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Updated: June 21, 2025
For, as the boat is whisked out of their hands and swung up fathoms high, the English youth, heedless of Seagriff's shout, "Let go!" hangs on, bulldog-like, and is carried up along with her. The others have retreated up the slope, beyond reach of the wave which threatens to bear him off in its backward flow.
"The old shark would steal the horns off a goat, ef they warn't well fixed in," is Seagriff's remark, as he stands looking after their departing visitor. "Howsoever, let's hope they may be content wi' stealin', and not take to downright robbery, or worse. We'll hev to keep watch all night, anyway, ez thar's no tellin' what they may be up to. They never sleep. They're perfect weasels."
But indeed, throughout most of the night, all are wakeful, slumber being denied them by the barking of the dogs, and yelling of the savages, who, making good Seagriff's words, seem as though sleep were a luxury they had no wish to indulge in. And something seems to have made them merry, also.
"Yes, Miss, sech a plunge thet ef this child tho't thar was any likelihood of it comin' loose from its moorin's while we're hyar, he wouldn't be smokin' his pipe so contented. Jest look at thet boat." "The boat! what of her?" asks the skipper, in some apprehension, at length beginning to comprehend the cause of Seagriff's uneasiness.
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