The sand of the beach began to be cold to our bare feet; the frogs
set up their croaking in the marshes, and one solitary owl, from
the end of the distant point, gave out his melancholy note,
mellowed by the distance, and we began to think that it was high
time for ``the old man,'' as a shipmaster is commonly called, to
come down. In a few minutes we heard something coming towards us.
It was a man on horseback. He came on the full gallop, reined up
near us, addressed a few words to us, and, receiving no answer,
wheeled round and galloped off again. He was nearly as dark as an
Indian, with a large Spanish hat, blanket cloak or serape, and
leather leggins, with a long knife stuck in them. ``This is the
seventh city that ever I was in, and no Christian one neither,''
said Bill Brown. ``Stand by!'' said John, ``you haven't seen the
worst of it yet.'' In the midst of this conversation the captain
appeared; and we winded the boat round, shoved her down, and
prepared to go off. The captain, who had been on the coast
before, and ``knew the ropes,'' took the steering-oar, and we went
off in the same way as the other boat. I, being the youngest, had
the pleasure of standing at the bow, and getting wet through.
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