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But look at him now; there he stands, moping all the day long on
that everlasting one leg of his. He turns with disgust from the
mouldy corn before him, and the brackish water in his little
trough. He mourns no doubt his lost companions, literally
snatched from him one by one, and never seen again. But his days
of mourning will be few for Mungo, our black cook, told me
yesterday that the word had at last gone forth, and poor Pedro's
fate was sealed. His attenuated body will be laid out upon the
captain's table next Sunday, and long before night will be buried
with all the usual ceremonies beneath that worthy individual's
vest. Who would believe that there could be any one so cruel as
to long for the decapitation of the luckless Pedro; yet the
sailors pray every minute, selfish fellows, that the miserable
fowl may be brought to his end. They say the captain will never
point the ship for the land so long as he has in anticipation a
mess of fresh meat. This unhappy bird can alone furnish it; and
when he is once devoured, the captain will come to his senses. I
wish thee no harm, Pedro; but as thou art doomed, sooner or
later, to meet the fate of all thy race; and if putting a period
to thy existence is to be the signal for our deliverance,
why--truth to speak--I wish thy throat cut this very moment; for,
oh! how I wish to see the living earth again! The old ship
herself longs to look out upon the land from her hawse-holes once
more, and Jack Lewis said right the other day when the captain
found fault with his steering.
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'Why d'ye see, Captain Vangs,' says bold Jack, 'I'm as good a
helmsman as ever put hand to spoke; but none of us can steer the
old lady now. We can't keep her full and bye, sir; watch her
ever so close, she will fall off and then, sir, when I put the
helm down so gently, and try like to coax her to the work, she
won't take it kindly, but will fall round off again; and it's all
because she knows the land is under the lee, sir, and she won't
go any more to windward.' Aye, and why should she, Jack? didn't
every one of her stout timbers grow on shore, and hasn't she
sensibilities; as well as we?
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