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Scott, Michael, 1789-1835

"Tom Cringle's Log"


All that the sharks have left of the Captain and five sea men came ashore
last night. I have buried the poor fellows on the beach where they lay
as well as I could, with an oar--blade for a shovel, and the bronze
ornament there [pointing to the Indian] for an assistant."
Here he looked towards the body; and the honest fellow's voice shook as
he continued.
"But seeing you were alive, I thought if you did recover, it would be
gratifying to both of us, after having weathered it so long with him
through gale and sunshine, to lay the kind--hearted old man's head on its
everlasting pillow as decently as our forlorn condition permitted."
As the Lieutenant spoke, Sneezer seemed to think his watch was up, and
drew off towards the fire. Clung and famished, the poor brute could no
longer resist the temptation, but, making a desperate snatch at the joint,
bolted through the door with it, hotly pursued by the Bull--frog.
"Drop the leg of mutton, Sneezer," roared the Lieutenant, "drop the
mutton--drop it, sir, drop it, drop it." And away raced his Majestv's
officer in pursuit of the canine pirate.
After a little, he and the Indian returned, the former with the joint in
his hand; and presently the dog stole into the hut after them, and
patiently lay down in a corner, until the Lieutenant good--humouredly
threw the bone to him after our comfortless meal had been finished.
I was so weak that my shipmate considerately refrained from pressing his
society on me; and we, therefore, all betook ourselves to rest for the
night.


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