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There were nine men left in the standing room, including the gentleman in black; they were coarse and rough-looking persons, and not one of them appeared to be the social peer of him who had condemned the firing upon the boat. The skipper remained at the tiller of the boat, and he looked as though he might have negro blood in his veins, though he was not black, and probably was an octoroon. He said nothing and did nothing, and had not used a musket when the others fired. He 216 behaved as though he intended to be entirely neutral. A few drops of negro blood in his veins was enough to condemn him to inferiority with the rude fellows on board of the sloop, though his complexion was lighter than that of any of his companions.

แจก เครดิต ฟรี 300 ไม่ ต้อง ฝาก "How old a man does he appear to be?" "How shall you manage it?" "You will call all hands, Mr. Flint," said the commander, as soon as the executive officer appeared on the deck; and the call of the boatswain's mate sounded through the vessel. "In spite of your denial and your motto, I shall have to regard you as a prisoner of war, and treat you as such," said the captain, rising from his chair, the others following his example.