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Lying on Barnegat Beach, within sight of the House of Refuge and Fogarty's cabin, was the hull of a sloop which had been whirled in one night in a southeaster, with not a soul on board, riding the breakers like a duck, and landing high and dry out of the hungry clutch of the surf-dogs. She was light at the time and without ballast, and lay stranded upright on her keel.
"Had to wait for orders, captain," returned a healthy, ringing young voice which struck Coronado like a shot. "Orders!" muttered the skipper. "Why couldn't they have had them ready? Here we are going to have a southeaster." There was anxiety as well as impatience in his voice; but Coronado just now could not think of tempests; his whole soul was in his eyes.
We retired at eight o'clock, and just then Toyatte, who had been attentively studying the sky, presaged rain and another southeaster for the morrow. The sky was a little cloudy next morning, but the air was still and the water smooth. We all hoped that Toyatte, the old weather prophet, had misread the sky signs.
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