"Come back, I say, you loafing, miching, wrecking crow-keepers; there are no pickings for you here.

Brown, send those fellows back with the bayonet.

None but blue-jackets allowed on the beach!" And the labourers go up again, grumbling.
"Can't trust those landsharks.

They'll plunder even the rings off a corpse's fingers.

They think every wreck a godsend.