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"The Aurora!" cried Captain Acton. "How nobly she sits! How her sharp bows eat into it! Does not she come along handsomely? What a slaver she would make! Nothing flying the British flag could catch her. I did not conceive her due before next Wednesday. She has not been nabbed this voyage, at all events." "Say!" he burst out. "I lied to you, Lou, I didn't fall out o' no tree, I was jest scared plum stiff when you found me, that's all." "She carried nothing but fore-and-aft sails on her mizzen-mast," said he..

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"There it is!" said Miss Acton. "Give me a sea as smooth as our lawn, and I will accompany you, my dear." As he flung himself into this posture of taking aim, with some of the crew about the caboose cowering as do men who seek to dodge a missile, whilst Old Jim and the other stood in the foreground steadily staring at the enraged officer with the blood in his cheeks, Lucy Acton came on deck, and, standing with[Pg 338] her hand upon the companion-way, wild-eyed, and pale and dishevelled, with a mien of distraction which was a marvellously true copy of madness in momentary halt, watched the proceedings. "How sits the wind?" enquired Captain Acton, who being used to his daughter's occasional absence took no particular interest in her failure that morning to attend the breakfast table. "Walter Watland—what?".