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Updated: June 12, 2025
Bless ye, marm, ye've no notion wot sort o' things I've lived on aboard ship " It was immediately replaced by a clean one and a fresh egg. While Rokens somewhat nervously tapped the head of Number 6, Miss Martha, in order to divert attention from him, asked Mr Millons if sea-fare was always salt junk and hard biscuit? "Oh, no, madam," answered the first mate.
It's as sure as I'm sittin' here," cried Rokens, savagely, as his wrath rose again at the bare recital of the terrible deed he had witnessed.
"Wot can it be?" said Tim Rokens in a low voice, to a seaman who leaned on the ship's bulwarks close to him. "Deserter, mayhap," suggested the man. While Rokens pondered the suggestion, a light plash was heard close to the ship's side, and a voice said, in a hoarse whisper, "Heave us a rope, will ye. Look alive, now. Guess I'll go under in two minits if ye don't."
It came in the form of a hippopotamus, which rose so close to the boat that Ailie got a severe start, and Tim Rokens made a blow at its head with his paddle. It did not seem to notice the boat, but after blowing a quantity of water from its nostrils, and opening its horrible mouth as if it were yawning, it slowly sank again into the flood.
We cannot say positively that Tim Rokens put the question to Jim Scroggles, but it is certain that Jim Scroggles accepted the question as addressed to him, and answered in reply "'Cause why? I never seed a ghost, an' nobody never seed a ghost, an' I don't b'lieve in what I can't see." Jim said this as if he thought the position incontestable.
"That's a puzzler," said Gurney, affecting to consider the question deeply. "Here's a puzzler wot'll beat it, though," observed Tim Rokens; "suppose we all go on talkin' stuff till doomsday, w'en'll the boat be finished?" "That's true," cried Dick Barnes, resuming work with redoubled energy; "take that young thief to his mother, Phil, and tell her to rope's-end him.
But she chanced to overhear a conversation between the doctor and Tim Rokens, which caused her afterwards to shrink from the negroes with horror.
"Solon was a man as thought his-self a great feelosopher, but he worn't, he wor an ass." "If I'm like Solon," retorted Rokens, "you're like a Solon-goose, w'ich is an animal as don't think itself an ass, 'cause its too great a one to know it." Having thus floored his adversary, the philosophic mariner turned to Glynn and said "In course we can't expect to be on full allowance."
"I've just heard the captain give his opinion on that subject, and he says that the boat can be got ready in a week or less, and that, with strict economy, the provisions we have will last us long enough to enable us to make the Cape, supposing we have good weather and fair winds. That's his opinion." "I told ye so," said Tim Rokens. "You did nothin' o' the sort," retorted Gurney.
The negro, who was by no means an "old boy," but a stalwart man in the prime of life, stepped out, and as they walked along, both Rokens and Briant did their best to persuade him to ship on board the Red Eric, but without success. They were somewhat surprised as well as chagrined, having been led to expect that the man would consent at once.
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