"
"This is Peter Mangrove, branch--pilot," continued Casket, as Peter,
bowing, tried to slide past out of sight.
Till this instant I had not time to look at him--he was even a much
queerer--looking figure than myself. He had been encumbered with no
garment besides his trowsers when we started, and these had been
reduced, in the scramble through the brake, to a waistband and two knee
bands, from which a few shreds fluttered in the breeze, the rest of his
canvass having been entirely torn out of the bolt--ropes. For an upper
dress he had borrowed a waistcoat without sleeves from the purser of the
schooner, which hung loose and unbuttoned before, while behind, being
somewhat of the shortest, some very prominent parts of his stem frame
were disclosed, as even an apology for a shirt he had none. Being a
decent man, however, he had tied his large straw hat round his waist, by
strings fastened to the broad brims, which nearly met behind, so that
the crown covered his loins before, like a petard, while the sameness of
his black naked body was relieved by being laced with blood from
numberless lacerations.
Next came the female--"This is the pilot's wife, Captain Transom," again
sung out old Dick; but decency won't let me venture on a description of
poor Nancy's equipment, beyond mentioning, that one of the Gleam's crew
had given her a pair of old trowsers, which, as a sailor has no bottom,
and Nancy was not a sailor, were most ludicrously scanty at top, and
devil another rag of any kind had the poor creature on, but a
handkerchief across her bosom.
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