"Ease your jumbo a grind." "Dollars an' cents better," returned the man-o'-war's man, doing something to a big jib with a wooden spar tied to it.

"But we didn't think o' that when we manned the windlass-brakes on the 'Miss Jim Buck',[1] outside Beaufort Harbor, with Fort Macon heavin' hot shot at our stern, an' a livin' gale atop of all.

Where was you then, Disko ?" "Jest here, or hereabouts," Disko replied, "earnin' my bread on the deep waters, and dodgin' Reb privateers.

'Sorry I can't accommodate you with red-hot shot, Tom Platt; but I guess we'll come aout all right on wind 'fore we see Eastern Point." There was an incessant slapping and chatter at the bows now, varied by a solid thud and a little spout of spray that clattered down on the fo'c'sle.

The rigging dripped clammy drops, and the men lounged along the lee of the house--all save Uncle Salters, who sat stiffly on the main-hatch nursing his stung hands.
[1] The Gemsbok, U.S.N.?
"'Guess she'd carry stays'l," said Disko, rolling one eye at his brother.
"Guess she wouldn't to any sorter profit.