w by the mate of the vessel,Ralph Lauren Jackets, a tall red-faced seaman with ear-rings in his ears, while the captain stood on the poop with his legs apart and a pipe in his mouth, checking us off one by one by means of a list which he held in his hand. As he looked at the sturdy build and rustic health of the peasants, which even their long confinement had been unable to break down, his eyes glistened,Tyson Jost Tröjor, and he rubbed his big red hands together with delight.
‘Show them down, Jem!’ he kept shouting to the mate. ‘Stow them safe, Jem! There’s lodgings for a duchess down there,Ralph Lauren Kortärmade skjortor, s’help me, there’s lodgings for a duchess! Pack ’em away!’
One by one we passed before the delighted captain,Peter Budaj Tröjor, and down the steep ladder which led into the hold. Here we were led along a narrow passage, on either side of which opened the stalls which were prepared for us. As each man came opposite to the one set aside for him he was thrown into it by the brawny mate, and fastened down with anklets of iron by the seaman armourer in attendance. It was dark before we were all secured, but the captain came round with a lanthorn to satisfy himself that all his property was really safe. I could hear the mate and him reckoning the value of each prisoner, and counting what he would fetch in the Barbadoes market.
‘Have you served out their fodder,CG Dame Snow Mantra Parka, Jem?’ he asked, flashing his light into each stall in turn. ‘Have you seen that they had their rations?’
‘A rye bread loaf and a pint o’ water,’ answered the mate.
‘Fit for a duchess,Jason Chimera Tröjor, s’help me!’ cried the captain. ‘Look to this one,Menn Moncler Bulgarie, Jem. He is a lusty rogue. Look to his great hands. He might work for years in the rice-swamps ere the land crabs have the picking of him.’
‘Aye, we’ll have smart bidding amid the settlers for this lot. ‘Cod, captain,Dame Moncler Marmelade, but you have made a bargain of it! Od’s bud! you have done these London fools to some purpose.’
‘What is this?’ roared the captain. ‘Here is one who hath not touched his allowance. How now, sirrah, art too dainty in the stomach to eat what your betters have eaten before you?’
‘I have no hairt for food, zur,’ the prisoner answered.
‘What, you must have your whims and fancies! You must pick and you must choose! I tell you,Torey Krug Tröjor, sirrah,Guy Lapointe Tröjor, that you are mine, body and soul! Twelve good pieces I paid for you, and now, forsooth, I am to be told that you will not eat! Turn to it at this instant, you saucy rogue, or I shall have you triced to the triangles!’
‘Here is another,’ said the mate, ‘who sits ever with his head sunk upon his breast without spirit or life.’
‘Mutinous, obstinate dog!’ cried the captain. ‘What ails you then? Why have you a face like an underwriter in a tempest?’
‘If it plaize you, zur,’ the prisoner answered, ‘Oi do but think o’ m’ ould mother at Wellington,Nicklas Grossmann Tröjor, and woonder who will kape her now that Oi’m gone!’
‘And what is that to me,Män Barbour Casual Jackor?’ shouted the brutal seaman. ‘How can you arrive at your journey’s end sound and hearty if you sit like a sick fow
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