought they were, that boarded us between Utica and Rome and we couldn't get rid of them. I thought at first they were going to try to take the Black Growler away from us, but they didn't do that and when Mr. Stevens came along in the Caledonia and stopped to help us they all ran away.
If they had been there wouldn't have been any trouble," asserted Fred. "Well, go up and get your breakfast," said Sam, "and by the time you're ready, I guess we'll start." The Black Growler stopped at the dock of the Stevens' and after waiting a half-hour Miss Susie and her friend appeared and took their seats on board the motor-boat. Mr.
And indeed there was a substantial basis for Fred's pride. Among the many boats on the river the Black Growler moved as if she belonged in a class of her own. People on board the cat boats or yachts, and even the passengers on a great passing steamer, all stood looking with manifest interest at the dark-colored little boat which was speeding over the waters almost like a thing alive.
While these things were happening in the Far-Civilised-West of that day, the British flotilla on Lake Champlain, had captured two American schooners, the Growler and Eagle, of eleven guns each, off Isle-aux-Noix.
As for the wildcats," he continued, smiling, "I have my rifle. Besides the government offers a small bounty for every wildcat." "Oh, yes, I see. You combine business with pleasure and have your wildcat bounty to pay expenses as you go along or else keep it for pin-money," and Growler laughed good-humoredly at his own fun. "You're the parson from St. Thomas, I judge," said Cheery.
When he had repeated this shout a dozen times, and startled every pigeon from its slumbers, a door in one of the ruinous old buildings opened, and a rough voice demanded what was amiss now, that a man couldn't even have his sleep in quiet. 'What! Haven't you sleep enough, growler, that you're not to be knocked up for once? said John.
The only one of the number, however, which he feared was the graceful little motor-boat, only a few yards distant from the place where the Black Growler was resting. There was no conversation on the boat. The faces of all the Go Ahead boys were tense and drawn and apparently all were unaware of the noise and the presence of the hundreds of interested spectators.
Younger brothers and sisters, two uncles, several aunts, not to mention the various fathers and mothers united in a final word of farewell. Handkerchiefs were waved and the sounds of the last faint call came across the intervening waters. The Black Growler was leaving Yonkers to be gone more than a month.
She mastered herself and, with a face wrung with fevered anguish, replied: "Through two of your accomplices, or rather two accomplices of Vaucheray, to whom they were wholly devoted and who had chosen them to row the boats." "The two men outside: the Growler and the Masher?" "Yes.
The dog was howling, and trying to paw off from his nose a queer and ugly-looking fish that had hold of it. It was the fish Laddie had caught and which the boy had called a "Sallie Growler." "Cousin Tom told us about them last night," thought Russ. "I wonder why they have such a funny name, and what makes 'em bite so." But he did not ask the questions aloud just then.
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