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Updated: June 27, 2025
As they came near, the smell o' fire an' sulphur met them. A hush, like death, seemed to hang over her. The colored boatmen quit rowin', but the harbor-master forced them on. Her ladder was still down. The harbor-master climbed aboard. "On deck, nothin' moved. The harbor-master stepped down into grey ashes, sinkin' above his knee. With a scream he drew back.
"I dun thought yo' was a-wantin' ob Ole Ben," grinned the colored man. "I seed yo' rowin' off an' I didn't see yo' cum back, so I says to myself, 'Da is stuck fast on de wreck. An' den I says, 'Da aint got nuffin to eat. So ober I comes, an' wid a basketful of good t'ings from de plantation." And he held up the market basket.
I can't wait whiles we row off to the schooner. I wants to feel the stuff and I wants to divide it, b'g-d, right off and now. Boys, we're rich, we sure are. It's the stroke of my life, and I can't wait for no rowin' on board no schooners before we divide up." "Come on, then," said Blood. The sack was much bigger than its contents, so there was plenty of grip for him as he seized one corner.
"Ingalls!" he addressed one of them "I'm given tu undhershtand that yuh an' Chuck Reed there tuk charge av this feller " he indicated the prisoner "last night, whin he had that racket wid Larry Blake in th' bar? Fwhat was they rowin' over?" "That hawss o' Blake's mostly," was Ingalls' laconic answer. "Course they was slingin' everythin' else they could dig down an' drag up, too."
The man at the prow remained rigid as a statue, and Coleman resumed his whispered invocation. 'Bend to it, you devils! One! two! three! Morton, don't go to sleep, you swine! Ryan! Tadvers, you herrin'-gutted, boss-eyed son of a barber's ape, are you rowin' or spoonin' up hot soup? Pull, men! Huh! That's a clinker! Huh! Shift her! Huh! May the fiend singe you for a drowsy pack o' sea-cows! Pull!
Old Andrew was still talking, his stick waving furiously. "It's railin' agen this, and rowin' agen that: it's Socialism and Anarchism and some other rubbishy ism every Sabbath. Man, why can the crater no preach the Gospel? Aye, an' we had a half an oor o' havers aboot infidelity last Sabbath. Tod!
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