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Updated: June 2, 2025
Still, they continue to solicit further traffic, offering not only their implements of the chase and fishing, but their weapons of war! The spears and slings Seagriff eagerly purchases, giving in exchange several effects of more value than any yet parted with, somewhat to the surprise of Captain Gancy.
The bulk of the Calypso's crew, with Lyons, the chief mate, have taken to the pinnace; and the skipper is in his own gig, with his wife, daughter, son, young Chester, and two others Seagriff, the carpenter, and the cook, a negro. In all only seven persons, but enough to bring the gunwale of the little craft dangerously near the water's edge.
But they are not left long conjecturing about it, ere their attention is called to another and similar smoke on the land. "Yonder!" exclaims Seagriff. "Thar's the answer. "'Tair lookin' bad for us now," he says in undertone to the Captain, and still gazing anxiously toward the shores. "Thar's Feweegins ahead on both sides, and they're sure to put out fur us.
Still, notwithstanding this plentitude of supply, the castaways make up their minds to abandon their present encampment, for a reason that becomes apparent soon after they see themselves boatless. "There's no use in our stayin' longer hyar," says Seagriff, who first counsels a change of quarters.
Still, should the Fuegians come on shore, it must be at the ledge of rocks where of late lay the boat, the only possible beaching-place, and not half a stone's throw from the spot where they are concealed. "The thing we've most to be afeerd of is thar dogs," mutters Seagriff. "Ef they should land, the little curs'll be sure to scent us. An' sakes alive! what's that?"
In this case, they will surely at some time come round, if but to despoil the kelp-bed of its shell-fish treasures. All is conjecture now, with continuing apprehension and suspense. To put an end to the latter, the two youths, alike impatient and impetuous, propose a reconnaissance, to go to the cranberry ridge and take a peep over it. "No!" objects Seagriff, restraining them.
Impotent is their rage, however, for the crafty Seagriff has secured all their missile weapons, and under the impulse of four strong rowers, the gig goes dancing on, soon leaving the clumsy Fuegian craft far in its wake, with the savages shouting and threatening vengeance.
"We ain't out o' the wood yit," he says, employing a familiar backwoods expression often heard by him in boyhood, adding, in like figurative phrase, "we still hev to run the gauntlit o' the Tekeneekas." "But surely we've nothing to fear from them?" interrogates the younger Gancy; Henry Chester affirming, "No, surely not." "Why hevn't we?" demands Seagriff.
"Yis, Capting," says Seagriff, his face still wearing an anxious expression, "ef we hev got away from 'em, the which ain't sartin yit. I've my fears we haven't seen the last o' that ugly lot." While speaking, his eyes are fixed on the canoe in an earnest, interrogating gaze, as though he sees something to make him uneasy.
The remark makes a vivid impression on her son and the young Englishman, neither of whom is so old as to have quite outgrown a boyish propensity for nest-robbing. "Sure to have, ma'am," affirms Seagriff, respectfully raising his hand to his forelock; "an' a pity we didn't think of it sooner. We might 'a' hed fresh eggs for breakfast."
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