Wan noight he was slapin', whin
four nagurs av Injuns kim into his tint, an' picked the sword an'
pishtils and the unifarm aff the bid he was on. Thin he woke up, an' him
havin' sorra a thing to difind himself wid but a good Oirish tongue in
his hid. But it's Tipperary the liftinant foired at the haythens, an' it
moight ha' been grape an' canister, for they dhropped the plundher and
run for loife, all but wan that got howlt av an anhevis drawin' plashter
the liftinant had for a bile an the back av his neck, an' wasn't usin'
at the toime. Someways the plashter got on to his nakid chist an'
gripped him, an' he was that wake wid froight, the other nagurs had to
carry him away. Afther that the Injuns called Breasel by the name of
Shupay, a worrud that in their spache manes the divil--savin' yer
prisence, Mishter Wilkinson."
"One time the _Susan Thomas_ was at Belle Ewart loadin' on lumber,"
growled the Captain. "Sylvanus heerd as how the Mushrats, that's the
folks acrost on t'other side of the bay, was a comin' over to fasten him
and me down in the hold and paint the schooner. They was a goin' to
paint her The Spotted Dog, than which there's no meaner kind o' fish.
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