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"And you'd join Garibaldi, I suppose?" The news had just come of Garibaldi in Sicily. "Yes," responded the Italian. There was a twinkle deep in his eyes as he added: "I know Garibaldi." "Indeed!" "Yes. Sailed under him when he was ship-cap'n. He knows me." "And I dare say he'd remember you," said Richling, with enthusiasm. "He remember me," said the quieter man. "Well, must go.
Maum Buckey would not have to do with these light-come-light-go gallants. "Me wash for Gem'n Ship-Cap'n, Gem'n Marchants, Gem'n Keep-store," she would observe; "me not wash for dam Soger-officer." Her Sugar Plantation was in charge of a shrewd North-countryman, against whom, save that he was a runaway bankrupt from Hull in England, there was nothing to say.
"Who was that tall chap I see'd 'ee in talk with, up by th' Peak?" asked Un' Benny Rowett later in the day. "A Cap'n Something-or-other," answered Seth; "I didn't catch his full name." "Walked over from Troy, I s'pose? Queer how these ship-cap'ns enjoy stretchin' their legs after a passage the furriners especially. But there! 'tis nat'ral." "He wasn' a ship-cap'n."
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