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Updated: June 13, 2025
Pretty soon I see a black something floating on the water away off to stabboard and quartering behind us. I see he was looking at it, too. I says "What's that?" He says, sort of pettish, "Tain't nothing but an old empty bar'l." "An empty bar'l!" says I, "why," says I, "a spy-glass is a fool to your eyes. How can you tell it's an empty bar'l?" He says
I know you're a jill-poke." "A what?" blandly asked Sproul. "That's woods talk for the log that makes the most trouble on the drive and it's a mighty ornery word." "Er something like 'the stabboard pi-oogle, which same is a seafarin' term, and is worse," replied the Cap'n, with bland interest in this philological comparison. "But let's not git strayed off'm the subject.
Five years ago I was on a raft as big as this, and right along here it was a bright moonshiny night, and I was on watch and boss of the stabboard oar forrard, and one of my pards was a man named Dick Allbright, and he come along to where I was sitting, forrard gaping and stretching, he was and stooped down on the edge of the raft and washed his face in the river, and come and set down by me and got out his pipe, and had just got it filled, when he looks up and says
The dead silence and sense of waiting became oppressive. Mr. Bixby pulled the cord, and two deep, mellow notes from the big bell floated off on the night. Then a pause, and one more note was struck. The watchman's voice followed, from the hurricane deck 'Labboard lead, there! Stabboard lead!
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