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Scott, Michael, 1789-1835

"Tom Cringle's Log"


"God help me," said the excellent fellow, "you seem to me fitter for
your mother's nursery, my poor dear boy, than to be knocked about in
this coarse way here."
Reefy, at this moment, fell over into his arms, in a dead faint.
"You must take my berth, with the Captain's permission," said Aaron,
while he and Wagtail undressed him with the greatest care, and placed
him in the narrow crib.
"Thank you, my dear sir," moaned little Reefpoint; "were my mother here,
sir she would thank you too."
Stern duty now called me on deck, and I heard no more. The night was
still very dark, and I could see nothing of the chase, but I made all
the sail I could in the direction which I calculated she would steer,
trusting that, before morning, we might get another glimpse of her. In
a little while Bang came on deck.
"I say, Tom, now since little Reefy is asleep--what think you big craft
that--nearly caught a Tartar--not very sorry he has escaped, eh?"
"Why, my dear sir, I trust he has not escaped; I hope, when the day
breaks, now since we have less wind, that we may have a tussle with him
yet."
"No, you don't wish it, do you, really and truly?"
"Indeed, I do, sir; and the only thing which bothers me is the peril
that you and your friends must necessarily encounter."
"Poo, poo, don't mind us, Tom, don't mind us; but an't he too big for
you, Tom?"
He said this in such a comical way, that, for the life of me, I could
not help laughing.


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