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Scott, Michael, 1789-1835

"Tom Cringle's Log"

He was a very large man, whose weight every now and then, as
they breasted the short sea, cocked up the snout of the canoe with Peter
Mangrove in it, as if he had been a cork, leaving him to flourish his
paddle in the air, like the weatherwheel of a steam--boat in a sea--way.
The new comer was strong and broad--shouldered, with long muscular arms,
and a chest like Hercules; but his legs and thighs were, for his bulk,
remarkably puny and misshapen. A thick fell of black wool, in close
tufts, as if his face had been stuck full of cloves, covered his chin and
upper lip; and his hair, if hair it could be called, was twisted into a
hundred short plaits, that bristled out, and gave his head, when he took
his hat off, the appearance of a porcupine. There was a large sabre--cut
across his nose, and down his cheek, and he wore two immense gold earrmgs.
His dress consisted of short cotton drawers, that did not reach within two
inches of his knee, leaving his thin cucumber shanks (on which the small
bullet--like calf appeared to have been stuck before, through mistake, in
place of abaft) naked to the shoe; a check shirt, and an enormously large
Panama hat, made of a sort of cane, split small, and worn shovel--fashion.
Notwithstanding, he made his bow by no means ungracefully, and offered his
services in choice Spanish, but spoke English as soon as he heard who we
were.
"Pray, sir, are you the master of that vessel?" said the lieutenant.


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