Her bowsprit cocked up like an old-fashioned frigate's; her jib-boom had been fished and spliced and nailed and clamped beyond further repair; and as she hove herself forward, and sat down on her broad tail, she looked for all the world like a blouzy, frouzy, bad old woman sneering at a decent girl.
"That's Abishai," said Salters.

"Full o' gin an' Judique men, an' the judgments o' Providence layin' fer him an' never takin' good holt He's run in to bait, Miquelon way." "He'll run her under," said Long Jack.

"That's no rig fer this weather." "Not he, 'r he'd'a done it long ago," Disko replied.

"Looks 's if he cal'lated to run us under.

Ain't she daown by the head more 'n natural, Tom Platt ?" "Ef it's his style o' loadin' her she ain't safe," said the sailor slowly.