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Jacobs, W. W., 1863-1943

"Many Cargoes"


For some time he smoked and wrote in silence, until the increasing
darkness warned him to finish his task. He signed the note, and, having
put a few marks of a tender nature below his signature, sealed it ready
for the post, and sat with half-closed eyes, finishing his pipe. Then
his head nodded, and, placing his arms on the table, he too slept.
It seemed but a minute since he had closed his eyes when he was awakened
by the entrance of the skipper, who came blundering into the darkness
from his stateroom, vociferating loudly and nervously.
"Ay, ay!" said Joe, starting up.
"Where's the lights?" said the skipper. "What's the time? I dreamt I'd
overslept myself. What's the time?"
"Plenty o' time," said the mate vaguely, as he stifled a yawn.
"Ha'-past ten," said the skipper, as he struck a match, "You've been
asleep," he added severely.
"I ain't," said the mate stoutly, as he followed the other on deck.
"I've been thinking. I think better in the dark."
"It's about time our chaps was aboard," said the skipper, as he looked
round the deserted deck. "I hope they won't be late."
"Sam's with 'em," said the mate confidently, as he went on to the side;
"there ain't no festivities going on aboard the Good Intent, neither."
"There will be," said his worthy skipper, with a grin, as he looked
across the intervening brig at the rival craft; "there will be.


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